Sundays are for Relieving Weight, I think. All is Love (Thanks, Matt).

The moon was in Scorpio last night. Things feel even more intense for me than usual (which isn't saying much, but is saying something). I'm not quite sure how to put any of this into words, but I need to try. Even as I am sitting here typing this, things are happening. Meaningful things. Everything has meaning, I know -- at least, I have said this for years because I have felt this way, and now I really feel that way. I wish I could experience just maybe a few minutes of nihilism. How would this feel? Right now, perhaps good. If current, real-life, momentary circumstances were different, perhaps it would drive one -- me, in particular -- to complete self-destruction.

What's happening right now is that I hear my mom, from outside, saying "I'm sorryyy, Alix" (I brought attention again, to her seeming need for control at all times) -- not that I need an apology for her being the way that she is. How does an apology function, here? Also, what is happening is that Pier and I are really getting along with one another and it feels necessary because of what I feel may come. Even if it does not come, oh please let what I most fear not come, not come anytime soon, soon as in anytime in the next couple years, or ten years, or even twenty years, oh please, but this feel so necessary with Pier that it brings me to tears. Also what is happening is that Hope is outside in the backyard and she's on the phone, perhaps ending things with the person she has been dating (which is currently a "long-distance" relationship) and I am thinking about our earlier conversation about it and my response to her, all the while very much a pattern and very much bringing us ever closer, and I am worried about her in general. Also what is happening is that Scout pushed open the door of the bedroom where I was when I began this entry and saw that it was me in the room and turned and walked away and then began to resume barking, like he's been doing the last 15 minutes. My mom and Pier are outside painting the house. My dad, I believe, is at his office. I am realizing some things that are very startling yet comforting and unsettling simultaneously. (I have since moved to the couch and Scout has jumped up into his spot on the other end and then jumped down and barked three times since I've sat here, and finally jumped up, laid down, and stretched out, moving closer to me so that his face is underneath my elbow as I type, cross-legged, here. He is settling for me. I am a cat person, I've learned in the last few years, but I do love him and appreciate his company and this contact. Sidenote: My voice, on this blog, feels very cold to me right now. I don't know why -- maybe because I haven't typed a journal-feeling blog entry, and this is some moment-to-moment stuff, and it feels a little bit unnatural.) The things I am realizing have to do with qualities I've noticed in my dad, like our deep love for music, and our good taste in music, and our ability to get a bit lost in good music. I've also noticed that my parents' relationship is very much two-sided, as well as their functionality (and, at that, dys-functionality). It scares me how clearly I can see things, because I woke up today after four drinks last night (three vodka, one sangria) -- and I rarely drink that much these days -- around 8 AM, or maybe a bit earlier, took two gabapentin capsules, which eventually knocked me out again, had vivid dreams, including ones before I woke up, but also afterwards when I fell back asleep until about 11. And, as they tend to be right now, my mom was very much a part of them, and the quality of what I most fear (and can't seem to structure a story around that is different so that I can function without this specific fear in my day-to-day life) was very  much a part of the dreams. Hope also had a dream that was incredibly detailed and specific, and she shared it with me today and I interpreted a lot of it -- honestly, a lot of her dreams feel easily interpretable, though I realize this is through a specific scope [mine] -- and her story feeds into mine, and my fears.

This whole day has just been fraught with fear for me, and I'm functioning alongside it. It doesn't feel good, and I cry a lot. There has also been incredible connection with my family: we moved furniture together, we ate lunch that my dad brought home for all of us together, and no one really yelled at each other or got offended or even mildly butt-hurt over anything. It all felt (and continues to feel) very bittersweet to me, because of the large fear monster that clings to my back. I actually literally feel heavier. I did some yoga, and some twirling and dancing in the yard, the kind of stuff that I can do around my family most, just like my really loose silliness and ridiculous yet witty way of saying things, and also my stupid, in-the-flow dancing around that I don't show many people. Lauren has seen it, aside from my family, and other than her, only moments of it have I shown other people. Some of my good friends in Boulder, actually, have as well, but there's usually some substance involved to get me there. What the fuck am I so afraid of? I can peel this apart, and my mind furiously is right now, but I'm not sure I can type it all right now. It has to do, in part with this part of myself, or my way of being, that shows up in my Human Design chart: the 5-1. Anyway.

Aside from a lot of things, one of which was a Saul Williams (video of a live reading of Black Stacy) iPhone viewing with Dave between martinis that my body didn't really need, there was also something else, last night: this person whom I've texted with (we have been Facebook friends for a year or two, and whom I messaged when I got home as I've felt a desire/need to get involved with a conscious community here and make new friends -- fuck, I miss my friends in Boulder, and also Lauren, who may be one of the only people reading this) walked into where I was eating pizza with a friend (Dave) last night. I have no idea what it happening with my writing right now. But anyway, it was like the Universe saying, Alright, you haven't made the move and met this person in real life yet, so here he is. Silver platter shit. Take it or leave it. So, when he walked in, there was no not taking it actually. My visceral reaction when he walked in was a verbal Whoa and then standing up and approaching him immediately. He actually had texted me the day before this to ask how my settling in was going, and prior to that text we hadn't been in contact since maybe the first week I was back in Michigan. So, I definitely took it, though our interaction there was a bit awkward. Liz would say (and did to me once) that nothing (or no one) is really awkward, things just are the way they are. I love that, and will defer to it here, actually. So, yes, this was the way it was: Dave invited him to sit with us, and he was so sweet, and took this little moment I think to consider what Dave was to me, but it wasn't like he wasn't going to accept this invitation, and he said, yes, of course, thank you. It was all very sweet. I will mention now that this is a pizza place I've never been, and this person, whose name is Nick, told me (today on the phone; getting there) that he goes there maybe twice a year. So there you go. Or rather, there I go. I texted him last night -- I was going to wait to call this morning, but a half an ambien will make one text at 2 AM, and also sort of self-judgementally, or in protection of one's ego, name that one is "getting awkward with it"; shwing. I said in the text that I was going to wait until today to call him -- so it turns out that he actually called me today, right around 11 AM. It was sort of perfect timing, and a beautiful and easy conversation, despite some interruptions, and this is a thing: We share Beaver Island. I cried on the phone. I'm not sure about a lot, except that I feel heavy today, though some moments are lighter, and that he and I are getting lunch tomorrow.

Perhaps I will type more later. Also, to continue with the name-dropping that I apparently just can't stop doing in this entry; Hi, Sarah. <3 Loving you. And you.

Words at 12:12

Sometimes I don't write as some sort of act of defiance to the Universe -- a middle finger, if you will, to the forces that be. It's one small thing I feel like I DO have control over. You put me here to learn these lessons and write about them to better the world; well, fuck you, Universe ... watch me not do that. As if I won't learn the lessons I'm "supposed to" and by not learning these lessons I'll save myself some pain and I also thereby won't write about any of it, and in not doing so, will also lessen the probability of the reason, if there is one, that I'm here, experiencing what I am. There were a lot of commas in that sentence. Fuck it.

I also come to realize that by not writing, I'm actually only driving myself a little more mad because the would-be writings and stories and poems all just collect as loose matter in my head and then are forgotten, and that's too bad because a lot of this shit is good, or at least could be in written form (or typed, as the case may be). And so of course, by become a little more mad, I am only harming myself (and when I say "mad" here, I mean it in the actual sense, the way it's traditionally defined: crazy, looney tunes, all of the things I feel a lot of the time; not angry -- which I actually also feel a lot of the time, but is not what I am referring to here. Actually, I suppose I feel angry at myself a bit as well by not writing. Anyway.) And by not writing I am also withholding what could be some really great and necessary and helpful and even potentially healing material from those who read it ... so, thus, I'm harming others by not writing. This feels a bit arrogant, at least as I write it, but also true. So, again, fuck it.

I have this really vivid memory of lying in the hallway of my house on 33rd Street, from which I moved in early June, my head on Lena's lap. I was sobbing -- like the heaving, ugly cry type of sobbing -- and she was stroking my hair. I was so scared. Still am, just not currently sobbing in that way. (I did do some good crying today, though.) She was so comforting to me. She told me that I'm experiencing more things, the kind of things that trip me out (some of which you might know about, reader, if you know me well at all) and support my stories and fears and visions and dreams/nightmares and actual ultimate reality created within my mind because my world is expanding, so the berth of experience widens as I meet more people. Yes, this makes sense, I think as she says the words. I don't know if it's entirely true, or at least the only reason i am experiencing what I am, but it felt comforting to me right then. At the time, Lena was wearing clothes that had been mine, a top and pants I had given her as I shed so much prior to my move. She always liked that black Umba top and as I'm trying to wear less black anyway, I gave it to her, along with the brown, wide-leg flowy pants that would get caught under my feet while leaping around at festivals. Who was I then, at all those festivals? Who am I now, here on the floor in this hallway in our home of two years? Lena said to me that night, I'm dressed like you. I remember having that thought right before she said it. She was my healer, is still my healer, and I remember having this moment where I internalized the truth that I can be my own healer. That here, here is one of my best friends, my sister really, wearing my clothes, comforting me. Stroking my hair, letting me cry out of my eyes and my nose (yes, there was a lot of snot on this particular night) into her lap, her lap wearing these pants, pants I had worn on my own legs, legs that carried my body through fields of joy in so many experiences. and they're hers now and she is dressed like me, and here she is saying it because it's true, and we're in this safe, small hallway in our home, and hearing her saying these words outloud is healing to me, these words are true; they're healing me. In la'kech. I am another you.