Off Kilter


Not a lot.

Just a little.

But sometimes it is that little bump under the carpet, the molehill, not the mountain, that makes me worse in my membrane than the big stuff.

I can handle the big stuff.

I can’t really put a finger on it, aside that there’s some change coming down the turnpike, when isn’t it, and I am uncomfortable with it.

I have been sitting on some stuff and need a little action and got as irritated as I could stand today.

I jumped out of my skin when I got a text from a friend about brunch tomorrow.

I can’t make it, I hollered in my head.

It’s a ladies brunch and clothing swap that I said yes to weeks ago.

I want to see the ladies going, doubt I will find any clothes that work for me, but you never know, but at the same time, I cringe at being social.

I like the women who are there, I just don’t know them all that well, and I am so prone to isolating and not getting myself out there, that when I got a text from the host lovingly inquiring if I was coming, I stalled and said, maybe.

But it felt wrong to not go and I knew it and when I spoke of it to another friend, she said, “these are your people!  Go have fun!”

And she’s right.

I am just feeling tender and vulnerable and when that happens, when my routine is a little off, it was today, I rode my scooter to work, then the change is uncomfortable, even if it’s good and I get the creepy crawlies and have a hard time staying in the moment.

However, nannying a frisky 15 month old boy who has just gotten the hang of walking, flying is next, there is nowhere to be but in the present.

I wanted to be all over the place, all over the map, at least in my head.

I was in Wisconsin.

I was at Burning Man.

I was applying for a new job.

I was staying in the current job.

I was in a relationship.

I was single.

I could have thrown my head off my shoulders and happily accepted a cantaloupe from the IGA in exchange for some quiet.

I did enjoy my day with my charge, we walked all over the Mission and went to three different parks–Kid Power Park, Mission Pool and Play Ground, and the Eureka Valley Rec Center.

I made up for not exercising on my bicycle by walking a lot today.

The fog came in, as it does, when it’s hot, and this morning I poked my head out and decided that I was still going to ride the scooter in to work.

It turned out to be just fine, although, my front tire, again, felt low on air.

I am wondering if I have a slow leak.

I will be inflating it before heading off to Tart to Tart tomorrow and then onto the ladies clothing swap and brunch.

The ride into work took about 30 minutes.

15 less than on my bicycle and much less sweaty.

I am usually drenched on my bike rides up to Noe and 19th from out here at Ocean Beach, the commute distance is a little over six miles.

Next week I am working almost exclusively in the Castro, I plan on riding in on the scooter all week.  The only day I am not working in the Castro is on Thursday when I will be in the NOPA and I will ride my bicycle in as then I won’t have to worry about parking.

The family in Cole Valley is out-of-town and I won’t be in Cole Valley at all.

That could be part of the discomfort, the change of venue for work, it does make things different.

I would like to recognize that I am trying to figure it out here and I know that’s not the solution, figuring it out, got to let that go and just have the fucking feelings.

What ever they are, hey you, feelings, you are allowed to happen, I promise, no one’s looking.

I got a phone call at work today from someone who was having a hard day and grieving a loss and I was so thankful she called I almost felt gleeful, not at her news, but just that I had some experience to share and for a hot minute could stop thinking about myself.

It’s the thinking that gets me down.

It’s a doom machine up between my ears.

I remember the first time I read Tolkien and he wrote about the sound of the Orcs marching and doom, doom, doom, the beat of the drum; it was like someone plucked the fear right out of my head and put it on paper, I was startled to see it there in the book, the sound of my own terror.

I was ten when I read that and recognized it, the sound of fear come marching.

I have lived with fear all my life and at least I can see it when it’s happening.

I don’t have to pay it attention.

I do, in certain cases, it’s really important to have a healthy fear of riding my Vespa, I have to be much more alert to the traffic then automobile drivers, and the fear makes me sharp.

But I don’t need to listen to the doom in my head.

That dulls me down and it’s just repetitious noise that can usually be drowned out when I am helping someone else.

Thus the relief when I got a call from another person needing help.

Yes, please, let me lend you an ear, and yes, please, let’s meet up.

I need that too.

I will be meeting some folks tomorrow.

I will walk through the silly fear, whatever it is, and let it happen and not be consumed by it and let myself have whatever uncomfortable feelings that are beckoning to me.

If I have them, they tend to ease up and go away.

If I stifle them, or ignore them, it gets worse.

Too much time, too much work to give up that easily.

At least not today.

Not when I finally feel better.

Because, this works too, my little evening inventory of my day.

One thousand words or so and I feel better.

Not a bad way to end my day.

Finally out of the fear soup.

Just nestled into the fog, not struggling with it.

Ah, yes, that.




That’s what I was looking for.

Thanks for putting up with me while I figured that out.




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