The Worm Moon

Full Moon Diaries

The moon is covered in blood and everything feels harder than it’s supposed to. I feel the urge to act on every impulse, to do all the wrong things. I turned my back on the moon last night, turned the heating up, opened my window, pulled the duvet all the way up to my chin and blinked in the light of my phone. In the morning I snoozed my alarm six times then got dressed with my curtains open.

The moon is dripping in blood and so am I, meditating in child’s pose, feeling the deep, dull ache in my abdomen, feeling it rise then fall, then twist and squirm and almost vanish. I don’t want to do anything at all.

Finally, for the first time in five months, my body catapults me to the gym. Release. Dark, militant jungle and a broken skipping rope. Weights slamming. I want to run and run and run. I want to drink and smoke and take two buses home from Dalston four hours before my shift, but I know better. I always know better.