I’m thinking about the breathing in Midsommar. Because while so many crazy things happen in that movie, that part stands out to me. It reminds me of healing rituals with my Dianic Circle. It reminds me of acting exercises. It reminds me of my sister at the hospital before she gave birth.
I know if I was a Real Occultist it would remind me of meditation and rituals written out for me to follow from books. I would also be syncing my breath with my partner to have amazing 90’s esque Tantric sex or whatever. I would be harnessing the power of my breath to stay calm and CRUSH IT DURING THE PANDEMIC.
But I think about it more like Midsommar, honestly. That it’s a moment of synchronicity during incredibly emotional (and often traumatizing) moments. No one accomplished anything amazing with it. They just used it to be together. Advertiser clearly wanted the breathing to be super scary like the clicking in Heredity. But it wasn’t. Not for me at least. I found it soothing and comforting, no matter what crazy crap was going on in the background. I desperately wished I could have been an extra in the movie because oh holy cats, what a super fun time as a (in my case) pretend actress! The exercises! The practice! The braids!
I don’t watch horror movies right now. The world is scary enough as it is. Watching Housewives has even been too much lately. Nothing historic involving torture or plague. I watch reruns of Mad Men because of the struggle there. I just started rewatching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Sometimes, rewatching 30 Rock. Sometimes, Schitt’s Creek or Unorthodox or Self Made. Stories about women and their struggles, mostly. They rose, maybe I can. Even Moira Rose and Liz Lemon can’t be kept down. Not for long, anyway.
A lot of people right now want to talk about what we’ll do after. I’m not super into that right now. It’s too murky, it’s too uncertain, The Wheel of Fortun(a) spins and spins. There are no threads to grasp yet.
Instead, I focus really hard on the smol. I focus on doing my hair back up in my signature Fraggle updo again. I’m having a lot of good hair days right now. I focus on skin care and lip balm. I focus on what work out I will do today. I focus on breaking down shipping orders for my shop into small manageable bite sized pieces. I focus on maybe starting to do Instagram stories soon. I focus on making protocol easy for Jow to manage when he comes home from work as a nurse. I focus on listening to research books and when I can’t manage that, I focus on Elin Hilderbrand novels and that slowly Nantucket is developing a murder economy a la Cabot Cove. It’s a slow process as there’s a lot of weddings and adultery and cancer to weed through in her books, not consistent murder mysterious or anything. But still, sometimes. I focus on organizing our pantry, our freezer, our spices, our tea, our refrigerator. I focus on roasting a small chicken so that it will be dinner three nights – roasted with vegetables, in a casserole with fresh pasta I got for a dollar and as a soup. I think about repeating that process next week. I think about extracting the wishbone from the chicken so carefully and Jow saying, do other people know that you have a wishbone collection and that you are Very Serious about it? I think about all the cooking and all the dishes I’ve been doing. I think about the plate I will make for my mom for Easter and that we will drink wine outside in her little yard, six feet apart. Not quite able to eat together, but closer at least. Closer.
Because I can manage that.