So many days in the last month I have woken up in a dark sea of pain. I would take my painkillers, then feel drowsy and foreign to myself. Nothing was functioning. I was like a shadow, my brain so foggy I couldn’t finish a sentence I had just started. I didn’t even care to. My digestion so shot by the painkillers that my belly looked like I was pregnant. The pain was stealing all of the precious moments I had lined up—writing to you included.
Sometimes I just feel exhausted. There are all the things I do, all the things I want to do, all the people I’d like to meet, all the people I need to call. The daily chores, the monthly plans, the yearly resolutions, the life goals.
I see people who do so much, they do, do, do, they achieve, achieve, achieve.
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This is a very pastel story with, as a background, the blue skies of Venice Beach and the waves of Malibu, crashing gracefully in the distance. This is a story with washed jeans, faded turquoise cotton tee-shirts and rose-coloured sunsets. This is a juicy fruit with a bitter core.
This is the story of my friend and of a man, who, thankfully, got away.
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Here is our live! It was kind of a rant about how doctors talk to us women and about how it feels when you don’t feel supported by the healthcare system… I think it’s so necessary to talk about all these things!
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I was sitting at breakfast in one of these beautiful countryside hotels that you can only find in England. One with wellies boots in the mudroom*, families of five generations staying for a fortnight, and glorious high teas where time seems to stretch and linger.
It was spring, so nature was participating in the idealistic picture, and I thought—beware. This is the moment when the Brits get you. Because there is nothing in the world like a perfect day of spring in the English countryside.
It happened to me exactly 20 days ago. I turned 48. Trust me, I can’t believe it either. Here are some facts about it. Should you ever turn 48? I’ll let you be the judge.
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I should have stopped at the honeymoon. The honeymoon was great, the honeymoon was ideal, the honeymoon was enough, and I should have stopped at the honeymoon.
I had looked forward to it, I had prepared for it, and I had mastered it.
I had eaten well in preparation for a high dose of too many restaurants. I had slept as much as I could so that I wouldn’t mind a few late nights. I had worked enough so that I wouldn’t have to open my laptop.
