Stable


I am stable today.

Neither manic or dramatic, although I tried, I did.  I started out on the early side as I was supposed to meet Carolyn for coffee before work and apparently I had forgotten that she was in New York.

Oops.

I was bratty for a few minutes, annoyed, potty mouthed and snotty, then it went right away.  Can I be right, am I right, who cares?  I am up and out and in the world hours before I wanted to be and I skipped my morning writing to get an extra half hour of sleep.  Next time I will confirm my meet up time.  I usually do anyhow, I own my side.

What was I to do?  I thought momentarily of going back home, but I knew there was work to be done at work, cleaning up after the party, and so I went in.  I was of service.  I cleaned, I swept, I picked up.  Truthfully there was not much mess left to deal with, just some tidying, and sweeping all the cigarettes to the curb.

I did not feel right about leaving the cigarette strewn sidewalk in front of the shop when I walked in, neither did I cotton to the pile of butts out in front of Paxton Gate for Kids.  I am still a nanny and could just imagine the children sticking them in their mouths, that’s what kids do, they see us do it, then wonder why we freak out when they do.

So, cigarettes to the curb.

May I just inject a little side bar, so glad I do not smoke any more.  Sometimes I cannot believe that I actually did.  I can’t stand the way it smells.  It’s pretty much like when I was a kid and hated being in an enclosed space with my mom smoking.

The worst was being in the car when she was driving and it was cold out and I was in the back seat and the cold wind just whipped around the back.  I hated it.  And my mom smoked a lot.  I used to go to the corner gas station and buy them for her with a note and a dollar.  I remember when she said she was going to quit when cigarettes went over a buck.

She did not.

Although she did recently, which is amazing, I rather thought she always would be a smoker.  But sometimes things change, drastically.

Stable.

No drama, no seeking, no trying to stir things up.

I rode my bike home past the Stable Cafe on Folsom and 18th.  I love turning that corner when I am coming off of 17th street, it is such a smooth lovely right hand glide and I always seem to catch the lights.  Friday night bike riding in the Mission can be hazardous to your health, mental and physical.  I have forced myself on more than one occasion to go slow as it’s the weekend and everybody is out.

Plus, it’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow and I think people have an urgency when that happens to get out and play before the rains come in.

I believe that will mean a mellow day for me at work, I am down for that, it will be my “Friday”.  I am getting used to coming straight home on Friday nights after my evening commitments.  But it is challenging, I wanted to scoot home bad tonight, being at work an extra hour early this morning and working twelve hours yesterday, I was understandably anxious to just get home.

And home I am.

With a new pair of Levi’s commuter jeans courtesy of the event thrown last night.  I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth, but I will say this, apparently girls don’t ride bikes because Levi’s doesn’t have a women’s style.  I took the size that fit me the best, said thank you, and promptly made the decision to turn around and sell them at Buffalo Xchange.  I shall be moseying over to them Sunday or Monday.

Stable.

You need a stable of men to satisfy you.

I once had a lover say this to me.

Not, that I have a stable at my disposal, nor have I ever.

You think this is an aside, but it ties in, I promise.

Besides, it’s Friday, isn’t sex on everyone’s brain?  Or is it just me?

My co-worker asked me if this guy, won’t name names as he’s a sweet guy and he’s a local artist/craftsman that gets around a lot in the Mission, has a crush on me.

I was like, huh?

I can never tell.

“Carmen, he’s beating you on the head with his penis,” she said scoffing when I said I think he’s gay.

I never know.

But, as I was telling Beth earlier this evening, looking all lovely and tan and scrumptious from her recent visit to Hawaii.  God I want to go, go, go. I was given the go ahead to start asking people out, guys out, by John Ater.

Now why would some one need permission?

I don’t, but I like taking other people’s suggestions, I don’t always pick them very well.  My picker’s kind of broken, you could say.  I have tried lots of different things, I have asked out, I have not asked out.  I have read books, I have gone to therapy.  I have tried online dating, which is just a nice way of saying, let’s get together and have sex, yes, OkCupid and Craigslist, I am talking about you.

I have said all sorts of things and tried all sorts of things.  And nada.

I was half thinking about it when I was riding home from Church and Market this evening, swinging down the street on 17th, gliding through the intersections, wheeling onto the home stretch on Folsom Street, grateful for the old growth trees, which even at night, add an element of beauty to Folsom street as the light drift down from the street lamps through the leaves, and I rode past Stable.

Stable.

I am stable.  I don’t even care about a date.

All I cared about was getting home and eating an apple and doing my writing for the night.

Stable is rather nice.

 

 

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