Feelings are just one of the many ways the mind processes information. This day before the Venus change recalls how each person inhabits a unique experience of the world. We all feel things differently. There is no feeling more correct than another. Likewise, it is impossible for a feeling to be wrong. Your feelings, whatever they may be, are acceptable — so accept them.

🤔 I'm gonna hold off on deciding the song for that ...

heaven made the darkness - ruston kelly

I'd had a very long and, for me, good day. I cleaned, I walked several miles, I met with my grad student and landed that like I'm made for it, I listened to a friend closely and gave her what I think might help her. I shit you not, a little girl rode by us on her bike bare legged, no shoes, "All summer she rides her bike naked" says my friend. All of that was using my powers for good, good for myself and good for anyone else I touched.

I'm thinking at him the whole time. I am writing, in other words. To him or about him. All the things I did were a way of writing. House clean bills paid everyone getting what they need and nothing they don't from me - I don't know why this feels important - but I can just sense that it is. Or that it is a reply of some kind from him. Salt of earth.

Then there he is. A few words like bubbles to the surface. He comes up for air, then goes under again. This is his current pattern. Like a mammal in choppy sea.

I can't help myself, I honestly can't because I don't know how I'm doing it, but it feels to me like I can actually feel him. Those little strings, landing all over him, like a physical exam by tendril. And he doesn't feel entirely well to me. I know what he says about eating my pussy or whatever, but it feels like the last thing in the world he needs more of is a woman. (Not this woman, anyway.)

I'm not wonderfully well, let's face it. I'm seething. And starving. So I'm trying to be very careful. Deliberate.

He was married the last time I made him miserable. He said she made him unhappy. But. I was also starving. I didn't give the slightest shit about that little wife once I got a taste of him, in fact I was offended she existed.  The relationship I had with that man's body was religious. In my mind, it was just obviously right. He had come out of nowhere, dropped out of the fucking sky knowing me already as if paying attention, and wanted me as-is, as known. And I knew him too, had been reading his inner monologues for years, a fixture in my peripheral vision that I had gotten used to. It was, I believed, actual magic. I absolutely believed that I was going to fuck him as a constant fact of how the Universe intended things to be. It might even solve climate change!, righting the world itself. We had figured it out, how to be Wrong together made a Right. I mean, I had us bound for life with witchcraft for christ sake. I can see the humor kinda now (slap stick always slays me lol 🤦🏻‍♀️). 

But it is also true that I'm not less dangerous than I was then. I've grown more confident. More powerful. I've been in this body longer. If I felt that about anyone again, I would be even bolder. And I am not in a good place. Fed up as I am utterly 🔥

But 🔥 is not a risk between us, I do not believe. It feels more like he needs a bowl of soup. No (closing my eyes)...needs something sweet. He is 🤔 bitter? (Close my eyes, focus on taste). 

Bile. 

Why? He is leaving her, but bitter bile comes from being left. Abandonment fills you up brackish. You drown in it. It's a very painful way for a selfhood to die.

I just sit a while, smoke a joint, sink into my own body. Go over myself with the tendrils, use myself as a mirror, how it is reacting tells me something about what it is reacting to. 

I don't think I believe him; I don't think he wants to get near me actually. Of course, I can't know, I am having a telepathic exchange with a sea mammal caught in a south Buffalo haboob of some kind. But. If he's getting divorced because he had an affair, he isn't telling me that part / it didn't go well / there is a missing cause for this bile. He's in there, I do feel him in there, but it's underneath something else, a shell of 🤔. I dunno. Entrapment is the word that comes to mind.

Ok, welp, with the information I have, I am tentatively concluding: Something is making him feel mean, has maybe made him mean; he doesn't want to be mean to me. Maybe he thought he did, but when it came down to it, no. Using me is not going to make him feel better.

I'm not people. I've never been people. For all my many faults and shortcomings, I am not that.