Cancer 24°

And somehow I again slipped eight days behind. I could resort to the third Questionnaire I created but never used, a tactic I employed to pull myself out of a twenty some-odd hole in my Blague output. And though I might want to look at that anyway (I find I as myself some very good questions and also I have learned to love to dialogue with myself—in fact I think the dialoguing actually amplifies self-love) I don’t quite feel the need to utilize it. Something tells me I have eight Blagues worth of stuff in me today. It’s been a very productive time but also one of those moments/phases in life when I feel loaded. Not on anything imparticular; in fact on nothing at all other than what feels like a dammed raging north sea of emotion. I say north because it expresses the nature of my feelings better than, say south.

Astrologically I’m wont to pin this backlogged time to the period in which I’m not so much stuck but almost to full to bursting to know exactly what it is, or how, to express it. The word express here having a very little meaning. I need to get these thought-feelings out of me. Anyway it cosmically figures that this backing up (rather than dearth) of entries might be due to this having been the transition time from the sign of Cancer to that of Leo. I can’t separate that notion from the fact that I am in the middle of producing two festivals (one being a first, just five days hence, in Cambridge at Harvard/American Repertory Theater’s second stage), each festival’s to-do list having hundreds of line items; while also being in the middle of writing and otherwise preparing our 2018 Haute Astrology books, twelve in all, and working on a business plan which is begging for completion. All this while Stella is finishing a three-year masters program which took her, recently to Canada, leaving me alone for about nine days.

When alone I typically take it as a time to relax and eat bad food (or surplus of good restaurant fare0 and indulge too much in other fun too. But this time I’ve had to be up and at-em everyday, preparing myself three meals and keeping all these projects on track in time and space. I also have been doing much in the way of press interviews and promotion in additon to all the administrative and design tasks that go into everything. And moving the needle on so much else it would make your head spin. Honestly, I have felt these last two weeks, like the busiest person on the planet. And yet, I didn’t get spread too thin; rather I played it like a drummer sitting before the most elaborate kit you’ve ever seen, hitting every tom, high-hat, snare, bass, triangles, bells and whatever the fuck drummers have splayed out before them, hitting my every mark with speed and precision.

And all the while doing that, I let this Blague go (just a bit) as feelings began to mount inside me; the kind of feelings that have physical repercussions like stomach aches, dizziness, sleeplessness, sweating and a number of other symptoms which, trust me, I know all emanate from my emotions. And not realizing this was happening when it was happening I only got a handle on this in hindsight when suddenly I hit a wall or a milestone or both. I had this realization that I can no longer effort on certain projects but rather have to play the cards that I’m dealt. More than that: That I have to rally these my rogue feelings in the formlation of something new and real. I had this simultaneous realization slash averted nervous breakdown (maybe?) slash total releasing of the past and all its people, places and things that have plagued me.

Put it this way, if I were to admit that all my life I have been a people pleaser seeking approval and thus feeling hurt and rejected a lot of the time by situations, family, folks that either disappointed or derailed me to some degree, I suddenly felt the cutting of all loses. I suddenly felt that I can no longer trade in all the what-ifs. I suddenly felt that enough has to be enough because all I can give is my all and to give more robs me of what truly belongs to me. I also feel a fire under me that I have rarely felt before.

 

Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*

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