Keep Saying Yes


I saw the lovely, and talented, Jayne Matthews this evening.

God she is a doll, gorgeous, and just back from being away for weeks upon weeks.  She asked if I was going to be able to make her birthday party.

She and a gang of friends are heading up to the Russian River this weekend.  I said, “no, I’m working.”

Then, she looked at me.  You know the look, yeah, that one.

What the fuck is my problem?

Wait a minute, what is more important?

Spending time with my friends before I move to Paris or trying to make another few dollars to give myself the illusion that I am going to be secure when I move?


Get your fucking priorities straight, Martines.

I told my friend, let me see what I can do.

I will try.

Fuck that noise, I am going to do more than try.  I am going to get it off.  I deserve a three day weekend in a big house with a bunch of people I love and adore.  BBQ, tubing down the river, sleep over, dancing, picnic baskets (say that with Yogi Bear inflection please, when reading), swimming, sunbathing.



What was that?




I say yes.

I say hells yes.  I say, if realizing that the whole point of moving to Paris is to move to Paris because life is short, then I have to apply the same logic, if you can call that logic, to spending time with my friends.

There is a point to being responsible.  There is a point to self-care.  This is taking care of myself.  This is nourishing my heart, my friendships, my time is important.  Too important and too short to waste it all on the shop.

I have to do this.

Or things of the same nature.

Paris is not a death sentence.  It is a dream to which I get to apply every suggestion I have ever been given and then some, but it does feel like the death of my time in San Francisco.  And when things end.  I want them to end with a bang.


I want fireworks of love and music and poetry and lazy lazy lazy summer days drifting in an inner tube in my poor bathing suit that has not been worn in an actually, yes, that is right, two years.

I bought it in hopes of a weekend conference I went to two years ago down the Peninsula and it rained.  I brought it with me to Wisconsin last summer, but I did not go swimming.


Oh, how I miss you.  I miss being in warm water.  I miss diving below the surface and through that shivery spot where the water runs cool and your skin brushes the pocket of water that has not been warmed by the sun.  I miss the smell of river.  I miss diving in and out and floating and drifting.

Weightless.  Buoyed.  Held.

And I want to pass this up to hold some one’s hand while they decide on the two shades of blue, either it’s 5010 or 5002, gah, Cobalt or Ultra-Marine, what do you think looks better?

I don’t know.

Just fucking pick one.

It’s just a bike.

Yeah, I know, you spend a lot on something, let’s make it perfect, but sometimes you just have to pull the god damn trigger.

Here’s to me pulling the trigger on a weekend out of the city.  A weekend.  Not a day where I drive to Sonoma and get lost and blow a wad of money on a City Car Share.  A real weekend.  One of those weekends that you write about later.

There, that is perfect.  I need some fodder for the blog machine.  Aside from the needed rest and relaxation, I will have new material to write about.  I will get new experiences.  I will cultivate my relationships with those people I find so dear.

I find these people dear.  I love them.  They have carried me.  They hold my hands every day.  They help me do new things.  They support me when I don’t know what I am doing.  They loved me before I was capable of doing it for myself.

I am honored to be included and I owe them my company.  I do.

I called Joan and asked if it was not too late to hitch a ride.  I told her that I was actually mortified at my own behavior.  That I have lived for so long in this self-imposed financial fear that I say no to things that I want to do because I cannot ask for myself what I need.

Well, screw that.

Hey, Universe, I am saying yes to my friends.  I am saying yes to the Russian River.  I am saying I believe that I will be taken care of.  I am saying I have the faith to walk through this idiotic fear of not having enough.

You know what I won’t have enough of?



Time to say to those that I hold near and dear, I love you.  I love you.  I choose you over my fear.  I choose this experience over financial security.

I say yes to the Universe.

I walk toward the open door.

Or the inner tube as the case may be.  The bonfire at night with the warm air brushing my skin. I say yes to a sun dress.  I say yes to flip-flops.  I say yes to a road trip with my Joan Pie, windows rolled down, radio on loud, singing my heart out.  I say yes to laughing with my friends and dancing and sharing my secrets and eating fruit from road side farmer’s stands.

I say yes.

Now, fingers crossed my boss will ok the time off.

If I can’t get off, then, no harm no foul, I was going to work anyhow.

But, maybe, maybe, he’ll say yes.

Say it with me:




Ok, I think the Universe gets it.

I did the foot work.  I already e-mailed my boss.  Now the rest is out of my hands.

Please, Sky Daddy, can I go?

Pretty, pretty please, with an anodized red crank on top.

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