In an act of full disclosure prompted by yesterday’s post, here is photographic proof that I am someone who has felt the WRONG EMOTION once or twice in my life. Case in point: the end of your childbearing years can be a time of great sorrow. I’ve witnessed the melancholy that particular rite of passage has caused several of my close friends. I’ve comforted them and dried their tears at the fact that no more babies are in their future (at least not in the traditional way).
Not me! I was thrilled my childbearing years had come to a close! Ecstatic! Dare I say, giddy?
You see, I like to have…ceremonies. I like to mark rites of passage, beginnings, and endings and celebrate milestones with candles or fireworks.
Or giant bonfires. I like to burn stuff. Things that caused me grief. I must have been a Viking in a past life.
Like old love letters and photographs from past relationships. I know that I hold all of the good memories in my heart.
Those can go.
Remember when I lit all of the legal papers on fire from the numerous lawsuits pertaining to the closing of my store?
Maybe you saw the smoke? They could see it from space.
I felt relief and a certain sense of pride in the fact that I’d survived such a shitshow emotionally intact, fat and happy!
So this…this is the picture of just such an occasion. A particularly meaningful event that I had been waiting years, no, make that decades to celebrate.
A few years back, once I was sure my birth-control days were behind me I impaled my trusty diaphragm with a sparkler—and lit it on fire!
We all cheered. There was alcohol. And snacks. My sister immortalized it on film. It was awesome!
You can see from the smile on my face how happy this made me. Maybe you can relate.
All those years.
All that worry.
All that mess.
Gone!
Some things just need to be lit on fire. So, what’s next?
Carry on,
xox
