It has been a month, counting the weeks.
I'm still chewing on all of it.
I think I may have reached maximum capacity. Got a weird throat thing yesterday, although I've eaten two big cans of soup this eve, laced with garlic, and that seems to have finally made it subside.
I also think I have been hired on as a part time reflexologist at a local place. I don't think I can say much more about that, until it's all firmed up and I have signed the contracts. I'm really excited though. I can keep my current part time job, and be able to work the reflexology appointments around my current shop-girl hours.
I have to do a recount to see where I'm at for feet, but I think I have 40 pairs to go.
Waiting on a girlfriend to arrive right now, with her feet!!
L.
Midland Ontario ART. Granny Craft Techniques, Punk Rock Attitude. Blog! Secret Giggly Adventures of a Poet, Forced to Live in Real Life. Gardening, Art Dolls, Paintings, and Bad Behaviour.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Ohm.
Just Breathing.
And Watching.
And Waiting.
It's not my job to make any decisions... yet.
Had the conversation with the Pixies... which now will be referred to as something stronger. (Valkyries was suggested, but... it doesn't slip off my tongue yet.) That conversation where they say "You're Santa, aren't you?" Which lifts a lovely burden - Now we can get down to proper Pagan business at Winter Solstice. Heh.
Time to hustle.
L.
And Watching.
And Waiting.
It's not my job to make any decisions... yet.
Had the conversation with the Pixies... which now will be referred to as something stronger. (Valkyries was suggested, but... it doesn't slip off my tongue yet.) That conversation where they say "You're Santa, aren't you?" Which lifts a lovely burden - Now we can get down to proper Pagan business at Winter Solstice. Heh.
Time to hustle.
L.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
For Me.
Wondering when the tilt-a-whirl will stop. When the carnival will pack up the rides and games, and move on to another life. Still feeling dizzy. This rare moment of unscheduled quiet, before they arrive home from school, is unsettling to my shaken and stirred body.
It's been interesting to try to live in the moment, and plan for the future at the same time. Now is tangible, touchable torture. The future has become foggy. There are mysteries and adventure and danger and damp tucked into foggy forests. It's beautiful and fucking frightening. I snug my children closer to me walking into it. They show no fear. Maybe it's harder at 38 to face this, then it is at 10 and 11.
The littles creep into my bed in the mornings now. Curl their bodies on either side of mine, under the four layers of comforters I breathe into at night to warm my cold fingers and toes. Their morning bodies make it so warm in the morning, that I don't want to crawl out. I am enjoying this new morning ritual. It's the only moment of the day I feel connected and relaxed.
My datebook is an abstract doodle. Flourescent scribbles, and pen marks - names and shifts and bills to force me to keep all of it in order, hope that it keeps me in line.
The carni workers keep pushing me onto the rides that make me nauseos. I want off I want off I want to lay down and sleep. But there's more to come. The gut feeling that has jammed itself up into my ribcage keeps warning me. It's not over yet. Hang on. Keep your eyes open. It's much worse if you close 'em.
I want to be bigger than myself in this.
I keep shoving the anger down.
I keep shoving the sorrow away.
There's so much to think about.
And I have no desire to write speeches.
It's been interesting to try to live in the moment, and plan for the future at the same time. Now is tangible, touchable torture. The future has become foggy. There are mysteries and adventure and danger and damp tucked into foggy forests. It's beautiful and fucking frightening. I snug my children closer to me walking into it. They show no fear. Maybe it's harder at 38 to face this, then it is at 10 and 11.
The littles creep into my bed in the mornings now. Curl their bodies on either side of mine, under the four layers of comforters I breathe into at night to warm my cold fingers and toes. Their morning bodies make it so warm in the morning, that I don't want to crawl out. I am enjoying this new morning ritual. It's the only moment of the day I feel connected and relaxed.
My datebook is an abstract doodle. Flourescent scribbles, and pen marks - names and shifts and bills to force me to keep all of it in order, hope that it keeps me in line.
The carni workers keep pushing me onto the rides that make me nauseos. I want off I want off I want to lay down and sleep. But there's more to come. The gut feeling that has jammed itself up into my ribcage keeps warning me. It's not over yet. Hang on. Keep your eyes open. It's much worse if you close 'em.
I want to be bigger than myself in this.
I keep shoving the anger down.
I keep shoving the sorrow away.
There's so much to think about.
And I have no desire to write speeches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)