Six Months

Six months without speaking my mind

New Home
One lost partner, lost to the allure of freedom, lost to her own journey.
One big empty King size bed, I feel so small in it now.
One new anti-depressant.
Two visits to see my mother.
Two garden boxes totally neglected.
Two vivid baby dreams. One male, one female.
Three sinus infections and swollen tonsils… my throat chakra, no doubt.
Three classes dropped before I could fail them, I surely would have.
Three fairy costumes
Four weddings. None of them mine.
Four baby blankets… haven’t been paid for any of them yet.
Four broken women living together. How have we kept from harming each other because of our own frailty?
Five weeks of depression.

Things I got from Jet:
Zero real orgasms.
One rude and humiliating introduction to watersports.
One torn pair of panties.
Two disappointing visits – the last two.
Three bloody, scratched, stinging cunts.
Four separate days lying in bed resting my cramped muscles.
Five punishments I didn’t deserve for disobeying an order to do something I consider to be biologically impossible.
About four hundred fifty mosquito bites.
Tears. Bruises. Smiles. In order of frequency.
So many sweet kisses, each and every one a ruse.
One last chance to prove myself to him, which I refused. He had already blown his last chance to prove himself to me.
Greater self-respect. I am worthy of a Master of quality.

The good things?
I quit smoking.
I lost 4 pounds. It doesn’t sound like a lot. It is to me.
I stopped eating meat.
I am not oversleeping anymore, thanks to bupropion.
I went to a 5-Star hotel on the beach and blew the rest of my money on a gorgeous birthday ALONE with no responsibilities, no one to care for, no one to argue with. Just me, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, and some bubbly. And pool boys to wait on me. And the breeze on my balcony. And the sun on my face. Bliss.

Today I felt as though I met Dana for the first time. We talked and spent a little time together. I don’t cry about her anymore. I’ve let her go as much as I can. We’re slowly coming back to each other as friends. I’ll be glad when it’s finally truly peaceful. I can’t not love her, I simply don’t know how… or if I know how, I am not capable of it. But I’ve begun to catalog and file away every different way that I love her, I keep each little piece in a special place in my heart. Mostly I miss her touch, but I’ve been missing that since… probably since my last post. Six months ago. I just want her to be happy, to be free, to be who she must be, to seek what she wants from life whether or not it involves me. It’s been a hard year for her so far, but I know she’ll find her way, as we all will. She’s going to Israel tomorrow afternoon. Leaving for NYC in two hours. I hope she’ll be safe. I hope she’ll see her future through her history. I hope that when she comes home she will be even more settled into her identity.

I’m getting better little by little. I hope the trip to Femme Conference will give me some clarity. I have set my will on a women’s retreat in Albuquerque but I don’t know how I’ll be able to swing it. It means one extra flight to pay for and almost $1k for accommodations and the cost of the retreat. I don’t know how I can do that while unemployed, but I have never ever needed it more than I do now. I can hardly spare the money for my flight to San Francisco for Femme Conference. But I have a feeling… rather, a shadow of understanding, that either something will work out, or the universe will put me at peace about not going. But for now, I am going.

Be well my lovelies. Ask questions. Take chances. Make mistakes. Get messy. It’s really the only way to live, the only way I’ll ever live.


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