In between sunlight and clouds, I have my good and bad days sometimes but mostly good. I feel much clearer and I’m trying to assess what I learned. Some of these lessons hurt. It didn’t matter that I came from the story I did in terms of what I went through a couple of years ago; it didn’t help me be understood. I’m sure my real-life lands differently now.
My best friend really hurt my feelings. I can admit that. He kept on hurting my feelings. And the thing is, I took that on and it threw me into a state of despair especially since an older friend told me that he was sounding like a drug addict.
“I don’t want you to be taken advantage of,” he said, because of his talk — skilled at sweeping you up into a scene — of changing lamps, fabulous, all this, when I didn’t understand…why are lamps suddenly being changed while I am living there? Like is this a sitcom? I didn’t know what to do. With his presentation of this. Should I let him do this? Now, I could ask — why?
I want direct language. “I want to change lamps because I buy a lot of lamps and I’m looking to store them. I’m looking to do some staging here,” not some song and dance, putting this on me. Not clear. It’s called make a deal, if that’s what you want. Are you letting me borrow the furniture if every now and then he can swamp some things? Not so sure. I might go somewhere else. Do you know what I mean? That’s not what our conversation was.
I wanted to give him the space to decorate — I felt wealthy more so than having actual wealth — and I wanted to share this with him. If it wasn’t good enough, that’s not my problem. I have this space. I would rather give it to you. I’m sorry I cannot pay you but I can invest a little in your design. Maybe you can pitch it. Maybe you can do something with it. I only had 5,000 dollars, which was already a lot for me, that’s why he was using his furniture.
I had to just break this down.
I was sitting in this new apartment, the most money I ever spent, wondering why the owners couldn’t see him, fearing he had a little bit of an agenda with me, not even understanding why, coming to realize “oh no, my mother was a drug addict.” Joking to me about drug addicts. Making me feel like I didn’t have a right to say—don’t do that to me. What a year that was.
This friend scared me, basically, with his talk about the apocalypse coming, and I didn’t understand why he was pushing it on me—like it’s really happening but pushing it on me. I get it. All I had to do was nod, draw some lines. I didn’t need to pull a clown act, psychological experiment, type of deal, but that’s how I coped with my parents being sick, not knowing what’s going on.
I was angry, too, which now I’m in a better relationship with. You need to be in touch with your feelings to protect yourself. But that confused me.
As someone who has had a few apocalypse dreams which is a motif, in my opinion, apocalypses are very personal. It’s not to say that global disaster isn’t upon us, but worlds have ended many times, you can go to an apocalypse if you so wish. I would rather hang out with my friend with an organization to address the problem of plastic. Meaning, don’t want that to happen. No salivating.
People have moments. Despair. I wish I handled that differently because he then told me about his plot to assassinate a politician. The only way to enact change was to kill a politician. The only reason he said, the only thing holding him back was his cushy life. Are you serious? I told one person. To protect his privacy, basically. But I was scared.
My friend did not suggest that I talk to him, “you’re far out,” communicate, or maybe take some distance. I didn’t get that suggestion. And in relation to me, to be honest, I had to look at this other friend, too. Quite frankly. Just because I developed an emotional attachment to this person which I’ve had to correct now. I’ll go down.
In general, I would suggest veering away from getting close to a person who is not close to you. Parents, that sort of thing, is over. I didn’t have that. I’m not even sure if I was looking for a parent but someone who wasn’t impaired and downright terrifying.
I was given away when I was four by a madwoman, she accuses my father of child molestation —that lie, I went through this, I mean was it? — then this woman tells me that my mother handled me inappropriately. Like I give a shit about the crisis I went through, couldn’t communicate, um, had to implement learning, and I assure you, if you were to go through something like that — you would want me there. I can break this down. What made this confusing, what I learned.
Once again, my nine-year-old rookie psychologist comes into the equation to remind of the problem of “I know” in this culture. It infuriated me at nine. Thank you.
I just need to laugh, actually, and write a little about what was going on around me leading up to my battle with self on Mother’s Day 2021, with what happened with my parents back there, just because I came from this super strange childhood and that’s what came into question. And that event totally changed my life. I lost, for the better, some friends, and maybe better friends are coming my way.
My parents came to the surface this year.
Overall, the year of quarantine ended up being a miraculous time of healing even if that meant going through my pain, letting go of some maladaptive responses that I had, facing what I didn’t know was there, facing what I didn’t want to. Even expressing confusion as to what the hell was going on.
You see, this friend wanted to talk to me about his thoughts around death and I happened to be building a character, an idea that emerged during this time of healing. I could write the story about what I was going through—a journey out of repression since I did. I am integrated now. That’s a fascinating idea, psychological journey, since it really was that — putting myself together, clearing up the story designed to mask.
Even that I felt time bend, I picked up on my father’s Alzheimer’s, I felt time change a couple of times the year he was diagnosed. I am a sensitive person, I can pick up on energy states, and maybe that would include someone who takes a lot of drugs, like that walk we took where you discussed Samara, you’re energy was all-sucking, you had a particular energy signature, so what was that? Just curious. It was like a hole that could never be filled. No, I’m not arranging to go to comedy clubs for you. If you want to go, you do it. This is what I mean. I’m not doing it for you.
The question, the question, though, that year, was change…when it came to traumatic patterns, the world, what does change entail? That’s the beginning of the Oldest Storyteller. He assumes, that he will play this character in some…me just going, I’m so excited about this character, I wonder who will play him, sort of laughing, is not the same thing as attaching.
“The only way you can enact change,” really, is to kill a politician. That’s basically what he said. I’m thinking about change. I really am and WWI. He didn’t mean it, but that’s not what he said. He appeared like he woke up on the wrong leg of the octopus. Good scene.
I was repressed for a long time so I came to sort of feel everything.
I wanted to be a safe place for people, and I figured that it just needed to be expressed, but still. Keep talking, sure, if I need to make a call like the FBI, this is what I’m saying. This is a delicate matter, and I am the only one who knows, right? How would someone else feel in this situation?
Then, I enacted the apocalypse. I invited him over and acted like — we were really on the other side of it as he really acted like it was coming. Now, I would not do this but it was quite a year. What’s real, not real, is anything real? I was still going through my process, a lot of pain in my ovaries. I might have even experienced a miracle. I did some very deep healing. What that means is something I’ll continue to discuss. The degree to which you heal even in advance.
Just to say this — a line rose from my belly from a place so deep it was sensationally impossible — while I was in pain — as energy first. I got out of bed, like there’s spatial dimension. I had prayed that we would not destroy the planet, that too, so fantastic — make it a fiction — “I have seen Gods die to become ordinary men and I have seen ordinary men die to become extraordinary men…” That line boomed through my body and then no more pain. That’s just what happened.
I started feeling sensations in areas of my body that brought this lie into question but this psychological process I underwent is deep and complex but I hung onto this lie as tightly as I could but I would factor his dementia as well since it really affected me. Not even there yet. I couldn’t communicate just around all this. I didn’t need to take this on. But I was offended. At the time, you could not affect me, you see.
I did this little act, even as a prayer. “We’re really on the other side,” really. Who’s crazier? The person who says it’s really coming or the person who says we’re really on the other side of it? He said you were far out, right, that’s what I should have said to him. Not get more involved.
Plots to assassinate a politician might alert the government. A girl on the other side of this apocalypse isn’t on their radar. That happened before I moved in.
Then, lamps changing. He’s going to come through and change lamps. Again, I’m a very generous friend, so if you’re upfront with me, then we can make a deal. I don’t like not knowing what I’m getting into. That feels underhanded.
“Oh I thought I would play Death,” he said. Wait what?
“Oh and a woman can’t play it,” disappointed.
I couldn’t respond. I vaguely said no.
So wait, I was in the apartment later. Are you talking behind my back? The phone calls…you wanting to talk to me about your thoughts about death… you were being underhanded? Trying to insert yourself into my idea…talking to some girl I don’t know…about my character…I was shocked. And he had told me about someone else he was being underhanded with.
I had to picture my other writer friend, a good friend, getting to a place in his life where he says “I don’t have much but I have this apartment” and I appreciate you, etc., your aesthetic, your vision, and I’m sorry I cannot pay you but I can give you 5,000 dollars.
Does he have an agenda with me…at this point in my life?
Just because some successful writer decided to work with me a little on my draft? Because I was excited, feeling like a million bucks, lol, about myself. Not him. He’s not doing anything. I don’t have an agenda, a problem with doing it myself.
He even came into this apartment, high energy, when I was visiting it, and told me about moving around her furniture and made some comment — underhanded — I didn’t know whether it was directed toward me. Something about how they were discussing what they’re friends wear, how it bothers them what they wear, and I’m not always fashionable.
I couldn’t tell, graining back, is he happy for me? Or is he acting unconsciously? Why did he just tell me this story?
And then I moved in.
And then he joked after making some signal that his friend had spoken to him about his drug use. I came to realize, oh no, my mother was a drug addict. I cannot even go into it—I didn’t even call him one. I went into a tailspin, panic, can I care, not care, joke. My mother was a drug addict—not him. I walked outside, said it for the first time in my life — you can’t say that to me; my mother was a drug addict. I did it for me.
It’s a new world when feelings start to enter the equation.
And his joke was the least disconcerting thing he said about drug addicts.
I left…completely. You see. Completely.
I lived in another family’s house, she never picked me up, put alcohol in like the one thing she ever made me…thinking about these clothes, who I chose to get close to, taking a real good look at myself, that’s absolutely right. I will not get what felt like more underhanded comments. How dare you.
And then, “as your manager,” he said.
With a belittling hand.
“As your manager…”
I froze, in this apartment.
So, he’s playing Death, he’s my manager…what reality am I in?
This is what I mean, I go “oh no,” Maria, just stop, and then another thing.
I’ve got an actor, manager, for borrowed furniture because I had a low budget. Bring in all your furniture so you can use this 5,000 dollars to design the space. Something doesn’t make sense, right? In this approach. At least.
I felt disrespected.
This was the most money I ever spent on rent.
Right before I shut the door, I didn’t know what this was, and I can’t remember if the manager comment came after this, not sure.
I picked out a shirt I knew he wouldn’t like, hung it in my closet. I was triggered, didn’t know I could be yet, and I wondered what he would get rid of in my entire closet. He picked out the shirt. I can seriously feel when he does not like something I am wearing which is just a little weird, no? Maybe this relationship wasn’t the best set-up. He disliked this shirt. I got up and said “the shirt stays.”
That’s it. I’m evaluating what this is.
“Is this your boundary thing?”
He asked me.
Exactly.
What was this question?
“Yes,” I said.
I thought about it.
He’s doing me the favor.
Because I gave him 5,000 dollars.
That’s why he used his furniture.
Don’t get a bed.
I looked one up on IKEA.
The idea was he would do his design.
I had to pull the plug.
He wasn’t keeping track.
I had to.
Paint, that paint job was practically it.
You could pitch it.
You could design it as you want.
I don’t know if this could help you in some way.
I would like to support you too…since this is what you do right now.
I didn’t even need to be in the picture.
He decorated his guesthouse for less. From IKEA.
He spoke about a magazine…was this to help them sell it? Do you know what I mean?
“I’m ready to spend hours and hours…”
He said.
I was not on that page.
And after everything I heard…
“On Saturdays, I would like to come in,” he could have said, so he did this for me, is that what I understand? Purely, solely for me…I could have gone to IKEA. I wanted to give him the money. And I didn’t even care that he didn’t finish it, but yes, there was an edge. I’ve dealt with harsher responses to some of the things I’ve done. I’m just being honest. Anger. You hurt me.
You do it yourself when I didn’t even ask him to do anything and this person still projects this onto me and sort of suggests what to do. Very confusing. That’s not what I asked. Yeah. I call my other friend now to amicably exchange ideas. I needed to reconnect with someone who wanted to draw my desires out of me as I would do for someone else. This imposition. You’ll see what I mean, just because I changed deeply, and I am a psychology person, “do you know what I would do…”
No more. “Not asking.” I would like to do what I would like to do.
I had to clear this up.
I had obviously an approach problem.
I’m beginning to talk about this time.
The 5,000 was to support his design. If it was just for me then my 5,000 dollars didn’t get me much. I could have bought a whole house from IKEA. Didn’t need to paint. Um, why am I here? Very good question. Did this make sense?
If you’re looking to be an actor, manager…
Remember when you walked up to me on 13th street, I was making a conscientious reach with my rent, not in the right place, or just needed someone who could help me concretely strategize that. Good move for you. Time to get out of the help, can’t afford, but am lucky thing. A place came on the market, just before the market; honestly, was there anything attached already? Maybe not. But rather quickly, a lot came with this apartment. Him.
His partner mentioned it. He didn’t finish it. So he said it. I didn’t even care. It was still a beautiful design though I had an exchange over this desk that I thoroughly didn’t appreciate. Out of everything that was happening, no desk. I had to, um, ask him…where’s my desk? What? My desk. This is what I do. Again, couldn’t tell what his true feelings were…
Uh okay, standing there.
Feels a little — there’s a problem with me moving up in the world, strangely. Being a writer. Being noticed. I assure you, if this was my friend the writer, I would not belittle it, I don’t give a shit about money, even if I had more money than God.
I just ordered a desk on Amazon. Wait, what? Well, it’s Monday over the weekend. I’m going back to work on Monday. I don’t like how I’m feeling. Take your time, even, to figure it out. The desk came. Didn’t seem like it existed in his concept.
I’m just sort of thinking about this.
The desk was beautiful sitting at some long makeshift desk at a huge window in Istanbul— this is all I wanted. And I have little money left, that’s alright. This person. I made that decision just a touch too early, should have avoided him completely, didn’t have the right frame of mind.
I felt like I couldn’t even talk to my psychologist. This was my best friend.
So when his partner said that. He didn’t finish. I ended up writing him an encouraging message, trying to support him; maybe this was part of the problem. He had the power to properly attend to that space, not treat it like it’s not good enough, whatever, though I’m writing characters for him and a friend of his, and he’s my manager…who was this girl?
So you’re doing this solely for me?
What was this? For you?
I’m just saying this was going on around me.
Just think about that. I gave him 5,000 dollars for a design that was not mine. I got a couch, a couple of paintings, you see what I mean? Not like, let’s go to IKEA, no, he wanted to do something. Even for me. I said you did this on a dime…my dime…and I have…little to show for it.
And there, there’s an agenda, is that right, on top of it? Way too far in advance. I would ask him, just to test my psychic skills, what were you thinking about? Were you thinking about this character, manager, I mean, what was going through your head? Was there agenda in my space?
By the time I moved in, he wants to change lamps, he has some plot he’s not carrying out, he’s playing Death, he’s joking to me about being a drug addict, can’t even apologize. My desk doesn’t exist, even conceptually. As your manager. Is this your boundary thing?
After all this, I’m moving out, I get a text. “Can I come over and say hi,” he writes me like an hour and a half before they are supposed to come. He didn’t ask me what I wanted to do with my furniture, by the way, he decided for me, because I am the crazy person. “No,” I said, I’m supposed to move, no? I’m trying to get out of here, isn’t today move out day?
“Can I come over…and get ready for the movers then…”
Would most people blow up? Like who cares that I was in the hospital, with a story like mine. Hero. Fine. I’ll take it. I’m sorry, both my parents were sick, my father especially. Those lies came into question, you see. Someone might not totally be able to…
When he called the movers and they weren’t coming, how was I supposed to take this? Well, it sort of sounded like you already knew that. Did you? Lying to me like that. He didn’t say “are you going to be alright? You’re leaving tomorrow.” In the chair, the movers not coming, he said, “Write the movie about what happened…”
Sure. Did he envision a role for himself? No, tell me. Did you? What was it? This is what my experience was — you ringing the doorbell, shaking me out of my writing, oh, I’m doing this to not disturb you, when you can just leave the package…because I closed the door. I’m shaking, he’s looking at me like how fascinating, and I’m making him tea?
What was sincere? What wasn’t? A mix of both? What happened? You see, when an established writer decided to mentor me a little — that was the fall. Let’s put a pin in it. More importantly, “Hollywood.”
These were the themes that hurt the most.
Home.
I moved out before he did.
His lamps still there.
I didn’t know whether or not that put my security deposit at risk. I struggled to get out of there. Panic attack. I was able to clean, I asked for a little help in the end, since he offered, and I had to go. The movers came a day late. First question, did you know that before you walked into my apartment? Then, I found out sixteen days later from the owners that the key wasn’t there. I’m not going to bother them with details they don’t need to know. Someone leaving the key is not their problem. They texted me. I texted him. He lied to me. I caught him thanks to the owners. No apology.
I tried with him, too. Not the other way around. I assure you, I needed to clear my head. I will not be spoken down to about my mother being a drug addict, putting alcohol in my goddamn burger patty when I was four. No wonder I got upset. No wonder. Not — I am crazy. No. And the thing is, I have my anger in check. In the right place. His joke was the least disconcerting…
I no longer fear being crazy, I no longer give a shit, if I need to ask, assume, defend myself, etc. People have acted crazy with me around their goddamn triggers.
I gave you 5,000 dollars — and in that case, we were using your furniture. As opposed to saying, let’s go to x, right? Or, I’ll put my stuff, right, because it was your design. Instead of paying — please — for stuff. Here’s 5,000 for your design and to be treated with the utmost disrespect. How was this going to help me put down roots? Like I’m staying another year. Can’t. You royally freaked me out.
“You hurt my feelings.”
Oh? Tell me how?
I hugged you a bit aggressively because I said what I said — needing to start from step one — and you invited me out to brunch. If I may, if you take drugs, and I don’t give a shit how many drugs you take, what I give a shit about is that my mother was a drug addict, you might get leaky. So if you’re lying to me…how can I trust you?
I went through hell. My story I’ll figure that out. This stupid message that punched me in the gut, random, fine, didn’t feel like that, but it’s to give you a sneak preview. This person was attached to me. No? 5,000 dollars for paint. For his design. Isn’t that what I paid for? Not feeling all that great, no?
That confused me.
And I’m the one apologizing to you because I went through hell and you’re acting superior with me, with me, about psychosis talk when how do you know? Across the board here. I put my relationships in their proper place. That guy, stay away from me. I’ll pick up my things, right.
Now, maybe someone else would have appreciated that. Yeah, I’ll do this for x, use my furniture, and take a small cut, I’ll pitch it, try to do something cool, sure, because this is what I want to do. Which is what I thought. And then, he said, “no” he’d rather kill himself. Alright. Because I gave him 5,000 dollars — which was already generous in terms of where I was at.
Not let’s go to IKEA.
I didn’t even really care, everything he does is lovely, whatever.
So complicated.
If he had had plan, if he had thought, alright, I’m going to do this, and use this money to do the artwork, I would have had artwork at this end of this exchange…so I paid for paint, basically. And all this. A manager in exchange.
So that affected me.
If he thought, this is for you, he would have suggested that I use that money to buy my own furniture. It was his design that came before my basic needs.
And I have to thank him for this? Like I did this for you.
No.
What was the motivation behind this design?
To showcase his work.
So, shouldn’t I have gotten some pieces in the end, I mean, he didn’t do anything. And like, if you can’t make a basic schedule, even if I’m upset, am I that scary? Good. I’m having children for sure. Aviators. I want kids now. Every Saturday, I’m going to complete this design with my things, right, because 5,000 dollars got me a paint job and a cool couch — great for Death, really —a painting and some leggo storage units — he could have done it up…respected my boundaries, it was the agenda just the whole approach, and perhaps pitched it. Did something. It just didn’t matter to him. So why did I do this? You see what I mean?
I could have done the paint job — next time. I could have go uptown, because who cares, gotten a roommate even, and taken this a bit slower. I could have not gotten involved with this person who seemed to attach to my felt success, just me at the point where I am holding myself up in a new way, and directed my focus elsewhere.
Now, I am designing my own space, Jesus Christ, when I get there.
I started changing that year and I got rid of that closet. If that’s what this brought me. Someone who takes ownership of my things, basically, who might shape this situation in a way that is a bit twisted in its logic, which does affect me. 5,000 dollars. For your design. Which got me your furniture. So you could do this for me. Your art. And I would have supported your being in some magazine. And in two years, maybe I would have taken this…furniture to the next place? Probably not. So I spent money on you. And I got all this.
I reopened my childhood the year of quarantine.
Change.
It brought me through the worst period of my life and I’ll continue to write about it. But with this friend, it was one thing after another. After I got out of the hospital, he continued to disobey my wishes, to the point that. I had asked my friends — mostly to him — no family talk. Not after what I went through. He insisted on using this. Then, I said something about what I was going to wear, “well if I was costuming it,” well, guess what? Don’t give a shit. This relationship is over. Doesn’t even ask me what I want. Imposes. Sure. It’s fine, do you love it do you love it. Sure, I love lots of things, I’m looking around this, going — is this me? You know?
This mask of mine. This approach. No. Wait, I’m giving you 5,000 dollars. I want my own furniture. If this isn’t good enough for you, then fine, but you did it on a dime, do you see the inherent illogical nature of me saying that to you. When it’s not my stuff. It’s just a design. Not finished. And I’m supposed to make this easier on you? You designed a house with real furniture for 3,000.
I’ve been sitting with this time this week, just thinking about what happened, and what I learned, especially since I made a couple of adjustments recently that brought me to a finer state of clarity. That event really changed my life. This year. Paying for someone else’s furniture. When this was not necessary. Trying to give him a space. Stupid. Let’s make this a studio. Go to IKEA, paint, keep the floors, even, I like white glossy floor, that was nice, but it made no sense. To not even have anything to show for it. A couch. For his design. Purely.
I had to laugh. And there’s talk about killing a politician. But not really. That’s not what he said. I’m the one…not too sure, no no no. This was a poor way to spend 5,000 dollars. I don’t disrespect money or someone’s money like this…truly speaking. You see, that closet. Gone. Because of this, that too. These were the only possessions I had, more or so. I walked…what is commonly known…as my own trap. So case closed. This begins Mother’s Day 2021. I moved into this house in December 2020. then the first week of March, I got this message through my website that socked me in the gut. Random, yeah, and he did freak me out. So when I saw him in my apartment, I flipped out.
All I did was wander over there, confused, I sent him a bunch of texts too, and I can’t fully explain that, but he had scared me. I suppose I was feeling for the first time. But then, I can’t explain what I was feeling around this person with his manager comment. So I apologize for that. I called him a serial killer, all this stuff. I never did that before. I had terrible images in my head. I might ask him, if you’re plotting to kill a politician, are you having any other thoughts like this, that was very scary. When someone says what’s holding them back is —
I don’t know what to say…because I had some terrifying thoughts.
I felt so much too. In those two months.
I’ll keep breaking it down. Like I’m not alone. I get one creates their own reality. But this decision making was wacky. Wacky. And I’m supposed to be grateful for an image? That I can’t even show, oh look, my apartment was in some magazine, as if this is my responsibility.
I ended up hugging him a little hard because I went through that much. That’s it.
If you’re having thoughts about killing someone, yourself, this is the point at which someone might seek help. You see? No? I think this should be a standard. Again, sort of, like, me too, you know, think about these four years and this is someone who was the closest to me… you don’t really know what you’re looking at. So I can forgive myself. I can forgive him.
But his attitude toward me, it continues to feel a little off. Like, sure, I’ll let you know when we can talk, but he’s not going to do it— and I’m targeting, you see, this I’m responsible for this relationship….no no. No no. Here’s a wildly new concept — your pill use, how many pills you’re taking, is royally boring. Would rather not talk to you anymore. And there’s something to say, looking around, as to what a good friend is. Thank you, a well-thought out plot, and if this is just fantasy, it’s just that, what state of mind are you in? And where does this cross over? Could this be a senseless person? Someone who might send someone a message…it’s just that, someone random sent that in at that exact moment. I never got a message before.
But what tension was in my space, what had I ignored? Even this situation.
I’m reaching beyond, also a bit off, right? Doesn’t this spatial organization imply that?
Psychology, thank you, in my aviators, made it, is not just in their mind.
Something’s off here.
Dear, sit down.
You’re better than this. Too generous. Even. The gratitude problem. You’re relating with someone you should not relate to. I might suggest that someone who is too flat, literal, in their understanding of things might be a sign. I might follow him. Is he speaking extremely literally? I wonder about that.
In any case, a thought popped up. The money. I invested money in another person’s company. And the relationship with these two people — also confused me, didn’t end well, and I felt that they actually hated me. At least, one of them. After all, the summer before — I know, drama, like just get off! — this man called me after I left another company for very legitimate reasons and went down some chain reaction of how he found out, like I care. He didn’t want me to go through any more pain. He said this exactly. What pain? This was in fact a very strange phone call. He gave me a middle finger at a group, on the sly, sorry. Him calling me twice, after not speaking to him, on my birthday — I moved in on this day — and Monday. He wrote me a message. What’s going on?
I ignored this. I was busy. I do not talk to him. This is not a stupid man.
Just to give myself, thank you, a bit of back up.
I felt proud of myself. I wrote a too nice email (The Oldest Storyteller). But still. I didn’t want to contact them even because I had been disturbed by this situation. I didn’t want to even ask. But I did. besides, it had been two years, Death (in my imaginary space, doesn’t matter) slapping the papers from my hand, telling me to watch scripted shows. We were dealing with me being the main character of my life. This is in retrospect. No? Because this is my guide through this. So just picture this magical realism figure in this situation. Trying to reason with me.
It makes me laugh.
We agreed.
I confirmed that I needed it back. The money. Hopefully, will come back with more, I said, I obviously support your business — BLAH BLAH BLAH.
I am quite sensitive. Now, I’m tapping my feet, ready to have kids, because I separated, you understand, from bonding patterns, even my energetic body is more in check. No, no, no. Not doing that, not doing this, no became the word. You are not just able to project onto me.
The next morning, at 5 AM, I am already up — dreaming about The Oldest Storyteller at dawn, sunrise, his eyes very beautiful, me moving, dancing, not to disturb people during regular hours because that was step one. I stopped working out and I started to move, and I had issues I became aware through that act. Discovering what I could do, too. Good idea. Smart. Even. Just because you might not pick up on it. Just stop. That was the thought to myself.
Anyway, that’s the fictional thread in retrospect that I’m thinking about as I’m going through this CRAZY year that was also miraculous. The question I have is how one’s system might defend itself around shift, change, because the final blow is coming.
At 5 AM, I’m already at my desk. An email comes in through my website — like the first time ever —in ALL CAPS that my actual bank is going to be shut down, with Joe Miller mixed in, and if you google me you can clearly see I did a project with her, so that’s public knowledge. It hit me in the gut and I felt a block of stone move…and hit another.
And that began the last leg of that journey.
Thanks for reading.