age reveal
blogmas 01
Hello loyal followers and welcome back to the newsletter. I’ve been slack, and as a treat for you and a challenge for myself, I am pursuing blogmas – sending out a blog every day for the month of December. I’m starting it today on December 5 because I thought of it today, but it’s fitting because December 5 is auspicious – it marks the final month of my 20s. In exactly thirty one days I will complete my journey to womanhood. I will cross over... where? Fittingly, I am extremely sick in bed, lying topless on the shakti mat, sipping a blended concoction made from an entire lemon, a thumb of ginger and four tablespoons of honey, which I thankfully cannot taste at all, and thinking deep philosophical thoughts like, am I dying? Should quit smoking? Am I a bad person?
Thursday night at 11:11 I realised it was the last full moon of my 20s and rushed out to try to find it. It was hanging over the back of my house and I had to stand in a chair to bathe in its beam and make a wish. But, as it turns out, I’ll get another full moon before 30—January 3. Wolf moon, supermoon, my gift from the universe. I fucking love my birthday.
I am not going to Meredith Music Festival this year, even though it is my 2nd love-on-first-sight anniversary, which you know about from last year. And I guess it’s ok because I am extremely sick. Or maybe this illness is a cosmic punishment for not acquiring tickets to the festival, a lesson screaming see what happens when you don’t take life by the balls? I often think like this, in terms of bad thing happens = punishment for not living correctly. Usually, just because it’s fun and dramatic, and it’s fun to be dramatic, but I’m starting to think I actually believe it, like, on a psychological level. My therapist says I often say I “should” do this, I “should” do that, and that “should” is a bad word, but I think it’s latent catholic guilt, popping up haphazardly in inappropriate places like decades-old migrating filler to torment me for being too lazy to properly work through my shadows in time for 30. Again with the shame…
I was in Sydney last weekend and just before we went out to dinner my friend asked me if I wanted to pull a card. My intention: How should I approach the final month of my twenties? Or something like that. When I pulled the devil I said oh fuck but in Aleistair Crowley’s Thoth deck the devil is associated with capricorn, my sun sign, and it was a very good and useful reading that boiled down to “free yourself from the shackles of self-sabotage, insecurity and shame to step into your 30s with power”. My friend uses chatGPT for tarot and while it gives very comprehensive readings and is easier than cross-referencing a book, the process does feel like it comes with some kind of heavy karmic debt or low-level spiritual criminality. But I’m working on freeing myself from shame so I can’t think about all that right now.
As you may have attuned I’m feeling quite woowoo and mystical. I plan on seeing a psychic soon to help my therapist find out what’s wrong with me—it’s definitely a two-person job. Also, my therapist might be younger than me now [no one is older than a woman a month away from 30] and that makes me uneasy. I’m trying to not let it ruin my vibe but she keeps trying to relate to me. It doesn’t help that we both went to Europe this year. Like why am I crying in this beige room surrounded by stim toys and plushies, girl, let’s go have a martini about this.
I’d love to write something poetic about my cherished final days in 20-something-land but currently my mind is completely flattened by illness. I used to look forward to my 30s because women in their 30s are hot and smart and have their lives together, and even though I definitely do not, I see my future and it is bright. I told my therapist I wasn’t afraid of growing older because I’m beautiful and funny and it was a joke that made her laugh but I do believe it, I’d be crazy not to. I want to get my tongue pierced, I want to get botox even if it’s too late, I want to live somewhere where I know no one and no one knows me. I want a good haircut and I want a tan. I want one whole week alone in my house to piece my life together, to sit on the floor and look through old diaries and boxes of memories and sort it all out in time to emerge completely whole.
links
I also would love to give some useful poetic advice on not having it figured out by the end point of your twenties but that’ll have to wait until I can conjure a thought. If that’s something you’re into, I read both of these essays on "your twenties” today. I didn’t get heaps out of them but I think it’s the flu meds </3 still very lovely writing
tomorrow:
HOW TO HAVE A GOOD TIME IN SYDNEY, THE BEST CITY IN THE WORLD
Hey, great read as always. Turning 30 sounds… quite the journey, especially from bed with philosophical thoughts and that lemon concoction. I totally remember the Meredith festival story from last year – sad to miss it, but a quiet 30th can be a powerful reboot. And a bonus Wolf Moon? Looks like the universe did recieve your query for a special feature.