It’s the answer to life the universe and everything.
Douglas Adams, Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
I don’t think he is wrong.
Buddha says, “life is suffering”.
I don’t think he is wrong either, I think he left out a part that we are supposed to figure out for ourselves.
It doesn’t have to be, not all the time.
In 90 days it will be my 42nd year in this body on this planet, I finally have some insight, foresight, all the good sights.
Mercury is going direct again in 8 days. Luckily I left myself (oh no, not breadcrumbs) giant neon signs that mostly just said STAHHHHP.
I stahhhppped. Took deep breaths and just kept treading water. Even when the brake seized on the new truck after everything and I hit the proverbial wall, I chuckled and thought, ‘hey weren’t we here last retrograde?’ We were, we were right here in this very same driveway having this very same thought. Which was, “I cannot do this for one more fucking minute”, so up for sale it went.
Also, being ignored by the very same boy, just this run it’s him and 2 other boys. When my dance card gets full, I now grab another dance card. I can’t trust anyone to stay, so…um, vagina-logic.
I have been single and soul-searching for a while now. I’m still learning.
I like my soul now, it’s as clean as it has ever been.
Now … for my next trick.
“If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” William Blake
Cocoon, Cavern… toe-may-toe toe-mah-toe. Prison regardless.
I am up for parole in 90 days.
I am so used to just dealing with what is handed to me. Institutional rules, adapt or die.
I am accustomed to being that girl who is scared of her own voice. I am afraid I am scared of my potential. Or I used to be, I got a taste of it and I have found myself asking please sir may I have some more.
I’ve fallen in love with evolving, adapting, changing, challenging myself.
I can do better, I have done better.
Mercury retrograde rule number one. Nothing new.
Alrighty then…I will abide.
What feels like dancing out of my past and making me happy?
I have mental photos of ‘before’.
Some are delicious.
Mmmm, that snapshot from Boxes, his hands rough from work on my cream coloured thighs and those eyes. Yes please, more of that.
On one of my roads out from the farm was a 30-something personal trainer. He was in exquisite shape and I asked him for help. We had a good little workout routine going for the time we were together. I had a photo shoot shortly after and have found myself looking with great longing on my peachy perfect ass of yore. I had matching abs. I was happy then, I liked me, I think those photos did their job, captured small moments in time. I can get back there, even better this time. I know what I am capable of. I don’t want the trainers body back, I want mine.
Young Un’s Instagram gave me an idea.
He is working out now and on a self-improvement kick, gym etc. prepping for Xmas and January. Planning ahead has never been my strong suit. I float, it’s kinda my thing. But this struck me. A few things happened all at once, but his shirtless selfie on IG was the lynchpin.
90 days from today. I’ll be in Thailand with my best girl for the holidays. We both cited some pretty near death Decembers and said fuck it, buy the tickets.
I fully admit using Facebook as a conduit to the universe, asking for things. I want that one, and I get him. I post my wishes and wants and they get here when they get here. I’m doing that now. May I please have what I want or something better.
I put a dirtybathroomstrippermidshiftselfie up on IG. I was having a good hair day. Its the one above. It shall be known henceforth as “before”.
Young Un liked it, but that’s Not the point. Although… his cartoon hearts are flattering, I admit I fluttered a bit.
I am at this beautiful jumping off point, again.
I am righting a 10 year wrong by getting my back tattoos covered up with a cohesive and exceptionally beautiful design, better than I thought possible. Should be done in January.
My girl had breast implant issues and I saw the incredible work her surgeon did.
I opened my mouth and asked him for help. Immediately booked a consultation.
I had them done 4 years ago and I was in the depths of despair, in no place to be healing.
They don’t look right.
Now I believe in miracles, take my vitamins, and my health is so much better than then.
Believing in miracles is the key, my life is full of them.
My last surgeon was a naysayer. But my girl said “Um you are paying him vast sums of money to fix something, if he isn’t excited about it and listening to you, go somewhere else, someone will do this for you, your way or even better.”
It was this lightbulb as bright as the sun going off.
I have spent my entire life thinking I had to live with this.
Whatever this happened to be. Boobs, body, boyfriend etc…
But suffering now that I know better? Ludicrous.
Fuck being a martyr, this is MY life. I want what I want.
Bravery is trying again.
Booking surgery for January.
I have been given all of these gifts.
That sad girl I used to be would be amazed at who, what and how I am now.
There are two things that vex me that I can throw money and pain at and have fixed.
Boobs and bad tattoos.
Done and done.
So between now and then…time to start working out, drinking water and eating better like it’s a job.
I started hot yoga, something that scared the piss outta me for years. I had heard horror stories, and although my mind panics the first ten minutes sounding like Marge Simpson on the airplane.
I love how strong, clean and good I feel after.
I love pushing myself. I’m not afraid anymore.
I have conquered my mind to a degree, now it’s time to conquer my body.
At 41 I ended up a pin-up in a calendar. Let’s go bigger shall we?
It’s time to be seen as well as heard.