The night following the Calamity Jane dream, I had a dream of lemon balm cream. I’m not sure who it was that came to me, it may have again been Miss Calamity, but I was harvesting, drying and making a skin cream of lemon balm and woke with thoughts of my father in law’s psoriasis. I’m not sure he’d be hip to it, he’s not really the all-natural type, but he can sometimes have that “what the fuck?” attitude and give it a roll. I may make some lotion for myself of it and give him a sample to try. He’s a Vietnam vet whose exposure to Agent Orange has given him an accelerated kind of diabetes which blows donkey cock. But it got him to finally quit smoking after 40 years strong and he takes way better care of himself than he has all his life, so that’s good. His psoriasis is unrelated, but it’s a pretty painful looking condition, and though he’s not a complainer, I empathize. Since I can get really nasty cold sores (one time they almost took over half my fucking face!) I’ve made some lemon balm lip balms and they’re awesome. I can only imagine what a lovely buttermilky, coconut oily, lemon balmy lotion might do for my skin! I have terrible spots on my thighs and back side that nothing seems to alleviate, so I’m willing to try yet another thing back there. I’m back to swabbing with isopropyl alcohol in desperation. I’ve used (and still use) witch hazel, aloe, homemade herbal tonics (one with a bunch o’stuff and one with rosemary & tea tree), antibacterial soap, surgical strength antibacterial scrub, hydrogen peroxide and alcohol. I am convinced it’s because I once made a crack about someone in this local “swingers” mag who had a spotty bum, but it’s more likely because I’ve had a sit down job for the past ~20 years.
I’m still embracing my new found appreciation for the individualism of me. I’m still waving a middle finger at everything that isn’t and damn proud to be comfortable in my own skin. I’ve been letting the dark in and not letting it be everything, and not forgetting the light, but not thinking that everything has to be light every goddamn minute. I’m not so light, but I don’t have to be so dark, either. It’s a pretty funky time, and I feel like I should be growing younger instead of looking between the eyes of 40.
On another rant, I’ve been finding an unusual amount of feathers and also dead things. A wee little bird, a bird’s decapitated head, a baby squirrel, an adult squirrel, a field mouse, a vole…and each time I’ve left offerings and tried to either remove them from the thoroughfare (when possible) and/or cover them with leaves, stones, grass or the like. The adult squirrel I was able to cover him in long grasses and leave some oak leaves and an acorn. I hope it was all appropriate. I have been toying with the idea of trying to macerate the bones, but not sure that would fly with the Hubby in our tiny condo. He doesn’t care about me doing it, just that our space is too small for the likes of dead animals soaking in the tub.
Here’s some awesome music for your pleasure: