The eclipses were last weekend. I think. They could have been 12 years ago or yesterday. But they happened and they wrecked havoc on my sun and rising.
“Huh, that looks dramatic.” I said to myself as I looked at the sky. “Wonder what it’ll mean.”
First and seventh houses. Identity and relationships.
Here’s what it meant for me: absolute chaos.
Crying in a bedroom at my girlfriend’s party. Meeting my girlfriend’s lover at said party, and nearly killing her because she said something bitchy. But I chose hiding over yelling. Meanwhile she offered my girlfriend drugs and tried to get her alone. Molly and poppers (“oh but sorry, I only have enough for you and me”).
“What did she think I was going to do?” K asked later. “Peg her in front of everyone?”
“She wanted to loosen you up,” I said, “Get you feeling all dreamy and touchy-feely. And then have you fuck her I guess.”
“This isn’t worth it. Not if it’s going to make you feel like this.”
I didn’t come out of the bedroom for the rest of the night. K checked on me constantly. People (apparently) made jokes that we were fucking. Which is funny because in reality I was just sobbing. She’d leave and I’d imagine them cuddling and then I’d just try to make myself go to sleep.
They were not cuddling. Her lover’s weed stunk up the entire apartment, but my girlfriend does not do drugs.
Why do I keep dumping salt into this bad feeling. Even right now, more than a week later, my stomach hurts remembering this. I just looked up her lover on Instagram. Private. I’m not sure that’s even what I should call her anymore — my girlfriend wants to stop it if it hurts me this much. What is this masochistic urge to make myself feel invisible. Why do I keep making myself feel like I could throw up.
After the party, the lover slept on the couch, because she does not live in this city. K wanted to take everyone to brunch. I wanted to never see her lover’s face again.
While we were discussing plans, the front door opened and closed. K frowned and went to see what was happening. The lover was trying to Irish Exit. She’d hit it off with someone else at the party, but now was second-guessing something she’d said, afraid she’d come off as predatory. She wasn’t expecting K to pop out and come after her, and when she got cornered, she actually teared up a little.
While all this was happening, I sulked in the dark, stomach on fire from imagining them kissing.
“Were you guys cuddling?” I whispered when she came back.
“No. She left.”
If I had stayed at that party, I would probably be the reason she was crying. This did not make me feel better. But I’m glad I didn’t actually snap at her.
The eclipse madness didn’t stop there. A Lyft driver screamed at us. No one could figure out where to go for brunch so we walked way too far, carrying too much, on empty stomachs. Her friend started crying from a starvation delirium.
“I am drenched in other people’s tears this weekend.” K said.
So yeah. There was a lot to unpack. And I’m still unpacking. Hope it wasn’t this dramatic for you.