I still can’t hardly believe any of this has happened.

But it has, and as I write I just look left to my tingly, in a good way–it means it’s healing–ankle, I know it has.

I still want to pinch myself  though.

I got the text today saying the funds had been deposited to my bank and thank you for letting me be of service and don’t rush out and do anything wild, you still got to heal kid.

I rushed out and paid rent.

Yeah, yeah, it’s not due for another eight days, but I did not want to go spending money on frivolous things, look at all the money in my account.

Money that I would basically have if I were working, and since I am not, I felt due diligence to take care of that which needs taking care of.




Healthy San Francisco.

Check, check, and check.

Then I looked at my check register and sighed.



But I am so completely taken care of.

So utterly held and carried, I become overwhelmed at the drop of a hat and want to play it forward so bad that I can get carried away in my head about what I can and cannot do.

Here’s some crazy for you.

I actually walked out of the house and mailed my Grandma a card.

I made it to the mailbox today without having to ask someone to cross the road for me.

Look ma!

No crutches.

Then I sat my ass down for a minute on a bench.

Then I decided, I am going to go to Trouble and have a coffee.

I didn’t particularly need one, I had two cups this morning when I had breakfast and did my writing–which incidentally has morphed from three pages long hand to four (despite having “nothing” to write about I am writing like gangbusters)–but the idea of sitting at a cafe and enjoying the human life around me was too good to pass up.

I found a nice little perch on the parklet that is outside the cafe and prepared myself to go inside and get my Americano on.

I heard my name hollered, and here comes a friend!

My buddy two blocks down from my house who has been in a cast from foot surgery, then a walking boot, and now a half-boot/sandal, for four and a half months!


Mind you I don’t think I can make it four weeks and he’s been doing it for four and a half months.

My friend, you have bigger balls than I.

It was perfect timing.

He went inside Trouble and ordered up some coffee and we sat in the sun and shot the shit for an hour or so.

It was such a relief to be outside of my studio.

Outside of my head.

In good company, in my neighborhood, in my city, by my ocean.

I could see the ocean from the crest of the hill, a small hill mind you, one that I look ridiculous climbing in my wobbly boot, but one I made it up nonetheless.


That’s a scary thought.

Thank God this didn’t happen to me when I lived in Nob Hill at Taylor and Washington.

That would have been such a challenge.

After a bit of chat, this and that, meditation, sitting still, the insights that come from having a stretch of quiet time, forced upon oneself, and what comes from the practice of being quiet, we parted ways with hugs and gimped off in opposite directions.

I came home did some household stuff, made sure my check book was balanced–just because the online version says I have so much money is not the same as having that money–I double checked my maths with the rent and utilities check and then made some food for the week.

Homemade fried rice.

Left over rice from yesterday’s beans and rice, sautéed garlic and onion, broccoli, white corn, carrots, peas (not all of them, mind you, I still need to be icing down my ankle), chicken and shrimp that I cooked up with some ginger and sea salt, Bragg’s Amino’s, Spike Seasoning, and then to make it all come together, one organic scrambled egg.

I topped it with 1/2 a sliced avocado and sat outside with the warm sun on my face.

I can’t say that I want to be sitting still for much longer, but when I take the time to make it special, like taking my food from my kitchen to the back porch, and eating it with intention and attention, it becomes this magical thing.

I am finding a deep richness involved in my day-to-day life that I believe I was going way too fast to see or appreciate.

Making a meal takes some effort and I sort of blow it off, but being forced to slow down, I feel and see things differently, the small things that I accomplish now make me feel really good.

“You made your bed!” My friend said as he helped me bring in groceries from the car. “You must be feeling better.”

I am.

And I am having a lot of personal delight in my home.

It really is such a beautiful, sweet, warm place.

The perfect place to heal.

I am also thankful and in deep gratitude for all the help I have gotten, the money, the groceries, the toiletries.

You know you’re loved when someone buys you tampons.

Just sayin’.

I am also grateful for other’s perspectives, because mine is so skewed, I really don’t see myself very clearly or well.

And I often think I am trying to get over when I am not, I’m not really sick/hurt/tired/hungry/lonely….

I will push myself to be perfect and just fine and ok and I can handle this.

This whole experience has more than shown me that I am not capable of doing it all myself and I need to be reminded of that even now.

“Oh yeah, he’s right,” a friend said to me tonight when I mentioned the silly, well, what I think is silly, idea of calling ahead to the airport and asking for the wheelchair. “Totally use it, don’t push yourself, you’re still healing, you’re still within the time frame the doctor said, right, two-three weeks.”

I nodded.

“Uh, besides, how are you going to handle your suitcase?”

Oh fuck me.

Hadn’t thought about that.

Dragging a suitcase along while hobbling through the airport.

“Swallow your pride and accept the help.”

Yes ma’am.

Once again seeing that the only way to win, is to get out of my way, I am my worst advocate.

As soon as she said that it made complete sense.

And I don’t need to be a hero and I will still be healing.


The doctor said six months for a full recovery.

Take it slow.

The hare may bound ahead.

But it is the tortoise that wins.

Slow and steady.


Really slow and steady.

But winning, nonetheless.


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