last week got a little better after i wrote that dramatic post. etta gave me a tarot card reading. the first card, which is the card that illuminates what’s going on with the whole situation, was the tower card. it made etta yell, “holy shit!” the literal meaning of that card is “expulsion from paradise.” and that’s how it feels, i guess.
i don’t know. i’ve been writing this entry in my head all week and now that i’m at the library, in front of a computer, it’s not really coming. i guess all you need to know is that i had a lot of really beautiful intense goodbyes this week. i am at my new place and it’s hard and sad but also good. so much light & so much space. slanty floors and dust that makes me choke, wobbly toilet and no bathtub. it’s the little things that hurt. the knowledge that i can’t go home again.
i found my journal from 1998 while unpacking and was struck by the compulsion to re-read it. that was the summer i cheated on my first girlfriend with an intense older woman, dumped my girlfriend to be with this other person, and then was promptly dumped by the older woman–who was a compulsively-lying alcoholic–for being “too fucked up” and having “too many problems.” it’s funny, the things i wrote to myself then, how they could apply so much to this vastly different situation thirteen years later. my jumbly handwriting, reminding myself that i am strong. wondering why i always want a partner so badly when they never make me happy. i wonder when i am going to learn–and what, exactly, i need to learn anyway.
my move, itself, was intense. lots of hard work, lots of love. at one point there was a cuddle puddle on my bed. i was in the middle, with 2 of my best friends on one side and my expartner on the other. i jokingly said, “it’s like i’m transitioning from cuddling with r. to cuddling with my friends, and you’re all cuddling with me at once so i don’t get too scared!” and everyone laughed, but there was a sadness afterwards.
i lost my voice during the move. the last 2 days with him. squeaking, growling, it hurt to talk but i kept doing it anyway because there was so much i needed to say. i realized that the last time i lost my voice was also in the throes of an intense breakup. and yesterday, 2 separate people i talked to mentioned that they’d known people who lost their voice in a breakup, or in a period of stress & extreme sadness. sounds symbolic.
that first night in my apartment, people trickled off one by one, until it was just me and amanda. late at night, my voice barely a whisper at that point. we had a moment of quiet, and i said, “i guess this is my life now.” amanda turned to me, grinning all big and wild, and said, “welcome!”