Today I slept until 11 am, which is the equivalent of 5 pm for an early bird like me. By the time I woke, I’d been downloaded with so much information that I knew it’d take the whole day to sort it out. After drinking some coffee, I realized the moon was void of course, which means my disconnect from time and space was right on cue. So I walked to one of the many overpriced but delightful restaurants that have cropped up in my neighborhood, ordered a real cocktail and huevos rancheros, and started to fill my notebook.
The truth is my notebook needs filling. I’ve emptied out so much recently—dreams that needed retiring, hopes that had been hung on the wrong coat hooks, habits that did more harm than good, safe spaces that weren’t safe anymore. And there are the many friends who’ve left the Earth lately. It’s a heartbreaking sort of housecleaning, letting go of all that, and I haven’t been the cheeriest cat lady on the block.
To be clear, I frequently am.
I know from experience that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. One of the advantages of not being young anymore is knowing that change is not only inevitable but okay. Good times are followed by bad times, which are followed by good times again–especially once you grow out of clinging to leaky rafts. Being a change-hating Crapicorn, I’m still trying to grow out of that. I’m not doing a great job of it, but I’m trying.
I keep flashing on a breakfast scene of about a decade ago. I was dating a guy from my hometown even though I’d been living in Brooklyn for more than 10 years. He was a big-nosed, big-shouldered, big-dicked musician who’d already fled New York, and was perched in a quiet neighborhood of Boston. He looked appealingly like a Founding Father and was remarkably steady in bed. I figured he’d traded in creative for cozy, and clamored for his maternal embrace. (Sexy male mommies are my Achilles’ heel.) Really, he was smart but stuck—yet another guy held hostage by his fury at his mother.
I was at loose ends, as I am now. I’d just broken up with a woman who was such a liar that I’d come to hate her mouth though I craved what it did to me, and I thought maybe I could climb into this hometown honey whenever I came back to Massachusetts. I was still trying to figuring out how to know my family of origin, so that was very often. Continue Reading →