I Did Not Write My Paper


I stressed out about writing it though.

That was fun.

I burst into tears in the parking lot of a church this evening when I was invited to go get noodles in Japan Town.

It was too much.

“Honey, I was just inviting you to fellowship,” he said and gave me a big hug.

I was not going to leave the house this evening.

I was going to get the fucking paper done.

Although.

Let me be honest.

I didn’t actually think I was going to write it today.

I spent a lot of time wondering exactly when I was going to write it and started to be honest about my schedule and what I could do when and I did some negotiating with myself and decided that I needed to do certain things before I wrote the paper.

OH.

And FYI.

I did do a lot of work on the paper.

Just because it’s not in paper form doesn’t mean I didn’t do work.

In fact.

I have done more work on this paper than I do on most.

I have read all the material.

And re-read some of it.

I have outlined and noted, and post-it noted things.

I have organized my material.

And I have a title.

The paper is writing itself and has been writing itself all weekend.

I haven’t spent this much time thinking about a paper in a while.

But.

That being said.

Yes.

It’s not written.

I did a lot of self-care today that needed to be done.

The weekend before the weekend of school for me is often the busiest of the month.

I went to yoga.

YOGA!

I’m back baby.

It felt a little like coming out of a cave yesterday.

It just opened up, the window and I realized that I needed to be there this morning, I really did, I set my alarm early and got up and made my bed, said my daily prayers, and got into my yoga clothes.

Hello old friends.

I went over to the studio early.

I was the first one there.

I talked the woman at the desk and got signed up again and did the monthly plan, where I pay a set amount, they pull it from my bank account, and I go to class whenever I want.

And.

She remembered me and though they, the studio, had raised its rates, she grandfathered me in at my previous amount and included my student discount.

Thank you, my grad school pocket-book thanks you Yoga Beach.

And yes.

I’ll be up early tomorrow to go in and do it again.

Because.

It felt good.

I mean, I’ve lost some flexibility in the weeks I have missed and I am a little sore, although not as bad as I thought I would be, but it felt so good to be there.

To be in my body.

To not be in my head.

Just to stretch and move and get a good sweat on.

And.

OH.

I cried.

I got a nice big fat, unexpected, emotional release at the end of the class.

It felt cleansing and good and letting go and walked out of the studio thanking God and into the light of a brand new day.

It was fucking fabulous.

Why didn’t I want to do this?

Probably because it’s so damn good for me.

Story of my life.

If it’s good for me I don’t want to do it.

Eventually I come around to it.

After yoga.

A good hot shower, a good hot breakfast, hot coffee, and some writing.

Then a scooter ride up to the Inner Sunset to do the deal with my person at Tart to Tart.

After we reconnected I went next door to the nail salon and got a mani/pedi and my eyebrows waxed.

Paper or no paper I like to be groomed and this is the week in the month that I could squeeze it in and so I did.

Read some trashy magazines, chilled out, tried to not think about my paper, thought about it anyway, and then took myself out to a nice lunch.

Because I decided the thing to do at that point, it was after 3 p.m. was to go grocery shopping and I know better than to do that on an empty stomach.

I shopped extra for the week.

Anything that I might need or want for the week and next weekend of school I made sure to get and be stocked up on, extra tea, coffee, all my staples, and stuff to cook, plus all my household stuff that I didn’t want to have to think about.

I ran into a few people at the Safe Way out by Ocean Beach and caught the eye of a cute guy in the store, but didn’t think about it twice.

Then as I was loading up my basket on my scooter and juggling my bags and keys and purse, he walked by and looked at me, “you are very pretty,” he said and smiled.

I am surprised I didn’t drop my keys, “thanks,” I replied.

“Have a good one,” he said and walked off.

Wait.

What?

I was a little flustered, very complimented, it rather made my day it was so unexpected, but then I was like, isn’t this where one asks the other out to coffee?

He just walked away.

Oh well.

I was flattered though and it put a nice little pop of joy in my afternoon.

I zoomed home, unloaded my groceries and then headed up to co-op on the corner that I am a member of to get the rest of my basics for the week.

I came home, balanced my check book, put all my groceries away, started a pot of brown rice and threw a chicken in the oven to roast.

There is just something about having a homey smell in my house when I’m doing school work really makes me feel grounded and it’s nice to have good self-care around my own diet and needs.

While the chicken roasted I did more prep work on my paper.

I organized it, I re-read some more stuff, I got a general idea of where I was going with it, I made a plan.

Then.

I got a text asking what I was doing tonight.

I replied.

And before you know it I am off.

I went to do the deal, it’s my commitment on Saturday’s and my friend was unexpectedly in town and wanted to meet me there.

I haven’t seen her in months.

Of course I’m going.

And.

I’m going out afterwards to fellowship, because sometimes the best way to write a paper is to give yourself some fucking down time with your best girl friend in the city.

Well, she doesn’t live in the city anymore, so I really had to do it and I am so grateful I did.

And yes.

I will crank out the paper tomorrow.

It will get done.

They always do.

I have time.

I will make time.

It will happen.

And truly, the big heavy lifting, the research and reading and organizing, that’s all done.

Yoga in the morning, doing the deal with a couple of ladies, a tea date in the afternoon, then home again, home again, jiggedy jig.

The paper will get written and all will be fine.

Because.

It already is.

Despite the fear factory in my brain.

The paper will be written.

And life will go on.

Just like it always does.

 

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