I have been meditating for 7 minutes every morning. Well 7 minutes and 11 seconds. I use Panoramic from the Book of Eli by Atticus Ross to time myself and breathe. And it isn’t meditating so much as trying to sit still and not think as much as usual. I tried using Ma Ma’s Requiem from DREDD but I had to restart it, it’s only 3 minutes and change. I also had a day where the only thing playing upstairs was those healthy hertz playlists. I wasn’t in my room much, but they were pretty when I caught snatches of the notes and I actually managed to meditate for 11 minutes, well my version of it anyways..
I am super bad at meditating for the record, however, I skipped it the other day and wandered aimlessly around my room for about a half an hour before I realized I needed to plunk my ass down, put on Panoramic and chill Winston. I was mega productive after that.
You may recall such spectacular posts such as https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/adulting-acceptance-and-the-drama-of-dress-pants.html
Where I regaled you with tales of unpacking boxes.
To be fair, I am still rusty as fuuuuuck and I learned things, and I made a pact with myself that the juicy stuff would go on Patreon.
Plus, we are in year two and version 8 point oh my god stahhhpppp of lockdown, so it isn’t exactly Adventuretime over here.
They can’t all be diamonds.
Maybe all the posts I had to set to private can go over to Patreon. But not today, I have shit to do.
I did do my attempt at meditating this morning, my mind races too hard to really silence it for more than a few seconds at a time, but the stretches are getting longer, and I did my squats last night before bed.
Which is probably why my man pants don’t fit anymore.
I have been doing a massive purge and reorganization during the last leg of the plague, see article above. I feel like I fucked up and wasted other varying downtimes the plague has given us, so in my way I am doing ALL THE THINGS RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Just like I redecorated the downstairs a week before I left for Texas and barely got to enjoy it because I came home, went straight back to work and then left for Newfoundland 3 weeks later and hung around there way longer than intended.
I have bruises I can’t explain, some that I can explain and the broken soaker tub became the ‘don’t want’ pile. Donated 8 bags of stuff, brought home 3 more but shhhhh, that’s my business.
I know why I hoard clothing as an adult. It’s because I didn’t have a lot of clothes as a kid and I got teased for the things I did wear. In my mind, and sometimes in real life, I put together these stunning outfits. Not to attract men, I don’t dress for men, but so the townsfolk know I am a witch.
I do recall times in my life when we were allowed to go outside and I actually wanted to go outside, specifically when I used to walk around Kensington market on Sundays or when I was daing Cruz and we had real date nights. But I haven’t had more than a few of those since…well Cruz really. And earth is closed. So it’s been sweatpants and sloth. At one point, early in the pandemic, I was getting dressed up to go to the grocery store. But that time has passed.
Before that I was managing Sirens and I was relegated to all black at work, but I made it work. Stripping in Newfoundland is just ‘nicer’ track pants because there is an 89% chance I will be drunk and fall asleep in my clothes. And when I work here in Ontario, I stay in the girl’s house, so more track pants.
I never wore sweats until 2014. And even then I only had one pair. But I must have gotten them wet after midnight and they multiplied. I had this massive walk-in closet in Milton, I had 17 white tank tops, now I have 2 and I am not overly fond of either of them. Panda left my favorite one at the laundromat 4 years ago and I still haven’t forgiven her for that. My Milton closet was color coded and loaded, and I wore none of it. That’s a lie, I wore my man pants and I loved them.
I had my first date with Young Un the First in those pants in May 2015. I got tattooed that day too, my wings and the word Hush on my wrist. I remember thinking ‘there is no way to dress myself for all the things I have to do today’. But I managed. I always managed when I had those pants. And it was a good date. Went to Hulk’s birthday dinner in those pants and a backless shirt. He liked the ensemble and so did I. I liked going out with him, I could wear whatever I wanted and not worry about getting harassed.
That was my awesome year in Milton. Free from mid January 2015 until now really. The year of 3 Michael’s, Sunday and the same year I got on Instagram. The first week of the last retrograde of 2021, that account and all of it’s glorious memories got suspended.
On the second day of the first Retrograde of 2022 the universe gave to me…my old Instagram account back after a really long ban. I had stopped checking it and just did it on a whim, et voila there it was. I cried a bit.
I guess that is the way things work. Lose one thing from 8 years ago, get another one back.
If this past year has taught me anything…I am getting really good at losing things.
Now I am faced with a dilemma.
Well 2 really.
Do I hang onto the man pants and try to lose weight or alternatively alter them to fit me?
Or do I just let them go.
And, do I move back to my old Instagram, my home and happy place?
One would think the answer is an easy and emphatic yes, but the last few months have been really good. Do I let that go to salvage the past?
I mean, no one is forcing me to do anything. I can keep the pants and both accounts, and considering it is day 659 of retrograde, that is the safest, sanest course of action.
My room and the house that it is in are looking pretty fucking respectable. As am I. It’s my second day of my adult job and I got up, did all the things, dressed myself well and now I am talking to you fine folks about a pair of pants and the nostalgia they carry in their pockets.
I moved into the Milton house in 2013 with nothing and I built a life there. I moved into this attic in 2020 with less than nothing and built a life here too. Part of the reason I wanted to hold onto my old Instagram account. I need tangible reminders of where I was so I can appreciate where I am.
This is how I am, months of inaction followed by weeks of hyperdrive. And I can’t even appreciate what I have accomplished. Just like I didn’t notice I was getting too thicc for my man pants.
I am looking at my unmade bed and my pooch that stubbornly stays, even though I have been eating carefully and working out every day for over a week now.
I always regret not starting sooner, but we can’t change the past, we can only move forward, hope for the best and prepare for the worst…and hang on to our man pants.