I Only Cried Once

by

Ok.

Fuck.

Twice.

And of course, I was wearing glitter eye shadow today.

ALOT.

Fuck me.

Oh well.

That’s what mirrors on my scooter are for.

They certainly were not for anything else tonight coming home.

Holy fog Batman.

I was pretty soaked when I got home.

I digress.

I got out of the house early today to go wait in a line at the SFMTA.

To get a number.

To wait to be seen.

Wait, what?

Yes.

That’s right.

I had to wait in a line to wait in another line.

Ugh.

Fortunately, I had given myself enough time and I was able to address the issue, although, damn it, yes, I did cry.

I got frustrated.

I had all the things, I mean all the things, that they could possibly require, plus photographs of the scooter with the Child Care Parking Permit and my proof of insurance, my license, my title, all of it.

However.

As the supervisor so nicely told me, after I was redirected from the counter to another counter, it was the way it was.

There was nothing she could do.

“Listen, this is just the way it is, I’m sorry that you have to go through this, but there’s no other way, you need to get this documentation every time you apply for a child care permit,” she said, kindly, she was kind.

“But, I’m not asking for a new year long permit, I’m just asking to get a replacement permit,” I said, “the permit is good until November of this year.”

“Doesn’t matter, the city requires certain documentation, here, these are the forms, have your employer fill it out and then she has to come here in person and….”she paused.

I had started to cry.

I can ask for certain things from my employers, I know I can, and I have when I have needed to, but I knew, I mean, I really knew, she was not going to spend any time in the SFMTA to help me get the parking permit.

No way.

No how.

“Please, is there no other way,” I asked, “I just can’t see her coming down to do this, anything, please.”

We worked it out.

I got a sheaf of paperwork my employer will fill out and then she can mail it back to the SFMTA.

Ugh.

So I’ll get to wait another month or so and pay for parking out of my pocket, but better that than the sore knees I have had from riding my bicycle to and from work.

Plus.

Starting next week.

My work schedule will change.

10a.m.-6p.m.

This is my last week, that is, until school starts back up in the fall, with the 1p.m. to 8p.m. schedule.

The boys will be out of school as of Friday.

Which means my yoga schedule will change too.

No more yoga before work.

But.

For this week, I still have the late start and for that I am grateful as it facilitated me getting to the SFMTA and dealing with the standing in line and the paper shuffling.

And yes.

The tears.

There are just somethings that I get worked up about and I knew, I mean, knew, before going in, to not have any expectations.

Still had them.

Surprise.

Fuck.

God only knows what the fuck will happen when I am on jury duty.

Sigh.

Yup.

Got nailed with that too.

My service week is the week of June 13th.

I suspect I won’t get called, but I had to let the family know and the mom was none too pleased about that too.

I can’t delay it.

I did that already.

I was initially called up while I was in the throws of my last round of papers and projects for my first semester of grad school.

There was no fucking way I could do it.

I applied for the six month deferral.

Got it.

And then completely forgot that six months later they were going to cheerfully pull my card and call me in.

Oh well.

Civic responsibility.

“Adulting.”

All that jazz.

I do know that it won’t be as horrid as it could be, schedule wise, the family will be going back to the mom’s side of the family for a little while and I will not have them that Friday, Monday deal.

Of course, I will get to be there to open up the house for the house keeper and do some cooking and take care of things like I do.

This time, though, no locking myself the fuck out of the house.

Not playing that shit again.

My schedule has been a little wonky this week already.

I normally meet with some ladies on the weekend, all of them got rescheduled, and normally, I meet with another lady tonight, but she had work stuff.

I found myself in a part of town I don’t normally get to.

And for an hour.

I had some reprieve from the fog, the parking, the SFMTA, the work, the schedule, the juggling of folks.

It was nice.

I saw some folks I don’t see often.

And though I wasn’t pleased to get out to see how thick the fog had become, holy Moses, it was soup, I was centered and calm and happy to get home safe and sound.

To light up some candles.

To turn on the heat in my studio.

Yeah.

It really is like that.

It’s cold out here.

The fog is something serious.

And I don’t recall it being this dense already at this time last year.

I think I’m in for a pretty fogged out summer.

Grateful I work in the Mission.

I did get to see sun today.

The mom was incredulous that there was anything but sun at the beach this weekend, but I assured her, it really was dreary.

Although.

It is a cozy sort of thing.

Wrapping up the neighborhood.

Softening the edges of things.

The transformers sparking in the moisture.

The smell of the sea.

The call of the fog horn.

Just calls for cozy company.

Which shall happen this weekend.

Despite the tears.

I’m just a girl, you know.

Life is lovely.

It really is.

Fog and all.

Happy.

Joyous.

Foggy.

And.

Free.

 

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