So if the last 31 days were nothing, day 32 showed up.
Lots of writing. A bit of terror in varying forms. It’s Friday. I’m just not going to fight it.
So, I had good intentions, I guess. To eat the nice food I made. After running around like a madwoman, getting my phone which I had forgotten in my fugue state,
And then, because I had to walk across 5 parking lots to get to my office and have it drip all the hell over the marble floors to even get it to a sink, I thought, you are staying there. So I have that to look forward to tonight, this evening already burdened with holy obligation.
I have decided that I can’t deal with all the things in my head to do with J. What he should be. What he is. What he isn’t. What I’m becoming as a result of standing in someone’s natural and organic fallout zone. I can’t figure out what the universe is telling me. Or I am so plugged up with scars in my mind and heart around the idea of it that I can’t act on any particular instinct – to stay, to go, to accept, to fight, to laugh…everything seems weird now. My instincts themselves feel like they’re based on dodgy inputs. That can’t be true, ultimately, if the impulse is to take care of myself.
If I am calm and sit very still, the Faithless Light says I’m fighting her. Says I am not hearing her, I’m hearing a story I want her to say. I’m too filled up with…what is at this moment…the final slice of my birthday tiramisu…to let what is true in. It is let him go, but then it is quickly, let everyone go, everyone that ever was.