Fuck It

Except.

Fuck no.

I have seen a lot of folks saying fuck it recently and honey, that shit is not pretty.

I may have a struggle now and then with the sads or the fuck its but thank God, that generally passes pretty quick and when I am in a pity party, well, I’m all about myself.

Nobody else can get in there.

And with that in mind I confirmed that I will be going to a birthday party on Saturday.

Because I can’t let myself be isolated.

Just because I am busy with school and the work and the stuff and things, I can’t isolate myself off behind a wall of text books and the fear excuse of I’m too busy.

I’m not too busy.

Yes.

Fuck.

I am busy.

But not that busy.

If I even have an inkling of the thought that I could hook up with someone, which, hell, please, I am constantly thinking of hooking up, oh, and the fantasy got killed hella quick around the one person I was attracted to.

He’s dating.

Ugh.

I could use a desperate man.

Maybe.

I just have to keep showing up.

That’s all.

I just have to stay sober.

Nothing else, nothing else is more important.

“They’re all down at the bar,” she whispered, “I’m not going there.”

Nope.

No fucking way.

That is not my solution.

So.

When the busy gets in my head and I feel overwhelmed, all I have to do is remember that I am perfectly ok if I get into my bed tonight, my sweet, warm, cozy bed, sober.

Then it’s a perfect day.

It doesn’t matter if I haven’t figured out how to get my papers written, fact is, I always get them kicked out, despite the horror show that my head seems all hell bent on showing me.

The work gets done and I’m going to yoga tomorrow, so kiss my ass scary brain, everything is going to be just fine.

Fortunately for me I am surrounded, in the middle of the boat, covering my commitments, meeting with my people, staying on the beam.

Even when the head gets the crazy on fire feeling, I know it’s not real, it’s just a fantasy, it’s just a way for me to manufacture some adrenalin so I can get a “natural” high.

Bah.

The feelings I have are big, but they do pass, and as I walked out of the room tonight, a tiny bit disappointed, I mean, god damn he is a hottie, but then again, so is the girlfriend, at least I knew and I could clear my brain with it, the fantasy got squashed so I can be available to whatever reality is in front of me.

When I am day dreaming I’m not paying attention to what is right in front of me.

So.

Back to the reality board.

Back to basics.

Which I haven’t really dropped at all.

I am on my own, but I am not on my own.

I have fellowship, I have faith, I have friends.

And.

I get to see them this weekend, which is what I am telling myself, that I need to see these girls, women, I need to be connected to this community, I need to and I am ok with the fact that it doesn’t leave me as much time to work on school work as I would hope.

The fact is I could and can find time elsewhere.

The time it happens without me getting in the way of it if i just take care of the other basics first.

It’s not like I’m frittering time.

It is the opposite.

When I am having a little get down with the ladies, or my guy friends, friends in general, it alleviates the stress of school too, and I realize that so many of my friends, doctors, nurses, therapists, teachers, they all went through some type of intense schooling to get where they are at.

I am not unique and if they can get through it, so can I.

I feel like I am burning brightly right now.

And.

I want someone to burn brightly with me.

There is nothing wrong with this feeling.

I’m just not going to dampen the fire because I am on my own.

I don’t have to know.

I am open to it all.

I open to dating, sex, kissing, making out, hooking up.

Or.

Being entirely my own woman and just going to yoga and working and doing the deal and meeting with my ladies and going to school.

I don’t have to have either/or.

I can do both.

I have the abilities to hold many things.

I have a big heart and there is room for it all.

Art.

Creativity.

Recovery.

Work.

Working out.

Working it.

Dancing.

Friends.

All the things.

ALL.

I am a glutton for experience and life and doing and going.

I know that I have to have balance, hello yoga, writing, prayer, etc.

It’s all there to be had.

Life.

It’s fucking awesome, even when it scares the crap out of me, which it does often.

But then, I’m on my scooter and the California poppies are nodding in the wind and the green grass in the park is bright and the skies are blue and I am zooming down the road having the time of my life.

Alive.

Yes.

Getting to do this thing, not saying fuck it, not checking out, even when I want to check into what that might look like, I can fall down, but I can’t check out.

Not an option.

Fuck it is not an option.

Singing at the top of my lungs to music that makes my heart happy?

That’s always an option.

Until my land lady kicks me out.

Heh.

I know that I am taken care of and I am excited for the weekend and for the newness and the more will be revealed.

Because more always is.

And you should know by know.

I love more.

Always have.

Serious.

 

Do You Go To

Burning Man?

I replied yes.

And for the first time ever I got such a super negative response that I was a little surprised.

Hey.

Um.

What happened to you have a great smile and you’re really smart.

Yikes.

Who pissed in your Cheerios dude?

FYI.

That kind of vitriol is pretty much a big red flag and I won’t pursue dating you.

Nope.

Yeah.

I’m out there, I’m trying.

I haven’t another date lined up and it’s not a race, I do have a lot of homework to do this weekend as well as a friends birthday party, so a date this weekend might be out of the question anyway.

Oh.

And when you look at my profile and see me in fishnets, boots, with hot pink hair smiling so big it might be hurting my face, you can probably assume that yes, I do do that thing in the desert and if you’re so vehemently opposed–you have a bad experience with Gate?

Get the fuck over yourself.

And don’t bother pursuing a connection.

Not that I said any of that.

No need to.

I just didn’t continue engaging.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation as to why I do anything, I really love my life and I’m pretty fucking stupid happy, except when I’m not, most of the time.

Burning Man is relevant to my life now and for the foreseeable future.

And even if it weren’t I have too many friends that work for the organization, or who have worked there or who still go or who volunteer or want to go, anyway, you get my drift.

I many not have a Burning Man tattoo, I have plenty of Burning Man burned into my heart.

So, yeah, dude, move on.

Moving on can be nice.

Even.

When I am still connected enough with someone that I think about them and the next thing you know I’m getting a message from an ex boyfriend.

It was cute and it gave me pause for a minute.

How people move on, how they leave an imprint on you.

Some people I will always be connected to.

It’s just how it is.

Some people I have moved so far on from that I can’t imagine engaging with them ever again.

I’m not sure how that works, but I suspect that I stay connected to people that I am vulnerable with, that I show my true self to.

Which is how I have such an affinity with Burning Man.

I connect to people out there.

I am trying to connect with people here as well to.

In fact, I just sent out an e-mail asking for a ride to an event this Saturday.

I said yes to a birthday part in the effort to stay connected, to keep up with the friends when and how I can.

It’s not a school weekend for me and yes, despite three papers to write and a lot of doing the deal–started today met with a lady, got someone Thursday, another Saturday, and two folks on Sunday–I need to also have some semblance of a social life.

And these women are special.

Some of whom I may not have seen in months and if I don’t see them this weekend, God only knows, it might be back out at Burning Man when I do see them again.

So.

Working it out.

And working on letting myself stay in today as well.

I found myself getting a bit anxious about how all the things were going to play themselves out this weekend with school, life, recovery, etc, and how in the world was I going to do….

And I just knew.

Slow it the fuck down.

I finished my typical morning routine and added to it instead of detracting.

I did a coloring book meditation and really let myself let go of being anywhere but right where I was at, right here, at this little robin’s egg blue table, having just read the “Just for Today” card that I keep there as a gentle reminder that today is in fact the only day I really have.

I can choose to enjoy it, show up for it, or I can get all up in the future and fritter away the joy that is right here waiting for me to accept and embrace it.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

I opened up the back door and listened to birds and the ocean, the running of the N-Judah on the MUNI tracks, I heard my neighbor building something and thought about all the work that we do, humans, just in general to stay alive, the feeding, the grocery shopping the bill paying, and then I brought my focus gently to what I do for myself and how I can continue, no, that I get to continue, it’s not a can do sort of thing, it’s a “I get to do this” thing, to take good care of myself.

I smiled at the flowers in my glass Ball Mason jar on my table.

I have been buying myself a bouquet of flowers ever since the weekend before Valentines Day.

Buy your own damn flowers, I heard in my head, and laughed.

Yes.

I do.

And it’s really nice.

I have three different kinds of daisies: pale pink Gerber’s hot pink Gerber’s and pretty little Marguerite’s, plus a little filler of tuber rose and a couple of soft pink lilies.

So pretty.

I dress for myself and I am becoming.

I represent.

Not for anyone else, but just for me.

I eat tasty food and cook for myself and splurge on good coffee beans.

Oh.

I have written all the ways over and over again, but there is always still this deepening awareness and acceptance of where I am in my life, dating, work, school, yoga, friends, recovery, Burning Man, my scooter, the city I live in, the shifting heart in my chest growing bigger.

A meteorite of love launched against the black velvet sky over the ocean.

I am changing.

And I don’t have to force the change.

It will just happen on it’s own.

Buy your own damn flowers.

Took me years.

But now I do.

Pretty dresses for my love, pretty flowers for her hair, sweet perfumes to spray over my clavicles, music to soothe, and uplift, I am my best date.

And I go to Burning Man.

Ha.

No surprise there.

I know what makes me happy.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

All the God damn time.

The Days Just

Roll by.

It helps when I get up and get to yoga class.

And do my writing.

And do my reading.

And say my piece and ask for help and make phone calls and reach out and work and eat a good breakfast and drink my coffee.

Side bar.

Rau I love you.

Oh my God.

Finally a beverage I am willing and happy to pay $4 for.

Not that I really want to pay that much, but this shit is on point.

Especially for a lady like me.

It’s an organic cold pressed raw cocoa drink–NO SUGAR, nada, zip, zilch, zero and it tastes like chocolate, well, um because it really is just that.

It is amazing and it is a tantalizing incentive to get me to go grocery shopping when I don’t always feel like it.

I had a little wiggle room after yoga and my shower.

I decided to pop into Rainbow and get a few things that are nice for me to have around the house–nice candles, nice lotion, some apples, and a Rau.

Mmmm delicious.

I was wondering what to write about tonight as nothing is really happening in my life.

Bwahahahahaaha.

Ha.

Fuck me.

I have plenty to do: recovery, work, school, yoga.

Dating when I can squish it in there.

Making time to see friends.

I was on the phone today with a darling friend and we were trying to figure out when and how we were going to make seeing each other happen as the tentative plan to connect fell through for this upcoming weekend.

Mutual friend birthday party happening.

I did decide to go, despite the looming amount of writing that I need to do for the next weekend of school, because I need to connect with the ladies and my friends and I need to be flexible and I said I would, so I am.

That being said, I am sad to miss my friend.

So.

A date to the DeYoung is on the menu to see the Oscar de la Renta exhibition.

I saw it in Paris, but I will happily see it again, I love Oscar and I am guessing that there will be different things on display, I saw more than just de la Renta at Hotel de Ville (City Hall), there was a huge fashion archival being shown, so I expect that this focus will show me some things I haven’t had a chance to see.

Besides.

A museum date with my dear girl friend is definitely a necessary thing for me.

And I found out that I will have some wiggle room in my schedule next month.

The family is going to be going on a little trip and though I will be working while they are away, it will be much shorter hours.

One day I will be there from 9a.m. to 2 p.m. to let the house keeper come in and clean.

I will do errands and laundry and then have the day to myself to hang out and work on homework or maybe go grab a cup of coffee with a dear friend or two and catch up on stuff and things.

That’s the Monday.

The Tuesday I have off completely.

The Wednesday I will go in for a half day and cook food in preparation for the family coming home that next day and the boys being home on Thursday and Friday, both days where I will be working early and leaving early too.

It will be a wonky week, but it will have nice pockets of open time to do things and see folks.

April 11th, 12th, 13th.

Monday through Wednesday.

Working but not really working.

I’ll probably do some self care things, some yoga, maybe a trip to Kabuki.

But basically, hey you, friend, if you’re around Tuesday, April 12th, I’m free.

Let’s kick it.

Yeah.

I know.

That’s my life.

Making plans to hang with my people when and how I can.

Two more weekends of school though!

I’m making it through.

The yoga is definitely helping.

I had a good class today, the teacher today is my favorite, although I do quite like all the instructors I have had.

I cried again.

It always surprises me when that happens.

Still.

Parts of me just must hold onto grief longer than I even realize.

I had a moment of sadness and the tears they came and then I also had a sweet whisper of serenity, breeze right in behind it– big, big, wide open sky, high and bright, and a vision of a field of blue forget me not flowers.

True love and memory.

Sounds about right.

So grateful for letting myself show up on the mat and not have judgements about myself and my body and the process, just showing up and doing it.

I have been taught well.

Show up and do the work.

Let go of the results.

See.

I always looked to yoga as a sort of way to fantasize about a kind of body I wanted to have–a “yoga body.”  You probably have an idea of what I mean: cut arms, slim belly, tight ass, long legs, sculpted, like.

And that is just not me.

I am always going to be a little soft in places.

Doesn’t matter.

It does not matter one little bit.

Instead I have gotten to have the feeling of being lighter in my body because I am not weighed down by grief that I don’t have to carry.

I feel lifted and my heart more open and I see the corn flower blue sky and I don’t think about it pressing down on me, I see myself reaching up towards it.

I see the light.

I am the light.

The lightness in my step, in my heart.

There.

All the work and all the revelations and just sometimes the walking out the door and being humble enough to be a beginner and not know what I am doing and try it anyway.

“Carmen!” She whispered excited in my ear as she was helping me settle into pigeon pose, “this is amazing, you have gotten so much deeper into this pose since you started, you’re doing great.”  She adjusted my left shoulder and gave it a squeeze and left me happy, exhausted yes, but happy, on the mat, in my pose, pushed further than I had before, without it being a horrendous stretch.

Just finding my breath and sending it out into my body.

I thought, quite seriously, about going again tomorrow morning.

But tomorrow is not typically a day I go, it doesn’t quite sync with my schedule and I want to let myself sleep and rest.

I did push it in class today and yesterday and I am glad for it, my body feels it, but I can stand the rest and I don’t want to push too hard after this long cold has finally loosened it’s grip on me.

They day will be what it will be.

And  will show up for it just like I showed up for today.

In the rising sun.

With.

Sweet.

Kindness.

Cornflower blue light.

And

Forget me not.

Love.

Foiled By The Holiday

I rode my scooter up to the gates of the church to realize they were barred shut.

No doing that deal tonight.

Oh well.

I came home and did some more school work.

I just finished my third posting for my Applied Spirituality class and I did the rest of the reading I needed to do for my Therapeutic Relationship class.

I got a lot done today despite not feeling like I got a lot done.

I slept in for one.

Although I did still make it to yoga class.

I just decided to do a later morning class than I would typically.

I knew I needed to rest.

It’s been two weeks since I manifest the cold I have had, it’s last hooks seem to be easing up and though there was a brief moment of coughing on my mat–not literally, hello–I feel like I’m finally through the damn thing.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to push myself unnecessarily when I didn’t need to.

I normally meet with a lady at a certain point in my day and that was cancelled for Easter egg hunts and bunnies in Marin.

Totally respect that.

So.

Sleeping in for me, a later yoga class, and a later start to my day.

Which feels like it has sort of passed in a blur of children’s laughter–there was an Easter egg hunt in the back yard this afternoon for my housemates daughter and friends in the neighborhood and soft soreness from my yoga exertions this morning.

Plus, all the reading I did, so much reading, I do feel a tiny bit fuzzy with it.

And a softening in myself for the work of it all.

Yoga is work.

School is work.

Recovery is definitely work.

But the payoffs.

So good.

So much God.

So much love.

I also know to balance that too and when I didn’t need to do extra to not do extra.

I had an idea that I might make an extra run to the grocery store, but I was pretty mellow in my home and habits today and the effort of the yoga class sort of took out my juju to do a lot more.

As though, let me acknowledge to myself, I didn’t do anything, because that’s not true either.

I did laundry and I went to the market up the street and I cooked all my food for the week and I ate really well–someone in the neighborhood left out a box of free Meyer lemons from their tree, hello homemade lemon hummus–and I put clean sheets on my bed, I did all sort of reading, aforementioned, for school, I showered and wrote my morning pages–three long hand in my last notebook from Paris, the one from the Palais de Tokyo (stopping briefly to accept the wash of light blue tinged sorrow that comes over me when I think of that trip, still the soft bereft girl in me lingers there, in the pages of the notebooks I bought and brought back), I gassed up my scooter for the week, and I also had a tech call with Apple Care.

Which did not actually fix the issue and I’m going to have to call back and reschedule some more help.

The guy got me half way there, and it was going to take some time to move all my photos, 10,810 of them, to the external hard drive.

But for some reason it did not seem to take and I am still stuck with a lap top that is constantly telling me that it is has a full disc drive.

So.

Back to the drawing board there.

But.

Really.

A full day.

A reflective day, a quiet day, a day not quite of repose, but one in which I spent most of it reading from my chaise lounge, watching the light change on the surface of the page as the day melted away down towards dusk and sunset.

The ticking clock in motion.

The melancholic moment of day end and the awareness of all things done.

And not done, but mostly done.

I thought I might get around to writing one of my papers for the next weekend of school, but after all the reading, I didn’t have the gumption in me.

I think I spent all my gumption at the yoga studio.

I also had a really interesting experience.

Aside from falling over when I tried to do a side plank and also, exhorting, “oh my god,” when we did a pose that was to help do an IT band stretch.

At least the instructor chuckled with me.

She also helped me understand something new about my person and my experience with myself and my intuition.

My third eye, specifically.

She kept exhorting the class to soften that space between the brows, to ease into the poses and sometimes I could, but mostly, the spot between my eyes was furrowed in concentration.

Later.

Well, hmm, later I began to speculate that perhaps it wasn’t furrowed because I was trying so hard to do something, but rather that I was trying so hard to not allow myself to see.

To, in effect, utilize my third eye.

I have a deep pool of intuition and love and inner clairvoyance that I have not ever really allowed or encouraged myself to see or use.

It is strong enough that it comes through often to me none the less, intuition, gut response, a pricking of the thumbs, etc.

However.

I had this image of a large dragon eye, opening and closing, then falling asleep.

Rather like Smaug in The Hobbit, he sleeps, but knows that there is a mischief about.

A thief.

Bilbo with the ring poking through the treasure.

But the eye is closed, glued shut, sticky with sleep crumbs and gluttonous logic.

How could there be anyone there?

No.

Slumber on, but with brow furrowed, eye closed against the whispers of something is up.

The instructor during our final resting pose came to me as I lie on my back, eyes closed, heart furrowed against further insights, I had just finished a strenuous pose and felt opened to more sorrow and tears were on my face, and sweat.

Goodness.

I broke a sweat today.

Anyway.

As I lay there she gently approached, squatted down and placed a small amount of ointment into the nook of my left shoulder and rubbed a tight knot of muscle there I did not even realize needed relief.

Then.

She dotted the space between my eyes and rubbed the spot until it relaxed and opened.

I felt like that sleepy dragon.

I felt that eye open and look about.

It feels dangerous.

And amazing.

Then I cried some more.

Good grief.

I did not know, thank God my person did, how much sadness and anger needed to be shed out of my body.

It feels amazing.

And tiring too.

It was a lot of work to show up on that mat today and I am grateful for the body that did the work and the mind that finally got the hell out of the way.

And for that opening eye.

I am nervous to see what visions it brings.

But enthralled with it too.

Life.

It keeps getting richer.

I just have to keep taking the suggestions.

Grateful I didn’t balk too long at the yoga one.

Grateful I show up.

Just grateful for it all.

Third eye open.

Blind.

No longer.

Bronde Ambition

I went and got the roots touched up today.

Despite three people looking at me like, crazy lady, you’re hair is on point.

And.

Yes.

Especially with the trend for a big root shadow.

I had me some roots.

I got the dark hair.

However.

I am planning ahead.

Oh yes I am.

Each time the hair gets a little lighter, the current blonde, or bronde if you will, gets a little bit softer and lighter and blonde gold and caramel and it’s super pretty and it will all go towards finally getting the perfect dusty rose pink shade I have wanted to do for ever.

I’ll lighten it one more time, we’re being pretty cautious, my hair can only handle so much before it will just break off, but one more time after this and then a soft dusty washed out pastel pink for the Burning Man.

Yeah.

I know.

It’s March.

But.

I’m making my plans.

I ordered a new shoulder holster recently as well for the event.

I have one from last year, but I decided to upgrade a little bit, get something sturdier, I’ll be wearing a baby a lot of the time, one of my little charges will be 3 1/2 years old and the other will be about 9 months–which means having a baby carrier on.

Which means a holster for my essentials instead of my utility belt.

Which I will also have.

Oh all the things.

I guess it’s because it’s a special anniversary for me.

My 10th burn.

I am really lucky that I get to do this, it still astounds me that I have gone so many times and that I get to go again this year.

I was talking to a friend who made it a part of his contract with his new job that he gets two weeks off in August to do the event.

I have another friend in LA who does the same thing.

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more than a few of us out there with that requirement.

I was trying to explain it a little to my colorist.

For me so much of it is about the art and the amazing heart and total commitment that the artists and their crews put into the work.

It is astounding to me how much work goes into making some of the pieces, into building the city, just the effort of preparing myself for the playa is a job, then I think about the creative process and the amount of effort expended and it blows my mind.

It is an extraordinary thing to get to be a part of.

So yeah.

I’m planning my hair for it already.

Because that’s how I roll and because I love to have fun and it’s a part of me having fun.

I have some work to do, of course, before the main event.

I need to get through the rest of the school semester.

Two more weekends of classes.

I was working with my person today and Tart to Tart, kicking out the last of the inventory and so glad to be done with that bad boy.

The only thing left is my sexual ideal.

Oh wouldn’t you like to know.

Heh.

But I got the rest of it out and one of the things that was listed under my fears list was the fear of not making it through my first year of graduate school.

I actually laughed.

I couldn’t believe that I had written that.

I am not afraid of that any longer.

In fact, a lot of the stuff that I am normally freaked out about just seem to fade out.

I didn’t feel a huge shift in my perspective, but I just felt grateful to be doing the work and I know often times that the effort put into doing this kind of writing and inventory is later revealed to me.

Just to be free of those things that impede me and my growth.

Freedom.

Free to be who I am, free to be light and flexible and open to new experiences.

Or hair colors.

Ha.

Free to love.

I was awed by my person’s perspective on my grief bubble bursting in yoga.

I told her what had happened, while I was in the heart opening pose and how I just wanted to send this man I had all these feelings about a bubble of light and love and how it burst open on me and I was flooded and the grief and sorrow melted away.

The catharsis that happened.

She smiled.

Then she said, “that is love, that is true love, you sent him love without expecting anything in return.”

Oh.

My heart.

That’s the thing.

So often I have love for someone and I want something in return.

Not realizing that there is nothing to be gotten from loving, but the act, the simple act of purely giving love and not expecting anything, finally, allowed me to move through it all and come out the other side.

I don’t know this foreign country.

It is wobbly and not steady in my eye sight.

Something akin to wearing the new glasses I have had for the last three days.

“Progressives.”

The nice way of saying “bi-focals.”

They have take me a bit to get used to and I am finding my perspective constantly being altered, sometimes it makes me feel like I am falling or dizzy or just a little bit off kilter.

I have found myself slowing down.

Looking at things differently.

This love.

Freely given, the amazing grace of it.

The things that I gain when I am not looking for some sort of pay off.

Extraordinary.

The life I get to live even more full of juicy goodness.

And tomorrow.

I sleep in.

No commitments.

Nothing.

No plans.

I am being completely flexible and not going to be planning a thing.

However it plays out.

I am available for it.

Complete and present.

And just a tiny bit.

Blonder.

Bronde is the new black.

At least for today.

Heh.

Date Night, For Realz

Should equal not writing a blog night.

This is how I justify skipping out of writing a blog tonight.

Except.

Well.

Fuck.

It’s sort of how I unwind.

Like an after sex cigarette.

Not that there was any sex tonight.

A sweet, some what chaste kiss.

A very nice and cozy first date.

A getting to know you sort of date.

A possibly interviewing for a second date.

There may be one, not sure yet, and that’s ok.

I’m just supposed to be light and having fun.

I had fun.

And that’s all that’s important.

A good practice and a lot of honest conversation and there’s some chemistry there and that was nice.

It’s always nice to be told you’re sexy too.

That does not hurt.

More will be revealed.

The best part about it was that I didn’t have an agenda, I didn’t have any expectations and I didn’t have any plan on how it was going to go.

I just showed up.

And the date happened.

In one sense of the word it was really educating, like, oh yeah, the whole point of going on a date is to get to know a person and find out if you want to spend more time with them.

Or not.

Sometimes.

Well.

Sometimes I know right away.

Yes!

I want to spend more time with this person.

As my friend Juan says, “girl do I need to get a tux?”

After my first date.

Heh.

Which is a great indication to me that the date was too hot, too heavy, too fast.

I didn’t feel that tonight, it was just sort of a getting to feel what this dating thing could be about.

Not a hook up, we both made that clear.

We also both made it clear where we were at in our lives and in our dating lives.

That was great.

Loads of transparency.

Anywho.

I’m not interested in reporting every detail, that’s not going to be what my blogging is about, I have learned, the hard way, that I can’t write about other people, only about what I am feeling and doing.

And that if I so choose, yes, I can skip a night blogging if I want to.

I didn’t want to tonight.

I wanted to blog.

I also wanted to be honest in my day, in my person, and in my life, which, often times I can’t always quite get to that point without a bit of self-reflective writing at the end of my day.

I usually have a great idea where I stand in regards to my day, but it is still nice to come home, light some candles, make a cup of tea, and sit here, at my little blue table in my tiny kitchen, under a glowing globe, next to some fresh bought flowers that I got for myself today and write out my day.

Sometimes I feel the most “me” here.

Sometimes, a lot of times, although I don’t always seem to be with holding information, I don’t write about things in my day.

There’s a lot that doesn’t make it into my blog.

But there’s enough.

Enough self-honesty.

Enough awareness, enough of my heart, of my journey, of my experience, that I feel good when I am done with the writing, the work, the getting clean of my day, the unloading and sending it out into the universe to live its little life long after I have forgotten what I have written down here.

So much of what I write seems to be a repetition of themes, ideas, or thoughts about certain aspects of my life that I would appear to be able to substitute one blog for the other in regards to nannying or dating or Burning Man, or what’s up in my recovery this week.

Yet.

I find there is always some fresh perspective or feeing.

Some new growth or learning.

That it doesn’t matter if hey, look, there’s Carmen, writing about dating again.

And yeah.

I’m going back to the way back board.

And just asking out guys again.

Or at least, as I talked it over with my person earlier this afternoon when he asked me what my motives were in regards to my date and I was honest and said, I actually had no agenda, no motives, I was not looking of a quick hook up or to get my ego stroked I was just exploring.

That.

And I also mentioned how I had run into said guy from the past this week and how I was sort of toppled over by some attraction to him and my person was like, so ask him out.

And I know that’s a good thing to do.

Because I don’t want to live in fantasy land.

I’m not looking to be on the prowl and ask out anyone I run into, instead, if I do happen to find myself attracted to someone I just get it the hell out of the way.

Ask, find out, and then go from there.

No stories in my head about the person is probably not attracted to me, no manipulations, just me being me and if you like it, hey, let’s hang out.

Me being me can be a lot.

Although, I dare say, I am a good time.

Not many deep thoughts for me this time of night.

I’m about ready to pull the plug on the day, have a little more tea, an apple, an e-mail check in with a few people.

Then off to bed and the weekend.

Yay!

I made it.

I have a few plans.

But mostly flexibility.

I’m excited to see what it brings.

More fun.

More light.

More joy.

More love.

I.e.

More.

Living.

 

Fuck The Pain Away

I was sharing with a lady tonight all the methods of grieving.

And I can sustain that one for about a week, maybe.

Add a sexting or two in there and maybe only three days.

Sex is lovely.

Sex is great.

But I can’t fuck the pain away.

I just have to go up into it and through it.

I realized this as I had a grief bubble burst on me today.

I was not expecting it.

And I have to say the relief has been deep and profound since it happened.

And yes.

Ugh.

It was in yoga that it happened.

Yeah.

I know, I know.

I’ll start burning sage tomorrow, shh.

After the happy glow of last night I was a tired girl, but so pumped up and juiced on being alive, I had a hard time dropping off to sleep.

Plus the call of all that moonlight slanting in between the slits of the bamboo shade hanging over the glass door in my room, it was just a lot of being awake versus really sleeping the way I would have liked.

Granted.

I still got up and I did my morning routine and I put on my yoga clothes and got my bag out and the mat and my water bottle.

I had oatmeal and coffee and I wrote some stuff and said some stuff and knelt and got humble, not really, I am so not humble, but it helps to start my day from a position of humility.

Always that.

I may lose that during the day, but always I have to start from the lowering of ego and ask for the help I need to get through my day, whatever lies ahead, I cannot do it on my own.

Alone has never worked for me, even when I think, hey this could work, I could figure this out, I got this.

I ain’t ever got this.

Which is why the taking of suggestions is always so helpful.

I can see that there was a part of me that was suspicious of this yoga thing from all the protestation I have had in my head for the last few years since it has been calling to me, for a long, long, long stupid ass time.

I think I was afraid that I would have feelings.

And everyone knows how much I love feelings.

Insert irony here.

I was walloped, in a soft kind of surrendering way, with the feels today in class.

I was not expecting that.

In fact.

I was expecting to have more joyful, light filled, love filled, ease filled, serenity feelings.

Nope.

I got caught with my yoga pants down.

Figuratively, people, come on.

It was hard, and I knew it was going to be hard after not having gone for nearly two weeks, to get back into the flow of it, but I put myself out there and I also let the instructor know I’d been out with a pretty wicked, only in  retrospective can I see how stupid sick I was, cold.

So.

Giving myself the permission right from the start to take it easy and just gently get back into it rather than break myself trying to do every pose.

I just did what I could and it was enough.

And I did slip into a sweet space, a relaxing into my body, even though it was challenging, rather than staying in my head.

At the beginning of the class the instructor suggested that we pack up those thoughts, people, work, nagging things, school, personal life, and lead them out the door and let them stay there.

Fuck.

I wanted away from my head like nobody’s business.

I had some strange dreams and a tiny little nag of heart sick that I didn’t even realize was there.

But yes.

It was there.

A little left over remanent of having run into the room mate of someone who I have not had contact with in a few months, I actually have lost track, it’s around three months now, I think, could be more or a little less, but there was a time a month or so ago when I knew to the day, the hour, the minute, the last time we had seen each other, the words exchanged.

I could tell you the contents of the last text.

I can’t anymore.

The texts were erased.

No need to go be a tourist in that land.

It hurts too much.

I have scrolled through some photos once or twice, but I can’t quite, I get sucked in and it hurts to see the landscape and the pain in my eyes even when I was laughing.

Laughing to save my life because otherwise I was just going to collapse with the pain.

I have seen this room mate before and been absolutely scrupulous to keep it all about him, about his stuff, no questions asked about his housemate, no mention, not my business, don’t go digging.

And.

Well fuck.

I slipped a little last night and asked him to give the cat a squish.

AW.

Fuck.

I knew better the minute it popped out of my mouth.

Not your fucking place and then, I was just like, hey, give yourself a break, you are human, it was a little mistake and hopefully he didn’t even notice it.

I remember turning with relief to the woman who was waiting to talk with me.

Oops.

Ha.

She didn’t check in today.

Hmm.

Good thing to remember, I’ll see if she calls tomorrow, I may or may not having an extra hour on Sunday now after all.

Anyway.

I think I woke up with a teensy little emotional hangover from the spiritual intoxication I was feeling yesterday and a little chagrin about mentioning the cat.

But.

I didn’t realize it.

Until.

That song.

That one song.

The one the yoga instructor has when we do this one pose, and ha, oh, I just realized this, fuck me man, it’s called a “heart opener,” of fucking course it is.

Ah.

God, you are funny.

The music has a catchy sweetness to it that I have had joyful visions to, the love and feeling of sun, the sound of bluegrass guitar picking, the blooming daisy from my heart, yeah, that guy, usually when I’m in this heart opening pose and I’m suddenly lit up with light and joy and damn.

It feels good.

Today.

I was in the pose and I recognized the song and I heard a part of the chords that I hadn’t caught before, a sort of sweet, sad, melancholic faint brush of regret, that hint that underneath the joy there was this little pool of sorrow–that I can see probably leads to movingly to that opening flower in me.

Pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.

The flower blooms from a field of pain.

Which makes it that much more beautiful.

I did not hear the joy today, I heard the sorrow.

I did not consciously think these things.

I just noticed that instead of feeling uplifted I felt a bit moored and then I thought of a suggestion I had heard before to send a ball of light towards a person and fill it with love.

I thought of the man I had seen last night, my innocuous Burning Man crush and I was about to send it out to him, and then.

Oh.

I saw his face instead.

I held up that bubble of warm love and light and I pushed it out.

And it collapsed on me.

And I broke into tears.

Face scrunched up, eyes smashed shut.

My entire heart clutched up and instead of light I was drowned in sorrow and salt.

The bubble burst and I just cried.

I did so silently, but it felt like I was being buried under a tsunami sadness.

Then.

It was gone.

I was left, heart very open, thank you very fucking much, wet, face soaked with sweat and tears on the mat.

I sank into the final five minutes of resting pose.

I breathed cleanly.

I sat up.

I said thank you.

I rolled up my mat.

I walked out the door.

Into the sunlight.

Drenched in love.

Having let the final last lingering bomb of grief dissolve off my body.

I got home, took a hot shower and lifted my face with gratitude.

Graced.

All the love flowering in m heart.

Roots griped into the rich soil of sorrow and pain.

Watered with tears and growing toward the sun.

Raised in brightness, raised in brightness.

These are the days to write home about.

These are the days, simple and small and laden with the gifts of living a full life.

Shining out.

A beacon.

I am.

A rising sun.

Shining out in the rising sun.

Cleaned and new.

Bright with hope, promise, joy.

And.

As always.

Love.

Yes.

My love.

Always that.

Always.

Love.

 

 

Deeper Shade Of Happy

I am so happy.

Maybe it is the full moon.

Oh.

Did you see the moon?

Creamy, golden, a flat dinner plate of finest china wiped with soft butter and flipped up into the deep indigo sky, the last kiss of sunset gloaming over the west and the wet slick shine of color over the the black sea slathered in shine and shimmer.

Normally when I am in this part of my cycle I am upset, tender, vulnerable, emotional.

I am all those things and yet.

Happy.

So happy it almost scares me with the intensity.

I am a feeling type creature.

I feel the world in my body, the sun, the stars, the shadows of old light, the mittens forlorn in the lost and found box, the laugh of a child sliding down a twirly slide scattered with sand, faster than fast.

I am alive.

I AM SO GLORIOUS AND ALIVE.

No.

I am not high.

Ha.

Just full.

Full of life, of joy, of fucking health.

Jesus fucking Christ on a raft,  I have no idea sometimes how sick I am until I am not so sick any more.

The cold kicked my ass for the better part of ten days and it’s almost gone.

I can still feel a hitch of it in my body and by the end of the day today with the boys I was in husky voice mode as though I had snuck a pack of silk cut Nat Sherman’s at the playground and chained smoked them under the bougainvillea, blooming deep bloody purple, in the corner of the Mission Playground.

But I did not.

No.

Just the last kick of this cold.

I actually felt so much better today that I was able to get done a bunch of stuff that I had been putting off without even realizing I was putting it off.

I have felt a bit muffled in my head and I just had no real awareness of how under functioning I have been.

I got hella shit done before work today.

Reading for school.

Appointment for some Apple Care help regarding my hard drive, a question about my back up external hard drive I just used this weekend and also some help downloading and opening up the APA formatting software my friend in the cohort has lovingly lent me the use as one of her free downloads.

Plus I got myself an appointment to see the fabulousness that is my new hair colorist over at Harper Paige for this Saturday.

I wasn’t expecting to get in until next month and wouldn’t you know, they’ve got an opening this Saturday.

Hell yes.

I also connected with a friend who I haven’t seen in years, aside from social media, who is now in the process of setting up her own private practice therapy business in downtown SF and who just happened to be in the same program that I am in currently at CIIS.

We are going to catch up and have coffee on the next Sunday of my next weekend of classes.

I got a good picture in my head of what I need to do this week for school and for the upcoming weekends, and yes, good old Dubitzky, she dropped the bomb late last night and I got the e-mail that yes, I do have a third paper that I will have to do for the next weekend of classes.

But.

As I was explaining to a dear friend of mine tonight I’m doing better with school this semester for any number of reasons, I’m used to it, I know what I have to do, I also know when I can be flexible and go have fun, like, um, ha, this weekend.

Yeah.

I have a date on Friday.

Movie night.

I haven’t been on a movie date in a while.

Excited and a little nervous.

Anywho.

That’s another story for another blog.

School is being handled and it was handled well this morning.

Happy to be making progress and feeling reconnected to the material as I pick it up and keep assimilating it into my life and work and the next word in the story of Carmen.

The Carmen Show.

Ha.

I also purchased my first Burning Man buy today.

I must have felt it in the atmosphere.

For I certainly forgot about it.

Today was the day the tickets went on sale.

And of course.

Sold out.

I didn’t think about it because I already have my ticket, my job, my camp.

And check it out!

The friend who I was chatting with tonight, his kid works the same camp.

Just made me laugh, I had this strange feeling, and when I asked, he confirmed.

The Universe is so small.

Burning Man.

How I do love thee.

Let me count the ways.

Or say them with ruckus and abandon.

I walked into my spot tonight, doing the deal, and saw a lot of awesome familiar faces.

And.

Holy shit.

My Burning Man crush from 9 years ago!

Oh my God.

“That night, that was the, the best, night, riding around in the back of that truck, the hot springs, that was just the really, the best, might have been my best night ever at Burning Man.”

Yeah.

It was a good night, I remember sitting in the back truck bed and the stars, oh the stars when there is not much light yet on playa, especially away from the event area, and oh God, how I was just blown over by this guy sitting next to me,  I had such a flaming hot indelible crush on this man.

The night, the next year, after having run into each other randomly at the Commissary, we spent the entire dinner hour talking, until literally, we were the only ones in the tent, even the kitchen workers had left.

I always run into him randomly somewhere out there on the playa, somewhere in the dust and the melee and we reconnect and there are hugs and smiles and my heart shines up at him and then.

I walk away.

He’s never been interested.

Some men just are not.

There is a friendship, a bond, a longing, on my side, but that longing, despite it being there tonight, I was able to just hold it soft in my hand, a kite string.

My heart, floating away, the tail tied with ribbons and flowers.

I was uplifted with love and surprise to see him there.

He’s moved back to the city.

And we exchanged numbers.

I don’t have expectations and despite wanting, for a moment, then, I held that heart string, and let the pull of it tense in my hand, but not fly off, I just let it pull me a moment towards that desire, “hey, I should just tell him and get it over with.”

Ah.

Um.

Yeah.

No.

That’s my thing.

And I don’t want to do that.

I would rather tie that heart string kite to the full moon and let it drag me around the world then to keep on that unrequited love road.

If the man was ever interested in my romantically he would have pursued it the ample times we have connected at the event.

Instead.

I got asked to help another woman out.

We exchanged numbers and we’re going to meet this Sunday.

Have some tea, read a little, get right with God.

I know how this works.

And instead of being upset that I was glowing over a man and not the woman, I just can acknowledge with joy and wonder that my God lit me up to shine like a beacon.

Not to attract a date.

But to help out another woman who needed to see some sparkle tonight and now that there is abundance and joy and love for the taking.

I think this is what they mean when they say God will take away your defects of character when they don’t help another person anymore.

That woman did not have any clue that I was enflamed for the man sitting next to her.

She just saw and heard someone that had something she wanted.

She touched my arm, “thank you for what you said.”

I have no fucking clue what I said.

I just felt incandescent with it.

Alive.

Aflame.

Happy.

I don’t have to know the reason why.

I can just enjoy this moment and the deepening.

The opening of my heart.

The daisy sprouting there.

Growing toward the sun.

Love.

Love.

This day.

Right now.

Fly your kite.

Mend your heart to the moon and take all the brilliance with you forward into the next day.

The poetic smash of words in my mouth.

The song of smoked salt on my lips.

The sun shining, even on the other side of the world, onto that full moon face.

And right.

Straight.

Deep.

Into.

My.

Heart.

There.

Yes, there.

Love.

Rejection Is God’s Protection

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Who knows.

But the date I was supposed to go on cancelled very last minute and it put an odd taste in my mouth.

Tinder fail number four.

Le sigh.

Full transparency.

I don’t need to be on Tinder.

I’m doing pretty good on my own.

In fact.

I turned off the app again.

My person was right.

There is nothing wrong with the app, but I also know when something doesn’t work for me and this is not working.  It was fun.  It was titillating.  It was and appears to really just to be about fantasy.

And.

Well.

This lady has had enough of fantasy.

I like the real deal.

The smash me into the man deal, the full on kiss, the I want you, you’re sexy.

I can have that.

I am aware of my needs and the TInder and the OkStupid, again, I come back to this again, haven’t cut the mustard with me.

It’s fun.

To a point.

Then it seems.

I don’t know futile.

I was actually a little relieved when he cancelled.

I have had plenty on my plate this week and I’m finally feeling like my cold is passing.

A little lingering cough in the morning.

I figure one more day of sleeping in and I will have the little fucker kicked to the curb.

I’m planning on hitting the yoga studio on Thursday and get back into the flow of that again.

I have missed it.

The being in my body, the stretching, the achey muscles.

Yeah.

Ha.

I’m ready for sore muscles.

Too funny.

Full moon.

Spotting this morning.

Ovulated yesterday.

But not the full on roaring hormonal monster that had me in its clutches last month.

Just a normal cycle.

The moon though.

Have you seen it?

Magic in the sky.

I imagine it descending over the ocean and how it will paint the sand dunes white and silver with its light.

Splendid and alive in the sky.

Or perhaps just in my imagination.

A luminous pearl in the velvet sky.

Yes.

I can feel that I am doing better.

My head feels clear.

My heart feels clear.

A touch sad now and again.

But I have that love of richness, that emotion, deep and true and yes occasionally indigo blue jean blue, but so sweet and tender and alive, that I don’t mind.

I have had so many feelings, tender and vulnerable, strong and flexible.

I do feel that I’m coming out of something.

A little darkness and mourning.

And by perfecting my heart truly/I got lost in the sounds.

The opening of the crocus pushing it’s way through the soil, dark, and at first impenetrable, then, the flower bud plunges up and out and unfurls and yes.

I am like that flower.

Fresh as a daisy.

Silly and sunny.

Sexy.

Back to myself.

Out of the dark.

Into the blue.

The sky blue.

The light of day.

It don’t hurt that the rain stopped falling.

A break in the rain.

A reprieve from the storm.

The orchid on my night stand table has bloomed again.

Five times now since I have been here, I bought it the first week I moved into the studio.

Not bad.

It always seems to bloom at an opportune time for me to self-reflect, to see the purity that comes from the gnarled and twisted roots and the glory that faces into the sun and blossoms there from the ungainly and the knots of green.

I remember to not force the blooms.

To not rip open the petals because I want the full beauty.

There is beauty in every stage of the development.

Just like there is with me, with dating, with romance, with love and loving myself and learning what works and what doesn’t.

And not judging myself when I don’t bloom out as fully as I expected.

Sometimes the flowers on the orchid are six, seven, eight blooms.

This time around there were only two.

Yet.

The simple divine flowers floating in the air are such tender white magical things that I cannot imagine that there needs to be anything more.

I don’t need anything more.

Look at all I have.

My simple life.

My sweet space down by the sea.

My dear friends.

My good job.

My school.

I get to live this life, I get to revel in it.

I get to roll around in it and not take it so seriously and lighten up and go out and put myself out on a limb and take chances and change.

Open the door and meet the welcome face there.

Be swept up into the moment and taken along for the duration of the song, carried away, caught for a moment in the in between moment.

The twixt and the tween and see that here too, is still another way to go.

A softening and letting go.

A sweetness and surrender.

Everything must come and go.

Yes.

That too.

So seize the moment, let the life in front of you be joyous, full, and alive.

Being awake is sometimes a tender place to be, but I’m no good checked out, and I’m not good when I am in fantasy.

I am good here.

In this reality.

With all my vulnerabilities and mistakes and terrors.

The fear it fades.

The sun it warms me as I walk towards it.

And the flowers bloom on their own with out me forcing them to open before their time.

There is no there there.

I am the party.

I am the girl.

No.

I am the woman.

And this is my life.

I’m going to keep having fun and dancing in the hallways and crying on the yoga mat.

I’m going to keep showing up.

Going where I must.

And letting go of thinking I know where it should go.

It’s all the same road anyhow.

Even if I often choose the one less taken.

I bet they all end in the same place.

I don’t need to know my destination.

I just know that I’m on the right path.

Free.

Silly.

Joyous.

Heart on my sleeve.

Happy.

 

Soft, Slow, Sleepy

Sunday.

I needed to sleep in.

I was bushed last night when I got home.

The good news was the mom and dad got back from the fund raiser an hour earlier than we had planned.

I was in a car and heading home around 1 a.m.

I was just done in.

As I have said, the cold was getting to me.

I did set an alarm and although I did not sleep all the way to the alarm, I did get a great amount of very restful sleep.

The cold appears to be waning.

This morning the spot in my chest that has felt like there’s a small hole in it, ceased to be painful and I didn’t cough up as much gunk as I have the rest of the week.

I am still keeping a low profile, but have been feeling better and better all day.

On one hand I wish that it hadn’t been so rainy.

On the other.

I am glad that it was.

It kept me in the neighborhood and it kept me quiet and contemplative.

Not in a bad way.

A retrospective, insightful way, more like.

I also did a good bit of school reading.

I knocked out all my Multi-Cultural reading and half of the reading for my Clinical Relationship class.

I should be able to get the rest of the readings done this week.

I have plenty of time.

My next weekend of classes is April 8-10th.

I have three papers due this round, and of course the ubiquitous posting to Applied Spirituality.

Well.

I actually don’t know if I have three papers, I dashed out of Dubitzky’s Psychoanalytical class last weekend as I had plans and was impatient with the class already running over time.

Only to find out that there was going to be a paper assignment.

Ack.

She is supposedly sending it to the class, but I haven’t seen it show up yet.

Until that point.

Two papers.

One of which I did the majority of work on in class, just need to type it up and print it off.

I also got my hard drive downloaded to an external hard drive.

Now the question is?

Do I start deleting stuff?

How do I go about making room on my MacBook Air?

I suppose I should just call up the help desk.

I do have Apple Care for fucks sake.

There is just this silly trepidation, I’ll look stupid, I’ll ask the wrong questions, somehow, mysteriously, I will fuck up my computer and lose it all.

I could go on.

Heh.

I actually just tried to contact Apple support and my internet dropped.

Nothing is going to happen.

My computer won’t explode and if I don’t figure it out tonight, I will soon.

Really the only thing left to do tonight is write my blog, doing it, and rest.

I am debating yoga in the morning before work.

I haven’t gone at all this week since I’ve been under the weather.

I may hold off until Tuesday and give it one more day of sleep and rest.

I did do nice self-care today, although, it may easily have been a side affect of the weather not being so hot.

I did manage to get out a little, some short walks in the rain to the co-op up the street, and I caught the sunset!

There was a break in the rain for about twenty minutes right before the sun went down and the sky lit up and I had to go outside.

Had to.

I hustled down to the ocean and caught the last kiss of the sun as it was swallowed up by the sea and felt uplifted to have just that moment of sunlight on my face.

A tiny, whispering, soft kiss of light to get me through.

I walked home.

And yeah.

No more homework for tonight.

Just some rest and some watching a show.

Some more tea.

I even got Thai Cottage take out.

I did do my cooking for the week, but since I had it for lunch I decided to go with a little spicy pumpkin curry and brown rice.

So good.

I am replete and though this blog is a short blog.

Sweet, too.

I am going to end it there and snuggle down in my cozy bed and rest the rest of the day.

Sundays are for sabbaticals I hear.

A day of rest indeed.