Last night I remembered this crucial fact called my body, brought on by pre-menstrual hormones. I lit lavender incense and candles, sipped scotch, played music. I danced a little, in my bedroom, and wanted to do yoga for the first time in months. I cried, too, listening to Caetano Veloso crooning “Cucurrucucu Paloma”, for no other reason but to cry, it felt so good. I felt the contours of my self, mediated only by light and sound and scent, and it was so, so, so necessary.

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