Hello, Friend,
I’m officially over the whole house flapadoodle. Huzzah!
Perhaps the new people will dig in a little and discover the fascinating history and make their own less egregious renovations. Or not. None of my business.
No, really.
Pinky swear promise.
I haven’t yet mentioned, which is very un-Leo of me, this is my birthday month. In a scant few weeks I’ll be 63. WTF? I have no idea how this happened. The whole COVID enforced hermit scenario caused me to lose track of time. When your days are mostly the same day with subtle variations time loses its gravitas, you realize how elastic it is. You look back at the time before when you were a busy little bee flitting from flower to flower with a frantic sense of urgency and purpose. Now you’re a solitary little bee floating in amber, observing instead of participating in the foofaraw and nonsense of our modern age. You are in it and outside of it.
Of course in this moment there’s also an underlying current of anxiety that bubbles up to the surface as you realize our collective shift is palpable. Things are not the same. Chaos is a constant companion. Time feels as if it is simultaneously paused and accelerated.
I’m still trying to find the balance between being informed and being overwhelmed. Perhaps you are too. The sheer volume and breadth of malfeasance happening on a daily basis is head spinning. The runaway train keeps moving faster and faster careening towards some yet to be revealed future.
It is the start of my 63rd birthday month. Let the celebrations commence!
But first, I would like to be able to breathe. I would like some autonomy, a semblance of security, a clearer sense of purpose, and most of all I would like to wake up from this collective dream to a brighter day for all of us.
This is going to sound a little strange, but I feel like the moment we left that house I swore I wasn’t going to mention again and yet here we are everything shifted. We created some alternate timeline or opened up a worm hole and I would like to get back to the regularly scheduled garden variety weirdness.
These are the sorts of things I think about at 3 a.m. while my brain is stuck on the spin cycle.
Then I breathe in, breathe out, let that shit go and keep marching bravely forward.
Have I mentioned that introspective Madge is a lot?
Because she is.
You might be delighted to hear she’ll be replaced with a generous smattering of Little Bits of Joy tomorrow!
Phew.
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Sometimes I make art.
Perhaps a cup of birthday month cheer for your fearless writer?
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