Today I gathered up a few BOXES of B's things he forgot to take with him. I took out 3 garbage bags of trash, and 2 garbage bags for the Sally Ann. I'm pretty on top of the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front hallway. The bedroom is next. Then it is cleaning time. I decided to take a few days holiday from crying. Just kidding (sort of). I never forced myself to stop, it's just that one night I fell asleep crying and the next morning I woke up feeling okay. I'm trying to enjoy this feeling of solidity for as long as I can. I find myself anxious and upset at the smallest things. Grocery shopping and realizing I no longer need to buy ______ and _______ because he's not there to eat those things anymore.

I don't know if I should just give myself a break and not think about these things or not! I want to get a little bit of control of my feelings back, because they've been consistently out of control for a few months now...I mean, feeling crazed every. single. day....and it is creating havoc. Chronic pain issues come back, so do headaches, stomach, loss of appetite blah blAH BLAH (that's right, the blah gets louder, ha ha).

So I just forced myself to not think about it for an hour...or day. I think I would actually like to go to a counselor soon. Either that or get off my butt and go back to my meditation class, because that was very therapeutic to me. I need a break from the sad so I can get my home back.

random Mars/Pluto observations

Some clarity has come from consideration of feedback and very thoughtful comments on my blog. Thank you, friends! Last summer when Matt died a friend told me that she could tell I was angry and suppressing it. I wasn't sure if her observation was a representation of truth or not (I was grieving; that's all I could say to her). In retrospect, I had some anger for sure, but about his death? I wasn't angry. I know anger is a stage of grief (so I'm told) but in what way? Someone like me believes death is the only the certain thing in life. My practical nature (hello, Capricorn Moon) appreciates this.
So I was confused: Did she think I was angry he had died? I didn't see it that way. My anger was more specific to the fact he was prescribed drugs by his psychiatrist, you know, because he was apparently flawed and needed to be medicated. My anger was large and vague: he died from a reaction to the mixing of these drugs. He was taking them exactly as he was instructed to. Yes, I had anger. And I wasn't hiding my feelings about the prescription. Or my unhappiness that the drugs just seemed like Roulette, after the fact.
Angry that more holistic forms of healing emotional problems aren't more widely advocated for...that, I was angry about.

So what did my friend, an extremely conscientious and careful Pisces, see?

A similar observation has been made once again. Hearing the same thing twice on two separate occasions? Well it's in my interest to observe it more closely...what am I emitting? Am I angry? If I were angry, what would I be angry about?

Here is what I believe myself to be emitting: survival.
Mars in Aries opposed Pluto is not only represented by anger, but also by the life force that causes a newborn infant to gasp for breath when the traverse of the birth canal is completed. Imagine a narrow footpath strung across a canyon. Swing too much, and over the edge you go. A steady, purposeful march across the bridge. Focussed.
The life force is called, er, force. And so I cry, and I cry, and I cry some more but all the while I know inherently that I'm going forward. I want to live. I want my life to have meaning. I want to know I'm going to love.

This is what I am conscious I'm feeling. Perhaps only a person who has attempted suicide, lived to tell the tale and come out of the other side determined to not succumb to suicidal thoughts again could understand. I write this not to alarm, but to illuminate the life force that is within me. It's this fierce desire to keep alive that I think is interpreted as anger. I think we all have this...

I've been plotting.

I've decided to take the winter semester off of art school (it begins in January) and go for a jaunt somewhere hot to rest my bones and dedicate myself to my manuscript. I had made my mind up on Argentina, until this past Friday. I spoke for hours to a dear friend in Australia and she offered her home (which is in the countryside, but also a 10 minute walk to the beach) to write my book. I think this is what I'm going to do. I didn't anticipate ever going back to Australia (I was there 9 years ago) but what the hell. It's only for a few months. The good thing about hanging on to this apartment is that it's very cheap to keep in running when I'm gone.

Something B and I spoke of some months ago was why I was in art school if writing is my first love. The conversation was an interesting one, because as I was explaining it to him I was also explaining it to myself. I feel that art and writing are complimentary to one another. Drawing is like therapy to me. I could let thoughts and fears swirl in my head night and day, but sitting down for an hour to create a piece, with mark making and colour is life-affirming.

It was during that conversation that we started talking about my manuscript which I started 4 years ago when I visited India with my Dad. I thought for sure I'd have it finished by now, but of course life gets in the way. Life gets very hectic. Not just with social life stuff, but work, cooking, sleeping, family, artwork, and long walks which are part of my everyday life. If I didn't walk regularly I'd likely be insane...it's like meditation. I told B if I had just 10 weeks in solitude, I could do it. Somewhere away from my every day life, where there was no phone and no job to go to. When I travel I write reams of pages; when I'm at home I'm lucky if I could churn out 5 pages. After this talk I decided "That's it. I'm going to go somewhere in January."

And then we broke up...and the first thought that came to my mind was "That's IT! I'm really going to go away and write this bloody book!"

It's good for me to have a goal. As much as I SEEM to have a plan, my plan is constantly changing as my mind changes. Something I've also been thinking about is that I don't have any concrete goals. So, it's good to have a goal. It also helps me to get my arse out of bed and go to work when I'm feeling depressed. If I don't go to work, I don't have money to go away, and if I don't go away, I don't have the opportunity to finish this manuscript.

Having Mercury in my 5th square Saturn, I think I'm dead right that having this chunk of structured time for creative pursuit will work for me. And finally, after 32 years I have a very specific goal. It feels good.

The picture above was taken in India (that's my Dad's hand on the left).

Can Anyone Relate?

I counted the number of times I moved house while Pluto was in Sagittarius.

...

I moved THIRTY.THREE. TIMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And that isn't counting the homes I lived in multiple times...

I went home today to assess the damage. It wasn't too bad. My neighbour across the hall came by and said he had figured out what happened, and offered his support and well wishes. He is a Scorpio with Moon in Leo. I feel grateful he is beside me. He's a great neighbour. Keeps to himself, values privacy, but is in tune with the people around him. Thank god for people like this, it makes the world a lot easier to be in.

After a week of rain it is brilliantly sunny. The doors of the house are open and there is a breeze that would chill me, if I wasn't already cold. I called in sick today. I try to keep writing because I fear if I don't my heart will contract and I will die. I guess today marks the official end of my almost 8 year partnership. There's nothing to say except I will feel this pain, until one day I don't.

no stopping Venus in Aries

life.musing.a (more Venus-Pluto)

The old man comes into the foyer of the building, showing signs he's early for his appointment. He wanders through the lobby before disappearing through the rear exit, following the washroom signs. A few minutes pass and he reenters. He has the walk of a man who was once tall and his hair while still thick has turned completely white. He walks over to the chairs but decides against them, instead sitting himself down next to me on the sofa.

With him now sitting beside me I can feel his energy. He's nervous. Every time the entrance doors swing open he looks up as though he is expecting someone. He retrieves a piece of paper from his pocket. I see a Doctor's header. As soon as I glance at it yet more people enter the foyer, and after surveying them quickly he folds it up and tucks it into his pocket. At first I think he must know these people but he in fact he does not.

I remain sitting quietly. I stare at the pattern of the rocks on the retaining wall outside the rear exit. In my periphery I see him pull up his socks, one at a time. His legs are milky white. No short pants for this gent. I hear clicking noises. In his thick tanned hands is a set of rosary beads. He is pulling them up and then down on their string, a steady procession. A ritual that is private but like many before this man's is performed publicly,over and over. I feel a sudden and deep empathy for him, an elderly man at a medical centre all alone, with nothing and no body to comfort him but some beads.

And as the feeling makes itself known in my heart he abruptly stands, sticks his beads in his back pocket and walks towards the elevator with his hands behind his back, clutching each other the way a child hold's her mother's hand when she is afraid. I'm sad this man is alone. For all I know he only has an ear infection but I am sad, regardless. For all I know he loves and believes in the prayers he says with his rosary beads (he must) but I want to give him my hand instead, regardless.