But then, for the past few nights, I haven't been sleeping well, and have been running around the house baking and cooking and cleaning as though I'm preparing for something. This morning it clicked for me--this is my aunt's birthday... the one who passed away in June. Of course, I knew it was her birthday; my extended family is planning to get together later today specifically because of the date. I baked things to take to the potluck. For some reason, though, it didn't really click.
In fact, I had been observing my response to this sort of milestone with detached approval--look at how well I'm handling all this! I can calmly organize a family gathering and clean my house and cook brownies and lemon bars and cleanthehouseandcookdinneranddoallthedishes... Right. Ok. I need to stop for a minute and stop observing and detaching, and just follow this day where it leads.
I do have a treat set up for myself later--a friend with an infant is coming to town, and she's a great listener, and holding babies is a cure for just about any psychological ailment I can think of. And I have knitted presents for this baby.
Also, relatedly, I've been thinking about some new ink to help me remember not to do this shit to myself. Something like this:
via*except definitely not on my chest and without the birds. Maybe across my shoulderblades, since that's where I carry the weight of the bastardes (including myself: I can be the worst bastarde of them all when it comes to grinding myself down).
*It reads "Nolite Te Carbarundrume Bastardes," which yes, I know isn't real Latin, but is significant to me because of its literary and feminist connotations.