Juggling

by

I was sitting on the floor of the living room in the house on Cole Street juggling for the babies.

I was sitting on the floor of the living room in the house on Cole Street juggling in my mind.

I was juggling schedules, work, personal, friends, meet ups.

I was juggling ideas about writing.

Fuck me.

I keep forgetting.

Therefor I write it down here and now and do next, as soon as I finish juggling all the crap in my head I need to take a photograph of my signature and send it off to The Bastille in Paris.

They want an electronic jpeg of my signature to include with my short story they are publishing.

They also want me to read the piece at the launch of the magazine.

Of course, the last they knew I was living at 36 Rue Bellefond, not such a tough commute.

Now, well, now I certainly like the idea of popping over for the weekend to read my story at the launch party, but I don’t believe the budget will afford me the round trip ticket to Paris, nor accommodations.

Though I hazard a guess that I could find a place or two that would put me up for the weekend.

I still am working on getting myself situated financially here.

I still have to pay Barnaby back the money he loaned me for the flight home.

I don’t have a full roster of work week to week, but day-to-day it falls into place.

I was supposed to be house sitting tonight, but that fell through.

Not a huge deal as I was not about to get rich making $20 a night to watch their place.

I would normally charge more, but the fact that I asked for anything at all pleases me.

I work for them, it is the family that is leaving for vacation.

Now I knew they were aware of what their skinflint neighbors got for asking me to house sit for them, I am sure of it, but I was also bamboozled into taking care of a dog that needed constant attention and medications administered when I thought I was walking into a cat sitting job.

My bad.

I said yes before reading the fine print and let myself be trapped into doing the gig.

I still have no regrets around having done the gig, I learned that I need to ask for what I need.  In regards to this gig, the house sit is quite easy, the cats are pretty chill, and it’s not a huge inconvenience.  It’s a little inconvenient, I would rather not shift my things from one place to the other, but I am also being availed of a car.

This is a nice treat, I won’t take advantage of it, I don’t want to pay bridge tolls and gas, but I was able to secure an extra shift of work when I realized I could use the car to get from one nanny gig to the other on Thursday.

One extra day of juggling squeezed in.

I am allowing myself to say, “let me get back to you,” before I make quick decisions.

I was asked to pick up a shift on Thursday.

I already had a small gig to take care of.

Then I said the magic words, and then I wrote about it, then I asked myself, which one would you rather do?

Aha!

At first I was not sure.

Then I realized, well, I would rather do the one in Cole Valley.  I would get more hours and I would get a little more time to bond with the bunny there and as he will be my full-time charge at the event for three weeks I should log some more time in with him.

That being said I had already committed to helping out another family in the North Oakland ‘hood.

I texted without having attachments to the outcome and asked if the mom was flexible.

And what do you know, she was!

I took that flexibility with me the rest of the day.

When I got done earlier than I was expecting, not by much, just by a nose, I made a decision to go meet up with some fellows I don’t normally convene with, saving myself an hour of down time from my normal Tuesday night routine.

This was lovely.

I made it out of the spot and over to Rainbow before the dreaded last fifteen minute dash about that I do when I am shopping on Tuesdays.  I took my time, caught up with an old friend I unexpectedly bumped into in an aisle and made it to the bank to deposit my checks from today before the sun went down.

I actually rode home from BART pre-drag race and sideshow time.

It was sort of awesome.

Then I remembered when I taught myself how to juggle.

I was nineteen years old.

I had dropped out of college and was living with my sister, her boyfriend, and her best friend in a trailer of said best friends parents who were on vacation in Mexico, in Stoughton Wisconsin.

Juggling bouncing bad checks, manipulating the system, scrounging pennies to buy a pack of cigarettes at the local 7-Eleven store, lying to my mom about where I was and what I was doing, waiting for my student financial aid to come in, knowing full well that I was not going to be going back to school, but rather funneling all the money earmarked for my tuition to support the motley crew of family I had submersed myself in.

Juggling today, though oft-times a challenge, is so much more enjoyable.

Especially when I remember my history.

Oh, yeah and two adopted cats from the pound.

Let me not forget that either.

I watched the baby’s eyes go wide in wonder as I tossed the three soft balls high into the air and hummed the theme song to the circus under my breath.

A much more pleasant opportunity to entertain then the life of busking I had envisioned for myself if all else failed.

Much more pleasant.

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