I. I woke up in the middle of the night having forgotten everything that happened in the last week or so and I was so excited to check the time and see if it was time to say “Good Morning, George” like I always do. He’d always reply with Good Morning, Lennie and then my day would be complete. Then I remembered everything and said, out loud “FUCK EFFY! THAT’S ENOUGH OF THAT. GO BACK TO SLEEP.”
I sighed and set my phone to thirty more minutes of an audiobook and went back to sleep.
(P.S. If you’re reading this, well, oh hey. Good Morning, George.)
II. Fitbit reports 7.5 hours. I’ll take it.
III. I kept everything down yesterday, so that’s progress. Today I’m going to try some kind of real food and hope for the best. I still have no voice, so I’ve had to cancel today’s Journal Jam, which sucks, but I’m planning on quietly and determinedly cleaning my house and unpacking some more boxes, so it’s okay. New Moon is coming and I want to honour the vow I made last new moon to ‘flow home’. I’m almost there. Just one corner of chaos to sort through and I’ll be done with this move and I can get on with the business of living here.
IV. Last Thursday, just as therapy was wrapping up and L & I were sitting with a huge revelation, the postman dropped off a package. If I were still at the old place, I’d have ignored the knock at the door, but you don’t let the postman leave packages on your stoop here because people will just walk right up and walk right off with them. I grabbed the package before L & I signed off, and then opened it.
Talk about secret messages. And the answer is ‘yes, it’s over, and yes, I know how to pick up the pieces and go home.’ It has become one of my superpowers, and if I’m being honest, it is something I really like about myself and something I have come to depend on.
Speaking of secret messages and wild musings, you should go find Renee here.
V. I’m actually feeling ok today. I’ve wrangled the gremlins that say this is all my fault and I’m never going to find a love that lasts and I should just give up and go crawl under a rock. I’ve replaced that line of think with other lines of thinking that, okay, do include the desire to become a swamp witch crossed with a bitter hag, but that don’t include crawling under rocks or letting this mean I am unlovable. I’m loveable. I am.
VI. Proof: My dogs love me. My friends love me.
VII. I worked this morning and it felt so good to put my heart on pause for a while so my brain could do its thing. Built two PDFs, built a lesson page, edited photos, sent out notifications through the e-list. The lesson is up in plenty of time for New Moon.
Isn’t she pretty? She’s been holding my hand through all of *waves at all of this* and helping me find my voice and my spine and my courage and I absolutely love her.
VIII. I just moved in here (or so it seems) and my studio already looks like this:
I think this bodes well. I think this says something about how it’s going to be for me here in this little sanctuary I’ve found.
IX. Yesterday, when I started to feel the pull of sad songs and weeping for the tenth time, I poured an entire glass of chardonnay into the sink and opted for tea with honey instead. I crawled into bed with the dogs and held them tight. I put on a documentary and let myself be in the present moment where the room was scented with nag champa and perfectly cool and utterly safe and sound and all was straight within me.
X. I choose me.