I would like to call a truce, ‘kay?
I love you dearly – I spend time contemplating you when you make an appearance through our cloudy skies and pay some attention to your shifting phases. I am aware, through my pagan sister-in-law’s blog, of your big events and give more than a passing thought to your effects on the world and your history.
So, I have to ask: why are you messing with me?
When I was younger [oh so much younger], we never had this strong of a relationship. My body worked on a strict 30 day routine, regardless of your whims. After the introduction of The Pill, well, our interactions were definitely only social at that point. And when I was trying to get pregnant? I apologize for ignoring you, but changes in your cycles weren’t really the ones I was interested in at the time.
Perhaps that is what has upset you so. And now that I am not pregnant and not on The Pill, you have wrangled some sort of arrangement with my Mirena – that blessed IUD that can keep [most] feminine issues at bay. That must be the case. Because for the last few months, I have only been in search of feminine products for that brief moment on the night of a full moon – and, don’t you worry, I have been noticing. I was starting to come to terms with our new arrangement and acknowledge your sway in such matters. But then there was this week. Right after the new moon and on the vernal equinox. Who knows what kind of bizarre gravitational fluxes we going on that night but you, dear moon, must have been having a field day.
So can we call a truce, please? Is it too late to mend whatever rift has caused this ill will? I do adore you so, moon, but I am beginning to wonder if our relationship is too one-sided. I do not wish to watch my calendar only to keep track of my bathroom supplies. It dispels any and all romantic notions that may be connected to you. And I don’t really want that.
I’ll keep a night open in roughly 10 days time – clouds willing, we can have a face-to-face meeting to work through this.