I. This popped up in my FB feed and I laughed out loud because doesn’t this first Mondegreen just describe my life from October 2018 to August 2020? I do not think we had one sober encounter the entire time we were together. We were drunk the night we met in 2008. We were drunk when we finally decided to cross over into lovers in 2018. Drinking is a part of fest, yanno, so there was always Fireball on board. And Caesars. He loved his Caesars.
It was love though. It was. And we didn’t see one another for long stretches so when we did, we went into fest mode. And in between, there were all these lovely emails and text messages and phone calls.
It was love. Is love.
It’s just that I’ve just reached that tender place where I can laugh at myself for going so headlong in on someone who was never going to go headlong in on me.
Story of my life. AMIRITE?
II. Maybe not anymore.
III. Butandalso I am not really looking to go headlong in on someone for a good long time yet. I am *gasp* finally having some sex – only took a year after that breakup to break my celibate streak, but it is lovely, uncomplicated sex that won’t change my life. But I also know what it’s supposed to feel like – the way my body responds when I am deeply in love – and that’s what I’m going to hold out for in terms of going all in on someone.
IV. I never felt that way about anybody before. I wonder if I ever will again. I don’t mind if I don’t, though. Some things you only get to have once in a lifetime, and I’m old enough to know better than to go chasing dragons. I will absolutely love again. Already do to one degree or another. Just not *like that*. Not *that much*. Not that deeply.
And I still do. Always will.
IV. Butandalso I know I deserve much, much more and better than what was on offer. The circumstances were too difficult to navigate. It was too hard. Too complicated. Too fraught.
They say “all you need is love”, but you also need mutual respect and integrity and honesty and some kind of self-awareness and a shared mission. I’mma hold out for all that, and in the meantime, there is sex and affection and friendship.
V. I’ll take it.
VI. Having sex for the first time after a year was hilarious to me. It is *so not like riding a bike*. But. It broke the streak and it was immensely sweet and tender and funny and pleasurable and I am looking forward to doing it again soon.
VII. That’s enough about my sex life, eh? ;) But, seriously. I am also this amongst many other things.
Why yes, I am DTF.
VIII. I have so many fun plans for this month I can hardly believe it. Drinks with friends tonight, then Lee and Battlestar Galactica. Saturday, I have a backyard BBQ. Sunday, I have a gathering with like minded folks + Kimi. Monday, I have pottery class. I’m doing a late night walk to go make offerings to the faeries with my friend Rick at some point next week. There’s another outdoor gathering on the 22nd. I have a house party with friends on the 26th.
IX. Plans for my birthday weekend fell through (we’re doing it on the 18th instead), though, so I’m looking for something fun to do on the first weekend in October. Hit me up if you’ve got any ideas! I do have to teach a weekend retreat (details soon) during the day, but I’ll be free in the evenings.
X. And that’s 14/30 for the blog along. ALMOST CAUGHT UP!
I. I skipped posting yesterday because I was eyeballs deep in finishing up a thing that was due for the Life Book 2022 Taster Sessions. It’s all done now and I can take today to breathe and recenter before diving into everything else that needs to be done between now and the end of September.
Y’all, I had so much fun creating this even though I was feeling the time crunch. The first spread was done during a Journal Jam demonstration. The second spread was done on the “palette page” that got created during the Jam. I am so pleased with both.
II. It was a fun Saturday night. Lee messaged at around 2 to ask “What are you doing tonight?” to which I replied “WATCHING BSG WITH YOU!”
He headed straight over with subs for us for dinner and though we were both full of the tireds and the yawns, we sat up ’till just after midnight watching the last few episodes in Season Two of Battlestar Gallactica. SO GOOD.
These dogs just absolutely love him. At one point he had all three of the furbabes *on his person*. Whenever he comes over, that’s it. I don’t exist anymore. It’s all about Lee.
III. I got up this morning and while I was making coffee, I somehow knocked a wine glass off the counter directly onto my foot. It broke as it landed and nicked me, so the day started out with broken glass, blood, and bandaids. Nooooooooooo! BEFORE COFFEE EVEN!
Oh well. It’s all cleaned up now. Onward.
IV. I have to clean my kitchen today, but other than that, I’m taking the day off to putter and parallel play with friends over Zoom. I’m hoping to have something to show for it so I can get one more post in for today. I also want to pop in on my bloggers and see what they’re up to at some point as well!
V. It’s muggy. I hate muggy.
VI. GG and I had coffee this morning and I’m happy to report that he’s doing really well. He finished training yesterday and starts in his official capacity today and he’s grateful and in good spirits, which means I’m also grateful and in good spirits.
VII. OH OH OH!!! I start pottery classes tomorrow. YES! I am so excited!!! It’s a four-week beginner’s workshop in throwing on the wheel, which has been on my bucket list since I was in junior high! I hope I don’t suck at it!
The studio I’m taking the classes in has COVID protocols in place, so I’m feeling safe-ish. If I like this four-week experience, I’ll sign up for the intermediate workshop and so on. This could lead to studio membership and a hobby that *isn’t work-related* and that thought just *thrills* me.
Wish me luck?! I’ll keep you posted.
VIII. I have political burnout. I watched the debates. I don’t trust anyone. I’m annoyed that an election was called – resentful about it. And I’m trying to muster up some fucks to give, but lo, my field of fucks is fallow.
Still. I’ll vote NDP because if you don’t vote, you can’t whine and I like whining.
IX. I still think about him every day. Maybe I always will. I dunno. But I’m not letting that stop me from doing everything I can to enjoy this one wild, precious life I’ve got. If I learned anything from him, it is that waiting around for the things you really want is no way to live. Spending your life wishing things were different is a crushing waste of time. If you want things to be different, make them different. Ovary up. Grab life by the balls. Do the things.
So I’m doing the things. It isn’t easy, but it feels healthy and I’m ready.
X. I didn’t know if I’d make it through this one. I really didn’t, but we’re a year out now and it appears I have found my way out of the woods. *Fingers crossed*. I’ll keep you posted.
I. Another day of playing catch up in Full Bush and today we’re talking about obsessions. I *love* having obsessions. I love the way shared obsessions cement friendships & love affairs. If I love you, I want us to share at least one or two obsessions. More is gravy, but I gotta have the fries. Renee and I share Stevie Nicks, our familiars (Sybil and Lola were meant to be best friends), Yellowstone, and self-inquiry. Kimi and I share art journaling & mixed media art, witchery, Viking music (and – ahem – actual vikings), bonfires, fooooooooooood, and freedom. Dani and I share a love for shenanigans, foooooooooood, cottage weekends, laughter (the kind that makes tears run down your legs), flowy dresses, and lovers that make us week in the knees while respecting our personal sovereignty. Sarah and I are obsessed with art witchery. I have a group of artist friends who are all equally obsessed with the act of creation. I have a group of colleagues who are all equally obsessed with creating spaces within which creativity can bloom. Our obsessions are like glue, and because we share these obsessions we get exposed to the obsessions we don’t share – yet – and we get to develop new obsessions. Renee introduced me to Yellowstone. OBSESSED. Kimi introduced me to Amsterdam. 42 introduced me to Amigo The Devil and while I am still *really fucking mad at 42* that shared obsession (among others – perfect Ceasars, slow side sex, the healing power of the gaze of a man who is absolutely besotted with you) will be with me for the rest of my days.
II. I’m not going to lie. It still hurts a little to type “42”.
III. But I’m not obsessed with him anymore. Progress.
IV. These days I’m obsessed with luring Leonard out of hiding after this long, long winter in isolation. I am obsessed with rereading the entire Earth’s Children series (though that last book is a *stinker* – ugh – what was she thinking?). I’m obsessed with metallic watercolours on black gesso. Luna moths. Lip up girls. The way Sybil holds my hand while I’m napping. Napping and the way napmares are awful but also prophetic and revealing. Slow food. Faux leather tights. The Rose of Sharon just outside my door. The proximity of my place to an *actual river*. The way the geese fly overhead every morning and evening. My future.
V. I know that one could easily swap out the word “Obsessions” and swap in “Passions” but there’s something a little dangerous about the word “Obsessions” that reminds me that it is my life’s work to be as wild as I possibly can be within the boundaries of safety, sanity, integrity, and consensuality. I love being obsessed. I love following my obsessions down whatever rabbit holes they lead me down. I love fully and shamelessly embracing them and sharing them and talking about them.
VI. I am the kind of teacher I am because I am OBSESSED.
VII. I used to think I wanted to be super zen, but I have realized over the last couple of years that I want to be on fire at all times. I want to be lusting. I want to be pursuing. I want to be a little bit maniacally in love with the world. I want to be thriving. I want to have a glint in my eyes that says “This one is trouble.”
VIII. She’s mad but she’s magic. There’s no lie in her fire. – Charles Bukowski.
IX. Just writing this turned me on. Spring fever. Woooosah! Where’s that Viking I ordered up?
X. I may not be ready for love, but I think I might be DTF. *Lights the candles. Scatters the rose petals. Burns Nag Champa. Pours the wine.*
I’m planning to blog every day this month along with a crew of almost 300 other bloggers in my “Artfully Wild Blog Along“. If you’d like to join us, you are most welcome! Both bloggers and readers are invited to join in the fun! The only requirement is that you agree to comment on three blog posts for every blog post you share in our Facebook Group.
I. Painted this happy thing live yesterday with my Coven. It is full of the rebellious joy I have been feeling lately.
It’s inspired by a meme that I saw floating around on Facebook which I will include at the end of today’s musings. Perfect, I think, for Full Moon In Leo.
II. Happy Full Moon in Leo, my moon babes. There are soft pink tulips and a lemon poppyseed cake coming to my house so I can properly celebrate with flowers and candles and cakes and wine.
III. There are six massive containers of chicken and lentil soup in my fridge because I’m cooking a lot lately and now I am aware of my deep need for a deep freezer. I’m looking at an apartment sized one, because my place is a hobbit hole, but first I need to clean out the corner of chaos because that’s the only space I’ve got to put it in.
IV. I am loving the idea of having a freezer stocked with soups and stews that I can just take out and reheat as the mood hits. I have only ordered in *once* this year so far because I am really loving cooking again.
V. I had that delicious soup for breakfast and it was *life*.
VI. Therapy today. It was really good. Solid progress is being made on all fronts. I am presently unfuckablewith.
VII. The new White House press secretary is giving me West Wing C.J. Cregg vibes and I AM HERE FOR IT.
VIII. Month end. Omg doom.
IX. My galaxy projector arrived, and I love it.
X. You were here last night in my dreams. You said “I’m not done being mad at you.”
I chuckled and said “Will you ever be?”
You said “Oh, probably.” and I woke up crying, because I know you hate being mad. I know you hate feeling anything that isn’t good. But I also know this is part of things, and you may be mad for eons, and that’s okay. I don’t need your permission to love you, and I don’t need you to be present, either.
Besides. I’m not done being mad at you, either. Will I ever be?
I. I like blogging on the weekends because it’s quiet in here. Quiet is good when I’m writing from a tender place, and today I’m in a tender place. The following four things are why. Feel free to skip them.
II. Two years ago, I made reservations at the pub down the street, brought cake with their permission, and arranged with the band to have you serenaded. It was a very good night. I remember S saying that she had never seen you happier. She took a picture of us that I sent her a copy of because she loved it so much. Your crinkled up eyes. Your smile. Your delight when the bagpiper came on over and played for you. Do you remember?
III. I’m glad I gave you that day. Despite everything. Remembering it is good.
IV. Today, I’m thinking about you and doing the whole “sending love and healing thing” and I trust that some part of you is feeling it, and even if not, well. I’m feeling it and it feels…
V…well, wistful and sweet and good. So there’s that. I’m making chicken and dumplings in your honour. I’m skipping the Caesars, though, because that would be asking for a case of the vodka induced morbs and I don’t have the bandwidth for that. It’s bad enough that Spotify presented me with this song yesterday (fucking algorithms!), right? Right. So, anyway.
VI. In other news, I spent the first half of the day doing dishes, putting away groceries, formatting content for a thing for Moonshine’s February unit, correcting a mistake in the Darling Human Planner, scheduling the supportive email that will be sent out tomorrow, listening to music (and dancing to some of it so I can get my daily steps in), painting, and nibbling cheese. That’s not a euphemism for anything, by the way. I just really like cheese.
VII. Later, I’ve got Art Winos, and then cards with a friend.
VIII. Numbers are way, way down in London – a fact for which I am incredibly grateful. We’re out of the triple digits, thank the gods, and though we won’t be any kind of “out of the woods” until everyone is vaccinated, I am really feeling hopeful. The nature of mRNA vaccines means there’s true ease in tweaking them to apply to the different variants that are coming on the scene. I really believe we’re going to be okay if we just hang in there, mask up, distance, and wash our hands.
IX. It feels good to feel so goddamned good. Yes, it’s mixed. Yes, there’s a thread of sorrow through it all. Yes, I am feeling all my feels and not just the good ones, but I feel *alive* and that is a huge shift. I’ll take it.
X. All right. Back to painting. Love you.
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.