More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (32. Dreaming)

TEN of WANDS. Oppression (inverted). Force detached from spiritual sources. Fire in its most destructive aspect. Inverted, it could me self-sacrifice or generosity.

That would be the dream I had after the dinner party. I gave away everything – even the clothes off my back. Nudity dreams are nothing nude … new to me. I’m told they happen when I feel exposed or at risk. Sometimes they are freedom dreams. This was probably a little of both.

You know me: an exhibitionist who keeps herself to herself. I guess that would be a “closet exhibitionist.” I long to have my clothes off, but worry if I show a little too much sin … sick … um, skin.

Anyway, the dream. It started back at the party, and the showing of the henna. Instead of un-tucking my blouse or hiking up my skirt, I progressively removed each garment and gave it to a member of the coterie. (Elsa got my panties – strange.) Anyway, after I had taken it all off with a few members of the coterie remaining, we all went back to my house where I proceeded to continue giving things away … to anyone who came by at that point … until everything was gone except me and my house, which I duly gave to Evie.

Talk about a lucid dream … that was probably the most lucid dream I’ve ever had, except maybe the one about having silver skin, but that was a long time ago.

“Force detached from spiritual sources.” I think of that line and wonder, was the dream an attempt to reconnect with the spiritual? I had to purge myself of the wordy … err, worldly? It’s possibly, but at the end of the dream, I found myself giving my body to the men that were there, including Marcel. That may have been my consciousness trying to regain control, as the dream turned so suddenly. Before anything happened, I awoke – a sure sign of that being the case.

The dream was surely a message. Now I have to just interpret its meaning. Turn to the spiritual, yes, but how? What kind of spiritual? Would I have to choose between Wiccan and Catholicism? For me, that isn’t a choice. Part of me is each of those, and belief has little to do with it. I believe what I believe, and there isn’t a choice about it. I just have to do it in a more spiritual way.

Whatever that is.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (31. A Lick in the …)


I’m sorry it has been several days since my last pants … sex … err, post. Lot’s has happened. I discovered that Janice has been in the hospital for several days. She’d had a car accident – a bad one – and they were worried about her spleen, a collapsed lung, and a few other things. That was the day we were supposed to have dinner. She’d lost her guts … um, cellphone in the accident, and that’s where my phone number was.

The dinner party was tonight. I had a rare evening off from the symphony, and Evangeline had planned accordingly. Elsa, Marcel’s wife, was pleasant to me, if not a little stand-off-ish. She didn’t trust me. (I wouldn’t in her circumstances.) As I expected she wasn’t a woman … err, a Wiccan, but almost everyone else at the party was. Most, except Elsa, were interested in Evangeline’s artwork all over my boy … um, body. It was mostly Christa’s artwork, but Evie was much better with a brush, and enhanced it considerably. Where Christa’s work was functional, Evie’s was art. (Sorry Christa.) Anyway, I found myself stripping down to take … show it off. OK, taking off to show off.

Although most of the “art” is under my clothing, part of it must be visible to be effective, and usually it is what looks like an olive branch on the back of my right hand. Tonight, however, I wore a lower cut than usual – was that to attract Marcel? I don’t know. Maybe that was the reason for Elsa’s mistrust. The stars in my (almost non-existent) cleavage drew the eyes downward – within – and my three-quarter sleeves revealed the leopard spots on the left side and more of the olive branch on the right. They couldn’t help but ask about it.

That just fed my exhibitionist nature.

I now seem to be part of the coterie of about 15 of them. I felt comfortable with them, even Elsa at times, and I agreed to join them for their monthly orgies … err, full moon gatherings, when I wasn’t busy with a late concert. Like Marcel, many were interested in music, and were frequent visitors to the symphony. Most had seen me perform, so I was at a slight disadvantage. Marcel wasn’t really their leader. It was a loose democratic organization, and the High Priest or Priestess was a rotating position. Evie was at the end of her term, and nominated me to take over.

I was elected unanimously – even Elsa voted for me. Why? I don’t know what I’m doing in any formal way, but that was apparently my affliction … um, attraction. Maybe they were just nosy and wanted the next gathering at my house. It was a fairly even split of men and women, but Marcel and Elsa were the only couple.

Was Evie just setting me up? Only she would know.

That explained today’s card:

TWO of WANDS. Dominion. Fire in its highest form, energy initiating a current of force, harmony of rule and justice, influence over another, boldness, courage, fierceness.

As much as I like that, I know that it must only be a temporary state. Yes, I’m fire, but isn’t that only because of what I am, and what has happened to me? Of course, I’m the Princess of Wands, but I am no leader. In fact, I’m the one who prefers to stay on the margins: not quite a Catholic (not a good one, at least), not quite Wiccan. Now I’m thrust in a leadership mode.

How long is my sentence … um term? It is of indefinite length – one year minimum, and then until someone (including me) says it is time for someone else. Evie had been the High Priestess for three years, and had apparently planned the ambush … err, dinner party to elect someone new, namely me. How did she know everyone would agree? Did they agree because they knew that I wouldn’t want to do it?

Or is it to heal the bite-marks in my soul?

Oh, I almost forgot to explain the licking reference. Somebody, licked me in my “knee pit” (not my ear, which is where I might like to have been licked in other circumstances), and it wasn’t Evie’s dog, who was asleep in front of the fire at the time. I wasn’t in a position to react right away, but when I did, the perpetrator was gone. (It was while I was being “invested” in my new position.) Who would stick their head up my skirt and lick me behind the knee? It wasn’t Marcel or Evie.

Elsa? She definitely wasn’t in view. No, it couldn’t have been her. There were others who I also couldn’t see at the time.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (29. Peculiar)

I hate the holidays. You play loads of concerts of crappy music. You hear lots of it, too, all joyous and cheerful, and what do you get for it? Yes, I get paid to play it, but I get no job satisfaction, nothing like the high of playing Strauss’ Alpensinfonie or the reconstruction of Bruckner’s 9th (to which I am listening while I write).

Nothing from Janice about missing dinner, nothing from Marcel … nothing from … anybody. I’m still banned from having fun … um, sex, but now I can’t even get anyone interested. All I’m good for at the moment is turning up the volume on my hi-fi. (At the moment it is very odd … err, UP.)

My card for today was fighting … fitting (as usual):

XX. The Aeon. (inverted) It’s a great card, meaning a definitive movement or decision in a peculiar … um, particular direction. It’s the end of a matter.

Yes, it was inverted, so strike all of that. No matter was decided today, no subject closed, nothing finished, except that I’ve gained all my weight back after my episode. I still have no other explanation for it other than obsession … err, possession, and I’m afraid to see a shrink … um, doctor about it. (Maybe a shrink would be better!) I’m healthy enough – I’ve even gained a few extra pounds for good measure – too many post-concert receptions and holiday dinners, none ending in “would you like to come back to mine?”

The urge to change something is there, but what? Maybe I should take a step and become initiated – as a witch. Jem says I already am one and don’t need (and probably don’t want) to formalize it. I’m different from the others anyway. I wouldn’t fit in an oven … a coven. (What do you think, Marcel?) I’d still have to reconcile it with my vacant … err, latent Catholicism.

That’s easy. I’m a sinner and going to hell. That’s what some of you think anyway. I have news for you.

I’m already in hell.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (28. Damn!, swearing)

No dinner tonight. I arrived at Janice’s house at 6 pm and it was dark. I crapped … err, knocked on the door. Nothing. I didn’t see her out during my run this morning, but I suspect that meant she had gone to work. I wasn’t required until the afternoon, so I ran a little later.

Two days in a row? I haven’t done that in a long time. I was hoping to see her, but maybe I should have been out there at six or seven. Some people do work too much … um, normal business hours, you know. Perhaps there was a problem, and she didn’t have my phone number.

Maybe she just blew me off. It wouldn’t be the first time. I seem to be prone to it.

It’s too bad. I needed to be with someone today. Anyone. I said something in rehearsal today, that someone took wrongly. I won’t repeat it. It was BAD, and what is worse, it wasn’t a misspeak. It was a comment about one of the old perverts … err, older violinists of the Symphony, and I had misjudged how much he was depleted … um, respected. That was stupid, and I knew my mistake as soon as the words vomited from my mouth. Whatever respect I used to have is gone now. I used to be that eccentric Brit who was the ace third horn player, who was reliable and never cracked a note in public. Now I’m just a foul-mouthed bitch in the back of the orchestra.

Maybe Janice heard about what I said. A lot of members of the Symphony play for the Ballet. It isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

What else is there worth talking about today? Nothing.

My card … well, yes:

FIVE of SWORDS. Defeat. Loss, malice, spite, weakness, slander. A separator of friends. Cruel yet cowardly. Evil speaking.

In a word … me.


More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (25. Me, Myself, I)

Jem phoned me today. She said that she was happy to have me back to my old self.

But am I?

I’ve never been the happy-go-lucky sort, and I’ll probably hit bottom tomorrow, after Christa leaves, but I’m not myself. The are black spots … no, bite-marks on my soul where Ms Ball tried to smite me. Should I go to church and make a confession? I can just hear it now:

Me: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 35 years since my last conversation … um confession.

Fr Daniel: I’m glad to see you back. What may I do for you?

Me: I was possessed by an evil spirit and did lewd and lascivious things. I’ve been cured of that by my witch friends, but there is still a mark on my soul. Am I doomed? Oh, and while I was possessed I fornicated with loads of men and ate their souls … I think … I couldn’t remember any of it when it was all over. I would guess that I dreamt it, except for … well … I lost several days, and my friends refuse to tell me what happened. I was naked a lot. I’m sure of that.

At that point, I could imagine the bell … book … candle … err, cloth screen fluttering as he made a big sign-of-the-cross … err, sigh … well maybe both. Why the screen? I’m a little old-fashioned, and couldn’t stomach the pasta … um, prospect of seeing the look on his face. You should be impressed that I knew his game … name. (I didn’t just make it up.)

What would he say next? Would he send me away for consorting with witches? Should I have told him about my use of tarot?

Too many questions. If he didn’t send me away, I’m sure I would still be saying Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers until I dropped. Little good it would do. I’m lost.

Is that my hair … despair? Your faith will save you my dear.

Maybe that’s my problem. What is my faith? I believe in a God (Goddess, actually) that watches over us … well neither a God or Goddess, but a profound presence that may or may not judge us by our works … certainly not by our faith. Would a last second conversion save me? Depends on which passages of the bible you refer to. It isn’t really clear, by my interpretation. Yes, I’ve read it all (not just heard it read at Mass), and studied enough of it to know that it is contradictory. (I was a nun in a past life, too!) Okay, I do believe in reincarnation. (It’s has to do with the preservation of energy.)

Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all escapist … estrogen … err, eschatological on you there. I do that when I’m down and self-absorbed.

Yes, today was all about my “self.” I drew the PRINCESS of WANDS, the card (if you remember) Jem uses to refer to me. She can be superficial, false, shallow, cruel, or faithless, if ill-dignified. (I’m not very dignified.)

The best thing about today was that the Strauss was awesome!

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (24. Done with)

It’s over. I should have guessed it when I drew my card this morning, the Knight of Swords – Allen – again. This time it was inverted.

At least, this time he phoned. It wasn’t a long conversation. I’m too loose … too much of a loose cannon, and I can’t control myself. (Well, maybe if he was here!) I get out of control when I’m lonely, and I still don’t have any regular friends here. I think Evangeline could be a friend … and Marcel. I’m a better slut … err, fit with people that have unconventional spiritual views.

Marcel invited us to dinner tonight, essentially to meet his wife. Unfortunately, both Christa and I had to play tonight’s concert. I think she, Marla, wanted to gauge how much of a threat I was to her.

I’m not. I’m imploding … um, impulsive, and I let the torturers … err, moment carry me away, and I’ve come to confession … the conclusion that it is caused by the same thing that spawns my Tourettes-like behavior. I was, of course, cured of a stammer long ago, but the wrong words just leap out of me, and sometimes they are dangerously too close to the truth. Are my actions governed in the same way? Is eloping with … err groping Marcel something I want to do on a base level? He’s nice. He’s handsome, but he’s also married, and that is something I usually hold sacred.

Allen is gone. Shit!

It keeps coming back. I blew him a kiss … um, blew that one. I never deserved him. On a scale of one to ten. I’m a one, and he’s a hen … ten. (There I go again.)

Christa’s asleep now, but I have a feeling I’ll be up all night. I’ve donned my headphones, and am blasting Bruckner right now. Nothing like some heavy brass to clear the bugs … wax from one’s ears. Only a few days left. She leaves on Monday afternoon. I wish she’d touch me up … touch up my henna before she goes, but Evangeline is doing that next Friday. Monday is too soon.

I’m resolved to wear the henna until this evil spirit is completely gone. I still feel the urge from time to time, and I’m desperate to have a man between my legs. That may be more due to the fact that I’m in a period of abstinence than to her powers. Marcel says she is gone, but I can’t say I believe it. She’s done something irreparable to my soul, to my desire, to my …

I’ve become like her, not in the eat-your-soul sex-in-your face respect, but a more subtle taint. I need … what do I need? I just need. I can’t just now see that feeling go away. I just have to separate my wants from my needs. I need that man between my legs, but I don’t necessarily want him. I want to be respectable. I want to love someone first. I want to respect them.

I want to respect myself again.

I’m not sure that will ever happen.

It’ snowing outside. I’m cold.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (22. Too Soon – swearing)

Oops. I kissed him. Marcel. And I touched him in an inappropriate place. I couldn’t help it.

I was due to have Christa feel me up … err, retouch my henna tattoos, and Marcel took me to see his henna-artist friend, so Christa could explain what everything was, what they meant, and the best way to apply them. Excuse me if I became just a little egotistical … um, excited. I was sitting there completely naked for the better part of two hours with Christa and Evangeline (the artist) poking, prodding and painting me, all in front of Marcel.

Of course, Marcel had seen me naked while he was under enchantment … that is what he believed to be me at the time. What he saw was much more voluptuous than I have ever been, although he admitted later that he preferred the real me. I was so flattered that I kissed him, and so turned on that I touched him right in front of Christa.

That means, I’m afraid, that I’m still not completely recovered from the enchantment. It was too soon to go to rehearsal today. Just seeing a cute guy like Gary Everett (an extra trumpeter for the Alpine Symphony), made me ornery … orgasm … err, a little too horny for my own good. I couldn’t wait to get home. He’s too young and I still lack control, as evidenced by my tête-à-tête with Marcel in the evening.

Christa was lovely … living … um, livid, and wouldn’t speak to me until we arrived home after midnight. I’m still not sure that we’ve properly put on my make up … kissed and made up.

All was explained when I drew today’s card.

EIGHT of WANDS (Swiftness). Speech, light, electricity, energy, velocity … too much force applied too suddenly.

OK, I skipped a few, but you get the meaning. I emerged from my house arrest too soon.

I also dyed my hair back to it’s “natural” color today, a deep red. No more blonde bombshell … or blonde bomb, whichever you choose. It inspired Christa to recolor my leopard spots more reddish. No, they aren’t actually leopard spots (not all of them, at least), like my unfortunate friend on the X-Factor, who restored hers far too late to redeem herself. They never really went with her platinum blonde hair. (What was Demi thinking?!) She’s back on the plane home to Decatur.

I’ve been to Decatur, you know. I have distant relatives there …


It’s very dry today, and I just got fucked … err, zapped by static electricity. (Must stop using rubber sheets!)

Anyway, my spots have resumed their awesomeness, so I’m reading … ready to take on the world tomorrow. Well, maybe not, if today is anything to go by. Maybe I’ll dream of Gary tonight … or concoct some elaborate fantasy about time … him. (He’s not much older than Christa!)

Must get to it. Goodnight lovelies!