It’s Gonna Be A Lovely Day


It might be a damned tired day, but I suspect that I will be floating along three inches above the ground and won’t be feeling a thing other than elation.

I mean I am elated right now and I suppose it’s not the sort of feeling that will last night after night, day after day, but it feels right, right now and that’s the important thing.


The moment.

That one there when you get the message and he’s coming by and your entire body breaks out in a flush.

And no I’m not menopausal.

Just happy.



Remember to breathe, that’s an important thing, that’s part of this too, being myself, utterly, with the heart on my sleeve or splayed across my chest, with my heart, there, just there.

And it’s ok.

It’s really ok.

I mean.


It’s better than ok.

It’s stupid.

I’m at a loss for words, who knew.

Come on lady pants, get the words out, you know a few, you have some at your command, it’s not like you haven’t written a blog before.

And I have written blogs in front of other people before.

Just not in my house with the man on my chaise who I want to spend as much possible time with, going slow, oh going slow, but spending time finding out about a person and also about myself.

What I stand for, who I am, how I show up.

I have to keep showing up, that’s the thing, I can’t stop the showing up and then the magic.

Oh hey.

It was like a curtain had been pulled up.

He was there.

In the corner of the room and I stopped, “do I know you,” and I touched his arm.

Was that just a few weeks ago?


And then I think.

You know how, darling, you have always known how.

You were told years and years and years ago, but it take time and even when I say today, yes today, literally on the phone to my person who is working in New York and I won’t be meeting to do that thing that place there in the room over there in the basement/back room/nook of a church over there, on a folding chair with the smell of coffee char in your nose, which just means you’re home, it means comfort and ease and love and acceptance, to tell that person today on the phone.

“My principle is patience, patience for him, patience with myself, the patience to go slow and let things unfold, because there is no rush, there is no need to catch up to be anything other than myself.”




I am always going to be growing I will always be seeking out the experience, the growth, I always want to be teachable, even when that means what I think is humiliation, the not knowing how to do something, the being a novice at a new thing, the falling down and stumbling and the looking stupid.

You know who was so ok with looking stupid?



That’s right.

I danced around my room to one of my favorite pop songs, and I don’t listen to pop songs, I don’t listen to popular music but there is a song or a series of songs that will get under my skin and Happy by Pharrell Williams is one of them, so yes, in front of this man, who is busy figuring out, on the chaise in the corner of my room if there is a way to get me down to LA next weekend to go to some museums with him.



Is that really happening.

It is.


There is nothing to do, but show up and write this blog and be me, and yes, dance around my room in front of a person that is a complete stranger, but then again, is not.

Is not.

How does that happen.

When you know.

And it fits and there’s that feeling.


That’s a feeling that I cannot describe here, not fair to describe here and I get the scene in the Princess Bride when the grandfather is narrating the story to his grandson sick in bed and there’s the ellipses and suddenly the reunited scene with Buttercup and The Farm Boy, or now the fifteenth incarnation of the Dread Pirate Roberts, and the author drops the reunion scene.

How mad was I?

“Don’t ever tell about the first kiss,” he messaged me privately, “somethings are special, some things are sacred and when I think about what is in front of me I can see the sacred, the spiritual I can see how every step of the way from here to there was needed and necessary and every heart ache, break, and dent, and bloody vulnerable tear I shed in all those cafes in all those bedrooms, face pressed against the glass, the rain streaking the windows in the Victorian on Capp Street.


The top of the hill looking out over the bay and seeing the bridge and wondering where I was going and what I was doing and why.

Always the why.

“Why is not a spiritual question,” he said.

Silas said that.


I just got distracted and it’s nice.

I like this feeling.

I like that I am letting myself be seen.

It’s hard.

I’m hard.

I’m a walled little exuberant flippant, crazed, goof ball of a woman, I am over the top and I am ok with that, but I forget that it’s a device, it’s so that you can’t see how tender and vulnerable I am.

Which is why the blog, which is why the heart on the sleeve and the learning to wipe off the blood, sweat, and tears, and keep going, to let it all bleed out again, to be me.

To be me.


And yes.

I know this is a ramble Trollope of a blog.

But it’s so nice.

To be me.

To step fully forward, like the prow of a ship and be seen, flaws and all.


Perfectly me.

It’s all here.

And well.

I have to go.

I have things to be more vulnerable about.

Just not here in this forum.

But should you see me tomorrow.

I will be floating just a half-inch.



Off the ground.

That could be a problem since I’m already so freaking tall.

But fuck it.

When you’re happy.




But whatever you do.

Be you.

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