Gosh. I am blown away by all the love. Wow.
So, the truth is I have been away dealing with some health issues and have been off the grid, holed up at home, knitting, reading Anne Sexton, taking twice-daily hot baths, having torrid love affairs with numerous daktari, and, when I am able, writing my motherloving book — and I sincerely apologize for worrying so many of you, as that was honestly not my intent. Good god, y’all…it seems even in affliction I am a SCANDALOUS FUCKING TROUBLEMAKER.
At any rate, thankfully, none of what I am dealing with will force me to exit-stage-left anytime soon — like the old theatre whore that I am — but it could impact how I maneuver my fatass through this world. We shall see.
Anyway, lots to take in, lots to muddle through, lots to corner, lots to clobber. Some days are definitely more challenging than others, and the doctors, hospitals, medications, tests, questions, and befuddling symptoms never seem to end. But know that I definitely consider myself one of the lucky ones. Along with my challenges, I also have an EXTRAORDINARY Husband/Advocate/Champion/Best Friend who saves me every day in ALL the ways that one human CAN save another; a MAGNIFICENT Gusband who loves me and lunches me, even when I am a SPUN, BLUBBERING, NUTTY CUNT; a Writing Partner/Deranged Twin Brother/BFF who is MY FAVORITE PERSON ON THE ENTIRE PLANET with whom to spend my days writing words, dreaming dreams, kicking ass, and BELLY LAUGHING HARDER THAN I HAVE EVER BELLY LAUGHED IN MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE — at worlds which are WELL-KNOWN TO HIM; an astonishing support system of brilliant, amazing, loving Framily and Friends; and the luxury of access to the very best medical specialists, facilities, and health insurance available. Knitter PLEASE.
So, I beg of you, Mein Poppets…do NOT worry. You KNOW my fatass. I am a SERIOUSLY STAUNCH OLD TROLLOP.
I SHALL PERSEVERE.
Cockroaches in black dresses and red lipstick ALWAYS DO.
With that said, I am ashamed to admit that even amid the profound privilege of my world, a particularly grueling stretch a couple of weeks ago left me feeling a little sorry for myself. I woke up a couple of mornings later, however, having gotten completely over my bad self by way of a most fascinating and unprecedented dream. In it, I appeared to be some sort of a Warrior…riding a giant chestnut horse hard and fast over a vast wasteland, through freezing wind and rain, easily outrunning the legion of dank, faceless marauders who dared attempt to subdue me.
The most interesting part of the dream is that I started my ride clothed in some type of armor — leather and metal and ancient, it looked — but as I pushed on, pieces of it kept coming loose and flying off my body, like scales off a dragon, until, at last, I was wearing nothing at all.
But here’s the thing: Instead of feeling vulnerable and exposed, the more naked I became, THE MORE POWERFUL I FELT. When I woke up I could still feel the icy wind against my cheeks, the warmth of the horse gripped between my bare thighs, the exhilaration of stealth, flight, and evasion still coursing through me. I was free. I opened my eyes smiling, in clear recognition of the fact that this dream is where I am in my life right now:
Determined. Fearless. Exhilarated. Unbowed. Unashamed. Stripped bare.
I shall ride on, harder, faster…truths flying off my body, like scales off a dragon.
This old hooker will be just fine.
PS) Again, thank you SO much for all the texts, messages, and emails of love and concern. I am belly crying. It is absolutely overwhelming. I return it back to you all in both particles AND waves. I adore you with all my fat, black, wicked Sicilian heart.