No morn, no noon
No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds
November!
this is what it's like to have this many moons behind me. i'm thirty years old, for four days now, and if i hadn't been spit into the world as a violet half-baked babybirdthing, i'd have a couple of months left in which to be twenty-nine. for someone who doesn't assign much importance to birthdays, i'm plagued by thoughts of milestone numbers with zeros like yawning chasms. i don't want what 'traditionally' i'm told i should have at this age, so why do i compare myself to others? every once in a while, it happens.
do i ever want to be married? i don't know. i'm reminded by the racing calculations in the sky that i don't have forever. my grandmother (probably both of them now, actually) will never get to attend my wedding. but do i want to be worth it to someone? do i want to mean enough to someone that they would want me forever? yes. maybe? hmm. things to think on. or, in my case, things to ignore. rumination never solves anything. the same mouthful of grass which loses its taste.
trust in the universe, i'm working on it. working on many things.
trusting in my body and respecting it instead of acting as if i'll be given another. accepting it for what it is as much of the time as possible, not only when i feel unchallenged by snide glances on the street or waif-blog celebrities.
internalizing that my value as a person is inherent, and reflected in how i treat myself and others, not contingent on accomplishments.
incubating creative endeavors. always a sticking spot for me. too many ideas, not enough commitment to one.
learning to spend money on myself; i treated myself to some birthday gifts, something i can't remember doing. ever.
these little birthday treasures are: a worn vinyl copy of 'the christmas revels', found at the littlest dusty record store; a sweet pomander candle to complement the cold nights; black openwork tights which make me wish my legs were always ingrained with the pattern. celebrations of december...not november!
to be comfortable in this harsh and elegantly bare-branched month takes emotional strength, a kind of security that i'm learning to cultivate in the dark recesses of my head and heart. in the loam there like precious mushrooms. ha.
i am trying to become more open here. there seems surprisingly little to write about that isn't too close for comfort. tiny two-pound november-baby steps.
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