I made time to go to ritual today for the Autumn Equinox, or Mabon. I hopped up out of bed the moment EmsyHippo opened her eyes and made corn pancakes with salsa and cheese, like enough for a whole army of hungry post-circle Wiccans.
I waffled all week, not really having time to go, but needing to connect with the earthsununiversemyself so badly. I almost didn’t go with toddler behavior qualms and a case of the sniffles… but I went.
I showed up a few minutes early, as I was asked, to help set up. I found one dude there, and I joked about Pagan Standard Time. Shortly, another guy showed up, a newbie who had a lovely statue of a Hindu God who’s a patron of homosexuals and was very pretty with a peacock. We chatted, the three of us, in the semi-awkward way that a couple of childless guys and a mom chasing a toddler who keeps lifting her shirt for a snack will chat. After an hour and a half of waiting for the woman who had organized the whole deal, I was bent. I think I was successful in not getting bitchy or venomous and politely excused myself explaining that I’d put a really busy life on hold for a while but couldn’t sit all day waiting.
I exposed the baby to a blue streak of curses as we drove away, and I felt better. I’m pretty pissed, though. It’s really bloody disrespectful to expect people to wait that long for you. Ridiculous. I’m no longer wondering why I’ve fallen away from this group.
That out of the way, Happy Autumn:)
My subconscious, in a fit of frustration with my inability to stay on the easiest diet plan in the world, arranged to pull me in line thusly:
I made a steamy yummy hot pot of coffee and enjoyed a cup while I made whole wheat (see? I try!) pancakes. I refilled the mostly empty cup and then absent-mindedly took a huge gulp of scalding liquid, panicked and stalled before spitting it into the sink, and now have awful, sandpapery, numb-stingy coffee burns all over my tongue.
The iced cafe au lait that followed was yum, but my pancakes were horrid scratchy inflaming pain. Food is not my friend. Continue reading
Edit: Let me relink to the whole ad campaign of starlet glamoury pinup girl mindblowing hotness. Surely Bu will be happy to print these off and line our bedroom walls and ceiling with them.
Giant, passionate kisses to Agent Provocateur, who realize that my adorable Maggie is 1,000,000 times sexier than the sadly skeletal and train wreckish Kate Moss. OMGS this is yum.
There is an acronym for me. I am an ACORN:)
And the fact that I’m on a reference site learning txt acronyms is testament to the fact that the very last vestiges of hipness to which I’d been clinging are gone. My tattoos aren’t even the faintest bit edgy anymore. *Le sigh.* Yes, I’d get a mommy tattoo. Mine wouldn’t have my ultra trendy baby names & cutesy imagery, but yeah, that’s so me.
I’m having a really hard time coping with Grandma’s health. The helpless feeling and frustrations with family have brought my grief for mom right back to the surface and I’m struggling so hard with it all over again. It hasn’t been long enough to think of losing her as an old would but the blood had clotted if I keep with my visceral wound metaphor. Now it’s fresh and painful again.
Yesterday was the most heavily my depression has weighed on me since the months following her death. It was that lead-limbed paralysis in body and mind that fills me with nothing/gray/noise. We finally took Emsybaby to the grandies and flopped into bed for a couple of hours. Bu napped and I sulked. After a while I rose and did some sketching and writing, and I’m so glad I shuffled my listless self into the studio. The insights I worked into were simple but needed. The obvious revelation that my sadness is normal and the unconditional permission to feel anything I feel were so necessary. I stumbled onto some almost lyrical phrases and images about my mom sorrow that will probably fuel some strong art pieces.
It felt like an enormous victory to have gotten up and touched ink to paper rather than wallowing in my bed.
My uncle’s coming from out of state and we’ll look at housing options for Grandma. There are some houses near her where it’s like two or three elderly residents I think and there are nurses but it’s very homey. I hope we can avoid anything at all institutional. Moving her at all hurts me so much… it’s still possible we could arrange home care at her place too. I’m going to research some on my own, see if my non-profit networking skillz can sniff out any help.
She called me three times last night worried she didn’t have her medicine for the morning. (My aunt went early today, as planned.) I hate not living with her. If I weren’t working I’d try to move there with the baby but what would that do to my marriage?
Leigh reminded me! Never showed off my cute hair. Growing the front out so it’s dramatically longer than the rest. Maybe there’ll be streaks. Maybe not. Bu silliness and Wonderfalls DVDs have lifted me to at least treading water. We rock, Leigh. We has kewt harez.