I. The news is all “dire dire emergency catastrophic apocalyptic do not leave your fucking house on pain of death” + the funeral of Prince Philip.

II. I watched the funeral and pretty much felt nothing but annoyance with the focus on the relationship between Harry and William + a deep kind of heartache for the Queen as she sat entirely alone. I’m not into the monarchy *at all* and think it is a deeply racist institution, but my heart went out to the *person* who lost her husband. I found myself thinking about my ex MIL, who died in July (I just found out a few weeks ago). She loved the Royals. I hope she gets to have tea and talk horses with him. I think she’d like that.

III. Afterward, I shook it all off and breathed myself back into the center – here in my world, in my life. I did the dishes and made myself the most comforting plate of food – a baked potato slathered in butter with leftover crabcake crumbled over it. I smothered that in melted cheese & served it with some full-fat sour cream and minced green onions and SHOVED IT IN MY FACE.

IV. Then I put my brushes in to soak, broke down all the cardboard, cleared off my kitchen table (which has become the kitchen’s equivalent of the chaircloset we all have in our bedrooms), swept the floors, tidied up the studio, regessoed the canvas board I use as a backdrop on my painty table, put down a little blanket for Sybil so she can stop depositing clumps of herself all over the duckcloth cover I have on said painty table (snerk), finished filming A Year Of Mary, edited all the videos, started putting together the PDF, and popped in here to blog.

V. I am a fucking rockstar.

VI. I posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to share it here:

I deeply appreciate this beautiful, vulnerable conversation about grief.

This kind of conversation, to me, feels like an antidote to toxic masculinity. Thanks, April, for sharing it.

Something about this day is making me very tender. Collective grief. Grappling with the goodness of individual humans vs. the racism of an institution. Empathy for the humans. Even some humans who have done me harm.

Not quite forgiveness, but some kind of shared understanding.

The moon in Cancer, though, so no surprise there.

VII. We’re in a lockier lockdown in Ontario until May 20th. I am feeling a weird kind of exhaustion mixed with no fucks given. I’m furious with Ford for giving police the go-ahead to stop people in the streets/on the roads to ask if they have the right to be there. I’m grateful to hear that most of the police forces in Ontario (including here in London) put out announcements to say they would not be doing that.

Mr. Ford, we do not need more police intervention, nor do we need parks closed. We need paid sick leave. We need you to listen to the medical advisors and do what *they* say. We need you to stop pandering to your base and do your fucking job.

VIII. Oops. I think I just stirred up a little pocket of fury there. Oh well.

IX. I have been so sedentary lately that the list of things I did above made my back ache something fierce. I am planning on throwing myself in a very hot tub of water with Epsom salts before popping two Robax and taking it easy for the rest of my Saturday.

X. I am okay. We’re going to be okay.

Pass it on.

P.S. Also this:

Be gentle with yourself, bebe. xo

 

 

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