Baba Yaga, Just Offstage

Last night this man told me that we are rapidly approaching the point where he has kissed me more than any other woman.

Tonight, I told him that  we have exceeded the amount of time any other man of mine has spent with my son. (at a grand total of less than five hours, but still…)

It is interesting, the measurement of intimacy, no?

I wrote today. I did not sweat enough, drank only a little water, but yes, I received support. This is my most basic elemental checklist.

My appetite for sitting still exceeds my back’s capacity. My appetite for living still exceeds my capacity for intimacy, risk-taking, time spent at the edge of my comfort zone.

But by way less than a few months ago.

The impossible tasks. One by one, they are falling before me…if the map is right, the acceptance, the facing of the wild hag is coming soon.

This afternoon, after writing for a bit less than two hours, James stopped by and we took off our pants and laid in the sun and talked about love and freedom and the general importance of “Why not?”

When she left, I went downstairs and had a brief fling with myself and an even briefer nap.

I dreamt I was being rewoven by three silver-haired women, two human-looking ones (at least one was kind-faced) were before me, and one skeletal crone behind. As I awoke, I heard myself say “I have eaten one million children.”

Which sounds a lot like Baba Yaga. Just offstage.