I'm pretty sure I can put my recent wistfulness down to the mesmerisingly full and abundantly well-endowed moon of this past weekend. It was larger and shinier than I think I've ever seen - shinier than the moons of my youth in the sand dunes of Eastern Spain; shinier than the moons in the cloudless skies of Milford Sounds in New Zealand's South Island that were so bright, the stars were little more than pinholes and shinier than the first moon shared with a lover.
It is said that the phases of the moon control the tides of the ocean, human behaviour even; Women especially are affected by the moon and their menstrual cycle is intimately linked to the lunar phase. So I can only conclude that this plumpy dumpy moon was behind a weekend of the most lucid dreams I've had since I accidentally took two doses of Night Nurse.
I found myself lying awake both nights this weekend thinking about stuff that happened in the past - so long ago it hardly matters today. I mean stuff from over 30 years ago. I remembered lying face down on my aunt's bed in Northern Spain, I must have been 9 years old. My back was the colour of beef jerky. I'd just spent a day at the beach in the middle of a hot Spanish Summer and no-one had apparently thought to put sunscreen on me. I can actually still remember the pain. I find myself feeling resentful towards the adults that should have (in my mind) cared a little bit more. But who knows? Maybe I was an impossible child.
No sooner does that memory fade, I fast forward 15 years to a trip to Cuba I took with my then boyfriend and his family. I got into a fight with his mum. We were both in mourning - her for her husband and me for my mum - I was highly strung, she was angry and we were both looking for a punchbag. It got stupid and I was an arsehole. That's all I could think about - how much of an arsehole I'd been. Then another jump in time, this one just to a previous Chrismas. I'm alone on Christmas Day and I open a present from said boyfriend's mum and it's my favourite perfume and really pretty underwear. I'm such an arsehole.
I think about that lady and I send her love and light and I move on. I send some more to my ex.
I think about the last conversation with my mum. The last time I saw her. I think about when I might see her again. I'm crying now and exhausted. I fall asleep at some point, not sure when or how and wake up the next day feeling rotten.
The following night I go to bed determined not to do this again. But of course I do. Same awful feelings of guilt and regret, different memories. Argghhh. Ah well, I suppose it's all part of purging. I would like to think I'm a much smaller arsehole these days. Perhaps this is my mind's way of reminding me to be nice.
So the moon appears to have disappeared from the night sky and with it my self-loathing. That's good. Ah life's lessons eh?
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