A buyer’s market

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Straight ladies, it’s a buyer’s market–and we’re the buyers.

I had this thought after talking to a Virgo friend about yet another love interest of mine that went bust. At least I’m cycling closer and closer to the Truth. But as a Cancer moon, it’s been wearing on me.

This year, three times, feeling so close. Three times, I’ve been dead wrong.

The one thing I hate being wrong about is Love.

I had this thought about it being a buyer’s market this morning, in the bathroom–inspiration always hits there and in the kitchen for me.

Why am I the one doing all the emotional contortionism and intuitive gymnastics? Womendom has evolved light years ahead of mankind, and many times, I’m fed up at this large, cavernous gap of understanding between straight men and women. I can’t, and won’t, tolerate it.

Women are everything. We’re great spouses, partners, bosses, workers, siblings, friends, lovers, homemakers, mothers, community leaders, entrepreneurs, innovators, healers, intuitives, guides, hostesses, chefs, nurses–you name it! There are many times I hope that over time, men are deleted from the human gene pool altogether. Why men?

And I don’t mean to bash men. I don’t have to. Men bash themselves, with violence, and we’re caught in the wake of it. The imbalance of kindness is stark. So many of us have been physically, emotionally, and spiritually harmed by men. So many of us don’t survive our encounters with men.

In light of this, I feel chagrined that I ever have felt that I needed to do any extra anything when it comes to men and dating. In my years of near misses, I was overworking my intuition, reading into imaginary or dead and rotten tea leaves.

I may have been left on the shelf way too long, covered in two inches of dust, sprinkled with copious amounts of invisibility. But. I know the white hot, laser-focused interest of a man. It’s very hard to ignore, that searing heat.

I don’t need to convince anyone of my awesomeness. Men need to convince me that they are worthy of me and my time.

I’m saying this at the bottom of the empty well of my life. On the outside, I look like a failure. I’m an underemployed writer with no local community. I’m juggling my bills, and not that well. I am always dropping one ball. I haven’t felt attractive in a while as I’ve been a hyperhomebody. If I’ve had any game, it’s out of date.

Even in this sphere of inertia, even in the disturbing stillness of my life, even as I rub more sleep out of my eyes–I know that I’ve been acting like men are some scarce resource. And well, good people in general seem to be in short supply.

On top of that, loneliness will make you feel like you’re worthy of whatever floats by, as if you don’t have any standards of decency. It can distort your self-image, making you think there’s something wrong with you.

There’s nothing wrong with you.

I can go on about being your own best friend, but this is not that post. Self-love is important, but so is community. We are social beings. The longing to hear that “me, too.” It’s why I’m a writer–ironically, because it can be a lonely profession, being alone in your thoughts.

As Cuffing Season comes and goes, just know that, as a woman, you’d better not fucking settle, not even with crushes. If you’re crushing hard on some unattainable, emotionally distant dude, look at what else is going on in your life. What are you running from? Address that, head on, as bravely as you can.

A crush is only anticipatory coping. But I’m not 100% anti-crush. I’m not dead. Cary Fukunaga can always come into my life and rescue me. But it is your energy, going from you to another source, in one way, going into a void. It could be energy you could use to serve you, to create your dream, to heal you, to liberate you.

This week (I think it was yesterday), I took my selenite wand, and, with Archangel Michael, I cut cords from any man I had even the slightest crush on (not Cary, of course! But everyone else!). I’m a (mostly) blank slate now. It’s so strange, because there’s always some calamity I’m trying to escape in my life. I admit, though–sometimes it’s nice to think about someone else. But for me, my tender Cancer moon gets way involved, way too involved, clutching with her little crab claws. And then, it’s torture. It’s suffering. It’s not a mental break.

So now what? I rest. For me, those messages of Love coming are still coming through. I can delight in that. I can knock off all that fucking, unnecessary efforting. I can delight that I won’t have to read into anyone’s actions anymore.

Well, we did talk for a while. And he asked me how I was.

What did that like on my tweet mean?

I swear on a stack of Bibles he was looking at me.

This is all work that I shouldn’t be doing.

I loathe this inner dialogue. It is the mental masturbation of desperation that never comes to any sort of climax. As women, we’re trained and socialized to be hypersensitive to other people and their emotions. Most of the time, it is to our detriment–we start ignoring what our intuition is saying to us, about us: real information that we can use.

And maybe my intuition is right, about all of the encounters I’ve had. But in my very earthbound world (I say this as a double Capricorn), if you’re not going to really act, if you’re not going to ask, to make the big gesture, to say the words, to do all the things that I’m willing to do–well, it’s all conjecture. And if you’re too afraid to do that work, of being present, of being vulnerable, of daring greatly to connect, then you’re definitely not worthy of my time. I won’t eat those emotional bread crumbs on a trail to nowhere.

Earlier this year, I definitely had a taste of kindness that felt refreshingly balanced, even innocent. Maybe there were strings attaching and forming–but I had to leave. Still, though, in the end, nothing happened. Those strings just dropped into the abyss of inaction.

And it drove me crazy, because I wanted more. And that’s not bad. But it was more of a quick life lesson, a tutorial, than a commencement of a relationship (where there would be oodles more lessons and tutorials. It’s not like learning ever ends).  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with whetting your appetite for the truth and beauty of kindness.

So, in being “wrong” about love, over and over–it means I’m learning what it isn’t. Each time I’ve gotten a 9 on the bullseye, I’ve gained more information into what I want, and what I don’t want. I’m improving my accuracy. I’m going to get a 10 really fucking soon.

This spills out into other relationships, too. As a Capricorn, I believe that I really work hard at all my relationships–usually too hard, even if I enjoy the effort. So much of my energy over the years was returning to me untouched, untapped, unwanted.

I’ve had to be ruthless in cutting off those connections, because I will keep caring with an unintentional arrogance, as if my caring can change someone if they don’t want to be the friend or lover I want them to be. Even deities don’t have such powers.

Well, I’m humbled now. And I’m worn out.

Exhaustion: it’s a good place to start over, on your back, panting, maybe in some pain, palms up in surrender.

Breathe.

Peer into the darkness. You have the perspective of the night sky now, where Venus is shining bright under a crescent waxing moon.

You can re-imagine what your life can look like, in the community of two that you’ve been maybe even a little desperate for–and sure, you can even admit that yourself, the desperation.

You don’t have to let that dictate your choices, though. You are loving the hell out of yourself now. You know better. You have adorned and clothed yourself in your own love.

Your own love can now keep you safe. Your own love can keep you from choosing people who are not for you.

When Love comes calling, and you know it will, you will never have to question its message or intention. You will recognize and know Love.

It’s a buyer’s market. You can be choosy and choose yourself.

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The ache of waiting…

light-in-the-dark-1425968It’s Advent season.

Even though I was in the Presbyterian church for a little bit as a kid, I didn’t really grow up with the Church calendar. It was only when I moved to Chicago for college, and even after college, that I learned people who were not Catholic observed Lent and Advent. It’s still strange to think about, even as I’ve watched, and also lit, Advent candles.

A vigil for light’s return.

As I’ve probably said, Christmas is my very unfortunate birthday. So in terms of counting down to the big day, the big day is about my birth, which was harrowing (long story short: shady anesthesiologist, epidural going up too far the spine, my mom is knocked out, somehow I arrive, and my mom hates thinking about my birth).

I don’t even have that much time and emotional space to even reflect on the past year, which has been tumultuous, as the past few years have been here in the Sunshine State. With as much sun, there’s been a whole lot of rain. But I have been in a space of waiting for light to return–and it’s not my birthday twin’s either.

It’s the light that turns off the darkness of survival mode.

Just this morning, I got a donation from a friend that will ensure that my phone will stay on for the phone interview I have next Tuesday.

I live a moment-by-moment life, moments that are life-changing and moments where I have to chase away dread like the loathsome cockroach it is.

Oh great, the car loan folks are calling about payment, again. I really hope I can keep THIS car.

I actually don’t miss ramen. Or Pop-Tarts. Thank goodness. I am sick of eating oatmeal, though.

Rent is being split again. I wonder what other bills I can pay this month.

The Universe, in all its abundance is there, in the midst of these little heart palpitations and resignations and helpless feelings and stark aloneness. And that’s more of a statement of faith than of fact. To know that I’m supported when it feels like I’m only a sack of swirling atoms, ready to make an escape.

I want to be comforted by the everything that the Universe is. It takes some getting used to. This is the time for acclimation.

My phone was kept on a couple of Fridays ago when I got an unexpected settlement check that helped me pay half of what I own. I celebrated, sort of. But moments after, I wondered how I would pay the rest of it.

Now I know. And yet I’m still numb and cold, like a machine just churning, gear by gear.

If I was more intrepid and daring and adventurous, I’d embrace this as another adventure. I have enough Sagittarius in me for that. But the creaky old man Capricorn sun and ascendant just want to be in its easy chair, being easy. I’m pretty feeble, pretty fed up, and altogether exasperated at how all my efforts to save myself seem to fail me. The Mentos commercial ingenuity is not here.

Instead, I’m in a three-legged race with the Universe, who is dragging my ungrateful ass along.

I am waiting for the light to return.

I’m fed and I am clothed. I have shelter. I have transportation. I even have some friends. In this moment, all is well. Some day, like even today, I’m grateful for all of these things and more. But many times, the clouds of fear and dread come over me like the daily summer storms that happen down here. At times, I just have to wait it out, sit in the sullen cloudiness. Other times, I can clear the clouds with hopeful anticipation and fortitude.

As a Capricorn, one of the worst things that I could emotionally experience is helplessness. To know you’re doing all that you can, and the needle from instability to stability barely moves? And now, I don’t even care about asking for help anymore. My pride has been stripped away from this process. But then, many times, those cries for help are met with silence. Maybe it’s better than the “curse God and die” friends of Job. Not sure.

I can’t even ask what’s wrong with me anymore. These circumstances seem a little too orchestrated that I’m the “problem.” It’s the three-legged race. It’s me co-creating with the Universe to have the life that I want and deserve. I must trust, I must trust, I must trust. So, it’s just us–just me and everything that I need.

The expectations of the how and the when and who and the where–they have to be surrendered. I just have to keep hobbling along until we start to get a rhythm that actually looks like walking by faith. Just like the last time I was here, a little afraid and a lot struggling, I’ve been getting just enough to make it to the next obstacle. The problem is never solved all at once. It’s a piecemeal process. As a big picture person, I’ve no patience for this, for anything. The tyranny of urgent is my ruler.

On top of my money life looking like a forest fire, Love, in all its absurd timing, is coming soon–not when I want it. I’m not at all together. I really wanted the money shit to have coalesced, but that’s going to be a longer Capricornian journey up a mountain. So, like many things in life, this will be a both/and situation, not a first, then second situation.

Right now, I look like a dusty firebird that has been flopping around in an ash heap–not that attractive! That confirmation of the big L coming is something I can feel, and it seems rather ridiculous. Just last night, an intuitive told me that, and all my readings have said this for months. The same questions do not apply: how? what? who? where? why now? why not before? This year especially, I keep thinking it had come. I’m waiting for the delivery. But it’s for another house, or I’m just hearing things.

I should be elated. It’s been way too long–like embarrassingly too long. No regrets about it, but it’s one of the things that makes my birthday more and more bitter and unpleasant. Society pressures to be with someone (and I mean like any person), but you get to that age that you can’t be the nth wheel anymore. But do you want to be The Hermit tarot card on your birthday? Maybe some people do–I realize I don’t.

Instead of elation, I feel exhaustion, and a bit of doneness. Done with the searching and the trying and the heart being open. I am rolling my eyes as I type, that’s how done I am. You go so long hoping that your hope loses air. It wears out like an old tire. It’s not worth inflating again. You just lay it down and focus on things you can control–like nothing. OK, like my attitude.

Frankly, I’m too distracted from being broke, so whomever is going to show up like some magical genie in my life, it’ll have to be pretty freaking phenomenal because I really care about my financial stability above all else. Really, really, really.

I find my faithlessness to be sad because I did the National Novel Writing Month–and this should be a whole different post, but I’m going to shoehorn this in here to prove a point about my exhaustion.

Speaking of exhaustion, I did that in 8 days, not 30. Being distracted by my own poverty, and the election, I couldn’t bear to write about any sort of romance, any sort of anything. November was unpleasant.

Something unexpected happened when I was writing my final scene as the 30th day of NaNoWriMo was heading into midday. It was probably the most intense thing I’ve ever written. The couple I had been writing about had just gotten married and the woman’s insecurity was harpooning her doting husband, repeatedly. I got them through that morass of sorrow, although they were facing yet another obstacle–a racist mom that the husband seems to be tied to. Anyway, beautiful scenes, I was impressed by myself, I cried when I was done writing–and that never happens (I’m sure it was because I was physically exhausted, too).

I swear this ties into the love coming attractions stuff–bear with me! So, I’m not a novelist, I’m a memoirist and personal essayist. But there was something about writing about these two people, and reading about them, and getting emotionally invested in their happiness and wellbeing, that moved some emotional blocks out of the way for me–mainly blocks of disbelief. Not that I was writing my own life, but I was able to create a realm of possibility for me that I don’t know if I’ve ever had. The love they shared rubbed off on me. I wanted the intimacy they had, and just by experiencing through them, I felt whole. I felt like I walked around in loving warmth that whole week.

The whole process was really transformative. I fell in love with creative writing again, which I didn’t think was possible. Especially just accomplishing basically the impossible–it gave me some hope, even for my financial situation. If I can write over 50,000 words in 8 days, then what else can I do?

I’m over that high now, but at least I can reference that big personal win as a turning point in this stint of unemployment. It was when I desperately needed to believe in something bigger than myself–and it was my novel; and, in the idea that other possibilities, other worlds, other people, other experiences are available to me, right now.

By the way, this novel has a lot of emotional importance for me. It got shitcanned in grad school. This Taurus classmate basically was the catalyst for my current metaphysical journey. He was so concerned that I had a bad workshop (and I did. He also may have been just concerned about not looking like a dick). And then I somehow started to connect to him psychically, which kinda drove me into anxious fits because  I could hear and feel that he really loved me, or so I intuited, and he wasn’t conscious of what he was emitting to me.That story is a whole other blog post, for sure. I still can barely understand it, but if it wasn’t for that guy, I would not be here, chronicling my wild and wacky life.

So. I’m 100% sure love–real, curl my toes love–will come before money. And that’s fucking wild to me. Not my idea, not my plan. Clearly, I need it. Clearly, or it would come in my more “logical” order.

Adding those two Venusian elements together, money and love, and I have never been more bewildered and confused about what’s going on in my life. Capricorns don’t live in confusion. They create plans in order to prevent confusion, or they plan their ways out of confusion. I can’t plan my way out of this, or work my way out of this. I can’t even beg my way out of this.

So yeah, man–I’m in the fucking three-legged race, bound up with the Universe. All I can do is keep asking is for divine help. I throw shit up to angels all the time now. There’s not much else to do besides that and apply for jobs and watch my applications go into black holes and keep fucking trying even when I’m wondering how Sisyphean my life has become. Is this just the life of the brainstem now? Just…existing?

Who am I outside of a job and all the trappings of adulthood? Who am I becoming as I am being stripped again?

I am not going through this for nothing. I am not going through this for nothing. I am not going through this for nothing. I am not going through this for nothing. I am not going through this for nothing.

So, the ache of waiting–it’s destroying me to the point that I can’t even pay attention to it anymore. I try to lean into the pain, if it doesn’t lay me out first. Sometimes it does. I go about my day. I try not to let me think that I’m existentially doomed, that nothing will change, that I will die in this rented room. I have to believe in the constancy of change, like I believe in gravity. I have to tell despair to fuck off so many times. It’s like a barracuda that keeps coming at me and I beat it off of me as if my life depended on it–and it does.

I have to keep redefining myself by not the things or people I’m scared to lose. I am something else outside of these people, places, and things that I am discovering, that I am re-discovering, like how NaNoWriMo helped me to see.

I’m waiting to be normal again, to be self-sufficient again, to be in a community of 2 or 12 or 20 or 200 again, to be more than a brainstem that’s just existing again.

I’m waiting for restoration.

I don’t know when my proverbial Winter Solstice or Christmas will come, when I’m eased back into the light, seconds at a time. My own soul’s Advent calendar looks like I’ve had it for years. It’s so beat up and falling apart. It’s being propped up by books and CDs and my own sheer will. I have no idea how many doors left until it’s done. I just open a new door every day and find the treat inside.

And sure, I’ll probably lose my shit when Gabriel comes down in some glittery glory and announces some good news. I will be caught off guard, just minding my own business, falling asleep as I’m tending to the herd of my own dreams.

Still. As I wait for light’s return, it all comes down to the surrendering of what is–past due bills, isolation, ramen for lunch, another job application, the rolling of eyes, the sighing, the crying, the not crying…

And more waiting.

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Patreon! It’s on!

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I usually wouldn’t be launching something a full moon, but necessity is the mother of invention. At least it’s a full moon in Taurus. Taurus is ruled by Venus–love! beauty! money! And it being an earth sign, we’re talking about stability. And I could definitely need some of that right now.

So I’m up on Patreon now. If you want to support this blog, I will have a good blog post once a week, at least. And here’s the link:

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Thanks for reading and sharing!

If you liked what you’ve read, I’d love your support as a patron on Patreon. Tiers starts at just $1/month. 

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Taunted, teased, and titillated.

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It’s faint, but it’s there. The rainbow. The prismatic promise.

I took this while walking home from the job I had two jobs ago.

And now, I’m not working, listening to Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill Acoustic. And really, that’s all I know.

Oh. There’s laundry that is on the left corner of my bed that is ready to be hung and folded. It’s been ready for two days. I may be ready tomorrow.

I haven’t had any real downtime since I moved down here to the swamps in August 2012. I have a little bit of time, like the rest of the week, to rest before I got back into the onslaught of a true job search.

So. When I say, “that’s all I know,” it’s about the future. As a double Capricorn (sun and rising), I usually try to know, or make it known. So this not knowing, and mostly being OK with it, is new to me. I’m just feeling it all out–intuitively, emotionally, spiritually. My brain is on break.

After grad school ended in August 2014, I felt like I was done, with everything, like I could die now because I had done my life’s work. Maybe that’s what writing your memoir will do. It was a good but scary (and thankfully temporary) feeling. Maybe the last two years have felt like winging it compared to grad school, compared to my life in Chicago that was aimed towards med school, with the arrow landing miles and miles away from that.

Even now, the job I left was a perfect fit for me. But it’s over. I met a man there and I thought he was beyond perfect. And nothing’s begun there, and probably never will.

I’m halfway wrestling with all of that I left, to reaching a level of satisfaction that I’m satisfied with. The car maker Lexus used to have a tagline: “The relentless pursuit of perfection.” I really embraced that as my tagline, but as a recovering perfectionist, it’s rusted over with reality. Even still, my pursuit seemed to have ended in August. Or so I thought.

It’s a little unsettling to, almost effortlessly, get breathtakingly close to the bullseye of your desires, and then have the Universe take the arrows out and say, “Oh girl, you can get a lot closer than that.”

The problem, I don’t have any imagination about what “closer” is. Blogging here is maybe a part of what getting closer is. I’m a writer, and writers write, and my favorite thing is to write about myself. I say that with no ego. Because of my hero’s journey in life, I have learned so much in such a short amount of time, and I’m endlessly prattling about it. So I might as well do that here, for now.

Still, I’m not sure if my lack of imagination is solely about exhaustion or…really, I don’t know. It is scary for me to not have any solid career aspirations. Who am I outside of the office? And who do I want to be when I grow up?

I have very Venusian concerns: love, money, and beauty. Beauty is never really any issue. Florida is a beautiful state and being in nature is easier to do as the temperatures start to drop into more humane ranges. Love and money, though? Those seem to be more elusive creatures.

In the land of divination,  it would seem my life is where I want it to be, or that I’m coming really close. But it’s gotten very uncomfortable for me, to keep seeing these messages about love.

New Love. Ace of Cups. Two of Cups. Three of Cups. Four of Wands. The Lovers. Honeymoon. New Partner. Soulmate. This Could Be The One. True Love.

I’m not out there in the world right now, so it makes me wonder about the things that the Universe has control over–aka things I shouldn’t be worrying about: so, Who? Have I met this person already? How? When? Really?

And it squicks me out to say, yes, that is what I want in my life, in the traditional trappings of marriage. And it’s time for that. It’s probably been time for that, screams my mouldering ovaries. And I guess it’s coming.

I’m not as concerned about the career stuff, because, again, it’s about those things that aren’t my concern–how? in what form? when? And, well, that realm is more under my control. And I’m not as broke as I used to be.

But love. It’s like that faint rainbow. I can see it’s there. I don’t have to even squint. It’s not as intense of rainbows as I’ve seen in Florida, in my life. But it’s there. And it’s real. And maybe who I met, maybe the Universe is saying–this rainbow can be more brilliant, more intense. Don’t settle for this. I don’t know. I do know what I felt, and that changed my life. And for now, in this breath, that’s enough.

An aside of sorts: Every time I see a rainbow, I’m in awe, like it’s the first time I’ve seen one. As someone who came to Earth as an old soul, it’s tough to get to a place of childlike wonder and delight. Rainbows have always transported me to that ageless space. And they always seem so rare. But during the rainy season in Florida, you can see them quite often. Maybe I wasn’t looking for them in years past, but they seem to be around a lot for me this year. They seem to be the sign from the Universe that the worries I have, especially about love, have been heard, understood, and transmuted.

But my impatience is pressing me, squishing me into the present, and into the unknown. It’s not polite anticipation. It’s foot-tapping, arm-crossed, watch-glaring impatience. It’s tres gauche, and I have to be OK with that, too.

The time I spend with Spirit, asking every day, across multiple decks, of what I should know–that’s how I feel I’ve been a bit teased, taunted, and yes, titillated, by my own desires. Sometimes I think that tarot and oracle card readings are just reflections of my subconscious self. And sometimes, it’s startling to see what is staring back in me in the cards.

After years of grinding and hustling, not only for a living, but for my own place, my own state of freedom and being, both internally and externally… it’s weird, and maybe a little wearying, for that activity to all come to a quiet halt. It’s eerie, to be alone, with those big, lifelong desires, the ones that are little higher up the hierarchy of needs pyramid. What are all the hustling for? It was to get up there. And I had forgotten.

And even still: when I’m used to hearing no over and over, what could be scarier than yes? Yes is unfathomable. It’s reaching the bottom of the ocean, a literal place that most of us have never even seen, with unknown creatures skittering about.

And what I mean is…hearing yes to things that your heart can’t even imagine happening.

What’s funny, and a bit sad, is what I want are things that a lot of people have, do, and will experience, and, frankly, take for granted. In the past four years, those two things would be any sense of stability and consistent human connection.

Maybe that’s why I feel like I have no dreams. Those don’t seem like conventional big dreams to me, or dreams at all. I dream of being normal, even though I know I’m never going to be truly normal. I dream of my normal. And, for this month, it’ll be to recognize and embrace my own desires, especially those of having my own family. And, you know, that’s it’s totally OK to want that.

Even though tarot and oracle card readings feel like big teases, they will probably stop talking about what concerns me when I really believe that it’s gonna happen. I think  it was Jesus who said that signs are for those who don’t believe. And I don’t yet fully believe. I still feel like it’s up to chance, that life is utterly, chaotically random, and I just got incredibly unlucky. But I don’t know that, either.

All I know is what I want right now, which seems infinitesimal and eensy-weensy to the things I’ve accomplished and endured. But that’s what it took to get here, to the really basic quotidian but beautiful shit of the human condition.

Just took the long way, the really long way.

If you liked what you’ve read, I’d love your support as a patron on Patreon. Tiers starts at just $1/month. 

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