My Dog Ate It

 

And some people on the internet are mean. 

For real, I always forget that. Some nobody told me I'm too old to do what I do. The timing was perfect. I'm at the studio. I had written this clever post for my Fetlife group (pin that, we're going to circle back to it) about my trip to Istanbul with that smoke show. In that post I called her "Term TBD". Anyway, I wrote a post because I'm trying to get back in the rhythm of writing and creating. Trying to get back in the vibe of working. Cuz this is my work, this is what I do. I was leaning so far into the how lucky am I, how blessed am I, vibe. I have a job I love, that's fulfilling, rewarding, excites me, maybe it even makes other people feel good. My gig is all that, and I took 5 months off to nurse my feels and indulge my sads, and to mourn my mother. 

See that's why I was leaning in so hard. How can I get back to writing here? Do I mention it? Do I not mention it? 

I had no idea that there was a type of sad that was this big. I had no idea that there was a level of sad that feels like you'll never ever really shake it completely. 

How can not mention it? 

But where? How? 

Apparently it fits right here between this ass on the internet and Fiona eating my post. 

So I'm here at the studio, in the best mood. Not just a regular good mood, but a curated, intentional, great mood. I listed my gratitude for 30 minutes this morning. I applied lotion and massaged oil into every cell of my epidermis and had lavender milk tea with my breakfast. (For those not as woo hoo as yours truly, lavender is the scent to seek for crushing sadness). I took some fire selfies in cowboy boots and a skirt my top said was too short. You know where you'll find them. 

Let's circle back now to the post for my Fetlife group. It was clever. TBD would have found it flattering, and really that was my goal. Well that and maybe my top would say....oh you know what I want him to say, don't you? And as I was editing and patrolling for typos, Fiona walked on my keyboard and fed my clever post to a hungry internet demon. So we leaned in there too. I waited so long for her, I lost my dobie Circe 16 years ago. Kept claiming I couldn't have another dog because it's so hard to have dog when you rent. Of course that was a fib, I had a horse while I was a renter- prolly could have figured out how to have dog. But it's hard to get past that level of sad too, it was previously the worst I had ever known. So ya, if having Fiona costs an occasional written sacrifice, I'm down all day. 

That's the vibe I was in and some dude who follows my Snap like it's breadcrumbs to a house made of candy, shot me a message that I'm too old to do this shit. This shit being post snaps flashing my tits, covered by a censor bar. I prolly should shoot him an uncensored copy. Gravity is still kind of scared of the twins. I mean I know the showdown is coming soon, but for today, I could take your eye.  But can you imagine? It's a Saturday in New England, OK it is raining but whatever, it's still more beautiful here than just about anywhere on the planet. You're sitting in front of or holding a machine that can pretty much play any show, movie, book, song; answer any question, show you any part of the world. All of that at your fingertips, and pointing out to a 50-year-old woman that she's old seemed like the best use of your time? The poor thing, I'm going to pray for him. 

I'll ask my kittens in my cult to join me too.