I've had a strange and lovely last seven days. There's an otherworldly kind of energy to everything right now with the season. My Easter weekend began with a wild pagan fire bacchanal and ended in quiet, intimate religious meditation with my family, so I really feel the range of myself. I helped burn old man winter and found a new creek in my parent's back woods. I'm feeling really pretty good about things right now, actually. My energy is strong; I have good professional/artistic things in the works, my house is clean, and I've broken into the time of year when my life is being outdoors--exercising and playing in my garden. I'm ready for more camping come the middle of the month.
I guess also what my confidence needed was two weeks of core. It feels good to work on something and see results. I feel super hot today. It's really only the barest sense of propriety that's keeping me from taking a bathroom selfie of my newly-emerged abs. The barest. Sense. Of propriety.
I let myself buy a cute little spring outfit, too, which is nice after wearing "running clothes as regular clothes" for two months because I just didn't give a fuck about anything.
I don't know. I do feel more in touch with myself than I have in a long time.
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I had this poem in my head this afternoon after entirely forgetting that Walt Whitman was a thing, so I might as well put it up here, since Song of Myself is basically the most spring poem in the world. This is from part 51.
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.
Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper? Who wishes to walk with me?
Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?
-Walt Whitman
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The weather is so good that I want to write romance. Romance. That's how wild I am today.
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