Yesterday I wrote, "It's Monday and raining, proof the Gods delight in my happiness.". I've given myself a new protocol: tap the keys for an hour as soon as I wake-up, every day, no matter what. It was completed, of course, but the final draft failed to feel worthy of posting.
It's Tuesday now, a house lot is being cleared across the street. The noise is maddening. Multiple generators, engines, chain saws, stump grinding and a scared Fiona tapping to go in her crate then crying to come out. At least she's resigned that even her biggest bark, from her 11-pound pink poodle self, isn't going to scare the crew away.
The goal isn't to write something to post every day, but the dopamine reward of a completed product would have been such a plump, sweet cherry on a still delish sundae of a Monday.
Then again, perhaps this pedestrian Tuesday, with its obnoxious noisy start, needs that cherry bump more than my perfect Monday did.
I appreciate that Fate sees the fine details of the big picture far better than this mere mortal.
I appreciate that Fate sees the fine details of the big picture far better than this mere mortal.
Speaking of ch-ch-cherries, I saw Joan Jett recently. Flow with me through this stream of consciousness. I started dancing about a month before my 21st birthday. I regularly bemoaned that, despite fantasizing about it often, I didn't start sooner. Thoughts like, I have 5, maybe 6 years ahead of me before I'm too old to earn a living this way, worried me often. It felt like I had lost 3 years of income by starting when I was so very old at almost 21. When I discovered and transitioned to work as a Domme at 27, I was so relieved to imagine that I'd likely be able to earn this way until around 40. By then I would certainly have figured out my calling, and be well established in a real job, a grown-up (but not adult) career.
Wonder if Joan Jett's parents were supportive when their daughter first declared she wanted to be a rock star? If she even declared it, it sounds so silly, doesn't it? Wonder if she ever thought I need to do something more practical? That this moment might prove to be the last opportunity to choose a viable, still attractive, alternate path. Wonder if she ever worried that she might find herself past the age most people retire with calloused fingers still performing.
What silly things to have ever spent any time imagining.
Had a new-to-me client the other day ask if I might make an exception to my 2-hour minimum. Afterall he only wanted to explore foot worship, isn't 2 hours too much time for a foot worshipping session? I'm happy to report my reputation at almost 53 remains intact. Never in the history of all time has a boy described being in my company using the words too much time. Next time I might make it 3 hours and task him with watching the paint on my toenails dry.
Perhaps it is so very silly. Perhaps I am delusional. Who cares? Every time I declare something so very outrageous, blasphemous even like rain on a Monday is proof the Gods delight in my happiness, I find a new thing to be happy about. Confirmational bias with a side of toxic positivity, I am here for it. A 67-year-old woman named Joan had twenty thousand people on their feet, belting out every classic she slammed out.
How absurd that I ever spent a moment worried about when I would be too old to do what I love.
