This edition of ‘ten things’ started over on FB, but I’m continuing it here.
I.Since the break up with 42, I’ve been haunted by the number. Stalked even. I look at the time, and it’s 4:20. There are 42 comments on my posts for an outrageously long time. I have 42 things in my inbox. People mention the number eleventy billion times in a comedy routine or whatever.
When it first came to my awareness that this was happening, I found it painful. As time passed, I began to find it annoying. Then, one night last week as I was drifting off to sleep I got this download:
“When you see his number, send him love and healing. Don’t argue. Just do it.”
So, I started sending him love and healing every time it occurred to me because while *I am okay* I’m not so sure he is and that download, however annoyed I might have been when it first came down the pipe, makes sense to me.It’s been about a week of sending him love and healing every time the number comes up in whatever context (so, dozens of times, really) and last night I had the loveliest dream about him.We were curled up together. I had my head on his chest. We were laughing and talking like we used to, and all of a sudden he sat up, looked down at me with those eyes of his and said “God, you’re a beautiful woman. I love you.”
I woke up smiling and wishing him love and healing.
You all know I’m a bit on the woo side. I do believe that these experiences have meaning and impact. I do believe in the veracity of these kinds of ‘instructions from the universe’ that come in the form of numbers coming up over and over again. I do believe in downloads from our more evolved selves (divine or higher or however you like to think of it). I knew when I got that command to send him love and healing that it would also *help to heal me*.
I don’t know about parallel universes or being in union in other dimensions when one is separated in this one, but I know that dream felt as real as anything I’ve ever experienced, and where before it might have caused me to wake in tears, railing against the loss, this morning I woke in the full possession of truth that the love between was real and is eternal.I’ll see him again one day. Probably not in this life, but some day.
Meanwhile, we both have work to do.
II. Yesterday was AMAZEBALLS. Kimi and I carefully combed through the rules around contact here in London during this latest iteration of “Lockdown” and discovered that we are allowed to bubble up our households since I live alone and she & her daughter live alone. There is no one else in our bubbles currently, and knowing how safe she is (and visa versa) we decided to have a Friday night together here at my place with wine and charcuterie (which we call Shark Coot because we’re nerds like that) and Rufus and whatever else.It was soooooo good. Pictures to prove it.
Click through to see full-sized images.
III. Anyone that knows me knows that music is my love language so introducing people to the music I love really matters to me. We spent the entire night doing just that. Rufus. Leonard Cohen. Martha Wainwright. And then we talked and talked and talked until I finally started to fade.
More of that please.
IV. Today is for getting some work done because yesterday was all about cleaning the house. The house thing felt *amazing*, and I am loving being in my space now that I’m able to keep up with things. It’s always a good indicator that I’m coming up out of a depression when I can’t stand to let my kitchen get too out of hand. Also, I cook.
V. Speaking of cooking, back in 2018, I noticed that the weight I was at was hard on my lungs. I couldn’t get comfortable when attempting sleep. The numbers don’t really matter because I don’t believe in BMI being an indicator of much of anything, but I was feeling like I’d like to be lighter so I started eating differently, and I started to drop the weight.
I fell in love in late 2018 and that weight started creeping back on like it does, but slowly and I wasn’t worried about it.
A few weeks ago a friend asked if I’d lost weight. This was not one of those rude congratulatory comments that I abhor, but rather a question that arose out of love and concern. I told her I didn’t know. I had stopped weighing myself before I moved to London.
This question led me to take a look in the mirror, whereupon I realized that I have been really disembodied for a long time. I never turn the bathroom light on when I’m in there – I even bathe in candlelight. I don’t look at myself, ever, unless I’m filming a thing that requires my face, and that is *very difficult for me* so I get it done as quickly as I can and without a whole lot of eye contact. I had no idea what was going on in my body, or that my ASS had completely disappeared – like WHERE THE HELL DID MY ASS GO?!?!
So I ordered a scale. And, whoa indeed.
I accidentally and without trying found myself at the goal weight I set for myself in 2018. According to ‘the experts *cough* bullshit *cough*, I am still “obese” and my BMI is still higher than it “should be” but I am not buying it. I am at the perfect weight for me right now BUT I am lacking in muscle tone and I am probably malnourished because this weight dropped off due to grief and stress. For the first few weeks after the breakup I couldn’t keep any food down, and then as the depression continued to ravage me, I lost my appetite. My well-known love for feeding myself beautifully fell by the wayside. I would toss a few crackers and some olives down my throat when I got hungry enough to feel nauseated. I would order in crap, eat half of it, and toss the rest away.
This is not an ideal way to lose weight, y’all. I lost muscle. I lost strength. I lost MY ASS!
VI. I’m cooking and eating again and while I do want to maintain something pretty close to this number, I also want to build some muscle. I want to get some stamina and strength. So I’m doing stuff about it. Because I’m worth my own excellent care.
V. “Something about it” includes looking myself in the mirror – in the eyes. It means turning on the light when I’m brushing my teeth. It means buying a makeup mirror and a new set of brushes to go with the new palettes I bought myself so I can play with putting on a face. Self-adornment. It means thinking not just about what I put in my body, but what I put on it. There’s a bottle of lotion by the bed that I use on my arms and legs every day. There’s a pack of rose scented face wipes. There’s a little manicure kit. I have charged up my Oculus Quest and I’m going to start playing Beat Saber a few times a week for as long as my body can stand it because that is a super fun way to get myself moving.
VI. I just ordered myself this, too, because truer words do not exist right now:
VII. I am not into the spiritual bypass, but the lessons I’ve learned over the course of the last two years are really serving me beautifully and I *am* grateful. Fuck the pandemic, for sure, but without this pressure cooker I found myself in, there is a lot that would have taken a lot longer to be revealed. These revelations were necessary in order to move me forward, and I’m running with that in the direction of my own prayers.
VIII. I like me. A lot.
IX. My plants are *still alive* y’all! This one is my favorite.
X. This witchy box subscription that I got for myself makes me ridiculously happy. The first box came with a black satin robe with the words “Moonchild” emblazoned across the back. I’ve been wearing it ever since it arrived.
This is the way.