I was staring at my dresser, at the framed picture of the fox and a little ways past that to a mirror that felt warmer. my brother’s ashes which didn’t cause any alarm or overwhelming grief so much as the polaroid of my dad next to a backdrop of a dark woods so the two blended. I looked back up and sat back up. opening the notebook again. it’s hard to focus on anything. it’s best to comfort yourself too. “tail wraps inward for Virgo, outward for Scorpio.” I’m on my south node journey. . I’m simply observing the process of what I noted and what I’m noting now as I’m reifying my old words into the alchemy. I am looking around my room a lot. not in alarm, it is safe here. no one has been in this room but a couple people and no one has ever slept in this bed with me, or fucked me. not in this room on this mattress.that thought is soothing.
“no one had ever fucked me in this bed,” I say aloud again.
I was really watching the picture of the fox but also noticing the table. all my furniture is heavy antique wood, scratched but really what I crave. cumbersome and a chore to carry up the stairs. a secret joy at watching veins in men’s heads pop as they lift these things up and down. I only have wooden furniture. you can burn it all. but then I wanted it gone. rolled down the stairs. push it away so that I have more room in here. I wanted a dresser gone and the table and the mirror and the antique chest full of costumes and drapes, tablecloths, glitter. things that I have used to make space, gone. get rid of everything. there’s too much stuff. the blank white room filled with antique tables and notes, superstitious things. I begin to rearrange the fox and the glass ball next to it, a gift– black glass and brown jasper, solid and fun to hold. then the brown jasper pillar next to it. I wanted all three facing me as I lied down so I can look at them. I have these flashes of Midsommar and my dad and my mom. even though it is close to the anniversary of my brother’s death and my walks have been flocked by cardinals, I haven’t been thinking of him that way. I’ve been thinking of him alive a bit as a kid. there is no harm between us. my family and I really loved each other. I’ve been thinking of my parents dying. the house rotting with all the mold and moisture and crickets. me having to go clean it out, afraid of the cockroaches. me wishing my brother was here. me grieving the future and the loss of my yearbooks, our garage. having to bury my parents alone. the pandemic is close. no it’s here. grief is transformative.
I was laying down again. I felt overstimulated by the room. I enjoyed color and art so my room was full of any number of things to settle on but I needed nothing. the blank white room. the bed felt safe and I sunk in it a bit. I began to rub my hands all over my head. I’m just trying not to touch my face. I began to pull at my temples to uncrease them and then rub my thumbs downward, pausing at the congestion area above my lips. mild acupressure. ten seconds, release. I rub my hands back up and squeeze my temples. I place each index finger by jaw and forcibly, yet slowly, unclench it and massage it. I have to take the pressure off. it’s mounting in my head. this is a common practice of mine but not utilized enough. I rubbed my jaw and along my neck and moved my neck over the mattress in a serpentine way to release any tension. and breathed. I was breathing again. it was elation contained. you have to take the pressure off, (redacted). I sat for the chorus. it was my voice but deeper. my voice but further. in repetition. and also sounded multiplied, like there may be a few people also chanting that it was time to take the pressure off. you have to take the pressure off, (redacted). over and over and in threes and my voice but deeper. I was hunched over slightly but breathing. I wanted to throw up. I see the golden heart on my hand. I’m on drugs, I reminded myself. I always remind myself on my drugs.