I’m Not Tech Savvy

July 24, 2016

But.

I am listening to music that my dearest friend put together as a playlist for me.

French music.

From a Parisian.

I feel so special.

Seriously.

I love me some French music.

Perhaps because it is an easier way for me to understand the language, lyrics tend to be repetitive, simpler than every day conversation and lyrical, which makes it easier for me to access.

And there is just something to it.

I want to couples dance with someone in a cafe with ceramic black and white tiles.

The smell of tobacco smoke drifting in as the door opens.

The smell of coffee in the air.

The low light, the ambiance, maybe I need a French cafe in my home, whenever I get it.

Either that or just frequent trips back to Paris and this time to also experience the night life a bit more, the cafe music life, I got into the spoken word a tiny bit with my excursions to Le Chat Noir for Paris Spoken Word events and had a tiny taste.

But to be there with a Parisian and be let into that exclusive view.

Delicious.

It’s sexy and sensual and worldly.

All things I aspire to.

I got to record with Adriana Marchione today for a podcast she’ll be posting along side  her ongoing project “The Creative High” .

I was really honored to be thought of and it was a great experience, and I have to say, I felt my voice, I was in my voice and it felt really powerful.

And.

There’s something to be said to having an artist, an auteur, and a teacher, interested in my work.

Also.

How she described me.

Well.

I’ll leave you in a little suspense, but it was quite flattering.

The podcast will go up in about a week and will be on her website.

I got to share a part of my story, a bit about my process, my experience with writing, blogging, poetry, the little bit of spoken word I have done, my best friend passing nine years ago and how that prompted me to Burning Man, my other best friend and how she was the person to whom I went to for help when things all came crashing down.

It was a great experience and I didn’t prep for it other than run through a small set list of poetry pieces of my own that are memorized.

Three.

That’s it.

I have three of my works memorized.

But they please me and it’s nice to share them once in a while with someone.

I shared about the patron last year from Burning Man and doing the collaboration with him.

I talked about my memoir(s) and how I still don’t know what to do with them, or how to go about getting them together, but also, how much that striving has pushed me towards places and experiences that I was just not expecting.

At all.

It also gave me another taste of recording.

And I have to say, I liked it.

“Are you going to do something for the talent show,” I was asked by the amazing MC last night before it was about to start, “you sing right?”

I told her I didn’t.

“You look like a singer,” she said.

Now there’s a compliment.

I admitted that I do some spoken word.

But frankly, it didn’t feel appropriate to recite one of my pieces to the fabulous birthday girl, they weren’t quite in the spirit of what was happening, and they also weren’t pieces that would have been celebratory of her and her experience.

And that was important to acknowledge.

There was a moment, I thought, well, there’s that one piece that might be fun, but really, it would have been to garner my own attention and I wanted to just sit back a little and be a wall flower and watch the main act and really enjoy that I got to have the privilege of being asked and then showing up to celebrate someone’s life and the gifts that she brings into her circle of friends.

It was a great honor.

And fun.

Although I had to bail “early.”

Heh.

Though I was slightly shorted on my sleep, I came home and unwound and blogged and watched part of Stranger Things.

Which.

Side fucking bar.

FUCKING AMAZING.

So good.

I mean, I really can’t recommend it enough, except.

Well.

Ha.

I’m susceptible to the scary.

And I did have a moment last night when I was curled up in my bed with my hands literally over my ears, because I did not want to hear the soundtrack and I was preparing myself for the scary, that I thought.

Hmm.

Maybe I should’t watch this right before I go to bed.

Oof.

It’s good.

Seriously.

Check it out.

End side bar.

I can’t just get right into bed, even on a late night, so, not so much sleep was gotten.

But.

Oh.

I took a nap today.

I am so proud of myself.

I never nap.

And it was just begging to happen.

I mean, only getting five hours of sleep will catch up with me, sometimes it’s not so bad and I can have an extra cup of coffee, but I didn’t want to blow my vocal cords out and be dehydrated from drinking coffee today, so I skipped my usual Saturday morning large coffee with my person today at Tart to Tart.

Then went straight to the podcast, after that to Scooter Centre, then to Scuderia, since Scooter Centre was unexpectedly closed, aired up the tires, scooted home, ate a late lunch, caught up with a girl friend on the phone, and then I looked at the time.

I can nap for one hour before going to my new Saturday night commitment.

I folded up my laundry, nothing says sexy like knowing I’ll get to slip into fresh washed sheets tonight, and grabbed a pillow.

I lay down at an angle on the bed, on my back, head propped up on a small throw pillow and closed my eyes.

It was just a touch chilly.

Afghan, the one I got in the mail from my grandmother.

I reached for it.

It had been sitting folded on the end of my chaise lounge in the sun.

Extraordinary.

It was like being wrapped up in warm soft sunshine.

Best nap ever.

Covered in the love of my grandmother.

Warmed by the sun.

After getting to do some art and be available to my friend.

It was glorious.

I almost didn’t get up.

In fact.

Had I not had that commitment, I would have gone back to sleep.

Grateful I didn’t, I don’t need to muck with my sleep schedule.

But.

Boy howdy.

That might have been one of the best naps I have ever had.

Plus.

It was good to connect with my people.

To see and be seen.

To not let myself be isolated.

A sweet, simple, glorious little day.

Full of light and warmth and art.

Poetry.

Narrative.

Recovery.

I mean.

Really?

My life is fucking awesome.

Seriously.

It is.

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

 

Information

July 23, 2016

Good information to have.

No judgements on myself or others, it’s all just information.

Like.

Second swing through date with guy from Tinder and no, there’s not chemistry, but, nice guy, and I’m glad the he was in town with friends, he’s an Oakland guy, and at a club near the surprise birthday party that I was at and he came by for a little while.

We cut a rug.

But I was pretty tuckered out.

And that was a clear sign to me.

When the allure of coming home was more than the allure of staying on the dance floor shaking it to a good dj with a guy who wants to dance with me.

Fact is.

My knees were sore and my feet were in agony.

I have fallen arches.

I were arch supports in my shoes.

It sucks.

It is what it is.

However.

The party I was at, the hosts asked that we all remove our shoes, which is great, hey, sure, no problem, except, that I realized I was standing and talking and dancing and walking around and exploring the house, it was awesome and cool and made me have hope of there still being bastions of interesting things in the Mission versus the white washing of condos that seems to be in heavy proliferation there.

So.

My feet hurt.

Like awful.

I go to the party at 9:15p.m.

I left at 1:30 a.m.

That’s four hours of being on my bare feet.

Of course there wasn’t chemistry.

I was in pain.

I’m in pain right now, but it’s not as bad.

That being said, no yoga tomorrow.

At least not the early morning classes.

I am going to let myself get a few hours of sleep, get up shower, meet my person at noon, do the podcast at one thirty, have coffee with a friend in the Castro then run over to Scooter Centre and have them show me how to inflate my scooter tires.

They are low and I noticed it last night.

My scooter seems real bouncy on the road.

I am sure that I could figure it out, but there’s a weird little bit of fear in me the first time I go to do something and I have never done it before, I just want to be shown how to do it and I figure I should also make an appointment for a tune up.

I haven’t done so since I go it in November and I have already put on 1,900 miles on it.

That’s what happens when you live 6.5 miles from work.

No wonder my knees are crappy.

Ten years of riding a bicycle in and around the city and the last five of it on a once speed that I had in fixed gear for three years before I flipped over my hub and went to free.

My knees are shot.

Let me not think about the years and years of being in the service industry and all that wear and tear and just the general bad way I took care of myself for so long.

It takes time to heal from some of that and some of that damage may be too far gone.

I’m ok with that.

I am an old lady.

Yeah, I know, I don’t act like that, although I am very old school about certain things, I am wearing bifocals, call them progressives all you want, I’m wearing bifocals and bitching about my fallen arches and sore knees.

Old.

My brain’s wide awake though and here I sit, decompressing from the day, the night, the drive by date.

I do think I’ll be canceling our coffee date on Sunday.

He’s nice, but I was just not feeling it and my time is precious.

I’ll sleep on it, but yeah, I think there’s not much there.

Friend though, I can tell that, definitely a nice guy and we discovered that we do in fact have a few friends in common.

And.

That leads to an interesting conversation I had with a gentleman tonight at the party, the who do you know game, the six degrees of separation from the birthday girl, and we ended up having quite the fun chat before the date showed up.

I even confided that indeed, a date was on the way.

We had fun chit chatting and flirting, there was definitely flirting and though I separated myself off to meet with the other guy who came by, I did happen to bump back into the gentleman who I had conversed with more.

He was in line waiting for the bathroom, which I had just used.

I told him I was going and he asked about finding me on facecrack.

I said, yes, absolutely find me on all things social media.

However.

There is an easier way.

“Do you have your phone on you?” I asked.

He pulled it out.

He handed it to me.

I put my phone number in it, called my phone, and then plugged my name into the contact field.

“Now you’ll know how to find me,” I said.

FYI.

I have never done that before.

And it was real easy.

Good information to know.

I think there was a quick hug, then I was gathering up all my things and scooting out the door.

To scoot on down the road.

To get home to my sweet, humble, cozy little abode.

I am so lucky to have such a full life.

Even if I miss yoga in the morning and don’t have quite the amount of sleep I’d prefer.

Oh!

And I may have procured a ride up to Burning Man.

Not back, which is what I figured would happen, one person up and another back, but hey, that’s half the battle, we’re going to talk next week and iron out details.

And my bike has a ride up.

Things are starting to fall into place.

They always do.

“Have you figured out Burning Man yet?” A friend asked me this evening on the sidewalk outside of Our Lady of SafeWay.

“Nope, but it’ll all fall together, it usually does,” I said and smiled, completely in faith that what I was saying was true, because, well it is.

“That’s what I like about you Carmen, you buy a ticket and you just go!” He smiled in wonder.

That’s called faith.

And I do have that.

I do.

And that is probably why I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I just need to have faith.

And I have it in spades.

Seriously.

Unboxing

July 22, 2016

I hear it’s this thing.

This weird little things, where people post videos of themselves unboxing packages, iphones, laptops, Disney tchotchkes, etc.

Although, I think it’s meant specifically for technology gadgets.

I had an official unboxing moment just now.

Except.

Perhaps I should call it an “unenveloping.”

I GOT MY BURNING MAN TICKET!

I AM NOT EXCITED AT ALL.

AT ALL!

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I’M GOING TO BURNING MAN!

Heh.

Sorry.

Couldn’t help myself.

I knew that the ticket had arrived as I got a message via e-mail that it had been delivered earlier this afternoon while I was at work.

That put a big old smile on my face.

Great big smile.

And there it was, just outside my door, sitting patiently waiting for me, in a brown envelope from UPS in the shared hallway of my spot.

I got it.

I put it on my table.

I hung up my coat.

I returned a few texts.

I lit some candles.

I mean.

Hello.

Ambiance.

Burning Man is sexy, no?

Then.

I delayed gratification.

I ate a sweet, ripe, black plum.

Which, though you may not know is very apropos.

“My favorite fruit is a black plum,” Shadrach told me, biting into a luscious black plum he’d gotten at the Civic Center Farmer’s Market.

Then he told me a story about this little girl in kindergarten who had a very sad lunch and he shared what he had all the while thinking, she can have anything she wants, just not the plum, plums are my favorite.

“Oh!  I just love plums,” she said and smiled.

I can see it.

I can see the sweet inner turmoil of six year old Shadrach.

Then.

He smiles and hands it to her.

I love plums.

Mostly because of that story.

And though it was not meant to be a serendipitous thing, it was, I now realize, the absolutely right thing to do, to stop and eat a plum before I opened my Burning Man tickets.

Shadrach died years ago.

His death is the reason I went to Burning Man in the first place.

He used to host Decompression parties at his loft in the Dogpatch.

“You are so Burning Man!” He would tell me. “You so need to go!”

He was right, he usually was.

But I never quite got it together.

I always was a little behind the ball.

Shadrach was in a coma for a week in the ICU at General Hospital, the details don’t bear repeating, suffice to say, it was an excruciating week and also one filled with so much love and tenderness and family and fellowship and community.

I still feel the ripple affects of that week in my life and in my heart.

He officially died the 30th of July.

One month later I was at Burning Man with a packet of his ashes.

“Do you think it’s too late to go?” I asked a friend at the hospital, “Burning Man, that is, I should go, I should take his ashes there, do you think that would be appropriate?”

The response was a resounding yes, a quiet yes, but a yes nonetheless that allowed the seed that Shadrach had planted years before in my heart to finally crack open.

“Sometimes God breaks your heart open so that you can know more love,” she said to me, quietly in passing as I bawled in a church somewhere in the Mission.

And out of that broken wide open heart grew this wilding wilderness of flowers and fire and magic and danger and excitement and glory and friends and more friends and extraordinary, beyond belief experiences.

This year marks number 10 for me.

Ten burns.

In a row.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Each its own challenge.

Each its own experience.

Each having its own heartbreaks, awakenings, striped raw emotional catharsis.

Always the same.

And yet.

Always different.

Dusty.

Hot.

Cold.

Windy.

Extreme fluctuations in weather, rainbows, rain storms, fucking hail one year, double rainbows, warm nights, freezing cold oh my god I’m going to die of exposure nights.

The year that I had a severe allergic reaction to wood smoke from a forest fire that was so big the smoke was drifting in from hundreds of miles away and I ended up in the med tents getting my nasal cavity washed out and crying like a helpless baby.

All the dancing.

Every year.

On top of cars, art cars, ships broke down in the sea of playa, on my bicycle, in the dust, at the trash fence, at the burn, riding around in sailing sloops, getting a hold of golf carts and riding out into deep playa on art tours.

Going out and taking photographs.

Sunsets.

Sunrises.

Home.

Oh, it’s home.

And I know I sound like a kid, a happy, crazy, woo-woo kid, but I sort of don’t care.

Especially since I went through the heart break of thinking I wasn’t going to get to go.

And now.

Well.

Over the moon might actually be a bit of an understatement.

I was thinking about things today as well, prep and all the stuff and things.

And I realized that I am going to have to really just let it all happen exactly how it’s suppose to happen, to not force things, manipulate things, to go light and bright, easy breezy carefree.

Maybe I don’t co-ordinate with my OG playa family and get my bike back up and running.

Maybe I walk like I did my first event.

Maybe I stop worrying about a tent and just go with the two man that was offered to me.

It’s not like I’m going to be there very long.

The ride, again, will happen, there and back.

I know it.

Things just work out the way they are supposed to.

My heart is wide open and the flower planted there so long ago continues to bloom and unfurl.

The love has not faded.

Only grown deeper, stronger, more entrenched in me.

Grateful beyond words for this experience.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

I’ll see you in the dust.

 

 

You’re Super Smart

July 21, 2016

And hot!

I’d date you.

Aw!

Thanks darling, that means a lot.

I responded to a social media post about being out in the dating world as well and that was my response.

That’s really nice to know.

Even if I don’t always believe it.

Habit.

Not a great habit.

But.

Not as bad as the overly confident man on Tinder today who basically went from a semi-flirtatious message to a over heated, over bearing, pushy overtly sexual perverted exploration of my tattoos.

Dude.

Unmatch.

Ugh.

I haven’t had a lot of creeps, but every once in a while I get one and my instinct were right and I shouldn’t have swiped.

I did, he did, there was some messaging, but after a real good gut check.

Nope.

Unmatched and moving on.

Not that I really need to being pursuing a date for this weekend.

God damn I have a lot of stuff going on.

Friday night I may have a touch base date, like a hello in passing, which I am flattered by, he’s the gentleman I met last week at Public Works, he’s an Oakland guy and coming over the bridge for some Detroit house music, which if I wasn’t already engaged I would totally go check out.

But I do have plans and so instead of saying no, I said, hey, if you want, you will probably be a good fit with the friends I’m going to be hanging out with, swing by if you want.

That being said.

I don’t want to make Friday a rager.

Even if the night is looking like that right now.

I have a lot of stuff to do on Saturday.

There is the yoga.

Which I did today and I’m super glad I got up early and made the effort to exercise, I needed to stretch probably just as much as my body could have used the extra hour of sleep.

That being said, if I go out Friday night getting up for a 9 a.m. yoga class is challenging.

Plus.

Meeting my person at noon.

And.

Recording a podcast at 1:30p.m.

I want to make sure that I have good voice for that.

I’m a little nervous, but also excited.

I have been practicing a few of my pieces and the woman I’m recording with said she was just going to ask me a bunch of questions, so just be me.

God.

Who the hell knows what that is going to look like.

But.

Yes.

I am excited.

I also feel like I should be writing some poetry, I haven’t cut a poem in a while, but I have been consistent here with the blog and with my morning pages and as long as I continue here it doesn’t matter so much.

The woman expressed to me that I would also be able to plug anything I’m working on and she would be putting my blog address in the podcast.

I have no idea what to tell her.

I’m not here to advertise or get accolades.

Although those are nice.

It’s just a practice, a letting go, a surrender to the words and whatever my heart needs to process from the day.

Yes.

Miraculous things happen here.

But I can’t sell the magic, it just comes when I am wide open to it.

Sometimes I am so blown open, a dandelion fluff of seed pods blown high into the blue robin’s egg sky.

Sometimes I am closed down and sad, sad, sad, and things get over blown and I feel dramatic and snarky and I want to be mean and then.

When I am.

Fuck.

That sucks.

But.

It comes and goes and flows and I have no idea where it’s going and I have no project on the burner, I have not needs to process or things to promote.

Unless it’s me getting shit together for Burning Man.

Which.

By the way.

Where is my ticket?

I signed for it via the UPS site and it was supposed to be delivered today and no ticket.

Which also reflects my lack of ride, gear, and on and on.

I did, however, get a ride set up for the school retreat that is coming up for me in August.

I got an e-mail from a friend in the cohort asking if I wanted a ride, and yes!  Yes, please and thank you.

So grateful to not have to think about that.

One less thing on my plate of busy.

I also got another e-mail from another friend in the cohort regarding a room request, which was made today and I’m super happy for that.

I’m a little nervous, I had my own room last year.

Just happened, the person assigned to be my room mate pulled out of the program before the retreat and I got lucky.

It was nice to be alone and have a space to come back to, but I am also looking forward to sharing a room with not one, but two of my friends.

The request was for the triple room.

I got another message from a woman in the program also expressing how she missed me and how she was looking forward to seeing me at school.

It’s nice to be thought of.

It’s nice to be missed.

It’s nice to know that I have made some kind of impact on someone’s heart.

No matter how small.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Maya Angelou

Yup.

I heard this recently and it so resonated.

Looks are fleeting.

But when you touch someone’s heart, that stays.

I hope that I can be that person, the one who is kind and sweet and loving.

But usually the best I can do is be tolerant.

I do love.

And I love hard.

I do.

I do.

I’m an old school romantic.

It’s part of my blood and I don’t mind.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

Love.

God.

Same.

Same.

Sorry.

Not.

Sorry.

And ever more.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Just Add Another

July 20, 2016

Thing to an already full plate.

But fuck it.

I signed up for an American Red Cross CPR/First Aid/AED child/infant/adult class for the last day of the month.

I don’t have any free time really in August.

August is going to be interesting.

And actually I do have a couple of odd free dates in the first week of August, so if you want to hang out and you’re not doing anything the 2nd, 3rd, or 4th, hit me up.

We can do the MOMA.

Get coffee.

Hang out.

Make out.

You know.

Whatever.

Heh.

My certification lapses at the end of this month so I was trying to book in for one of those days that I will be free, but the classes weren’t available and I ended up having to sacrifice a Sunday afternoon for the class.

That being said, it may work out just right for me.

I was thinking I would do the class, then grab a BART and take the train over to Oakland and go to a friend’s housewarming/engagement party.

Looks like a lot of my friends will be there and since I’m already downtown, the BART doesn’t seem all that untenable and it will be nice to get out of the fog and be in the sun, catch up with old friends and see my friend’s house.

It’s hard to believe that I am making plans for the end of July and that August is like right there.

August looks like this: school retreat, out of town working for the family as they spend a couple of weeks in Sonoma at Glenn Ellen, then BurningMan, then back and right into the September with a Mike Doughty show on the 1st and my first weekend of school on the 2nd.

The month is like booked.

Crazy.

I reflected earlier though that August for me, even when I wasn’t in school, has always been pretty booked.

At least for the last nine years it has.

Burning Man takes up a lot of head space, physical space, preparation space, emotional, spiritual space, space space.

It just is a lot.

I have no answers still in regards to rides and shelter and this and that.

But.

I did get a notification from UPS that my signature was going to be required for a package delivery tomorrow.

Of course I’ll either be at work or I’ll be at a morning yoga class.

Which I committed to going to, so maybe I should go sign up for that.

Hang on.

Ugh.

It’s not a teacher I’m very fond of.

However.

It’s yoga and I’m going.

Done.

I’m working a slightly different schedule tomorrow so that the mom and dad can double date with some friends.

The said 8/8:30p.m.

So I’m just preparing myself for 9p.m.

Although still hoping it will just be 8p.m.

Then I can make my evening commitment at 8:30p.m.

But if I can’t make it, I wanted to make sure that I did something outside of work other than work, thus yoga.

And it’s good to be as regular as I can with it, I can tell it in my body now and I like how I feel when I’m getting to regular classes.

Three is the optimal, though I would like to be doing four classes a week, it just hasn’t always worked out that way with my summer time work schedule fluctuating as it has been.

This weekend will be nice and busy too.

Meet with my person Thursday after work for a little doing the deal and a chicken dinner at Firewood Cafe.

Then Friday, doing the deal, a party, and…

Saturday, meeting another one of my people, it takes a village I tell ya, at Tart to Tart, then up and over to Noe Valley to record a podcast.

Coffee after with a friend.

7p.m. commitment.

Then.

Who knows.

Probably catch up on sleep.

No Saturday evening things happening.

That’s a little open.

Sunday, yoga, which I hope to squeak in on Saturday too, but might not.

Then two ladies back to back and after a coffee date and walk down to the beach.

It’s date 1.5.

We met last week Friday at Public Works for the Desert Heart dj collective party.

He was with friends, I was with friends, but we danced a bit and hit it off and he got a hold of me yesterday and said let’s hang out.

So coffee and beach walk date.

And the weeks.

They do pass by.

Time it does so fly.

It’s amazing how quick.

It’s amazing how full my life is.

I am blessed to have so much happening.

A full and grateful heart, a full and gratitude filled life.

It’s awful nice.

I’ll have one more week of “normal” work hours next week, then start shifting into the August scheduling.

Which reminds me.

I also need to figure out how to get to the retreat and back for school.

That shouldn’t be too hard though.

Although, that being said I still need to work out a few details since I’ll be going to work from the retreat.

I may actually end up coming back to San Francisco, renting a car, and then driving back to Glenn Ellen the last day of my retreat, depending on when it lets out.

Ack.

Lots of stuff to juggle.

But.

Also lots of fun.

Despite the school year quickly approaching I am looking forward to seeing friends from my cohort and getting re-acquainted.

And it will be a much different retreat this year as I know the folks in my cohort and I know the space and the facility.

There will be an easing in that should be much softer and gentler than the landing I made last year.

Especially, as I recall that getting a ride there was crazy pants.

The person I was supposed to get a ride from canceled last minute, like minutes before I was supposed to go.

Fortunately I was working with a lady when I got the text and she just said, “hey, I can take you,” and that was that.

See.

Things will work out like that for me and the event will as well.

For me and everything in my life.

As long as I keep in fit spiritual condition.

I will be taken care of.

I always am.

Seriously.

Grace Over Drama

July 19, 2016

New favorite acronym.

Just saying.

I realized today as I was scootering to work and practicing what I was going to say to my boss that my fear was that I was going to fuck it up and not say it perfect and that was the reason why I had been waiting, consciously or not, to say my piece.

I had to get it perfect.

Ugh.

Girlfriend.

Haven’t you learned yet?

I don’t have to be perfect.

I am not that powerful, I can’t fuck anything or anyone up.

I’m not God.

I can only show up, do the best I can, speak, and let go of the results.

All of my people were behind me and I did the simplest little thing, the tiniest little change of my behavior and the next thing I know I was able to have a conversation because I had taken my break.

I didn’t ask.

I just took it.

I timed it and made myself sit down the entire time.

Well, except for when I got up to make a cup of tea.

I put everything on the back burner, literally, I was cooking, the boys were either napping or in quiet time, dad wasn’t working from home and mom was busy doing mom stuff.

I just sat.

I realized that knowing what I knew, that I am valuable, and needed and I’m good at my job and that I can ask to be of service to my job, to put into it rather than to take from it, but I can’t be of service without taking care of me.

So.

I asked the mom to help me.

I said I was happy to be flexible week to week during the summer time as long as I was getting the meal break I needed, especially since the boys are out of school, not in summer camp, and I’m working extra hours this week.

I told her that I felt the responsibility was on me to take the break and that I didn’t last week and that by the end of the week I really wasn’t my best self.

That I love my job and my charges and want to be the best I can.

Which means making sure I get a break.

The mom was super chill and easy and it was no big deal.

I was like.

Did I just make a shit load of drama and crash out my weekend for that?

Fuck.

Fear is so over rated.

Grateful beyond belief that I walked through it.

And I found that the family wants me to work for them into the fall and we’ll review again in January.

So.

Work is set.

Now the focus is back on Burning Man.

Like it’s ever really left.

I met with a girlfriend after work and had a nice meal over at Chow and got caught up and we tried to figure out the whole tent deal and the stuff and things.

And.

I don’t know.

It feels complicated and I’m not sure it’s the right answer, but we shall see.

Of course, I then got home and tooled around on the interwebs trying to figure it out.

Ah.

Obsessive thinking, so nice to see you again.

I remind myself that it’s got to be easy, simple is always the answer, simply find a ride, a shelter, a ride back, an early arrival pass, a, oh, fuck, stop it.

It will all come together.

I got the ticket.

Even though I don’t have the ticket yet.

Which I am beginning to wonder about.

There was a charge of $20 for two day secured mail and it’s been a week, plus the weekend, and I’m wondering, where’s my ticket, yo?

Or give me back my $20 cuz I got supplies to buy.

Of which I have managed to buy and set aside a couple of food staples, a parasol, and some baby wipes.

I got a tutu already, chill.

And boots, which I bought way back in February when I thought I was going to be working as a nanny at Star Star Camp.

And a shoulder harness.

Those things, my goggles, my plethora of bandanas, and my tutus, yeah, I have more than one, and I’m pretty set, in fact, costumes, hair stuff, flowers, ribbons, make up, I got that shit covered in spades.

You know.

It’s just the big stuff.

Ride.

Shelter.

Ride back.

Figure out how to get the bicycle there.

Fuck!

I just realized I need to text my OG playa family, the dad was going to drop my bike on Wednesday and I got pulled into working a late day for the family.

Note to self, text in morning.

That being said I do have feelings that things are going to work out in some crazy, sweet, magical way.

Burning Man.

How do I love thee?

Let me count the dusty ways.

The McFishlickers.

Action Girl, Thumper, Junior.

The “commiscary.”

Bacon.

Sunset over the Calico Mountains.

Curley.

The Trash Fence.

Rabbi.

Uncle Boy and the Gerlach Stage Coach.

Hand massage.

Poetry in the twilight.

Star Fuckers.

Anonymous Village.

Camp Stella.

STELLA!

Run Free.

Solar lights on bicycles.

In the inner circle for Man Burn.

Man Crew.

The art placement crew.

All the art.

ALL THE FUCKING ART.

The Hug Deli.

Dream Land.

The Monkeys.

The Temple.

Shadrach’s ashes.

Flying a kite on playa.

Mary Fucking Poppins.

Juno.

Lady Town.

The Nurse.

The Wilsons.

The Love.

The freaking Slug.

Gooey.

Hash marks on the trailer.

Ice cold coconut water left on my step.

Hearing my name shouted out from a passing art car.

All my crazy hair styles.

Tan lines.

Santa Claus at the burn barrel, 6 o’clock keyhole.

The sacred and the profane.

The hot springs pre-event.

Being a fluffer.

Explaining to the over heated gentleman on the Esplanade what a fluffer was.

I think I dashed his hopes.

Ha.

The Elco.

Gigsville.

Media Mecca.

First Camp.

The Poop Deck.

All the characters, all the dust, all the pretty, pretty, pretty people.

Sparkle ponies.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

I got my ticket to the circus.

I just need to find my train there.

I’ll be waiting at the station with my small stack of colorful clear bins stuffed with striped socks, goggles, crinolines, makeup, flowers, and joy.

Lots.

And lots.

And lots.

Of.

Joy.

Can’t wait!

Seriously.

Ready.

Not really.

But totally.

Ready.

Set.

Go!

Cures For The Every Day

July 18, 2016

Emotional hang over.

Get eight hours of sleep.

Get up and drink cold brewed iced coffee from the last of the Mojo Coffee I brought back from New Orleans.

Go to yoga.

Cry on the mat.

A lot.

Then do the fucking pose.

Breathe.

Do it again.

Go home.

Shower.

Realize that it doesn’t matter that I am terrorized to have confrontation.

Will do it anyway.

Finding over the course of the day as I focus less and less on the “problem” and more and more on the solution, that it will work itself out.

Even though I am afraid.

That’s ok.

Be afraid.

Just don’t not take any action.

Today’s actions also included meeting with two ladies back to back and doing some reading and sharing experience, hope, strength, faith versus fear, and lots of letting go.

I had a nice breakfast too.

More coffee as well.

Did some writing.

Wrote a really long gratitude list in which I also expressed being grateful for the challenges in my life as I get to grow from them and through them.

Get my ducks in a row and then headed out to the MOMA to visit with a couple of friends and get a dual membership.

Seriously.

This is the way to go.

My friend and I split the dual membership which is $150 for the year.

So, $75 a piece and I can go any time I want for the next year.

Considering that a one time ticket to the museum is $25 I’ll pay it off in two more visits.

Plus.

I get to bring in 2 people with me as visitors.

So.

You want to get your MOMA on.

Let me know.

Even if I just go down and get you in and do a gallery or two, I figure that may happen once in a while, pop in, just see a few things and pop out.

Plus.

The place is huge.

They really added onto it and it’s now 7 floors of art.

So much scrumptious, delicious, devastating art.

I was so happy.

I got to see some of my favorites from the permanent collection that I always love to see–Warhol’s Triple Elvis, of course the various Marilyn’s, the Dolly Parton’s too, so good.

Rothko.

Gerhard Richter.

Hopper.

All the Calder pieces, so many!

Diane Arbus photographs.

And the Oculus bridge!

I was so happy to see that they kept that part of the museum.

It is one of my favorite bits and I walked across it happy in the moment and also softly aware of the moments prior when I walked it first.

That being back in 2000.

Wow.

Sixteen years of going to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

I have always had a membership since I moved here in 2002.

Excepting while it was closed for the renovation.

My information was still in their system and it was a lovely little trip down memory lane layered with so much gratitude.

See.

I used to work down town, at Hawthorne Lane, which is now Benu I believe, and I used to go to the MOMA cafe on my way into work and sit in front of the museum and smoke cigarettes and drink lattes and people watch.

A lot of times I was also recovering from a hang over.

Or I was still high from the night before.

I used the bathrooms all the time.

But.

I never used in them.

I couldn’t ever bring myself to.

It was sacrilegious.

It was my church.

Art still is my church.

Museums are where I go to commune with God.

Get high on art.

I just couldn’t do it.

I don’t recall a single time being able to allow myself to do it.

I didn’t have a problem using the bathrooms at the park across the street, or at Starbucks on 3rd and Howard, or at the Metreon.

Fuck.

I could get high all over the city.

The W Hotel bar right there on the corner.

Or.

Dave’s sports Bar on 3rd at Market.

But the MOMA?

Fuck no.

I just couldn’t do it.

And I was so grateful to know that my bastion of art and love was never tainted with that.

Granted I don’t have a problem going places I have used before, but I am quite grateful that I never did there.

It was sort of like how I felt about music.

When I first was in the club scene here in the city I was all about the ecstasy and the cocaine and the dancing and the getting out.

But.

Eventually I didn’t enjoy it anymore.

Spending too much time in the bathrooms and not enough time on the dance floor.

Or.

Just wanting, desperately to be home in my room before the sun came up so that I could use the way I wanted to use without anyone bearing witness to it.

It was not a good scene.

And.

Eventually I couldn’t even use at home with the music on.

It got real quiet.

And.

Real uncomfortable.

Real fucking fast.

All the small reminders as I was downtown, which is a different downtown than it was eleven and a half years ago, but still, plenty of sense memories to recall and remember and to get to be at the MOMA.

A place, one of the first places, I went to when I first came to SF in 2000, that I revered and loved and still do.

So much.

It was an honor and a privilege to buy my membership.

Despite my fears of financial insecurity.

Despite my over magnifying mind trying to blow up a simple boundary request at work into a scenario where I am homeless and alone living with a feral cat in the park.

I got to amend my behavior.

I got to drop a few bucks and make good on my promise to live this day fully, with love and presence and the gift of being there with friends and running into my sweet Parisian friend from school and her husband.

I am so graced.

And.

I don’t have an emotional hang over at all.

It dissipated in the groundswell of gratitude flooding my heart.

Happy.

Joyous.

And oh.

So.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Free.

 

Stood Up

July 17, 2016

But not angry about it.

In fact.

I was rather relieved.

I sort of expected the guy to stand me up.

And since.

I had spent the previous half hour slowly sobbing into a puddle at Tart to Tart with my person and doing some inventory.

I was indeed relieved.

I was a hot mess.

Fact is, I still am.

Which happens, I forget, despite my exhortations to the universe to have a magical and amazing Saturday.

Instead it was just tender and raw, or it wasn’t, I was, I am.

I just have to change some stuff and I don’t feel comfortable with it.

Fear.

Fuck everything and run.

Or.

Face everything and recover.

I got some big prideful pants on right now and they are not serving me at all.

I have been having some issues with work, not being able to set a boundary, hoping that instead it will magically happen.

That somehow my employer will read my mind and know that I need a break.

But.

Nobody’s a fucking mind reader and people are too busy thinking about themselves, hey, look at me, I’m thinking about myself right now, and nobody knows what I need, except.

Well.

Fuck.

Me.

So.

I’m not getting the kind of break I need at work.

And I feel appalled to admit it, that I’m not some fucking super hero who can do it all.

I can’t.

I’ve been trying.

I know that I am owed a break and I don’t know how to ask for it or to express that I need a break from the whole family, not just the kids.

It’s something I keep going back to and feeling this horrid shame that I need something from my job other than the paycheck.

That to do my job well I have to get more of a break.

That being in the house with any kind of responsibility to it is not a break, it doesn’t matter that I have done it in the past, rolled along, taken my break when the kid is sleeping and sometimes the nap is long and it is lovely and sometimes the nap is short and hey, as a nanny I just roll with it.

But the family I work for, work’s from home and I feel like I have to be on at all times, that I am always being observed and it’s fucking exhausting.

And I keep saying.

Everything is fine, fine, fine.

But.

It’s not.

See, I know my job’s hard, and the people I work with, not my employers, but the people I do do the deal with, know it’s hard, a lot of friends and my school cohort know it’s a hard job. But the parents, they don’t see it that way.

Or maybe they do, I mean, I can’t read their mind either.

I just know that being in an environment in which the parents are always there is like being constantly supervised and scrutinized and I’m just not in a good spot with it at the moment.

I didn’t get out at all from the house this past week, except once to the farmer’s market with they boys, I didn’t go for a walk, I didn’t get to take them to the playground, I didn’t have respite or the relief that I find when I am out of the house and not under the eye of the parents or the monitors and camera’s.

I also know, acutely, that so much of this is also of my own making, that I need to speak up.

I have once.

It was really hard and the parents had a hard time hearing what I said and I got what I asked for, but it went away, slow and sure, and now I’m back at that point where I wonder if it’s just not time to go back to working with babies again.  Or have the conversation once again, I need a break, that I’m not getting enough structure to allow myself the flexibility to the job as well as I could be.

“There are so many jobs out there,” she said to me today, “so many.”

I have to do some more writing.

She suggested I write out exactly what I want and then just say it, regardless of consequence.

Fear says, oh conflict, oh confrontation, oh shit, you’ll lose your job and wind up being abandoned and alone and homeless in the park with a cat.

Fuck off.

I am so sick of that fear and I am so tired of doing this same fucking work.

So.

Change.

I have to change.

My employers don’t have to change.

I have to change.

I also have to lay off the beating myself up about it.

It doesn’t help.

I hate feeling tender and vulnerable and asking for what I need leads to those feelings.

I suspect because I had a lot of denial around my needs during times when I needed to have things met.

The basic things, shelter, food, clothes, love, nurturing, unconditional support.

I got what I got and it was good enough.

I am good enough and I don’t have to look to my job to be my joy or my identity.

I also get to practice in this relationship whatever it is that God needs me to be working on.

There is stuff here.

Obviously.

I’m in the job until I learn what I need to learn.

I am in the job until I fail to be of service to it.

Ironic that I can’t be of good service if I’m not taking care of myself, so the uncomfortable task of self-searching and being open for something new, whether it’s a new attitude and approach to this job or it’s looking for a job that will fit my needs better.

I need to know what my needs are.

I can surmise that the discomfort of not asking for a break is rapidly becoming harder to bear than the discomfort of not taking said break.

I am not a super hero.

I can’t be a super nanny.

I don’t want to burn out and I can’t be the best nanny if I’m nursing resentments.

All of them pretty much aimed at myself.

I’m a sitting duck.

I’m tired of shooting at myself.

I give up God.

Got some guidance?

I’ll take it.

Thanks man, I’m tired of learning this lesson.

I surrender.

Which.

In some circles is considered going over to the winning side.

I rather like the way that sounds.

The winning side is where it’s at.

Seriously.

 

Up Past My Bed Time

July 16, 2016

But, oh, so don’t give a fuck.

The dancing.

It was so worth it.

Spectacular.

Although.

I have to say, the crowd, the kids, the young, entitled didn’t come for the music, but came for the see and be seen and don’t know who the dj is but I’m going to dance in front of him and make out with my friends even though he asked us to get off the stage, crowd, was not a crowd I’m much a fan of.

That being said.

I danced hard and long.

Three hours.

No.

Scratch that, three and a half hours.

Solid.

Didn’t really move, well, I moved, but I didn’t move much from the spot I was in most of the night.

I texted my people.

I said where I was at.

I stashed my purse and coat underneath the dj booth.

The benefit of getting to the show a little early is not just having a nice prime spot up front, but also, usually some decent access to a set of speakers or a turn table set up.

I hid my shit underneath the dj’s coffin and checked it once.

Sent back a couple of text messages, I’m up front, and left the phone in the purse and forget, well, I didn’t forget it, but I was pretty happy and at ease and with my friends and my school chums and also a sort of date, we both happened to be at the show and casually bumped into each other and he bought me a water and it was cute.

I haven’t been out in a while.

Some things change.

Some things stay the same.

My knees are older.

I can’t drop it like it’s hot.

Fuck.

I can’t drop it like it’s lukewarm anymore.

But I can still shake my hips and shimmy and have a great big happy smile on my face and get right with God.

God is music.

Didn’t you get the memo?

I got a right proper smile, a mouthed thank you, and the nod from the first dj after he finished his set.

The same one who was ignoring the trio of oddly self-fixated girls that were trying way too hard to be sexy and wound up looking too much like a promo ad for a cheap smelling sex lube.

I mean.

I’m sorry ladies.

Yes.

You have beautiful bodies, but there’s so much more to living than that, it’s fleeting, it’s never going to be what you want and then it’s gone and you haven’t grown your heart or your soul.

I actually felt sorry for them after I got over being in judgement.

I like who I am.

I love being sexy, don’t get me wrong, but I think I am sexy because I am comfortable with who I am and also, I have no actual grasp on what I look like.

I sort of get lost in my own head and forget who I am.

I am just this body, this heart, this amalgamation of parts walking around housing a soul that loves to be light and joyous.

I’m not always.

That’s not sustainable.

But, oh, when the music is good and I’m in it.

I’m really in it.

“I knew we would find you here!” One of my darling girlfriends said as they arrived to greet me with hugs and love and squeals of happy that we were all out on a Friday after an atrociously busy week.

All of us know exactly what a big deal it is at this point in our lives to carve out time to go and do what we did.

Dance at a club in San Francisco.

It’s no big deal.

And yet.

It’s a huge deal.

I’ve officially thrown my schedule way off whack just by getting home at 2 a.m.

I have things to do tomorrow, people to see, coffee to drink, doing the deal to get done.

And yoga?

I mean.

Not sure that I’ll be going to the 9 a.m. class which is usual Saturday morning deal.

But I do want to go.

Although not necessarily for the exercise, I got plenty of that, but to keep the momentum going and also because my work hours will switch back to 10a.m-6p.m. next week, meaning no more yoga before work.

I’ll probably get in one class in the evening and have to do classes again next weekend.

Tomorrow, should the coffee date not go great, and who knows, dude hasn’t confirmed that we’ll be meeting, I may just do an afternoon yoga class.

Then again.

My brain just might wake me up and say, get on with your day and don’t muck with your sleep schedule.

All in all.

Luxury problems.

Truly.

I am super grateful to have gotten through the week, ask for what I needed at work, spend some very sweet time with the boys, and thank God, make it through without getting any serious crazy.

Really, though it was a long week, it went by fast and I’m already looking toward next week and hey, lady, stay here.

Stay in this moment.

Feel your body.

My body, which could use a snack, I burned up some calories, I broke a good hard sweat.

A mind that needs to process the goop and the gack and the random thoughts of weirdness and throw them out here on the page so that I can retire with a clear head and sleep the sleep of the just.

And also.

Sleep the sleep of the person who has been told they can borrow a blow up mattress for the event, Burning Man, man, I’m always working that in somewhere, and also the nice rest of knowing that I do have a tent, and a good tent at that, lined up and a place to camp with friends.

The ride there is slowly working it’s way out.

We shall see what happens.

And my bicycle is being handled.

Really, it’s all coming together.

I just can’t quite see it yet, but as I told a friend earlier today in a message, once you make the decision to go and get the ticket, the rest just falls into place.

It always does.

It always has.

Good and dreamy and sweet.

Just like how I feel right now in my danced out skin.

Night all.

See you on the flip.

Busy Girl

July 15, 2016

Getting into all the fun things.

Nice to know that I have opportunity and options and fun.

That there is fun in the air.

“I would like to take you out on a date,” he said in the message.

Yeah?

Nice.

I would like to go on a date.

Thanks for telling me I’m sexy.

I like that, I won’t lie.

I have a coffee date this weekend, Saturday afternoon.

A dancing date, although, truly, the dancing was not the real ask, I was invited, but he’ll have friends there and I’ll have friends there, tomorrow night.

But.

Maybe a little bump into the other person on the dance floor.

And who cares?

Because.

I got options.

I am also going dancing with three dear friends.

Which is awesome sauce.

And.

I got an invite to a bachelorette party that happens to coincide with my family that I nanny for being out of town.

The bachelorette party is also out of town.

I haven’t been to a bachelorette party in a hella long time.

Sober.

All the ladies be that way too so it’s going to be stupid fun.

Plus, I pretty much confirmed that I will have the camping gear and what not for the burn from my friend, who’s party I would be attending.

All the things.

I got lots of stuff to still work on and get organized.

But having gear and knowing the people I’m going to camp with and having a ticket make it a lot less strenuous in my brain.

The getting there and back will happen.

I have made a few more inquiries and nothing yet, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be.

Just like when I stop being concerned about dating, what the heck, I’m dating, I’m going out, I’m having fun.

“I got you something,” I got a text today at the end of the work day.

Perfect timing.

You know you have a lover in San Francisco when you get gifted an adorable pink leather choker and  fresh produce from the farmer’s market.

Hello.

l love it.

I got to sneak in a little nooky and then scooter home happy as a clam with my goody pack and a song in my heart, happy too, to be this much closer to Friday.

And yup.

It’s going to be a big, fun, busy weekend.

It feels like it has already started.

It helped that I got up early and went to yoga and got all stretchy and zen before going into work.

It helps that tomorrow is Friday.

It helps that I got to see my fellows tonight and do the deal and see some ladies that mean the world to me.

It helps that I got friends that want to go dancing with me.

You want to come?

Come!

I’ll be at Public Works tomorrow for Desert Hearts, deep house and techno, around 9:30/10p.m.

It’ll be good times.

Saturday I have my person then a coffee date.

Depending on how the date goes I will either continue to lunch with him or head off to yoga.

That evening do some deal and see what there is to be seen.

Sunday a couple of ladies over and a trip to the MOMA with a friend to finally get into the new space and see it before the shows all change over.

We’re going to go in on a membership together.

God damn it’s good to have friends.

And fun.

Glad I’m letting myself have a fucking fun summer.

Oh.

I’ve still got the crazy in my head and I have to constantly do work around it, I’m like a bit like a shark, constantly having to swim or else they sink and drown, like that.

I’m not interested in sinking.

I’m having too much fun living.

It also helped that I got a big fat eight hours of sleep last night.

Grateful for all the richness and variety and spice of life.

The sexy juiciness of it all.

So much of it when I let myself see it.

Reflecting earlier on how much I have grown over this last year.

And, of course, that there is still so much more growth to go, which is good, when I stop thinking I have room to grow, that’s when I’m in trouble.

I’m also grateful for graduate school, for giving me this taste of summer vacation, for this desire, a grass fire drinking gasoline, to taste and have and live summer.

I haven’t had this powerful a desire to live as full as I can in a while, it seems.

Or perhaps.

It is just that I know there is a time limit on it.

I’ll have my “Mardi Gras” of fun at Burning Man.

Then return, one last kiss to the summer, one last night of song, Mike Doughty, September 1st, some dude’s living room in Burlingame, then the next day.

School.

And work.

And school work.

And that’s it.

And so it makes sense.

Pack it all in.

Get your sexy on.

Date the fuck out of the summer.

Get your dance on.

Get your play on.

Get your travel on.

Get your Burning Man on.

Get your friends together and hug them fiercely.

Fierce as fuck.

Make new friends.

Make out.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Sing out of key, just a little, don’t take yourself so seriously.

Wear too many flowers in your hair.

No such thing.

Wear glitter.

Seriously.

And crinolines.

And red lipstick.

Go to the drive in.

Go to the beach.

Burn baby.

Burn it down.

Eat it like a fat juicy white nectarine.

Sweet and sultry and salted with desire.

And.

Cinnamon.

Drink a little coffee.

I mean.

A LOT.

And love.

Also.

A LOT.

Get your summer.

Get all the things.

They are there to be gotten.

Seriously.

So.

Many.

Many.

Many.

Amazing.

Things.


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