Planet Ezzie (12. I need a vacation)

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I give up. This is the third day in a row that I’ve pulled LUST as my first card. Today my runner up was:

V. EMPEROR (Inverted)

As inverted, domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.

Well, David was certainly not a father figure, or part of the establishment, but he was in a position of authority, and I was desperate to fuck him. Did I really say that? Yes, Beatrice played with my dreams all week, and by the time of our lunch on Saturday, I was rather on edge, ready to jump on him at the slightest provocation. I remained unprovoked.

I think this may be the last time he conducts us. As spectacular as his Stravinsky was, his Bruckner was not. He seemed to lose control of us and compensated by becoming a control fink … freak in front of the orchestra. They didn’t take it well. I could tell he was disappointed at lunch, and he didn’t hang around long after the matinee today.

I wonder if Tommy could see what I was doing tonight. He could probably tell by what color I glowed. I’ve never been good on discipline.

Now that the semen, sputum, … err, season has started, I’m locked in for several weeks until the next weekend I’m not needed, an all Bach concert next month, but I’ll still be required for a couple of rehearsals that week, in preparation for the following week, the Britten War Requiem. My only real off weekend is around Thanksgiving. I think I need to get away, at least for a few days. I should have a couple of Sunday-Mondays free coming up, when we aren’t playing matinees.

Where I really want to go is the Whorehouse, but not only is it in England and outside of my 50 mile exclusion zone, it no longer exists as such. I need a couple of nights where I can be out, naked under the stars, and playing at Mahjong … um, magic. (Jem, if you are listening, you are welcome anytime for a visit.) I might try looking to see if there is a convent nearby, but a two-day retreat probably isn’t enough.

Tomorrow is my usual off-day, but since I was working today, I’ll have to run errands. I might try a dip in the pool, although I’ll need to wear a more demure swimming costume. The bikini I’m wearing now in the moonlight – I’m on the back porch, as I write – would be far too revealing for a public display. Even though Tommy can see through it, he’s watching me from his bedroom window, as if the bikini made it more interesting.

I’m regressed … distressed … uh, depressed. This has been going on too long. I’ve got to play the long game. I’ve got to survive.

Beatrice is winning.

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Planet Ezzie (11. Inverted)

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XI. Lust (inverted)

I was gagging for it when I awoke this morning. I put on some sexy pink panties (the only pink in my wardrobe) and warmed up for my rehearsal.

I felt a little odd, and then … wham! I’m menstruating again. A heavy flow destroyed my pink panties. I know, TMI, but it is important. I was never particularly regular, but I haven’t had a period in two years. It was an easy menopause, possibly thanks to my po- po- … you know, what happened before the intercession, interloper, interruption, … um, intervention. I was having a lot, repeat, a lot of sex.

Where did that leave me? Sex was certainly out tonight, but we’ll get to that in a monument … moment. Beatrice is angry with me, but she caused it. Who is she to complain? Anyway, if she wants me pregnant, menstruation is part of the deal. It just means that I’m not likely to be fertile while David is in town. It meant that I had to make a stop to the drug store on the way into the city for rehearsal. The rehearsals went well, and then to dinner with David.

I really do like him. He’s witty and down to Earth, and it has been a while since I’ve met someone new who doesn’t just “love your accent! It’s so [fill in your own stupid adjective]!” Of course, he has the same accent … well not quite, he’s a northerner with an adopted Oxbridge accent, and I’m a douchebag … err, Londoner, softened to more of an Essex accent. A Cockney accent never really fit my personality, and my parents were from Basildon.

So after dinner at his hotel, we went up to his room and stalked, balked, fucked, … um, talked and talked. I couldn’t actually do anything, except … maybe pet, and kiss … things like that, and I confess we did do a little of that before the coup de grace, when he told me he was gay … well, bi, but most of his relationships were with men. He really liked me, but … There’s always a “but”. At least he told me before a 6-year relationship.

What is it about me that attracts gay men?

It didn’t stop the petting, though, at least long enough for him to reach for the stars (adjacent to the unicorn), and become very familiar with said beast. After I had tamed his beast, we discussed the significance of my markings, before I left for home, at the udder … utterly reasonable hour of 3 am. If we have sex this weekend, he knows what he is getting into. We didn’t make further dinner plans, although we are having lunch on Saturday. He flies out immediately after the Sunday matinee.

Am I off the hook? With David, probably, but I now have to worry about the possibility of pregnancy again.

Planet Ezzie (9. Roadkill)

We have Stravinky’s Rite of Spring coming up at the Symphony. The principal horn has had a death in the family, so I’m playing principal instead. I’m not quite sure why. Ordinarily the Associate Principal would play it, but it looks like I’m the designated driver here. It’s a huge part. I think the Ass … Ass … Associate wanted to play one of the Wagner Tuba parts, which is what he would have normally played if the Prince … Principal was here.

I’m not going to complain. I have no principles.

Evie came today and updated my henna. She has reinstated two aspects that had been discarded over the past six months – the stars in my decolletage, and the diamonds that nestled discretely at my hairline around my left eye. Evie added them in respect of my discoveries about my lineage. Both Beatrice and Crystal are closer to me than we thought. Crystal lived to 100, exactly, dying on her 100th birthday, coincidentally the 20th anniversary of Beatrice’s baptism. That must be the day that the suc-, succ-, … curse passed from mother to daughter, freezing her at 20 years old. I couldn’t find much about her murder. She was killed by a lover – tied up and torched in her house. He was hanged by a mob of men (perhaps driven by Beatrice?).

Why did the curse skip my mother? And why did Beatrice wait until I was in my fifties to inflict herself on me? Why wait until I was in America, in a cursed house. She followed me here, and sat waiting until the other ghosts were exorcised.

I was mistaken for being in my twenties in rehearsal today.

Tommy has figured in my dreams heavily in the past week. Beatrice slips in her wild, naked sex dreams in from time to time, but Tommy seems to fight them off several nights a week. Sometimes I dream of both in the same night, confusing me, as the Tommy dream becomes post-coital. Both types of dreams have been featuring things splattered over my naked body. Last night was sparkly blue powder. It stuck to my sweaty body, covering up some of the henna, perhaps allowing Beatrice to interlope. It was an orgy, followed by me still dripping with sweat (and blue sparkles) giving Tommy a horn lesson in a forest somewhere, in England, I think.

To be naked in an English forest in the summer again with pure un-henna-ed skin.

Sigh.

3 of DISKS. Works.

Manifestation, understanding. Crystallization. Progress.

This must mean something, but I’m lost. Sometimes when I’m reading for myself, I just can’t connect what should be obvious cards to me. I should feel fulfilled. Perhaps that is my Stravinsky breakthrough, but I have a feeling it isn’t. It has something to do with the dreams – Beatrice vs Tommy, and I’m the roadkill in the middle.