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November 30, 2020

Uncategorized

Death, Change and a Lack of Magic

November 30, 2020

Author’s note, for my own disheveled sense of continuity.

I finished Freak Show this past weekend, didn’t love it for the record, I wanted to, but alas, I sucked.
I hate that I feel compelled to finish things even if I don’t like them.
I only do that with other people’s creative projects, like this thing here, sometimes my own things fall by the wayside.
Anyways, that makes this post a week old at least and I forgot to publish it so it’s going to wreck my timeline.
I complain in the following about not feeling any magic in my life and rationalize this by saying I must be doing something right.

Not exactly.

T’was just the calm before the intense cosmic storm.

And now, for my next trick, I will attempt to write a blog post while finishing the last episode of AHS Coven.

My favorite episode is over, the one where Kyle starts learning how to talk and tells Zoe ‘this road goes two ways’. His broken brain realizing this simple statement means ‘I love you’. Gets me in right smack in the feels every time. I even get excited when I know it’s coming. I do that with shows and movies a lot. The anticipation of the thing that makes me cry, makes me cry.

I’m weird man, I don’t know what to tell you.

It is perfectly normal to re-watch old shows for comfort, this is known. Arrested Development knocks me out in 10 minutes or less, its my sleeping show. No loud bangs, no yelling. Ron Howards voice isn’t as soothing as Morgan Freeman or David Attenborough, but it does the trick for me.

The watching something knowing I am going to cry is a little bizarre, but sometimes what is inside wants out.

I need to remember.

I stopped typing partway through this post and started paying attention to the show. Then I had steak and egg avocado toast for supper and put my laptop away for the night.

For the record, I don’t think I am in the wrong story. Maybe just stuck in one chapter and I want to know what happens next.

I had my cards read yesterday, as a very sweet and unexpected impromptu gift from my Colorado witch.

The first card was Death.

Insert shock, awe and a lot of sarcasm.

We’ve been down this road before. She almost didn’t read the cards because they started out so similar to a previous reading. My opinion was if they were saying the same things, maybe I wasn’t listening before and now the cards were insisting I pay attention. I have been feeling rather stuck. In the immortal words of the Teletubbies, “Again, again.”

Tell me teacher, what’s my lesson?

The only constant is change babe.

The Death card means change and I am definitely shifting, I knew that already.
Everything is. Not rapidly so much as in easily digested metered doses.
I cannot remember the day when I realized my universe was always going to be in flux, but knowing it helped me navigate. The bad times never last, neither do the good ones and every turn I take on this path that I am on leads me somewhere new. I get to decide if I want to stay or not. I rarely do.

The reading she did mirrored things I had been writing and thinking pretty much verbatim, and this show just did it again. In real time, as I sit here typing. Reiterating the cards and her words one more time, just to make sure I took notice.

“You’re scared. No powers, no magic, just a woman facing the inevitable. A divine being having a human experience. No one can help you. You have to do this alone. And the only way out is through. Feel the fear and the pain. Let it all in and then let it all go.”

This is exactly what is happening.

My spirit guides are on a well-deserved break because for once, I am okay on my own.

I miss my magic though.

On the list of ways I start my day and my never ending search for signs and portents, I started following a couple twin flame accounts on Instagram. I usually find these pages and memes irksome. Not the messages themselves, but the comments.

Until you have left the planet at a touch, felt the world melt away at a glance, dreamfasted and also accepted someone for everything they ever were or ever will be, you don’t get it.

I need to level up about this and stop judging others and their path. Just kinda feels like these false prophets are cheapening the thing I searched my whole life for and finally found. But, as I type this, nothing can taint this except me, my thoughts and my actions.

So that’s that then.

The twin flame update today was so accurate it was spooky. Everything I wrote about, all the things haunting me and our current situation within the situation.

Thing is, I wrote the things before the cards spoke and prior to scrolling through Instagram. I was already in it, so the portents weren’t pointing me anywhere or pointing anything out, just a nod of ‘yes, this is what is.’

I am wondering if I am feeling a lack of magic and divine intervention because I am where I am supposed to be and I am ahead of the game. Or at least showing up on time to play.

I trained for this. There is no anxiety here.

I mean I AM scared. But I know these devils.

My fear isn’t in based in the unknown. Not this time.

 It helps that this is not a pass or fail situation, I just have to do or do not, there is no try.

Actually, that is a great explanation for life in general, thanks Yoda.

Same with retrograde. I knew my triggers I knew the rules and I followed them. 22 days of cleaning up old messes and finishing the unfinished. I even preemptively blocked the leaders of the fuckboy army. Not on a whim, nor with malice. I had a moment of clarity. I just knew what was coming and decided not to participate.

Even at the beginning of lockdown. I was where I was, and I was safe. I had to make a few huge decisions in the months prior to get there, it wasn’t where I was ‘supposed’ to be, I didn’t plan any of it. I felt compelled to make a rapid succession of huge lie changes. Turns out it was absolutely for the best and I am grateful.

I think the last decade of my life has had me vibrating in such discord that when everything finally lines up and calms down, I feel empty. Disconnected. No voices telling me where to go because I am where I am supposed to be. It is the absence of chaos.

It is quite lovely to be honest. This quiet calm.

The complete acceptance of what is with no worry for the future.

Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be.

Uncategorized

My Broken Tit and Unbroken Heart

November 30, 2020

“It’s like every time I sneeze, I am one sneeze away from the hospice.”
Vicki, Reality Bites

Fuck I loved that movie. Still do. It was one of the ones I overwatched in my late teens. Back when we had to rent movies from video stores. My buddy Josh worked at the one movie place in my small town, Superstar Video and I got away with keeping True Romance for way too long. I think I finally just bought it. Maybe I kept it so long so he’d call and remind me to return it. Who knows.

You’re so cool

Funny, the song from the end of the credits just came on my playlist. I downloaded it yesterday and I cried for some reason. It isn’t even shark week and I have been in my fucking feelings. I used to make everyone in the room shut up so I could hear the beginning of the song at the end. Two Hearts by Chris Isaac.

After my miscarriage it was Cold Mountain and Garden State. Both showcased Natalie Portman crying in her brilliant, contagious way and the word conundrum. I love the way she says it. You Will Be My Ain True Love still thunderpunches me in the heart. Found that out yesterday too, Spotify thinks it’s fun to make me cry. I had to wait to the end of Garden State to hear Let Go by Frou Frou. I watched them every day on repeat for 3 months. I had gotten fired so I couldn’t afford to buy them, so I just ran up the late charges instead. Maybe if Josh had worked at the Bloor and Dufferin Blockbuster he could have called me up and pulled me out of my funk, but he didn’t.

A kid named Mike worked there, years before the miscarriage, he chased me in the rain one time to get my phone number after I had rented a movie from him. He said he didn’t want to be creepy and get it from my membership info. It was hella romantic. I was 22.

But that’s not what this is about.

Jumbo Video in Timmins probably got a whole minimum wage 40+ hour a week paycheque so I could listen to Ethan Hawke tell Winona Ryder he had a planet of regret sitting on his chest about how he left her after they fucked. I rented that over and over and brought it back late often.

Oddly, that was a long running reality for me.

Meet a dude, date a lil bit, sleep together for a while and suddenly, without warning they were ‘out the door before the condom came off’. See blockbuster boy above.

Fun times.

And invariably they would show back up all carrying their own planets of regret. A parade of Atlases shrugging. And I would have to decide if I wanted to let them back in the house. I ran into Mike at a bar years later, he apologized profusely. I didn’t take him home.

You get what you ask for and then you realize you have to get better at asking.

Ain’t that the truth. Sure chasing me in the rain was romantic, as was him falling to his knees and begging my forgiveness in a dingy bar. But I don’t want grand romantic gestures with no substance in the middle. I lived 3 years wondering what I did wrong just to find out it wasn’t me. That is movie life, it isn’t real. Montages don’t exist. Just falling and healing and more falling with a few movie moments in between.

That isn’t what this is about either.

Hello time bomb, ready to go off ~ Matt Good Band

During the whole “is it Lyme disease, my tit or bone cancer” debacle of October past, I had to go for an ECG. They found suspicion of left ventricular hypertrophy.

One of the walls of my heart is down with the thickness.

Maybe.

It’s just a maybe based on a quick picture of my heart.

As a result, I am hyper aware of my heartbeat. And the last 24 hours it has been a-beating and a-fluttering something awful. Every other thump freaks me out, “is this it, am I done?”

I am sure I am fine. I have naturally low blood pressure, I eat like a saint, I quit smoking and I have been almost sober for over a year now, hey, 53 weeks. Yay me.

The weird miracle here is that if I hadn’t gotten so insanely sore driving back from SJ and gone to the doc to figure out what was wrong, I never would have been misdiagnosed with one thing and figured out the other things that are wrong.

That rash trip I took this summer to tie up loose ends and move forward with my life got me where I am right now.

It’s my tit by the way. None of the other 6 things they tested me for, and I knew it. As sad as it is, my good tit is The thing that is making me hurt all over. Making me feel 84 years old some mornings getting out of bed. Making my shoulders feel like they are dislocated and my hip feel like it is constantly in the wrong place unless I am face down in an awkward yoga pose. I never had Lyme disease, but I took my meds just in case and my face was pretty for a bit, tetracycline kills Lyme bacteria and acne it seems. I knew that but was still tickled by the results. Medicine done and the bumps are back. I’ll figure out what to do about that later. I have tanning to do and a life to plan.

The heart thing is vexing. It might be the same as the Lyme.
We think you have a thing but we’re gonna run 57 more tests just to tell you you don’t have the thing.

My doctor was funny when he cleared me of Lyme.

“Why did we test you for that again?”

“Because I asked you too. I knew it was my boob, but we had to prove what it wasn’t, remember?”

“Oh ya ya, smart girl. Thank you for telling me.”

He said that a lot. He is an urgent care doc, I had to fill him in on my vast medical history as we went along. He always responded “Okay, thank you for telling me.” And then went back to whatever he was doing or scribbling. And he never once got upset that I did some research on my own. Good dude.

Almost smart.
I didn’t research enough to realize that silicone migration could actually trigger a false positive, just thought the symptoms were identical, and they are.

Yep. Smart-ish girl with a potentially broken heart. And half the answers I need.

I told Attica what was happening, and she said, “oh no, does that mean you could die of a broken heart?”

Technically, yes.

Although if that were an actual threat, I’d be long gone.

I break my heart all the time.

I used to anyways.

I used to carry aspirin in my purse in case someone had a heart attack. I hung out with a lot of drug dealers and cokeheads; the threat was real. Turns out I needed it too. Maybe. Still haven’t gotten the next tests yet. I always worry about other’s hearts before my own.

I think it is high time I worry about mine.

My messy, oversized (now thicc too apparently), pink bubble cloud of an all-encompassing stubborn heart.

The kind of heart the universe falls in love with.

I almost broke my heart today. I had the option of staying safe and just keeping doing what I am doing, or I could let her parade out onto my sleeve and say what was on my mind and take the risk of being rejected.
Clincher is, it wouldn’t have broken my heart had the answer been no.

I’m not that girl anymore.

I spent a couple weeks mentally preparing and truly looking at all the fear factors, the possible outcomes and not only did I learn a lot about myself and my past, but I attained this level of enlightenment where I accepted all of the possible answers to my question.

Things only affect your life if you let them; and any loss you feel that involved another person is just you mourning a future that hadn’t come to fruition yet.

I don’t know what my future is. I have to deal with my tit and my heart before I can make any grand leaps forward. But I have an idea.

If you would like to support me in my folly I get $4 every time someone buys my book.
And you know it’s going to lead to some pretty amazing blog posts if I make a big leap of faith, so win win win.

American Kindle link here

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