Journal 28th Sept

28th Sept

I woke up this morning with the sound of a man saying my name. Clear as a bell I heard it, in my right ear. There was nobody there of course. Lucid dream probably, but I heard it. Soft voice. Not scary at all. I'd like to be wakened like that every day.
Plus kisses and a bit of spooning obviously.

It's Gardener's birthday.

When someone remembers your birthday, how good does that feel? Regardless of anything else.

Same birthday as Faberge (1846). Amazing what you read on calendars in the Mitsubishi garage while paying £251 quid of MOT and service which didn't even include the piggy tail rear windscreen wiper as 'that's not part of the MOT and we don't have the part. Do you want it ordered?'
'Yes please, it may come in handy in the Winter.'

I don't know what age gardener is. Just that he's a Libran. Trouble making up his mind.
I beg to differ.
My heart was full of release and caring when I sent it on Monday. Now, I'm not sure if I did it to wish him birthday blessings or to needle her, teenage Ninja style.
Bit of both.
Or that wouldn't have crossed my mind.

I never said I was an angel.
All I said was,

'All bets are off.'

Jingle jingle.

Had a shiatsu massage this evening. My heart meridian is full of painful points. Already knew that, but ouch. She said at the end, it's all emotion and for good reason. I told her fibroid, love, loss, release, resolution, how I hate that I won't know it it's a hysterectomy until I wake up. Although given the choice, I'd rather wake up, obviously.
I do love my sense of humour but I hate that I'm compelled to make jokes when I really would like to just let my sadness out.
No wonder it was so painful in the massage.

At the end, she said, contemplate on the loss of fertility this next month, that's your homework.
I'm taken aback, but it's what I've been avoiding.
Prepare for the worst.
I think it's a good idea.

What came to me immediately is it's about getting old. All of it. The fear, the guy thing, the loss of love, the loss of being able to attract love, the core belief that it's somehow only physical, or anything to do with the physical really.

It's about getting old. This whole operation furore.
At the sex, love and intimacy weekend, a woman told us that after menopause she became invisible to men. I thought that was horrible. I hate that, that society is like that.

But then I thought, what if it isn't? What if she's making that reality? What if she's making herself invisible just by letting the light inside go out? What if there were lots of lovely men her age and mine who'd want us. If we just cut the crap and stopped getting in our own way? What if?
I mean, look at Joan Collins.

On the other hand, maybe that's why old ladies dye their hair purple.

8pm. Instant karma.

When you send a birthday card, even for 1% Ninja strike. Be aware, that the Universe, to keep you in step and dance along with Her like a good girl, will strike right back.
Wooden stick over the knuckles.
A buckling slap at the back of the knees.
Another punch in the solar plexus.
I suspect She wants me to be a nun.

I'm enjoying one of my every second day phone calls with love buddy (LB). Telling him how shocked I am that my chum shagged her buddy after her level one course on the Sunday night. He's her fuck buddy (FB).
I know him, he's from Findhorn.

LB says it's okay to do that on the Sunday. I say I wouldn't. It's too soon. He says when he did level one I spent the Sunday night, not having sex, but with a girl.
I hear a click as my nose goes out of joint.

"Your buddy?
"No, she was just on the course. Actually, I have a story. She's from Findhorn too. I went up to stay with her for three days in the summer.

"What's her name?

Lamb to the slaughter.

Scent of sushi in the air. And I don't fucking believe it.

And I know, she chose him coz he looked like gardener. I know it and I can't say it, I can't tell my love buddy we have the same fucked up taste in men, coz it would hurt him and I'd lose him. I can't say anything coz I can't get a breath. I'm doubled up, I can't fucking believe it. He's carrying on.

"We didn't sleep with each other then either, she was in a relationship with a gardener when I arrived. She told me about him. He's not the man for her, they just meet to have sex.
I can't breathe. All I can say sounds like Victor Meldrew has taken the phone and love buddy is on the other end, distressed, shouting my name asking me what, what did he say, what happened?

He chose her too.
That's what fucking happened.
He chose her too.

Then her lie. The lie to my buddy that gardener isn't the man for her. I am incan-fucking-descent. She loves gardener, I have watched her like a hawk. I know. She's lying.
A player.
I hate her.

Both of them chose her. Both of them asked her.
And not me.

What's Japanese for bike? Jitensha

How much meditation and processing this will take I don't know. I'll do it. I hate that I'm not out of this, that I can't get away from them, from her, from my jealousy which is obscene. I hate it. I want to find my peace, I want it not to matter, I want to get out of this and over this.
That's all I want.
My compassion.
My gentle self.
My peace.

Then I'm going to Findhorn to stab her.