Awake, haven't been here so no milk, barely anything here to sustain LIFE. That is what I mean by homeless. Except the bed. It'll be the last thing to go and the first to be set up. I used to sew all my bedding, sumptuous conconctions of soft cloths. I was poor but I wanted queenly blankets. Bedding might be a good gift. Like his gun to me, his love language. I have a PhD in English, so I've spent at least a third of my life doing what I am doing right now, lying naked in bed while doing it. I have been thinking about the word companion. I will gratefully accept the gift of the "sig", which has 3 pieces. It's not that I am an idiot, he knows I could figure out something complicated, but I need it not to be. Because guns make me nervous, and he knows that but wants to give the joy in owning a gun, what he feels. So bedding? Cz the other thing I wanted to do is take us somewhere, anywhere, for even one day, somewhere quiet, but currently "staycation" is putting it mildly. He is burrowed and I am buried. My guess, he'd immediately reject the idea of bedding, he already bought it, it's already nice bc he's not poor (growl at me). In truth, I have no idea how to help him. Except to keep invading the privacy of his thoughts (the book says to). I have no idea what more to do to help myself, either. 

So I am doing a tarot spread. 

Situation card, Knight of Pents, all about providership and being able to offer it. Not just money, more like resources and what do you bring to the table uniquely.

Challenge and solution. There he is again. Feels like he might as well be a mirror / we wave at each other through our current comparable cell bars. Bloodletted turnips. Fair to call that a challenge. The  

Chariot always means move. No other way to go but through with it. It means keep going. Or literally get a new car.

Outcome: 6 of Pents. Generosity and reciprocity.

 

Welp. I hope to live in an entirely different manner after this fucking interminable transition, everything feeling differently than it does right now and has for too long.  Everything. Except the kids, they're ok except I see too little of them while cleaning up this mess.  I am trying to feel well enough for it whatever it is and accepting of it whatever it is. Open to it.  My chest feels like someone plowed their fist through it.