You’re Killing Me


WordPress You’re Fucking Killing Me       *This blog written 4/23/17 while WordPress site was down.

 

I just want to write my heart out after having written 25 pages of academic writing over the last two days all I want to do is free associate my ass off and yet, again, you foil me.

My site is still inaccessible.

Sad face.

At least I found out the reason why, the site did an update to work out “some bugs” and that happened on, yes, of course, 4/20 (hmm, who was smoking the doper that day) when I was trying to post up my poetry post.

It’s the fucking 23rd and I still can’t write posts on the site.

It’s annoying and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

I was able to leave a comment on the WordPress Facebook page, amongst 100s of others that I was not able to access my blog and hopefully they will get it worked out tomorrow.

I mean.

I have a big ass week ahead of me.

I have just begun the work, or so it feels, the work is always happening.

I told myself, well, I wrote to myself this morning about the work and how it would get done and that I was going to be ok and I could write the damn paper, even though it feels like all I did yesterday was work on the paper, but that was the transcription.

I reasoned with myself as I sat and did my Morning Pages that whatever happened I was ok today and was going to be ok.

I quickly listed all the things I had already done that morning—yoga, abstinent, healthy, organic breakfast, washed my dishes, took a shower, made a latte, I had prayed and made my bed, I was writing my pages, I was ok.

Further.

I was going to meet with a ladybug today and do some reading with her at a café and I had a speaking engagement that I was going to do at 4p.m.

The paper was going to get done and I would be ok.

I go through the same emotional shit every time I write a paper, at least I recognize the pattern and I do the work anyway.

In fact.

Once I was into the paper writing, after another quick prayer and putting away my dishes (got to have a clean house to write a paper), it went so swimmingly that I was startled when my alarm went off letting me know I had to head out the door to the Church Street Café in the Castro at Church and Market.

Shit!

I am almost done!

But I was ok with that, I had maybe another page to write and I was well aware that I could do that when I got home, which, of course, I did.

I was super grateful to get out of the house and to sit in a café and not talk about school stuff, oh a little snuck in, but it wasn’t too bad.

The focus was on recovery and the conversation on the reading.

Grateful.

I got to go do the deal shortly thereafter and I got the nicest compliment after speaking from someone who has seen me from the very start, I mean day one.

“Is it just me, or have you dropped your defenses a bit more?” He asked while giving me a very big hug.

“Yes,” I smiled.

“It is lovely to see,” he smiled back and walked away.

I remember him telling me years ago how defended I was and I had absolutely no clue what the fuck he was talking about.

It has taken me a long time to soften, to sweeten, to let you in.

The walls they go up now and again, but for the most part, I see that I have relaxed my vigilance and I am much more vulnerable than I was, especially in the beginning of my recovery.

I still have so far to go, but I feel it, this easing of my defenses and it is a comfort, it has been “sometimes slowly” my entire recovery and in hindsight, fucking thank god.

I also realize my tolerance for pain is much lower, my threshold will not withstand the shenanigans I used to do to keep people at arms length.

Eventually my arms got tired and I dropped them.

Only to receive more love than I could have ever imagined.

It is lovely.

Lovely to have that experience, and then hop on my scooter come home and throw a chicken in the oven and let it roast up while I was finishing my paper.

14 pages.

I finished the one page that it needed to wrap it up, proofed it, edited it, made sure I had all the important stuff the teacher wanted for it, including the correct e-mail to send to the paper to.

And voila!

It’s off into the ether and I’m done with it.

So grateful.

Super fucking grateful.

I still have two more papers I have to do.

I have cued up the next thing I need to do, listen a second time to a two hour podcast on This American Life that I will be basing my Trauma paper on, on my phone, so I can listen to it at work (although not when the little guys are home from school, not appropriate listening for them by far) and I know, know very well, that I am in it for the next week and a half.

Next weekend I will have to finish two papers.

One I will write on Saturday and one I will write on Sunday.

And then it will be done.

One more big fucking push.

And tomorrow I start supervision.

I will basically have started summer school before the spring semester has finished.

Rolls eyes.

No break for me.

Well.

Ha.

Paris.

Oh, Paris, I cannot wait.

Yesterday I wore a pair of tights I bought in the Marais the last time I was there as an incentive to get me working on the paper.

Today I wore a dress I plan on strolling the streets in.

I also have loaded Paris weather on my phone and I have been checking that.

It’s getting warmer, 70s predicted for next week.

One paper closer.

I am getting there.

Two to go.

I can do this.

I can.

Paris.

I will see you soon.

Je t’aime trop.

 

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