69. the yin the yang the sixty-nine

It could be a song, but it's just newsletter n.69 : *pregnancy alert inside*

Two weeks ago I turned 29, which, actually, rhymes with 69. In my opinion, one of the least comfy sex positions out there. But 69 is also the number for this dispatch. I’ve sent 69 newsletters.
And I’ve failed to write them for more than a month. Maybe two? I’ve lost track of time, amigos y amigas.

If you’re a paying subscriber, please note subscriptions were paused. Meaning… you haven’t been charged while I was, well, doing some recharging myself.

In all honesty, this has never happened to me. I’ve never been completely incapable of writing. In the 29 years that I’ve had a physical body.
The reason for that is, well, I am brilliantly, gorgeously, savagely pregnant.
(YAAAAAAAAAY)
And the first trimester has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to get through. If not the hardest.

I haven’t been writing. At all. A few exceptions would be grocery lists, a tweet here and there, replying to some messages, but not all emails. Only the really important ones.
My bullshit-meter has become so accurate I can now instantly spot someone trying to take away my time and attention from the actual important things: staring at a blank wall, burping, watching tv, and sleeping.

I haven’t even been able to read. Since I’ve recently entered my second trimester, I have big hopes about changing that. The problem with reading is… Well, if you are as nauseated as I was, that vertiginous/dizzy feeling will accompany you everywhere. Books included.

“You see, when you’re feeling constant disgust, it’s really hard to be happy.” That’s the only thing I’ve written in one of my notebooks for the last two months.

That’s something no one warned me could happen. I felt betrayed, alone and isolated. In the darkest moments, I would fantasize about not existing anymore, because an existence like that felt unbearable. Many times I would find myself lying down, staring at the ceiling and thinking: I cannot take one more second of this, I can’t.

Turns out, I could. 
I could take two months of disgust, nausea, and deep sadness. And when I say deep sadness, please note it’s clearly a euphemism.

Smells. Smells had always been allies of mine. And I’ve always been pretty good at identifying them. The dark side of the moon of smells would be… all of them make you want to die. Yeah, disgust is a serious thing.
Let’s do a quick experiment: Imagine a smell so disgusting that would make you vomit immediately. Got it? Now imagine smelling that 24/7.
Good luck being happy pal!

-I write all of this while still struggling with my olfactory station up here. ; )-

I’ve learned so much new stuff and the baby hasn’t arrived yet. A premonition tells me this is going to be a cute life-changing situation. Life is life-changing! Ha!
Stuff has been happening. Because stuff always happens.

But all of this discomfort has served me -in hindsight- as a meditation on stillness and the importance of DON’T PANIC, breathe, everything passes.

Because for many days I thought my life was over. And I know this sounds pretty dramatic now. But as I was going through all of those physical hellish waves, the mind was a castaway, with no life jacket.

SO. WITH. ALL. OF. THIS. TALKITTY. TALK. I. WANTED. TO. TELL. YOU…
I’m alive! I’m not gone and this journey -newsletter- is far from being over.

Like a beast eating her own tail, I swallow my own creation only to digest it slowly and permanently. Excreting the old and leaving some space for the new.

What a beautiful image. Let’s break it down into a specific message:

This newsletter is changing. Why? Because I am.
Why? Because I’m gestating a human being as I write this.
Why? Because Le Husband and I decided it was time to have a new roommate -that’s what Le Husband has been calling our baby-.

If you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while -even if it’s just a little!- you’ll recognize the constant theme of existence mixed with the concept of unsolicited.
Specifically, I’m known for remarking no one has given me a Manual to exist or anything of that sort. Ever. If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t received those instructive words either, right?
So my intention is to redeem myself. I am perpetuating what I, on many occasions, have called an unrequested experience: Life.

The only way I can see myself doing something close to a full redemption is to concoct the highly desired “Manual To Exist”. → that’s not the definitive name, I’m just trying to shoot the key information at you. And my baby. Gift a collection of essays explaining how the world works to this very new human growing inside of me.❤️

This newsletter seems like a good outlet to do exactly that.
I haven’t figured out yet the full content or themes I’ll be exploring and hopefully explaining. But expect some guidance to better navigate this confusing thing called Life.

DISCLOSURE: I’m not a professional Human Being, I’m just a regular one.

If you want to study the world, the entire world!!!!, with me. Join the spaceship.

For now, subscriptions will remain paused. So don’t worry about that.
And my intention is to keep publishing here weekly once I resume this new season for this project. As always, free subscribers will get one (1) uno newsletter every month. Whereas paying subs will get the whole deal. You know how it is… I’m not the inventor of the paying wall.

I’ll see you again really soon. Like super soon.

Until then…

Say hi to the new member of the family, Le Baby!

or what appears to be baby’s back. Because baby is shy shy shy…

I miss you. And I miss me -the version of me who writes incessantly-.

see you in June, amigüos!

bye bye bye, by all means,
have a quick look at this before you leave

Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!