Hey, I Got You A Job!


Good Lord.


It is apparently going to be just that easy.

Keep moving forward, Martines, and you will be taken care of.  Stay the course.

I got a message from Barnaby a few days back that he knows some one who needs some office assisting and some management for an aspect of his business.

Said person runs a pub crawl.

At first I was a little taken aback.


Drunk people.


Then a co-worker pointed out, hey, you are the perfect person for the position.  First, you won’t be drinking so you will be responsible.  Second, what a great way to meet people.  Third, what a great way to get to know the Paris landscape.

And fourth, it’s a job!

I mean, I have not even packed my bags yet and there is a job waiting for me?

Rock on.

Wait, I still have to buy that damnable suitcase.  Which I am putting off one more paycheck as I just had a lean one with the pay period falling during the time I was seeing the moms in Florida.

Good news y’all!

Mom and partner are NOT coming to Paris.

There is a god.

They are instead going to Belize.

Have fun kids!

That is not to say that at some point I may very well welcome a visit from my mom.  But not yet, let me get settled, let me get grounded, let me get into the city and being a Parisian.

I saw Molly Daniels today at Kaiser Permanente in Oakland.  Molly has acute onset Leukemia.  It hit out of the blue and they are going after it aggressively.  At first I did not want to talk about myself, which is really truly something else, but she insisted she wanted to hear about me, she wanted to hear about Paris, and Burning Man, and boys and sex and life and art.

I told her.

It felt good to catch up with her.

Molly was there with me when I was doing the Artist Way along with Matt and Johnny Carroll, Jennifer, and Yanno, Kap, myself and Ian.  We met for over a year and half and did The Artist Way.

It changed my life.  And Molly’s and Jennifer’s and Johnny’s.  I dare say it did a lot for Matt and Ian and Yanno too–most definitely for Kap as well.

I started doing things differently.  I started writing my daily morning pages.  I went through and cleaned up a draft of Baby Girl.

Molly read it in paper form and made some valuable suggestions.

I began to take myself on artist dates–ferry rides, trolley rides, cable car rides, trips to the local toy stores–The Ark in Noe Valley and Jeffrey’s downtown on Market Street–I got myself stickers and notebooks and made collages and dyed my hair and I made the decision to go to Paris for 10 days all by myself.

I wrote post cards to all my cohorts.  I wandered.  I ate croissant.  Hell, I ate a lot of croissant, drank a lot of cafe creme, ate croque madame until I might have become one, had the most amazing tartar outside of the Metro Cafe in the Latin Quarter, chocolate meringue cookies, Berthillon ice cream–salted caramel–the best in the world, baguette fresh from the oven which I would walk with ripping off pieces and stuffing them in my mouth, cheese, oh the cheese, Thomas Savoie, Gruyère, Roquefort, and chocolates, lots of artisanal chocolate and caramel, chocolate eclair, tarte tatin.

I did not gain any weight because I constantly was walking from 1o a.m. to 10 p.m.  All I did was walk and wander and go to museums.  My feet hurt so much and I actually gave myself shin splints from all the walking.  I also nearly put myself into a state of diabetes with all the sugar and pastry I ate, but my god, it had to be done once.

Not this time.

Not now.

I won’t eat like that again, although I will still drink plenty of cafe.  There is no denying that.

Molly has actually cut out the caffeine.  I was much impressed.  We talked about art and following our hearts and not stifling the muse anymore with office work and fear.

I feel like I entered into a pact of sorts.

Here my friend lies riddles with cancer, cropped short hair, pale and thin, smiling at me, encouraging me, egging me forward–I cannot but embrace the words, the art, the life.

I met her brother today, whom I was introduced by Molly as, “my friend Carmen who is moving to Paris to become a writer.”

He replied, “how Bohemian of you.”

I rather like that.

I am bohemian.

I am an artist.

I will go make me some art.  I will also continue to work on my art here while I am here.  There is nothing that says I have to wait to go anywhere or be with anyone to write, to create, to make poetry, to sow art in my wake, to dance, to express, to wear my dirty heart on my ragged sleeve.

I am an artist.

And I do not believe I am a starving artist, nor that I will fail by declaring myself an artist.

My job is to create, inspire, and invoke awe.

However I am used to do such, I shall do, I shall say yes, I shall create.  I shall be the channel for the artistry.

I will step up and through and go.

I have a job waiting for me.

It is not the pub crawl, although, I will say yes to employment.

It is to be the writer and embrace the artistic life.

Not just for myself, but for Molly, and every other person who does not believe that they are capable of doing the art.

Yes you fucking are.

Now go.

Get your art on.

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