carpe that shit, man

peacing out, as hippies say. called in sick to work with a mysterious fat lip i woke up with this morning (them be some powerful dreams) and now enjoying myself as only i know how.

we're having our yearly free sale sometime soon, as the theatre festival takes over our neighbourhood, which means pillaging my room for all the ancient artifacts merely decorating the space, not serving it. i love this liberation.

super fucking cranky on the way to work yesterday, then realized that even on a shitty day, my life rocks. that was compelling. plus it meant i was still allowed to have a shitty day.

of course, being cranky and broke, i tend to notice other cranky broke people. it's helpful to see what works and what doesn't. going crazy and making shit up doesn't seem very effective. accepting offers of short-term employment and making more of your own food helps. urban foraging, good one. staying stuck or buying into the idea that you're fucked and will stay that way indefinitely; bad idea. blaming it all on the meteor shower; amusing. not that i rule out astral influences. i'm no nay-sayer. just that i end up back where i started; broke and cranky. i guess it's a nicer path than blaming oneself to the point of paralysis; it's nice to have an out that is so massive and far away that i can't possibly be held responsible. but seriously?

i don't need a scapegoat to pin the obligations on to. and it isn't what i actually want if i have to force myself to do it. fuck the series of strenuous activities that i "absolutely need to do" to stay myself. i'm on track, evolving like the brilliant motherlover that i am. who cares if the track isn't straightforward? neither are most of the things i like about my life.

bow to the impulse. bow to the overwhelming voice of shrugging it off. grab on to the internal yippee of delight that is always somewhere, always relishing an experience. new mantra:

i am a pirate dressed like a normal woman. no one knows yet. but they will.