I nearly cried at an episode of The Mindy Project the other day. I don’t know if you’ve seen this show, but we’re not talking Friday Night Lights drama here, we’re talking way silly, like That 70’s Show, silly. In the episode, she was having “a Groundhog Day”––as in the Bill Murry 90’s flick, where the same day is lived over and over and over and over…
I got teary because I just relate too darn much.
My day: I wake up, often from a dream that incorporates my symptoms in fun ways––like a man getting an electric foot massage against my back when it short circuits. Good times. I flop down my ladder, take my pills, eat raw almonds, do my exercises (on good days), work until I have to lie down, eat lunch/dinner whilst watching The Daily Show (if they aren’t slacking), work until I have to lie down, healthy-ass snack, bath, Netflix until sound annoys me, lie there/meditate for a few hours until I get sleepy, more pills, precariously press up my ladder, and 12 hours of attempting to sleep.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Doc/Grocery day. Repeat former. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat….
I’m so tired of rest that I’m exhausted. Farfignewtonmotherfucker I’m tired of it.
Anyways. My tarot readings are all 9 of Cups (The Wish Card) and 3 of Swords (Bad News Bears Card), repeat, repeat, repeat… I’m having a hard time not obsessing over trying to guess what they could be, must be time for a little lesson on control and faith I suppose. Que sera, sera, eh?
The eclipse has yet to bring any news. A couple writing rejections and kinked neck on top of all the other health stuff, but those aren’t eclipse-worthy… I actually feel more of a ‘void’ energy than the chaotic energy that I usually associate with eclipses. Maybe that’s a “good” thing though? All the more room to receive?
Eh. I’ve been blessed with more work than I can keep up with, including a painting commission that I’m really having a blast with. (When my sweet bod lets me work on it…) I’ve also been blessed with plenty of out of town visitors, stop-bys from local friends, and loving phone calls––making the loneliness of last February a distant stranger, even if the physical aspects are alarmingly deja-vu-esque.
Things change. They really do. They always have, and they will again. I won’t be trapped in my apartment forever. I really won’t.
It just feels like I will because it’s been nearly 17 months.
However, there’s been much change inside, and if I’ve learned anything the last few years it’s that when you do the work for an internal upgrade you also get an external upgrade. And they are hard to predict. (So please stop trying, brain…)
But always perfect.