I. Two of my plant babies sprouted – the cilantro and the thyme. This is the cilantro. I didn’t burst into tears as promised, but I did squee.
Now let’s see if I can keep them alive.
II. I didn’t write yesterday because I was up to my eyeballs in filming and I didn’t have a whole lot to say besides “I do not understand.” and “What the fuck?” and “2020 can bite me.”
I lost the moonstone from one of my favourite rings, which given how on edge I am already, made me cry.
I know I had it on during Journal Jam on Monday, but it was gone by Monday evening. I caught myself being quite mean to myself about experiencing pain over something so trivial, but my Facebook peeps rescued me and reminded me that everything I feel is valid.
The sentimental value of this ring, the timing of the loss of the stone, the feelings that arose in response to its loss all make perfect sense to me. I am grieving. The stone was purchased during my very favourite day *ever* spent with someone I love. Every time I looked at it, I smiled and remembered that day – the lunch in Stratford, wandering from store to store, the long drive, the night that followed.
And so perhaps the universe is telling me it is time to let all that go. Or maybe I just lost the damned thing and it means nothing.
And either way, 2020 can go fuck itself in the eye.
III. Someone I care about very deeply, who has been integral to my healing process, might be gravely ill and I am *freaking out*. I know I *can* take another hit, but I have started wondering how much more I can take before I just collapse in a heap of permanently bitter hag.
IV. Thankfully I get nights like last night where I laughed so hard my sides hurt today. I have reacquainted myself with an ex-boyfriend who is also hung up on someone, who is also kind of fucked up as a soup sandwich over it, who can also use someone who will not roll their eyes or judge them for being in a bad headspace over it. We only dated briefly (like, three months) and mostly lost contact afterward (this was seven years ago during the ‘open’ phase of my marriage) but he lives here. When I knew I was moving here I reached out to say “OH HEY KNOW ANYONE RENTING” and while he didn’t know of anyone renting, we decided to reconnect.
Y’all, I adore him. He’s best friend material. He knows how to keep company with me when I’m in full-on Lilith mode (read: full of rage and snot and stories), and he knows how to keep company with me when I’m in full-on mom mode (like when we realize he had one too many glasses of wine and I make him stuff half of a sub into his face while pouring water down his throat so he can come back from the wobbles and resume the Very Good Time we’re having where he’s teaching me close up magic and singing every song in Rock of Ages.
I was telling him that it seems like everyone I fall in love with seems to love how much I am when they first fall in love with me but then end up leaving me because I’m too much. I said “I mean, I’m know I’m a lot but…” and I kind of trailed off with tears streaming down my face.
“You are a lot, but you’re never too much and anyone that leaves you is an idiot.”
Loyalty. It’s a thing.
I’m very grateful.
IV. Then there’s Renee who knows how to rage *with* me.
V. My therapist calls these ‘corrective experiences’. She sat with me today while I cried big fat tears of terror that I will lose these people, that I will once again be deemed to be too much.
I think she thinks maybe it’s not that I’m too much for people but that some people are just not enough for me.
Those that are are finding me.
I am letting myself be found.
VI. I accidentally ordered about a dozen perfectly ripe organic ‘on the vine’ tomatos and I might make marinara sauce. I’ll let you know if that happens.
VII. The thing where writers write about what is going on with them and the people involved with them in whatever capacity resent it or find it uncomfortable.
Hint: If this is you, don’t date or befriend writers. And if you do, don’t treat them like shit.
VIII. I love thunderstorms so much, but I am thinking a lot about those in the path of Laura, who are suffering. I wish you gentler winds, and can I just repeat my earlier sentiment that 2020 can go fuck itself in the eye?
IX. I am getting settled in. There is still a corner of chaos but there are also little corners of the dollhouse (that I wish to give a better name but calling it The Nest, which is how it feels, makes me cry right now for reasons I won’t get into) but there are also areas that feel so utterly perfectly ‘like me’, which is such a gift right now. Cocooning. Sanctuary. Blanketforting. Stoop sitting. Lawn parties. Sunbeams.
All of my plants are thriving, too, which has never happened to me before in my life, and every time it rains, my Rose of Sharon does this:
I know the names of many of my neighbours and their dogs. I say hello to at least a half dozen people a day. I am also nut brown from all the stoop sitting which I have never experienced in my life. I’m usually fish belly white!
I am, however, deeply dreading winter, since my bubble will have to shrink in size significantly unless we’re all willing to bundle up and sit outside in our snow gear. Pfffft.
X. A murder of my crow friends and I are heading to cottage country for the Labour Day long weekend, and while I have sworn off Fireball, I have not sworn off tequila, so bring it on.