confession: i bought myself my favorite flowers a week and a half ago. the last blooms are in their final fullness before the petal edges brown and wilt. once upon a time in my life i remained in a relationship with someone who hurt me because he brought me my favorite flowers at irregular intervals. i knew then i’d be better off buying my own flowers but i wasn’t ready to act on that knowing. i’ve been playing a quantum-time-space game for a few weeks going back in time and shifting small things in the past, adjusting some of my minor actions, saying things i held back, remaking memories. memory is malleable, neuroplasticity yields to intentional re-wiring, and i am creating a new past that empowers me then and now.
confession: i live across the street from a school chartered in 1690. the main hall has a steeple and church-like bell announcing every hour. that bell has been marking time for lifetimes. i think about students who waited hourly for that bell to ring that now lie in cemeteries. i think about the students that will mark time by that bell who haven’t yet been born.
confession: the poetess and i are currently engaged in a continuous conversation of “isn’t it crazy that….” the opening crazy fact is that our planet has a moon, but only one. yesterday’s fact–humans get two sets of teeth in a lifetime, but only two. (sharks get endlessly replacing teeth.)
confession: two years after moving from austin to philadelphia, i’m moving from austin again via his move to nashville. my closet at his place is empty. this time, this move, two years later, my heart feels fragmented. i understand better the loss of leaving home for real, leaving home for good, knowing i can’t go back home because home isn’t there anymore, understanding that i’ll never have another home like the one i left even if someday i find a new home in another place.
confession: i rarely drink alcohol anymore due to a compromised immune system. when i drink, i drink less and it affects me more. when i drink, i’m in love with everybody…like when i’m sober…only gushier and slurring-er.
confession: i painted my toenails for the first time in two years. i painted them prismatic opalescent baby girl unicorn pale pink and i think they are very pretty, prettier even than the flowers i bought for myself. self-care has been scarce in my world for the past few years. it’s making a comeback.
confession: i read an article advising how to get one’s book published. the realest and best suggestion (although unhelpful) was to become famous first.
confession: i don’t want fame. i prefer anonymity. lately i’ve observed an increasing intrinsic desire to put my writing into the world, to let it be read in hopes that the writing i’ve written to keep me alive might help someone else struggling to stay alive.
confession: i didn’t know middle age was still-young-not-old until i arrived here. when i commented to my favorite aunt and uncle (who are 69 and 70) about being middle aged they laughed at me…because they think of me as young. they think of themselves as young…and they are…and so am i. i am surrounded by role models who age without getting old. from them i’m learning that aging gracefully means you don’t have to get old, act old, believe in oldness; aging and oldness aren’t definitively connected.