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The new moon makes me permeable and weepy, even on T, last night spent on the verge of tears even hours after a good kitchen-table talk with my bro about long-held character misgivings etc re: T., the times he had that other boy over while I was away and how it weirded my brother out, the context, the superficiality, the way he apparently "looks just like you, well, you know," another small dark-haired tranny with sturdy hips I guess, what do I know. I dragged myself to the gym to break the post-bus hit-by-a-truck feeling before a couple hours of work at MaxCaffe over milky black tea. Then cos all I wanted was to smoke cigarettes I treated myself to veggie bun xao noodles from Saga (another trigger, where Daddy used to buy us food, credit cards I can't remember and probably maxed out anyway still on file) for dinner instead and bought a cheap bottle of Camenere from Harlem Vintage. Le souci de soi, and this morning:

-modeh ani when I wake up gray outside ready to cry
-wiping down the baseboards
-oatstraw infusion in the washed-out jar from the preserved lemons, switched to the scrubbed-out jar from last solstice's sourdough starter
-tefillin, feeding the dove, a kala I need more of
-to the gym! deadlifts to Gillian's harrow and harvest
-picking up my tailored hand-me-down diesels, the winter coat I never dry-cleaned til now
-seeing Sebastian in for his stay
etc etc etc, this is life now. Today I have to present in BioLogix on a paper I haven't really written yet, but luckily I'm retooling an essay I worked on before so I should be able to turn it out without getting tweaked; I really am trying to do it without pills now, for this paper at least.






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This morning smelled like tea tree and rose oil, lit my candles and wrapped tefillin, warm beeswax and leather. Nine hours of sleep in my love's arms, vivid dreams and a good little chunk of writing done last night and about to leave for class soon. I'm not gonna beat myself up for not super-efficiently using this early-afternoon to write; I'll have other opportunities to do establish discipline and writing routines. Right now I'm just feeling grateful and aligned, a more open channel, flow between my souls and an abating sinus ache.
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How does this affect my relationship with G-d Herself?
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Ahh, this morning was waking up with a crick in my neck and painful knots down my back saying Modeh Ani in bed anyway, then going into my room with Critter to make Ha and beeswax prayers to Brigid, what I could remember of "ana el na, refana la" along with three dropperfuls of nerve tonic and a couple advil. The boychik and I went outside for a nice walk in the cold crisp sunshine, I saddle-soaped the ocean salt off my engineer boots and conditioned the rest and I feel better already.
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1. So I realized last night that most everything in my life I'm working on centers around discipline, practice, and making space. It was a calming and clearing connection to make.

2. My mom just sent me her kugel recipe on request and it requires *2 sticks* of butter. If that ain't love then tell me what is.
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Rob took his tongs to the grill and remarked about as sentimentally as I'd ever expect, "I'm losing Oli, man. I'm so disappointed." Flip the ribs. It feels good to be missed.

Things take practice.

A big scab from a kitchen burn fell off my arm (okay, I helped it) and is sitting atop the book I'm reading. I'm so gross.

My spine likes cracking.

Summer is cresting. It only breaks for good once I'm back in school, and then once everything starts to smell like leaves it's fall.

Things take practice, like learning to breathe and release, breathe and take and let go. All the nodes and knots and clenching places, I need to learn to release.

The theme, evidently, is movement.

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