But not lonely.


I suppose I could have gone there.

Especially when there is an easy place to go, the I’m all by myself spot.

But the thing is.

I like my company.

I took myself to yoga.

Got my nails did.

“Nice color!” Tad at Cheap Pete’s complimented me as he was helping me frame the print I picked up in New York.

“Wait, you got this in New York,” he looked up at me quizzically.

“I know, it’s funny, actually, the artist had all these big pieces, too big for me really to get back on the plane, and she pulled this little sheath of prints out of a battered green leather valise, and I sort of had to,” I said, smiling at the recent memory.

“But it’s a map of Paris,” Tad protested.

“Yup, which makes it even better, I lived in Paris for six months and it just seemed apropos, I don’t know, to be buying a knock off Banksy from a street vendor outside the MOMA in New York, and well, now, it’s here, in San Francisco.”

I paused.

“You sure you’re not from New York?  I lived there for ten years, you kinda got New York written all over you,” Tad finished measuring the print.

That was actually something that came up today, earlier, at Tart to Tart when I met with my person.

“I’m from New York, you have the energy,” she said, “you either get picked up by that energy and people respond to it, or it grinds you down.”

I had obviously responded to it.

It’s funny.

I have thought that there would be a time in my life when I would live and work in New York.

I just don’t know about those crazy winters though.

And the hot, hot, humid, soul sucking summers.

I mean.

I grew up in Wisconsin.

I know some savage seasons.

“Three weeks in Spring and three weeks in fall,” Tad said, “that’s it, that’s the good weather in New York.  Versus oh, I don’t know the 200 or so days I get in the East Bay of great weather.”

He does have a point.

Although I have to say it was nice to be met with energy similar to mine.

A little gritty.

A lot joyful.

Artists running amok.

The graffiti.

The pulse.

I felt it.

I can be laid back though.


I swear.

I let myself be laid back today.

I wanted to make big plans and hustle about.

I mean.

I did get asked to the prom last night.

Sadly, though, I’m not available for that dance card.

Still it was super saturated with sweetness and I took it to bed with me, the text message that popped into my phone screen right as I was dozing off to sleep.

There’s  Second Chance Prom going on over in the East Bay tonight.

And don’t get me wrong.

I would love to cut a rug.

I was thinking about the Derrick Carter show next Friday at Mighty, but I might have a date.

Not quite sure yet if we’re getting together Friday or Saturday.

I found out I have all day off next Saturday.

My get together with my person that normally happens on Saturdays is not happening, she’s got another commitment she has to show up for and it’s a rare day indeed that I have the entire Saturday off.

My date would be coming from out of town, so that could work well in my favor, a long date out and about in the city.


I’m trying to date.

I even did some swipey swipey on Tinder today.



The “nopes.”

Mama just got right with the vibrator.

Recharged happily.

Me and it.


I like the idea of a casual hook up, but really, I do have to have some reasonable connection.

And some things for me are tabboo.

I’m not going to sleep with someone who’s in a relationship, married, or what have you.

I’m not going to hook up with anyone who’s in recovery with less than a year.



Although, my brain concocted some stories today.

Justification leads me right down a stupid, narrow, not good path.

“What’s his name?” She asked.

I told.

“OH, great name!” She responded.

I know.

Then I told her how much time.

Her face closed.

“Nope,” she squinched up her face, “not a good idea, no, don’t, no you can’t.”



That’s why I keep telling on myself.

All my people know.

I go to more than one deal to do the deal if you catch my drift.

And if you don’t.

It doesn’t matter.

Some things are off the table.

“It’s all ego,” I told her, “and I know it, and I can hear my disease loud and clear,” I paused.

“Yeah, no, he’s off limits, and don’t you think it’s some ego on his side too?” She asked me.

I didn’t understand.

“Look God gave you this beauty, I still don’t think you get it, you are a beautiful woman and men respond to that, it’s like you’re walking around with blinders on,” she stopped, cocked her head at me.  “And now, you have an inner beauty that matches, if not subsumes it.”

“You are lit up,” she finished.

I do feel that way.

I have done all my amends and moved forward this round of doing the deal and it feels good.

I have just the aforementioned living amends to do.

Amongst which.

The yoga.

I got down today.

I did a few poses I had not been able to do before.

I had a beautiful morning in class.


It was hard.

But it set the tone for my day.

Get up, kneel, pray, drink an homemade cold brewed iced coffee, go to yoga, hot shower, breakfast, laundry, hop on the scooter, meet my person, go to the Gratitude Center, get right with God, take myself out to lunch, get the nails did, scooter over to Cheap Petes and frame my little bit of New York, home to do a little grocery shopping, then homemade dinner on my back porch in the last warming rays of the late afternoon, early evening.

I finished the book I picked up at the Strand.

Chuck Palahniuck’s “Beautiful You.”

And um, checked the charge on my stuff.


And that’s it.

That’s my day.

Some Nightmares on Wax playing right now.

Some hot tea in my future.

Maybe a video.

Get up do the yoga again tomorrow and keep on enjoying this beautiful, precious, lovely, sometimes alone, but never lonely, damn fine life I lead.

I am so graced.

So loved.

So lucky.

Luckiest girl in the world.


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