yesterday i was a starfish. was a day off. so besides walking a few blocks to get a kombucha and go to the bookstore, all i did was lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling, in the suffocating heat under a ceiling fan, in a slip and tank top, soaking up the rays of my nothingness. no thoughts. no desires. a feeling of life draining out of me. uselessness. surrender. the hanged man. usually my days off mean days to write, and i treat writing work as serious as going to work. but mercury went stationary, and tossed me on my ass like a banana peel onto the pavement. i gave into it. no yoga even. mooning. dying my little death. then my friend came over in the evening, and like magic, i woke up from being a starfish. an hour in, finding myself bubbling like champagne over an old idea to write a play. bringing back to life that hidden dream, to paint with people and a stage. lights me on fire. with that fire lit, it caught onto the near dead flames of my other writing project, which has been waxing and waning for two years now. this is the process. my own self doubt the stomping hoodlum, putting flames out on repeat. increasing the pain of my labor of love. gotta laugh with the shadows, and give them a toast. also, learning to manage working at my job and working at the writing job, both. lots of work. but i have the perfect job to do this. a blessing of a job. maybe seattle is the place. there’s a thirst for the new though. gypsy spirit shining through the little pores of the starfish. sun in the ninth house, craving travel. oh well. you can’t get everything you want. but try to work for what is important. need to move too. want to live with other(s) now. realize i cannot wait for a partner anymore. realize this all the time, since love never shows. (not that it couldn’t at any moment.) doing my best to not have a bitter taste in my mouth. to keep the faith. need a deep accepting attitude, because i would rather be alone, than with the wrong person. it is what it is. it is a strength. all of my childish notions of romantic love are slipping away. and if i am scared shitless when he kisses me, that’s ok. doesn’t have to look like a stupid movie or even graceful. keep opening my heart to who he really is. staying out of fantasy land. letting go of every man, until true love sticks his flag in the porous dirt of my lush love. this is faith. wish i was the type to not want it sometimes. but that’s just me, wishing to be different as i have done my whole life long. my ambitions in life are tall orders and epic lands. meanwhile, the sands keep trickling down the hour glass. wrinkles appear in the corners of my eyes. and my thighs become tree trunks, not so easily pried. not naive. maybe with too much armor. ready to push love away like that animal who gets let out of her cage finally, and wont leave it. not sure. but if this is the case, i surrender to pushing away love too. let it come, and scare the crap out of me. let everything love open every door, open every pore, open every sense of devotion drizzling from stars to brain to bones….smashing every throne, and blossoming what is seeded beneath…the fruit of being alone.