Finding Space


in between the spaces.

I took an hour this morning that I did not even think I had.

I took it anyway.

I read school work for an hour instead of getting my nails done.

But I have a date tomorrow.

Who cares.

The man met you in a white out dust storm at Burning Man and took you into his bed despite not having shaved or showered in four days, that’s tasty to contemplate, he is not going to give a fuck about your nails.

But.

He will give a fuck if you’re distracted pants because you feel like you need to be taking care of business.

So.

I took care of fucking business today.

I sat my ass back down at my table, when I was really and truly about to go out the door.

I did my own nails and read for an hour.

I finished and caught up with a second class of work.

I already did the paper that is due for that class, so one down three to go.

Oh.

And look there, yes, the reading load is horrific, really lady, stop already, but I don’t have a paper due until the 2nd of October, I thereby have breathing space.

I still need to get a lot done and I have a group project that I have to work on as well, but there is space.

There is time.

When I sit still.

I find there is more time than I thought.

And.

When I am not procrastinating I feel more competent in my work and I know that I will get caught up with what needs to be done.

I also got home tonight and read until 10pm.

That seems to be as much as I can do at the moment.

And that added another few minutes into my day of looking at my graduate school work and assimilating the knowledge into my brain the best way I possibly could.

Hell.

It seems to be working.

I practiced non violent communication with the five-year old after a faked temper tantrum of dramatic proportions broke out post dinner pre bath time.

I was amazed at how well it worked and wanted to do a jig of happiness, but the three-year old was busy being three and that was curtailed.

The celebration that is.

But not the recognition that even in this brief amount of time being in graduate school, I am already learning and applying that knowledge to what is happening in my work environment.

Good to remind myself as I come up on my year, the 22nd of the month marks a year of being with the family, and my asking for a raise.

Not quite sure how that conversation is going to happen, but happen it will.

And I am constantly being taken care of.

“Here, take this,” my friend handed me $100.

“I know you didn’t get a paycheck last week, it’ll help with groceries,” he finished tucking it into my hand.

Tears prickled my eyes.

I said thank you.

I folded the bill and put it in my bra.

I forgot it was there.

Went to the store and realized I needed to take the bill out of my brassiere and pay for a quick food staple I had forgotten to buy the other day on my SafeWay run–which was almost exactly $100.

Groceries for a week.

So very grateful.

I forget how much abundance and generosity there is in the world.

I forget that I am always, beautifully, taken care of.

It is not always how I think it’s going to look and so often it is because I am NOT looking at myself, rather at how I can help out someone else.

Not an attitude that I have in spades, but one I have learned to cultivate.

One that saves my life.

I exaggerate not.

Again and again.

That is not to say that I should not or need not speak up for myself at work.

I need to do it.

I should have asked for a raise long ago, especially after being told I was the best nanny the family has had in five nannies and my salary is the same as the nanny who left them last year.

I realized that I was beholden to the plane ticket they bought for me when I went up to Anchorage to see my dad.

And that I am afraid to ask.

Of course.

If I don’t ask.

I won’t receive.

Even if I don’t get a raise, I feel like I have to ask.

The nice thing too, I have done my numbers fifteen ways to Sunday and I know exactly what I need to bring in to the penny to make it while I am in school.

I can make it on what I make now, working five hours a week less than I was working two weeks ago, and the extra time and space I have given myself will make my life a better place to live.

I could go through the process of being scared.

Or.

I can find the space to continue moving forward.

Doing the things that I do best.

Showing up.

Being accountable.

Doing a good job.

Hell.

The timing people!

I just got a text message about a place in the neighborhood that might have a room open up that is significantly cheaper than what I am paying now.

Now there’s a thought.

It has not even occurred to me to move.

I’m not sure I want to give up my autonomy here.

I do love my little home by the sea.

I would still be by the sea but at Noriega instead of Judah.

That’s not too much further than I am now.

Another five minutes or so on the bicycle everyday.

But maybe.

Stuff and things.

Everything is fine.

I have no problems.

I have only oceans of solution and love.

Love.

Yes.

Always.

Just there.

On the periphery of my fears.

Dancing a soft shoe shuffle.

Waltzing a prandial of desire.

Love.

Brown sugar crystals and the faint.

Caustic.

Drift of cigarette smoke.

I am going to be just fine.

I already am.

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