Spring Clean My Heart


Oops.

I forgot, sort of, that today was Daylight Savings Time.

I was amply reminded last night as I chastised myself to get to bed, it’s almost two a.m. crazy lady, go to sleep.

As I blew out the candles in my room and adjusted down the comforter on my bed my clock on my phone sprang forward.

Shit.

It’s 3 a.m.

Oh man.

And of course, though I woke up with plenty of time before my first lady was coming over to sit in my “kitchen” and do some reading and some checking in, I forgot that I had not set my watch forward.

My computer automatically did it as did my phone.

When I got the phone call I was like, what the hell, I have another hour, did she forget it’s Daylight Savings?

Then I realized.

Oh snap.

I had not moved the watch forward and my lady was right on time.

I was behind.

But not for long and as the case was, my second appointment on the day cancelled at the last-minute.

Like, two minutes before she was supposed to arrive.

I was a tiny bit miffed, I had rearranged my own schedule to accommodate hers, but I also had some compassion, sometimes showing up to do something is a lot harder to do than we are willing to acknowledge.

I took advantage of the “additional” hour I had to get caught up on the things I needed to do for today–grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking.

I went to town on the studio and really cleaned it, dusted, swept, Swisher’ed the place up, even borrowed my housemates vacuum and did the rugs, plus washed the rugs in my bathroom and did my laundry.

I did take a break between grocery shopping and cleaning to enjoy a nice little lunch on the back patio–it wasn’t quite as warm as yesterday, but there was still a nice bit of sun.

And I must say that having the extra hour of light was really lovely.

I stayed off my computer until just a few minutes ago, connecting via phone instead, and letting myself enjoy a book that I finished as the pot of chicken and white beans on the stove reached the culmination of cooking.

I flipped my book shut and “shelved” it next to the stack of books on the floor by the chaise lounge and finished the ginger tea in my mug.

I looked around my studio, again, with wonder and delight at my clean, warm, sunny, sweet, artsy little spot.

I remembered the last place I really lived, in Paris, and realized how far I have come since returning to San Francisco and was overcome with the gratitude that I have let myself stay in one place, to establish a home.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” I told the car load of ladies as we drove back from the Oakland get together last night.

“We’re all trapped into our spots,” my friend acknowledged, “there’s nowhere to go.”

I agree, it’s scary out there with the rents being what they are, and my rent is just what I can afford.

I doubt that I would be able to find what I have here for less.

I am not going anywhere, especially with graduate school looming on the horizon.

The music on my box switched to another song and I suddenly was swept back to Paris, Paris in the rain, Paris breaking my heart.

My friend, my lover, my love, the mixed cd he sent me, the realization, as I listened to the artist, Mike Doughty, sing out his song off of the album I had on heavy rotation in Paris, that I was also spring cleaning my heart.

I had let him go a few weeks ago.

I had been let go by my ex boyfriend a few weeks prior.

I saw the similarities in the two men.

And my heart was sad, awash in soft grief and I felt the tears roll down my face as I remembered all the things my lover was unable to say to me until I was in another country.

The flag on my heart, the stamp, the imprimatur of music that I had ground itself into my soul, my emotions and feelings bubbling up.

And yet.

The grief, the soft tears, the sunset falling through the door to my studio, the dust swept away, the cobwebs pulled down (man, I even dusted the top of my refrigerator), the sink scrubbed, the mirror in the bathroom polished, I had cleaned them both out of my space.

I love them both.

In a little while this hurt will hurt no more.

I loved them both.

And I want to move on from the lover who became my friend, but went down a path I cannot follow.

From the ex boyfriend who was just a taste of what the divine wants from me.

The ex hated Mike Doughty.

I don’t think he even knew who it was when I played Soul Coughing, but he was amazed that anyone would want to listen to Ruby Vroom.

I remember thinking, this may be a non-negotiable.

I am emotionally attached to my music, I won’t deny it.

I remember how I cried when I received those mixed cds in the mail in Paris.

The drumming rain splashing hard in the courtyard as we messaged back and forth over the internet, the way my heart-felt finding that package in the mail slot, the one below the one I was assigned to.

Then.

Returning to find he’d moved on.

Truthfully, so too had I.

We stayed friends though.

Then.

Well.

Things happen and sometimes those things are toxic and awful and tragic to watch.

I know I’ll never lose affection for people and friends that went before.

I don’t know how close the two men were tied to me, although I know it was by my own hand, but the similarities, though I rarely discussed them with others, existed.

Sexually oriented the same way, ex-junkies, younger, in fact, almost identical in age, and neither, in the end wanted me to be their lover.

And that does not mean that there’s anything wrong with me.

No.

It just means that my God wants something different for me.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and I have to say, I love what I have.

Love what you have, and you’ll have more love.

It’s time to change the music on the box.

Because.

Oh baby, baby, it’s all about the moon.

I get to have feelings and I get to hold love, for myself, and move on.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

I have space now for what the Universe wants for me.

I move forward into that light knowing that I am clean.

I have allowed myself to surrender.

Sprung forward.

Launched into the next episode of this.

My exquisite life.

 

 

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