Journal 8th and 9th October

8th and 9th October

Friday night I processed my Japanese jealousy. Have taken a vow never to write disparaging things about Japanese women in my journal. I suspect I'll never write about her again. What's the point. We have the same taste in men, she's on her journey, I'm on mine. There endeth this lesson. I release it. I do. I cried about what I was doing to myself holding on to it, and then the release came.
When you feel the grief. You do the anger first of course, it's all a wave, a 5 rhythm blitz, but you have to do the work if you want to get to Stillness.
Step by step.
Every dance.
Is step by step.

Burst into tears twice before I got up this morning. Not sure if it's the drug implant I got last Monday or just PMT and general freak outedness. It's a drug that fakes menopause by shutting down your ovaries, blocking oestrogen production so the fibroids shrink, a bit. More importantly, it also means a less bloody operation. Centre of life, lots of blood flow. So I suppose it's worth it.
Apparently I may have night sweats, depression, hot flushes, the works. But it takes up to three weeks to work, and within five weeks it will have dissolved completely. The ovaries kick back in within a week.
Didn't feel a thing when Indian Princess injected it, and it was a bloody big needle with a pellet in it.
Good sign.
She's very haughty, Indian princess. I like that, it means she's pernickety and thorough.
Proving herself is obviously important to her. Nobody dies on her watch. She rhymes off the risks every time I see her, I wish she'd stop doing that, then she says, 'never happened to me yet.'
Her patient's blood clots are something she takes personally.
Good sign.

I like Indian princess.
I trust her.

Wonder if I'll have PMT in future?
Last period ever.
At least I'll know. Left naturally you can't know until it's gone really. I can have a celebration.
Will save a fortune, and be available for sex 7*24, 7 days a week.
Will be the Tesco of shagging.
May even create a loyalty card.
It's not all bad then.

I'll also be able to have HRT in future. It's contra-indicated with fibroids, so it's all working out well.
For the longer term.
I choose HRT, heavy eye make up
And cocktails.
I WANNA BE JOAN COLLINS!

Saturday
It's the bi-monthly Mindfulness day at the Findhorn Sangha and I'm not going. Does bi-monthly mean every two months or twice a month?
I won't see the pumpkins and the golden red harvest colours in the gardens. Smell the wood smoke, walk the beach in it's magical light. See the stars so clearly, feeling the cold air on my skin outside the sauna. Enjoy the bustle of brunch, sing with the Taize singers. I miss Findhorn. I love it there in the Autumn.

Then that missed hug came into my head and I cried. My urge to bolt and stop contact with green eyes, and worse with LB, bringing another wave of tears. It's cleansing and good but oh lessons on what love is. And what it's not.
Why do I assume they won't keep in touch?
Why do I want to break contact?

Coz if I'm seeing the real green eyes, and no longer having that buzz of 'falling in love', he's seeing the real me and he won't want to keep in touch either.
He talked himself out of me before, why not again? Where could this lead anyway? What could come of it? If we can't meet.
Better to bolt before he does, contain the pain.
He said, all the other people are fading for him but I'm becoming realer. Didn't have the heart to correct him on it, but I'm not the stuff of his fantasies.
Realer.
Would like to reel him in.
He says he had the urge to send one of his emails to me to all and sundry on the workshop distribution list just to 'rupture the cosy discourse of disclosure.'

What the fuck does that mean? Green eyes has a self destruct button too? He wants to wreck this and bolt too? I completely understand that, I'm in the same place.
We're mirrors.
He's Scorpio, I'll bet, with those eyes.
And that sting.
Green eyes has a sting in his tail. I've felt it before, in that C'est la vie baby talking out of this he'd done. In waiting for me to send the first note, in not emailing for five weeks, even though I wrote twice in that time.

The only clue I have is in the increasing yumminess of how he ends his emails.
'Keep in touch', then 'Do write back'. Then, my personal favourite, 'Lots of love, hugs and kisses', in his reply to my telling him I fell in love with him. Is that a good sign?
Last one, 'Lots of love'.
Where are my hugs and kisses then?
Is it over?
Or am I just mental?
Like I have nothing else to worry me.

'Leave them alone and they'll come home, wagging their tales behind them.'
Time to leave him alone I think.

At the same time I'm worrying will he never contact me again, I've already composed the email in my head. My reply for when he bails out. That I understand this urge. Completely. The urge to separate, to destroy, to wreck this kindred spirit connection.
Self protection and the isolation it brings.

Is it that we can't bear to see our gentle self in others?
Is the recognition of our sweet selves really so hard to bear?
Are we really so afraid to say, I see you and still, I love.

Admissions- 7am Nov 7th. Lucky sevens, I like that. No nail varnish though.
They offered Hallowe'en for the op date. I said no. The veil is thin enough, not that date. I want to celebrate Sawhain for Sawhain, not for operation anniversaries.
Although it would be a spectacular date of death. Born Midsummer, died Sawhain.
Why must I scare myself shitless?

For some people, it will be their date of death, maybe mine. Could be hit by a bus at any time.
There are killer buses on the loose you know.
They could strike at any time.

Numbers.
The being up of them.
Is it maudlin to think of it, or is it necessary in order to live an authentic life?
Am finding the latter.

Had this op not come up I'd not have told green eyes. I'd not have told LB. I'd not have told my dad. I'd not have put my needs above my mothers, I'd not have let myself be vulnerable in so many ways. I'd not have sent that birthday card. Worst of all, I'd have carried on in my self isolating beliefs that I don't have friends but people who tolerate me coz I'm funny.
I would not have learned what love is.
And I would not now be seeing my need to bolt so clearly.
Normally I'd have bolted.
For now, I need all the lifelines I can get.
Even if it is only an email.
Even if we'll only be friends.
And I'll never lay down with him and stroke his soft hair again.
Even if.

But I got to do it. I got to do. No regrets.

I always have seen the beauty in the world. I have always been spiritual.
Many times it felt like God was the only ear listening to me.
Recently, this glorious Autumn, it's been heartbreakingly beautiful. My friend stirring oil into tsatsiki. Like liquid sculpture.

Now I also see the real me. The gentle me. The me that's full of love and in control of it at last, coz it's a thing you do. Not get.
I see it.
Staying in it is the difficult part.
Living it is what's hard.
Not bolting.
Is the brave thing to do.
Seeing the human being not the fantasy and still making the effort to connect, just to connect. Not to get.

I love it here.
Them's the facts.

I've to go and get bloods done for transfusions.
Will go on Hallowe'en.
For a laugh.
Mwahahahahahaha