April 4: On Turning 32.

Today, I am 32 years old.

I am still working on liking Chardonnay because I think that it’s what thirty-something’s drink.  I am sorely missing my best pal this year, but am starting to see the benefits of grief, and how it opens up into sensitivity, which opens up to seeing, which opens up to falling in love again.  One of my favorite things is blending famous people or friend’s names with inanimate objects or activities (David DuCovies for my duvet.  Donald and Danny Glovey are my gloves.  Ellaphants Gerald is my elephant blanket.  When my Someone asks “Are you ready to quit for the day?” and I say, “Yep, it’s Quittin’ Tarantino Time!”).  I make an effort to do this at least once a day.  This morning I think I learned what it means to breathe into a feeling and release the bad feeling out.  It was my first time thinking it worked.  I have a love of putting my feet in water that doesn’t seem to be decreasing with age.  For the first time since I was young, I didn’t watch my birthday come in at midnight– I made it only to 11:45PM and conked out.  I was, however, up in plenty of time to see the sunrise.  My favorite city to visit in Savannah, GA, with a close second of Rapid City, SD.  I listen to more music, now, and am pretty sure it’s because I am able to hear again without worrying if it makes me cool.  I am writing more, and starting to believe that the universe isn’t against my effort, but is rooting for me, instead.  Celery might be becoming my favorite vegetable, but I’m not ready to admit it to myself because it feels boring.  I do yoga almost every day, and take classes without feeling like anyone is watching me, anymore.  This morning, I did it in the middle of a park where people were watching, and I didn’t care.  I consider stopping shaving my legs once a month, but I don’t.  I love hotel rooms.  I am actively working on ways to find myself lost in a project– so lost that I realize that I’ve forgotten to eat, or that it is suddenly nighttime.  I started wearing jeans again this year, but only the sneaky elastic kind that are more like tights but nobody knows it.  They are the same ones my mother-in-law wears.  I am a sucker for jokes, but not the practical kinds.  I want to drink more tea.  I want to drink finer wine is smaller quantities.  I want to go roller skating.  I want to go bowling.  I want to go on more walks in order to think, and think less about whether or not I should be walking.  I’ve made a new friend this year who was right under my nose, but I wasted too much time believing she was someone she wasn’t before I finally set my ego aside and loved her.  My biological clock still isn’t ticking.  I often think of my friends with food allergies when I eat the food they can’t have, and I feel sad that if they were here in that moment, we couldn’t share.  This then throws me into a mental scrolling marquee of each of my friends and their allergies (Alli can’t have beans, Zach can’t have peanuts, Steven can’t have almonds, Dad can’t have gluten, Sherry is vegan…).  My dog is so cute, and I sometimes cry or grit my teeth at the sight of her to keep from exploding.  My Someone is so kind, and I am working at looking directly at him to stop from getting too far in my head and blaming him for things he isn’t doing wrong.  I think I am becoming more patient.  I am exercising my flexibility.  Most times I feel afraid when I am content, because I believe that this emotional indicator is the Universe’s way of letting me know that it is my time to pass on, now.  I am working on not feeling guilty for happiness.

It’s a good start, at least.  Now, I will start preparing for 33.

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