Yearning for Yesterdays

Bellas Brigade, Photo from BradensEye Archives featuring her + a bevy of besties

Magnifying memories may offer us reprieve. Looking back at what we’ve done, where the sun has spun us around, and especially with whom we’ve amounted thousands of hours of sentimentality provides a platform for bulldozing any humdingers of emotional strangulation that might cross our pathways. There’s magnetic homesickness that a bountiful knock on your autobiography’s door may stimulate. I think an appetite for healthy remembrance relics will tide you safely over the falls of untutored feels. When your personal universe or the worlds’ at large are clashing with your champion vibes consider a reflection connection. Fond bonds are our deliverance from fiendish floating. By yearning for yesterdays that uphold our limelight, we’re triggering touchstones of salvation. I’m a whore for the type of godmothering a grand reminiscence divines.

… everyone cuddles,
… everyone wins ~
Shel Silverstein, Hug O’ War, Where the Sidewalk Ends

Lately, I’ve been dining on loads of EMO parfaits. Pandemonium has this lingering aftertaste of wistful thrills. It’s like longing moved in with me before we were even declaring which sized condoms are a necessity. I find myself lusting that elusively exclusive commitment from my more solid annals of yore. The epiphany is how lucky I am to have a corp so cherished. In particular, I’ve got this sorority of sorts. All levels of the fiercest, most purrfect pussy rioters revolving their moxie all over the mantel of my heart’s hearth. Of course, I’d rather be cavorting with such favored beauties galore. When you’ve had the wealth to be surrounded with the prosperity of great people it can become complex to attempt stabilization from what once was freely available compared to the weight of living without. Aiming to rewire our love links beats the heat of bad news.

Nostalgically numbing is well reputed for its losses. Sometimes we’ve concentrated ourselves into a dead-end related to a record of abuse or flashbacks and global attacks. Our cycles of stirring up our own problematic past can be a tad fruitless toward the triumph of navigating all those lobs life is bound to create. Yet, intelligently, the other hand mocks that fate. A gander at the glories of our history that pack the present with a-cup-overfloweth personality passion is where I’m leaning today. Associating your barbaric to angelic trends with those notably humble humans who lift any rifts and sift out your sugary bits is a sweet sonnet for your soul. Learning to gobble the gumption of whatever, or shall we say whomever, sets your snuggles on fireworky high is your hastening to a prodigious party of intimately peaceful reward.

You’re so alright…
In the middle of the day yeah…
In the middle of the night ~
Kenneth Mellman / Kathi Lynn Wilcox / Sara Rebecca Landeau / Christopher Carmine Covelli / Kathleen M Hanna, The Julie Ruin, Just My Kind

Keep the inhales that won’t butcher your balance. Besides, all exhale breaths which discharge any drudgery. I’m quite a snob about the value of the advantageous opera of hottie broads who’ve corralled the market on guarding my place with positivity perfumes. They’re the perennial buddies blossoming the buttress of your gutters. They’ve rewound the art of weeping into a game of smuggling gluttonous proper pints of ice cream into your belly whenever needed. Each can crochet a blanket of wisdom that cozies vigorous warmth with an oracle of blunt humor melding to invocations of bootyful uncorkingly effervescent energy. You’ll be less inclined toward permanent hibernation simply tangling with the mood of one of these leading luminaries. Sipping a lifespan with friends of this caliber tickles me through acres of abracadabra.

They put the colors in your sunsets and reap you surefooted if you’ve gone a little goofy-footed in your ways. They’ll remind you when it’s time for a threesome embrace by sharing you in the extra special squoosh that says you don’t have to let go for whatever hours you may want to stay. Their encouragement of your long romantic walks to the fridge during every incredibly painful breakdown, or just because you hope you’ve won the lottery, allow your no-f*cks-saunter to remain in good flirtatious flavor (despite your BMI bulges). Having a tincture of characters you can count on scuttles the habit of handicaps. Although Saint Coronavirus is trying to paint a distance between me and my radically rad playmates, I’m grateful their help is merely a tech date away. The only thing you absolutely have to know is what mementos whittle your happiness.

May your morrows milk as much mega magic as the tales of those you adore.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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