This full moon in Virgo has been getting to me, making me antsy ever since that day when the wind blew in through the door so hard it knocked the coffee off the shelves. The sunset that evening said change was coming.
The ice on the reservoir is melting and it’s loud. I didn’t know melting ice could make such a ruckus. A million little pieces knock together every time the water moves, which is constantly.
Somehow it feels like time has folded up so the past and the present look like a double exposure, hard to tell which is which. On my walks, I’m tempted to cup little twigs in my hands and whisper to them to bloom, like I did when I was little.
I meant to get to church on Sunday – liturgy is settling. But Saturday night all my dreams were violent and bloody, and I woke up almost too dizzy to get up and turn off the alarm. The whole world was spinning for the rest of the morning. Then, around noon, it just stopped.
In the last dream, right before I woke up, I was desperately fighting a man in a field covered in snow. Then a warrior in red came running out of the woods to attack the man I was fighting. In the chaos I couldn’t tell if he was on my side or if he would attack me too, but they were fighting all around me and all I could do was drop to the ground and try to stay out of the way.
(Perhaps I should rethink my birth control schedule so my monthly cycle doesn’t line up with the lunar cycle, but then I’d have two times of crazy to deal with instead of one.)
The sunset looked like change again last night, which was unsettling. I turned on Moonrise Kingdom, which always cheers me up, but then Edward Norton said something particularly charming and I burst into tears.
Brian is so used to this behavior that he just paused the movie and patted my head until I stopped crying.
“Aw,” he said. “Poor Baber.” (A stupid nickname we use for each other.) Then he dried my face on his Game Grumps t-shirt to be silly, which made me laugh. He didn’t seem to care if my mascara stained the fabric.