So I bought some cute underwear, flowers the color of a tiger orgasm, bright hard dry white wine and donated some money to a children's charity in Yan's name. My small acts of self-pity: have myself a little wine and try to do something good for somebody. I worked on my dumb book.
As Mars comes fully out of retrograde, out of the month long slow turn and back into direct station, I feel like I misread everything. The period of retrograde, from late winter to a little while ago, wasn't the difficult period to get through and process. That was the easy part; the reprieve. Mars isn't gentle. The trials are now at hand.
I should count my blessings. Last night, we hung out with my bud, his cool, funny girlfriend, and smart-as-a-whip six year old. Getting to have her in our lives is so neat. She wanted to know about the times we hung out with her when she was a baby, and she said her one wish would be to survive. Good wish, kid.
Today, I ran in the pouring summer rain. I pulled weeds, cleaned house, I got by.
It's important to remember. Earlier this weekend, we had ducked out to elkhorn for a one-night woods. Some time during the night as I slept in my hammock, the dry creekbed filled with water from further up the mountain, and when I woke, the brook was humming with water and life.
All my life, I have been cutting toward myself. One of my earliest memories is hiding in the reeds, frightened, blood spiraling out into the water from where I'd cut myself on my dad's pocketknife while fishing. I have cut myself on every beautiful blade I've ever owned: my machete, my hatchet, my perfect little tigerwood hip knife. At 8:30 am in the woods, my friend and I were walking along the freshly-filled creek and drinking a bottle of champagne. I said, "It's not that I don't know any better. I do." and my companion's reply was "I know: that's why I didn't say anything."
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