A Tree What Owns Herself

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Things to remember when the ennui and the angst and the anxiety burst forth and coat and cake and demand and ratchet.

  1. It is Sunday night.  Nothing you think or feel on a Sunday night has anything to do with reality.  You’re bracing for a new week.
  2. It doesn’t matter what it said or what you said or what will be said.  You can regret it until the cows come home – even if you don’t, because you thought you were so clever in the dead of night – but there is no retractions.  And that is fine, even as it swirls, even It doesn’t even matter what direction this is all heading. What matters is a step was taken, some irrevocable step.
  3. You just watched five episodes of My Mad Fat Diary.  You are loaded up on a green and black tea mix.  You fear for your life.
  4. You are stuck in a vortex.
  5. You can always play your ukulele on your newly made bed with your new pillow that will fix everything.
  6. Something funny will fix you too quickly and maybe you want to spend a little time in this discomfort because it, too, is part of the cycle, and it is trying to teach you something about yourself.
  7. You are only passing through this thought.  Nothing about this is going to stick, so you can let that fear dissipate and be hopeful as you care to be.
  8. We will endure worse.  And have done, like it or no.  We have stood at greater heights and jumped to greater depths than this little anonymous hiccup.  It’s a bumblebee sort of problem, it has no truck with us so long as we don’t interfere with its passage.
  9. There’s stories flowing around you, any of them dragging a bit of jute, a thick climbing rope, a thread to stamp on and start to claim a little bit more of those untold universes I would love to capture.
  10. When I was trying to crowdsource the last little few pieces of wordplay for tonight’s quota, my twitter friend mentioned that I should write about relative time (which will have to stay on this page as a private joke I have with myself) as relates to my grandmother.  I don’t have grandmothers on this mortal coil anymore.  That seems fucked up as one can always do with a bit of grandmothering when one feels pitiable and disconnected, fearful even.  A grandmother’s seen enough and can package it in such a way that you feel you’re choosing to accept their advice rather than being lovingly bludgeoned the way a mother might aim her wisdom at your skull and demand you get with it.   But neither of my grandmothers were ever really sources for advice.  I lost my maternal one too young, and lived too far from my paternal one.  I do get them in dreams, every now and then, a source of support and connection brought back to my attention.  I could use a special appearance now.  I will listen.