Tomorrow will it ever come

Tomorrow I'm seeing Morrissey. He's playing in Ontario. Social Distortion is playing with him. I'm hoping everything goes off without a hitch. Morrissey is getting older so you never know with him. 

It's the IE and I'm an IE girl. We all know this and to get to see Morrissey in my hometown is epic. Especially now that I'll be wide awake and sober. In case you don't know, I'm working on my wellness. 

Today, I went to a lunch meeting that involves music and played a Morrissey song from the Smiths. The group is all genres and we play a song and talk about it. Not everyone knew the Smiths or had heard the song. I kind of felt like Jan Brady. Like no one liked me. But then I thought, well maybe I'm introducing someone to music they've never heard. 

My need for approval persists. My perfectionist tendencies are real. My insecurities manifesting even sober, and maybe that's why I drank. Because I'm not as confident as I pretend. If you want to read about my recovery journey check out my substack. 

https://lifeofjem.substack.com/?utm_campaign=pub&utm_medium=web

And I'll just keep humming along. Until tomorrow when I'll be singing along to every song. 

The mime & me

At the Paris themed party I attended this weekend in Palm Springs, there was a mime. A mime!

While in line, I see him and think about David Bowie who was a mime for a bit. The mime has on a black and white striped shirt and a bowler hat and he has a grey beard and a black and white painted face (of course). And he might have suspenders on. 

While I am standing there, we lock eyes, which isn't hard because I'm staring at the mime. I'm wearing a black dress with a red petticoat. He walks up, and points at my dress and nods. Then he grabs my arm and escorts me into the party. I'm so happy, I could burst. 

We walk in together, the mime's arms flailing widely by his sides. We step in concert, marching to the beat of music I hear the strains of from inside the party. The mime brings me to the entrance, my family trailing behind, my husband Adrian quizzically looking at me as if I planned this.

Then voila, we are at a picture stand. The mime puts his hands in a heart. I do too. I blow the heart up. He smiles and puts his finger in his dimple and bows. The mime and me take pictures together preening, making faces, and gesturing and diagramming to communicate. 

The mime fake hugs me, arms wide. After a minute, the mime knocks the door on the picture booth, and out comes a hand with a glass of champagne like magic. The mime disappears, but it's not over. 

I find the mime again. I know we need to do the "imaginary box" mime trick. I see him and run up to him, pretending I'm stuck inside an imaginary box. My hands feeling the imaginary glass. I've seen it in movies. The mime immediately understands my hand gestures & helps me out by trying to smash the box then somehow, gently opening an imaginary door that I step through with a woosh of my petticoat. 

Then later, the mime takes a picture with my twin sister Jackie at a purple windmill. We say our goodbyes with an enthusiastic wave as I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye. 

My mom remarks that the clown is funny and cute. I say, "Mom that's offensive, he's a mime, mimes are not clowns. They're performance artists."

A few days later, my husband will say, "Please stop with all the mime talk. No one likes a mime." I retort with a raised brow, "Except me and the entirety of France." Touché. 

Happy birthday to me

I am 54 today and up at 4:20 am writing. Who does that on their birthday? Me!

I am working on some things. Big things. Wellness things. And of course I'm writing about it. I started a substack but I am keeping it quiet for now. You can read it here dear reader: https://substack.com/@lifeofjem/note/p-175514673?r=7cq4g&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web. Please be kind.

I have not realized much in these 54 rotations around the sun, yet I do know this. I'm a writer in my soul. In my heart. In my head. I have at least three more books in me. I have the beginnings (and a little more) of all three. They're in my head percolating and I just gotta get them down on paper. 

I'm petting my three dogs and they're all over me like life. Messy, unpredictable and loving. A nip here and there by their teeth. 

Life is crazy. It changes in an instant. One minute you think you could party on and stay "as is" forever. Then you realize, nope you can't. You need to change, evolve and adapt. 

It's time. It's time JEM. So just go for it. It will be okay. You will be okay. Promise.

Hear JEM read a story aloud on her podcast!!

JEM reads her most recently published story aloud, a story appearing in the upcoming Flowersong Press anthology "The White Picket Fence: Stories of Individuality as Rebelliousness" (curated & edited by Gina Duran). JEM's story is an intimate true tale titled "Wonder Twins Reactivated: a search for connection" & about her relationship with her twin sister.  Listen in. Just click here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/life-of-jem/id1700562573?i=1000729814662