I didn’t mean to show up to my own blog, drop a bomb, then immediately soft-shoe shuffle away and not write for weeks on end but that is what happened and I at least have a valid excuse. I moved. Unless you’re some kind of goddamn wizard whose never had to do this (if that’s the case I would appreciate knowing how you obtained your sorcery and can you please share it) you probably cringed reading that very short sentence because there is absolutely nothing fun about relocating your life from one place to the next except the part where you’re done doing it. Of course, I couldn’t be bothered to properly transport my life in an organized manner – boxes boasted such creative titles as “Hippie Shit,” or “Kitchen Stuff (I think).” This meant every box I opened was like a fun Christmas Surprise! But also a very weird Christmas where you just get boxes of your own dirty underwear and assorted cutlery.
Luckily for my sanity and liver, I was only moving about 3.7 miles away so with the help of my motley crew, a boatload of Malbec, and a heck of a lot of gusto – it got done with minimal pain. My place had stopped feeling like home some time ago and honestly I was completely ready to let go of it if I hadn’t already. I waited for days to feel some sort of something – I wanted emotion to be evoked, to feel loss; I wanted tears and fanfare because I’m kind of dramatic sometimes. Instead I simply shut the door for the last time, turned my key, and walked away. It’s not to say I didn’t feel anything, I’m not a sociopath devoid of human emotion – it was just that the space had offered me everything it possibly could have and it was time to move on. I had already accidentally thrown a going away party for myself a few weeks earlier to say goodbye – in case you’re wondering, a really good way to “accidentally” throw a party is to drink a beer at noon and send a few texts to people inviting them over thinking that nobody will come because it’s the day of and then ironically having every single person show up.
After the week of moving came the week of sorting, cleaning, and desperately trying find homes for all of my crystals. I am proud to say that my name is Tanya and I am a 32-year-old woman who just moved in with her best friend, two cats, one dog, a fish, and a ball python. We’re basically an actual fucking zoo with a lot of options depending on both your comfort and fear level. A lot of the time there’s a five-year-old and a nine-year-old too. I rather like having kids around – personally I won’t ever have my own but I think there’s a lot to be learned from them and joy to be gained. Plus community based living is where it’s at; it takes a village, and I’m enthralled to be allowed to be part of someone else’s little tribe. The merging of the cats has been the most climactic part of the move-in thus far, that took a solid week of distressed meowing and puffed out tails but it led to the great band name of “Mitigating Cat Drama” and now Penny has moved on to being obsessed with the snake. I’m basically waiting for the day I come home to Hebi with a feline shaped lump inside her belly.
Besides nesting, I’ve also been really busy continuing to be in love & shit. Bridie and I are the absolute fucking worst and I’ve resigned to do anything but have the utmost adoration for it. I can’t keep my hands off of her, her name from my mouth, and if we were cartoons hearts would be coming out of our eyes constantly. I probably pinch myself once a day to make sure this is real life and not some ‘Stranger Things’ upside-down world, and so far it’s proving to be legitimate. She fits so seamlessly into my life and surprises me around every corner. A few weeks ago we went to a party at a warehouse where people were playing music. Now it’s not news to me that Bridie can carry a tune or catch a beat – both her Mother and Sister are music teachers, and she spent a considerable amount of time in our courting stages crooning with her guitar. I will tell you two things about this: 1.) It worked out well for her and 2.) Get you a girl who will strut some strings naked for you. DO IT. I firmly believe everything is better in the buff maybe with the exception of cooking with very hot oil. Anyways, there’s a drum set and she sits down and hits a snare or something (I know just as much about instruments as I do about sports) and I ask if she knows how to play – she says she’s “dabbled.” Cut to five minutes later where she’s jamming with the band like a champ and I’m sat with my jaw dropped while I’m fist pumping and yelling: “That’s my girlfriend!” like a goddamn groupie.
It’s easy to be a bit of a skeptic when things are aligning so cosmically for you – I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for something to implode in my face because it typically does. However, I’m reminded now of a piece of art by Brian Andreas that has always resonated for me, it says: “Feels like some kind of ride but it’s turning out just to be life going absolutely perfectly.” Sometimes life is just good and pure and you can say goodbye to one thing and hello to the next and have it be easy. You can fall madly in love and feel like you’re living out some kind of fairy-tale and have it be genuine.
When life feels too good to be true, greet it. Don’t say it’s too good to be true because likely you are good and you are true and deserving of happiness. I’m ready for the next phase of this crazy existence of mine – be it full of cat and snake drama or intangible love. I’m here for it.