Sunday, February 20, 2011

Oh right

Things have been moving along at a steady chug for a few weeks... I'm working and adjusting to the work schedule, taking care of business with the Teen and some of her teachers, hanging out with the Princess and the cat, playing a lot of Super Mario Bros.  I felt like I'd reached some kind of balance, and felt, for the first time in a long while.... content?  sort of happy?

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:
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.

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