Bucket List, Fuck It List, that song Sorrow ....

"Sorrow found me when I was young ..."

I've been listening to 'Sorrow' by The National. I better not listen to it too much or I'll end up over indulging in pain. I'd rather just accept my pain and not soak in it like a hot pool of old skin and dying sperm. Accept my pain. It's only pain after all. 

But man, you have to admit that 'Sorrow' is a perfection of song. It captures that hollow, haunted feeling I sometimes experience when I'm tired of my emotions. That's when I know I need to have some kind of 'perspective shift'. Swim. Walk. Sing. Notice what is.

A few things have happened recently that I can't blog about because they involve other people. Ridiculous drama. Dramas in pajamas. 

I've been coping pretty well with my sadness over The Rooster, and in the meantime another challenge has arisen that I couldn't have forseen. In addition to this surprise challenge I've been pouring most of my spare time into helping mum with her move into a new flat. I have helped her find a new place to rent in the same area. It has plenty of light and a lovely view!

It is when someone needs help or kindness that we find out what love really means to us. Love isn't all roses and sunshine as 'they' say. It does require action, not just reaction.

I think that's why The Rooster situation was shocking. When I said I loved him, I meant it in a deep sense. He gave me a birthday card (in November) that had a really cute picture of a tree with two quirky birds and the caption "Love is a work of Heart". Inside it just said "I love you ". I'm sure it was true at the time.

In addition to my genuine puzzlement at what happened with The Rooster, I've now had this bizarre experience that left me feeling quite disconnected from my body. 

I realised that the situation was creating a lot of confusion for me and I needed to just strip things back to basics. I asked myself last night "If I had two years to live, what would I do?". This is my kind of bucket list fuck it list.

I would let people know I love them.
I would forgive people for being dicks and then projecting their shit onto me.
I would forgive myself for being frightened yet sometimes strangely bold, for wanting to be adored, for not being enough, for being 'too intense',and for being needy and talking a lot. Rob says I'm not needy. I told him what happened with The Rooster and all that went down, and he said "rubbish, you are not needy. Everyone needs to be loved and get a bit of assurance if they're feeling down. That doesn't make you needy. It makes you human." So that was lovely of him to say. 

If I didn't have long to live, I would go and visit Becky in New York as soon as I'd saved the money and sussed it out.
I would hang out with nice people with filthy senses of humour. I would learn the guitar and make up songs. I would help my mum to find somewhere nice to live and encourage her to paint again. I would think about doing a bit more study in an area of interest. I would walk more, dance more, sing more, wear all my best clothes every day. I would go to the Polynesian Spa in Rotorua. I would try to record the songs I'd made up.
And guess what muthafuckas? I'm already doing it. I am already working on everything I would do if I only had two years to live. But lucky me. I might live till I'm 88! As for my 'drama' that knocked me in the last few days, I have dealt with it by making sure I am deeper in my own presence, or the presence of that which can't be named.

Sorrow may have found me when I was young, and like the song, it seemed it won many times. But not this time.