34-25

Sweet Jesus.  I am in an intense time.  I am retraining the way I think about myself and the others around me.  I am retraining myself to crave the present moment rather than craving catharsis from it.  My moments are steadily becoming more bearable and also even enjoyable.  You could not have bribed me with a large enough sum to get me to admit to this up until now, but the pep rally I've been leading for myself all these years has been masking a heavy flow of judgement, suspicion, fear, and dissatisfaction with myself and with Life.  Of course that's not all that's been flowing, otherwise I wouldn't be able to humble myself now, but it's been my modus operandi for ahhh, a long-ass time. 

I am now increasingly attracted to the willing act of laying myself bare to Life by coming present.  It feels like a death, but I'm starting to dig it more and more.  It really is nothing to fear, death.  Decay is a little stinky, but death itself, eh.  You'll live.   

I am embarking upon a weekend (holiday) to envision the kind of space I would like to have, envision what I do week in and week out, and include notes on quitting tired routines and pursuits and replacing them with the very thing that would make me love me madly!  As the vision gets clear, I would like to begin alternating envisioning sessions with sessions for reordering my stuff, setting up organization systems, putting on my bossiest leather corset and telling shit whether and/or where it belongs in my space.  I am all for washing and wiping down and orange-oil-throwing, thus blessing my new space and quite moving in.  Everyone is going to need to stand back for this.  It may get loud.  I might weep.  I might play guitar quite a bit.  I might even do both at the same time!

This long weekend is all about my relationship with the love of my life, which is me, of course.  I've finally met the man of my dreams, and guess what?  She's not only a woman, but she also happens to be me-- Mycellf.

During this weekend, I take impeccable care of my body, washing and detoxifying her gently, girling-up as desired.  I will take care of this.  It is of the utmost importance.  I eat lovingly (and gratefully, I would imagine, after two days of leek broth) cooking indicated recipes, following Mireille's advice to the letter.

As if pretending that I'm French is not enough from the whimsy department (clearly it's not, or it wouldn't keep coming, right?), I have decided to pretend that I am a tanned and calloused shepherdess from, y'know, French...sheep...country (?), and I have had a chance encounter with a lovely, wise and kind noblewoman who now wants me to come live with her at her home and be with her out at social functions of all sizes and on every level (she is not tied down to her own social stratum, and for that is considered amongst other members of the court at Versailles a bit of a threat, or in the vernacular, a crass and wonton shipwreck of a woman).   She pities them, but as it is out of her jurisdiction, she lets it blow by her.  She loves me, thinks the world of me, can't get enough of me and can't wait to start taking me places with her.  She apparently has quite a good time of it, and rather takes it as easy in her life outside of court (that she has one is the problem, of course) as she gets a hard time from everyone at court.  She sees me-- sees my beauty, my charm, my depth, my grace, my wisdom, my cleverness and my hunger to know--to make journeys of discovery.  I feel bold with her, just as Shakespeare said that one was bound to be, "...when one is sure of being loved."