let it bleet

When S got home from school, I cried on his shoulder for a while. It was the closest I've felt to him in a long time. After a while of that, I felt suddenly sleepy, maybe drunk even, I guess from the endorphins being released by the crying. S helped me sort out a bit of my franticness, told me I didn't need to figure everything out. I smoked a bowl, had a beer, rented a movie. I watched "Old Joy," which is very good, though it's about a couple of men revisiting an (apparently) old relationship, and the troubles they have seeing each other anymore. It didn't slay me, as I might've thought had I known what the movie was about before I rented it. It was gorgeously shot, well-written (if a little overly self-aware at times).

Just before I shut off the computer, I got an email from R which was so right. It was intelligent and thoughtful and sweet and open; he offered to keep this dialogue open if I'm willing.

I slept well last night then wrote R a long letter today (by hand, put it in the mail to slow things down a little). On the backs of the pages, I painted watercolor pictures using beet juice, not for any specific reason, it just seemed like a good idea -- creativity is certainly a good way for me to work through my stuff. I spent most of the morning writing the letter and painting the pictures, then I took my letter to the post office with some other things I had to mail.

I'm leaving in a second to get a tattoo on my right forearm. I planned it before I left for Florida. It will say Reflection in cursive letters (just like the Compassion tattoo on my left forearm) but in mirror display, so that both words go outward from elbows to wrists.

I've got so much processing about the past week to do. And I will. I have some writings I want to put in my blog. I just have to take it slow and easy for the time being; after all, I am recovering from giving birth to the biggest baby ever.