Update: Final walk thru, last details of the contract discussed. I'll sign it in the morning. I can't whip thru it quickly enough on an e-sign (they make you read the fucking thing). I don't even want to think about it any more. It hurts, Leaving. Even if you want to go. Because let's face it, nobody ever wants to Leave. Nobody goes anywhere if they are safe and happy and FULL enough where they are. People flee what's killing them 😶🤮. Or they die. It's pretty simple and really hard.
It feels like I have to wrench myself out of myself to save what is salvageable. I'm good at it. Doesn't mean I don't half hate being good at such a terrible thing. So satisfying but only if it saves a life. I built a LOT here, it was, is, the prettiest house I ever will live in. A millionaire's house restored completely. People are stunned by it, how good it all looks (on paper).
But it was not like what I built in Lewiston. It was not a happy home. There were some happy times in it, but. Not like home. Not like 'the only thing missing is'. Nope. I've been as broke to shit, glimmering in plain sight.
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| "dusk" |
But it was not like what I built in Lewiston. It was not a happy home. There were some happy times in it, but. Not like home. Not like 'the only thing missing is'. Nope. I've been as broke to shit, glimmering in plain sight.
I know there can be no Living part until Leaving gets done. But it's very hard. It feels like someone shoving something under my sternum. I call it a sob jab. I want to fold forward around it. A rubberband ball of ouches. That fucker has got to GO. Maybe shitting out kids makes me more able to know when it's time to bear down? Now.
Once it's done, it's done. There was no choice, this "living" isn't sustainable without fatal injury. One must love one's life not just withstand it like a tinman in the rain, stuck without drool.
If you wouldn't wish your life on your kids, do not model it for them.
The agent thinks it'll be sold inside a week. As soon as it's contracted, then the moving can begin. Starting with everything marked his/yours, everything from Lewiston, I've more than used my timeshare up on OUR home, now it is his/yours. Or moving it can wait til closing if that's too ouchie still, i.e. after Tawista, which is 2 weeks from today, Sun- Sun.
I want turnovers from the bakery in Inlet.
Aside from the mountain of legalities and the raw pains of moving, I don't know what comes next that's sweet beyond the turnover (hopefully) and promised rambling meaning of life's absurdities conversation(s) "under the covers with sushi". I love that phrase. It makes NO sense, which is perfect.
Right now, I only need to believe in an afternoon.
GEMINI (May 21-June 21). You are trying to be kind, generous and honest in an ecosystem that punishes those very things. When your tactics don't work, leave and try them somewhere else. A thriving person is often a well-placed one.
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22). A royal play is unfolding. Someone will re-enter your chambers, not to conquer but to be conquered. And you will never even lift your scepter. The force of your presence, the power in what you've already commanded, the scent of your power will do the rest.
The final days of Venus in Gemini offer a chance to connect, flirt, explore and express without the weight of definition. In this airy phase, the heart gathers impressions, tries on possibilities, flits from thought to feeling like a butterfly choosing its bloom. If something matters, name it now — before the current turns inward and tides roll home.
Name it now: I want the 💝asstat next time, if there is a next time, like that, with anyone, to be on me. I want to have a return address. I cannot imagine doing that. I cannot imagine exactly what those feelings even are, is what I am saying.
Doesn't matter how or why, who died or didn't, upshot is I found a revision of "the talk" in my own head/heart/body: If anyone is getting a name 💝asstat, it's me. Like name and serial # so that what's left of me will be returned to the person who would cry the most / give a shit / want the battered pieces.
"A body cannot feed when its heart is filled with yearning." ~ Sycorax, Nydia Hetherington
No, it cannot. And I am not hungry. The listing goes live tomorrow. Today, I must throw out all food. Kitchen empty of (my) life, so they (whoever they are) can imagine theirs here. From now on, I will either waste $ I dont have not-eating alone in restaurants, or I will eat alone in restaurants. smib
Feel free to play the 'play me a song game' as I chorechorechore...
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| lotus #2 coming up ft clockwork - each its own little milestone |
