Archive for the ‘Caffeine’ Category

Not Quite So Dark

June 18, 2017

Oh.

For fuck sake.

So here I am trying to be all low-key and down low and not post anything via social media so I stay anonymous.

And.

Um.

hahahahahaha.

Oops.

Turns out I’m completely transparent and known on my own fucking blog.

My “About Me” page had, I say had since I just pulled it down, a photo of me and link, failed link, but still a link, with my gmail account linked to it.

My gmail account is my full name.

Rolls eyes at self.

Ugh.

Fortunately a friend caught it and gave me the heads up.

And the post has been updated to reflect that.

No more photographs of me, no more name on the page.

Just me and my thoughts listening to some Bill Withers.

When I wake up in the morning love and the sunlight hurts my eyes.

…..Just one look at you and I know it’s going to be a lovely day.

Up a little late.

Up a tiny bit wired.

I went to an anniversary party this evening after doing the deal over on Turk and Divisadero this evening and saw a swarm of folks that I hadn’t seen in a while, including one of my best friends who came into the city and my god, it was good.

I had my internship today and lots of errands that I wanted to do and some down time in the afternoon to do laundry and get myself caught up, and I realized that I hadn’t done a good bit of this kind of socializing in a while.

It took me a moment to catch my stride.

I can be charming and funny and outspoken and a character, but the truth is that sometimes I get a bit over my head with social stuff, which is hilarious and most folks have no idea.

I am not going to label myself an introvert or an extrovert, I’m not going to pigeonhole myself, but I will say I felt awkward and I realized it was going to pass and I had a minute to get settled and be in my skin and let it be ok that I was in a big social situation with a lot of people I am acquainted with but perhaps not that close to.

I also needed to be there and be seen and just let myself be not at work or at the internship.

I logged another two hours today at the internship, even went in a little early to do some paper work and get myself situated and eat a lunch quietly in the office before the other interns got there for our session.

I got some good info, gave some good feedback and was mightily pleased that I had clients to talk about.

I am just dipping my toe into the mix and it’s a lot to carry, but I’m starting to do it and I can see that I am doing the thing that I am supposed to do.

Granted when I logged into track my hours I realized that I had done five hours this week, two client hours and three training hours and that my supervisor at the internship wants me to carry a load of 15 hours.

Three times what I did this week.

Sigh.

Granted I may not get up to that speed for a while and there will be times when I’m able to do that and times when I won’t.

I can’t get too focused on it and I also told myself today that in the service of keeping a tiny semblance of sanity that maybe I don’t have to get as many hours as is possible for me to collect while I am in school.

I just need to get the hours required by my program to graduate.

Granted.

I say to myself.

Fuck that shit.

GET IT ALL.

But.

I don’t want to kill myself and I want to have some socializing.

I need face time with people.

I am thinking specifically of a few friends that are just too dear for me to let go of and I will squeeze them in where and when I can and I will be tired and I won’t give a fuck and you only live once and get it.

Get it girl.

Some things may feel overwhelming, but in the day-to-day of it, I’m doing it.

Slowly building up my client base, learning how to be a therapist, learning how to keep loving and taking care of myself and finding those odd hours and minutes in the hollowed spaces of golden sunned afternoon light when I can pause, catch my breath and get hella grateful.

I mean.

Hella.

Grateful.

That I have what I have.

“You look different,” my friend said to me tonight.

And she’s right.

Things in my life have altered in an amazing way and I am beyond myself with happiness and succumbing to all the feelings therein.

Without expectation or thought for future moments.

Ok.

Small white lie, I do have some plans for future travel, but I am trying to really keep it to this day, these scattering of moments, dipped in old school R&B, or Elvis ballads, old love songs and lyrical movements in time, the stars framed by the trees overhead, a snapshot of a moment.

Astounded with beauty.

Awake to every feeling in my body.

And that’s all I can wish for.

This moment.

Where I am alive.

Oh.

And I am so alive.

It is glorious.

Sure.

Might have something to do with the peer pressure cup of coffee I accepted gleefully at the party and perhaps I might have racing thoughts but I have had racing thoughts for weeks now and I am rather used to it and the heart beating in my chest going fast just lets me know how fully alive I am.

It is exquisite and I am unabashed by the feeling of it.

Love.

Love.

That’s where it’s at.

The word that flutters in my chest.

The ache and longing.

The aliveness.

The song on my lips.

The poem in my eyes seeking yours.

The smile that I cannot help but smile.

So fucking good.

This life.

My life.

Luckiest girl in the world.

 

That Moment When

January 26, 2017

You realized the decaf you ordered at 5:30 p.m., because you just really wanted some warm milk in your tummy to hold you over until you got home from working a long ass day and also going to a two-hour open house at the place you want to intern at where they have six spots and 70 fucking people showed up and you know you’re going to get it, because you are, and then you get home and eat dinner and clean and grocery shop and go do the deal and laugh and flirt and give a guy your number and then walk home past the crazy drug addled dude by the 7-11 twirling a hockey stick and doing bad moves from Karate Kid and you get home and it’s all cozy and nice and you light up all the candles in the house, and then decide to wash the bathroom sink, oh!  That might not have been decaf.

Yeah.

That moment.

Oh.

Shit.

That decaf wasn’t decaf.

Motherfuckers.

I’m like wide awake.

Fuck me.

Oh well.

At least I should be able to crank out my blog pretty quick and I’m always down for that.

I had a good day and that might be a part of the seeming adrenalin rush that I feel, but I do suspect that the decaf was full on caffeinated.

But yes.

A good day.

I walked through some fear, I talked to my employer about needing to leave early from work the next two weeks for the practicum open houses I need to attend to school.

I really only want to apply to this particular site.

I love that it’s literally two and a half blocks away from my job.

I love the modality.

Gestalt.

Think humanistic, existential, depth psychology.

If you don’t know anything about Gestalt.

That and the site that I am going to get into, because I am, is also the only academically recognized Gestalt facility in the entire United States.

Oh.

There are other places that do Gestalt.

Esalen anyone?

But the facility is something special and I really had such a connection with the class when I took it this past summer, plus I really adore the facilities director, in fact, we had a great big hug and a nice check in chat before the open house got underway.

This does not guarantee  me a spot.

It does not.

But it bodes well.

I think.

I already feel connected to the community and I appreciate what the site is doing.

Low cost, sliding scale therapy for individuals, couples, family, and kids.

Pretty cool.

And there’s night and weekend hours available.

Although the is one day a week that is mandatory, Wednesdays 12:30p.m.-5:30p.m.

I’m a little uncertain how I would deal with that and work, but it’s possible, anything is possible.

I’ll be talking with my employer more tomorrow.

Today we got all the tax paper work sorted out and by next week I should be legally on the books and over the table.

I have to say that I’m cool with being over the table, but I haven’t had nary a qualm about this last three weeks getting paid without the plethora of taxes being taken out that normally are.

I claim zero.

So, it’s about 30-32% of my paycheck goes into taxes.

But.

I never pay in.

I haven’t paid in since I was tipped off how to run my nanny taxes to work for me not against me, that in the long run, if I can hold out, having more taken out works better as it’s also like having a forced savings account.

I’ll be doing my taxes this weekend.

I know such sexy plans.

Oh and writing my first paper of the semester for my Trauma class.

Yeah.

Super sexy.

But I’m sure I’ll have time for a little fun in there.

At least I’m going to try.

I’m also going to get some interview clothes together, although I was a bit surprised by how casual the crew was tonight at the open house, even I in my Converse was much more dressed up (long skirt, tights, blouse, black cardigan) than the majority of the group.

There will be group interviews and solo interviews and I will be prepared for them.

I’m also hoping.

I haven’t heard back from the Liberation Institute in regards to my resume, that I also get in there and don’t have to worry about doing a bunch of interviews for the site placement.

The less I can do the better.

The less time off from work.

The less effort I need to apply to applications and interviews.

The easier this whole process will be.

So much work to work for free.

Seriously.

Anyways.

I do feel a little less stressed and a little more relaxed, I have an idea of how it all works and I’ll show up for the other open houses and apply to all the CIIS sites and that’s four places.

I’m not applying to the 6-8 sites that is recommended.

I’m just not.

I can’t devote that much more time to it.

I believe I will get placed and I’m not going to get myself flustered about it right now.

I will.

However.

Focus on the awesome and sweet e-mail that I received from my advisor, who also happens to be the head of the department (I shanghai’ed him in the elevator when I found out my advisor was on sabbatical and asked him to be my advisor and to my surprise he said yes–I had him as one of my first teachers in my first semester and just loved him) who had officially today cleared me for practicum.

We’d basically already had the talk and I had handed in my application before the winter break when I went to campus to sell back my books.

But.

Today.

It was made official.

He signed the documents and forwarded them onward and upward.

To be filed in my file and to let anyone who might call to check up on my status for readiness, that I was and am indeed ready.

Pretty freaking cool.

I’m not a therapist yet.

But man.

I can see it on the horizon.

It’s rather neat.

I also see being up for a while before the rest of the caffeine drains out of my body, but I’m ok with that.

I am happy.

I am joyous.

I am free.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yasss queen.

Did I just say that?

hahahahaha.

The Final Push

December 17, 2016

All I could think about, well, not all, but a lot of what I could think about was getting through the day so that I could get to the thing and then go grocery shopping and get home and blog and have tea and maybe watch half of Project Runway, shut up, and then go to bed and get up and go to yoga and shower and eat breakfast and coffee, coffee, coffee, and go meet my person and then zip the fuck back here and write my fucking paper.

Damn you Psychopathology.

All I can think about is that span of hours that I will be writing.

Alternatively dreading and anticipating.

I mean.

By this time tomorrow I’ll be done with the semester.

If it fucking kills me.

Actually.

I will be done with it before this time tomorrow night or I might shoot myself in the head.

I jest.

Not funny for a therapist in training to joke about suicide, now is it?

Hahahahahaha.

Where’s the coffee?

Heh.

I mean.

It’s not that bad, I do know, without a doubt that I will write the fuck out of the paper and I’ve done my prep and I have my stack of notebooks, three, books, four, and my thoughts in regards to what I need to do.

There is much to do.

But I know the lay of the land and I will wend my way through the paper.

It’s going to take some sustained effort, but I got it.

I do.

It’s just stopping and pausing to enjoy the moment that is right now instead of living in that perpetual feeling of anxiety about writing the paper.

I came so close to calling in sick today.

And.

I’m not sick.

I just want the relief of being finished with the work.

I want the respite at the end of the tunnel.

Fast acting relief.

I’m not as good with sitting with pain as I used to be.

That being said, I did have a proactive day that wasn’t completely focused on pondering the Psychopathology paper.

I did get up and go to yoga.

I did not do any yoga though.

Which could have had the capacity to piss me off, but didn’t.

The instructor literally slept through her alarm.

I will cut the woman some slack though, she’s just gotten back from a long trip abroad to India and jet lag is no joke.

I left the studio after fifteen minutes of lolling about on my mat and doing some stretching and just figured that God had different plans in mind.

I had a nice breakfast and some delicious coffee and wrote a lot.

I have had a few things on my mind you could say.

And then I scooted downtown to campus to sell back some text books.

Of course the store was closed.

I’d gotten there too early so I went and idled around the practicum support table on the second floor and wrote out the two page practicum application paperwork that my advisor needs to sign for me to move forward in the process.

I was super grateful to get that out-of-the-way and by the time I was done the store had just opened.

I hopped downstairs, sold my text books and gave myself the permission to go buy some of my favorite lotion at Rainbow and wander around the aisles a little bit.

Some apples, some candles, a raw chocolate drink, my body lotion and then over to work.

I had a few minutes before my shift started and I made some phone calls and came to some really deep realizations about some personal things.

And though I will talk about sex and intimacy and dating I can’t and won’t always talk about what is going on internally.

I have to talk it out.

So.

I did that and was really grateful for the response I got back from my person.

It did leave a surreal taste in my mouth for the day, albeit a good one, I feel really free of some character defects that have been plaguing me without me even being conscious of them.

It felt really good, I felt graced and enlightened and though there was some sadness there too, I realized that the decision I had come to was the right one for me and it really was a fucking relief to let go of some old ideas that I had no clue how long I’d been holding onto them.

Pretty intense and pretty fucking fabulous.

Which left me really at ease in my person, my life, where I am with work and school and relationships in general.

I really had a fucking epiphany of gigantic proportions.

Things shifted inside and I cannot believe how being honest with myself could bring about such change.

But there I was sitting on the bench outside the store on the corner of Lexington and 20th having the most profound conversation with my person who was also reiterating to me how deep this shift was and I was blown away, just blown away.

Work, then, was amazing, just for me showing up.

Did lots of cooking.

Stockpiled some broccoli soup and homemade black bean chili for the mom.

Played with the boys.

Ran some errands.

Played with the boys more.

Read stories.

And confirmed that I would love to have dinner with the family after work on Monday to celebrate my birthday at Izakaya Rintaro.

Can you say sashimi?

I can.

Yummy.

“As long as it won’t interfere with you finishing up your finals and papers,” my boss said, “we’d love to take you out to dinner for your birthday.”

I assured them that I would be finished by Monday.

I better be.

It’s due Monday.

But as we all know.

At least I know.

I will be done tomorrow.

So that I can celebrate my birthday without it hanging over my head.

I feel like that is pretty spectacular incentive to finish.

Almost there.

I got this.

I really do.

Seriously.

One more big push.

Take The Fucking Drama

June 17, 2016

Out of it.

Oh my god.

What a fucking concept.

I laughed and almost slapped my own forehead.

Instead of getting worked up about work, I just thought, fuck, all I have to do is show up and be of service, I don’t have to ask anything, I don’t have to do anything, I don’t have to be stupid and pushy, I can ask for what I need the next time it comes around.

No need to do it today.

Just having done the work around it, the internal re-arranging of my perspective was the relief.

My boss doesn’t have to change.

My boss is never going to change.

She doesn’t have to.

I do.

I change.

And today I decided that creating unnecessary drama before a three day weekend was stupid.

Idiotic really.

When I was going to get off work early today and be eating out with my boys and drinking pricey iced coffees.

Oh Stumptown how do I love thee.

Yeah, I know, it’s not San Francisco based, but fuck, they have good ass coffee.

I am all out of the coffee I bought in New York.

Frankly, I have to say I was disappointed with the Gorilla Coffee I got, the roast was far darker than I like and just a tiny bit charred to my taste.

The coffee I had at the cafe when I popped into it was great, but they were out of the beans that I wanted.

Now.

Variety, in Williamsburg, that stood up to the test.

In fact.

It was like being transported back to the cafe and the talk I had with the barista and then the getting together with my friend and doing that thing I like to do in church basements that evening.

It was a sweet reminder every time I ground up a batch of the Variety beans I brought back.

Maybe I’ll find some hipster coffee in New Orleans.

Fuck me.

Total digression.

I’m all over the place.

Like always.

But.

I’m a tiny bit at loose ends.

Having a clear three day weekend ahead of me.

I got free of jury duty for tomorrow and the family is out of town visiting aunts and uncles and grandparents in the Midwest.

I spent the day keeping the boys on the move and out of the house, hence the Stumptown, I popped into Atlas Cafe on Alabama and 20th.

I have so many fond, and not so fond, memories of the cafe.

It was my first heavily visited cafe, being a block and a half away from the first place I lived in the city, 20th and York.

The first time I go there I ran into someone from Madison who had moved to San Francisco years before me and I had had a class with at University, a TS Eliot class that was amazing and also challenging beyond comprehension, most of the class dropped, including the guy I ran into at the cafe, but I stuck it out and though it may seem odd, that was were I began to believe in God.

That coupled with the course on fairy tales I took the next summer and there, a chink in my armor.

A place where the light got in.

Not for a while though.

Just ask my dealer.

He made a few deliveries to me at Atlas Cafe as well.

I have a nodding acquaintance with the bathroom there.

And a fondness tinged with nicotine nostalgia for the back patio where once upon a time a lady could smoke a cigarette with her espresso romano–a shot of espresso with a lemon twist.

God damn.

I don’t smoke anymore.

I forget that sometimes.

I can forget many things easily.

Use to weigh over 80lbs heavier.

Forgot that.

Used to do drink every day.

Forgot that.

Used to not be able to not spend the money on the bag or pick up the phone to call my dealer to do a little delivery.

“Fuck, you’re guys faster than pizza delivery,” a friend “complained” as he had to scramble to get to the cash machine when my dealer showed up less than fifteen minutes after I had placed my “order.”

He was pretty quick.

Grateful for other things today.

Explained how grateful to be less of what I was and somehow so much more, humbled by the grace that I have been given, bowed head, loved, shined on so that I can turn it out and shine it forward.

That this body is no less and no more than a conveyance for love.

And hopefully sex once in a while.

Oh my God.

43.

STAWP with the hormones.

Oh.

I suppose I’ll rue the day when they go away, but seriously, the sexy sex chemicals in my blood stream.

I don’t have the screaming baby keening ache that I had for a few years, no, it’s been replaced by a last ditch ovarian siege where I am smoking out any guy with the testosterone to hang with me.

FUCK ME!

That’s what it feels like all the time.

ALL THE TIME.

Ok.

Maybe I exaggerate a little, but seriously, the body and the brain in collusion are trying real hard to get this lady some action.

Let’s go out and find some trouble….nothing’s sexier than regret.

Heh.

Were I to stumble upon that I might be smote.

So.

Until then.

The yoga.

The masturbation.

Thank you rechargeable Hitachi Magic Wand.

The hair geographic, which will happen Saturday.

I have a tentative date, blind date, Tinder date, not to hook up, which he made that clear, thanks, I think, but hey, you know, just trying, and I wonder if I should warn him about the impending pink hair or just spring it on him.

Fuck.

Who cares?

The drama.

There is none.

If my worst fucking problem is that I want to get laid and no one has thrown their hat in the ring, then my life is a fucking cake walk.

Rent is paid.

The phone is paid.

I got a yoga membership at the studio.

I got that thing in the church basements doing it’s deal for me.

I got happy, joyous, free.

I got friends.

I got good coffee in the cupboard.

Light in the soul.

Shine on my heart.

I ain’t got worries.

All I got.

Is three day weekend and endless fun.

Let’s see what kind of silly I can get up to.

Want to come along?

I promise.

Good times.

Seriously.

Doing All The Things

May 23, 2016

I mean.

Seriously.

I broke it off today.

And I don’t feel broken, albeit tired, albeit a little keyed up from the day, but so in love with myself and the gift I gave to myself of doing this trip.

Now.

Don’t get me wrong.

I have had some moments of dis-ease (disease) and had to quietly pull myself back and get real and be grateful for all the things I have been given and all the experiences I have gotten to do.

Twice over the last two days or so I had moments of wishing I was not alone having a meal or walking through Brooklyn.

I wanted to be with someone.

I wanted to be holding a hand.

I wanted to be sharing conversation.

I wanted to be coupled up.

And those things are not wrong, that’s just human nature.

I just have to tread carefully in those areas because I can fall into the self-pity pot all to easily and frankly I’m all for avoiding potholes at this time in my life.

I’m being a good girl.

I mean I am being a very, very, very good girl.

I did no Tinder’ing while I was here, frankly the idea of trying to figure out how to hook up with someone out here was just too much to even fucking contemplate.

And yeah.

I like sex.

A LOT.

However, I don’t need it that bad.

I’m not desperate.

And I’m not an addict.

Although I play one on tv.

Just kidding.

Oh.

And I had the opportunity.

Believe me.

It was on the table.

However.

I turned down the offer after finding out said offer was not in my best interest–really too complicated and stupid to even write about here.

And.

I also ran into someone I met at Burning Man in 2013.

“I’m sorry, I know it seems I’ve been staring at you for the last hour,” he said to me sidling into my space yesterday afternoon after we had closed up and said the prayers and did the deal.  “I mean,” he eyed me up and down (I can’t remember the last time I was that blatantly, to my face, scoped out), “I really like your look.”

“Thanks I said,” and I his, let me be honest.

“And I remember where I know you from,” he added, “you go to Burning Man, you’re hair’s different, but I recognized your tattoos.”  He paused, “you’ve gotten a few more I see, and you’re hair was blue the last time I saw you.”

He handed me his card and asked what I was doing the rest of the day.

My friend swooped in, “Hey, _______, I see you met Carmen, she’s one of my oldest friends, I’m stealing her back now,” he said and took my elbow.

I mean, tall, dark and handsome was tempting, but my friend, my old friend, my friend from the early days of the crazy, he was who I wanted to spend time with.

And there was a time when I would have ditched a friend in a heart beat for a piece of action.

Not so much now.

My friends are treasures and I don’t get out here often, twice in the eight years my old friend has lived here–we caught up at the deal in Atlanta last July and I usually see him for a minute if he gets out to SF, but he’s busy, I’m busy, so no getting busy for me.

And I’m grateful for that.

Then.

Another gentleman who had reached out to me this trip.

I texted him back.

“Hey, when you get a chance, give me a call,” I wrote earlier this afternoon.

I was surprised to not get a call for awhile then just a few minutes back, he finally did.

“Ah, I knew it was coming,” he said to me on the phone, his voice thick with the chagrin and the knowing of what I had decided I was going to tell him.

“You’re first year is a gift I don’t want to intrude on,” I summed it up, “I don’t date guys when they’ve got less than a year.”

It’s not my place, I don’t want to mess up anyone’s shit, and yeah, I know my pussy’s not that powerful, I’m not the reason some one relapses or stays sober, but I see a lot of folks that get focused on the dating deal and not doing the deal and I respect and like this guy.

So after consulting with the powers that be, “I need to tell on myself,” I told my person as I walked around Chelsea today after an amazing afternoon at The New Whitney Museum.

“It’s just really nice to be told how beautiful you are, that someone who is attractive finds me so compelling, I mean, it’s super ego feeding and I know that I can’t see this guy, I know it’s not right, it’s just, well, yeah, tempting.”

“Good on you for telling on yourself, and now you won’t do that, because that’s not the woman you are,”  I was told.

Yup.

“Get your year,” I said, “don’t let me interfere with it.”

He knew, he told me that was what he thought I was going to say.

He was sweet.

And I hung up the phone feeling like.

Well.

An adult.

Perhaps an adult with the hormones of a horny sixteen year old girl, but an adult.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.

Sometimes it’s inevitable and someone gets hurt and I can be sorry for that and still not engage, and that’s what an adult does too.

And sometimes God blows magic fairy dust all over me and I am suddenly Alice in the looking glass.

“OH, I was just about to bring that in,” he said as I was snapping pictures of this spectacular piece of sculpture art in the front area of one of the historic brownstones in Fort Greene Brooklyn.

“I love it,” I said, “It just, well, it’s amazing.”

We started to talk.

He was the artist, Doug Beube.

He told me a few things, we chatted about me and my travels and being a nanny and a grad school student and then somehow onto Burning Man and I asked, I don’t know why, serendipity, God, what have you.

I told him about my favorite piece from last year-Storied Haven.

And then.

He cocked his head at me and said, “I don’t suppose you want to see my studio?”

OH my God.

I was so floored.

“I know, trying to get a beautiful woman into my house, and all, but,” he paused, “I think you’ll like it.”

I joked, “as long as your studio isn’t in your bedroom, I’d be honored.”

I was not only honored.

I was blown the fuck away.

The man’s work is amazing.

AMAZING.

I was in tears a number of time, over awed by the depth and breadth and beauty of his work.

I took a lot of photos-they’re up on my facecrack page and on twitter and intstagram, and I’d put them here, but they just do not do them justice, my photos, so check out his website.

www.dougbeube.com

So good.

He works with old books and cuts them up and remakes them and he does photography and organic art and found art and these cunning little sculptures and so much political art that was poignant and beautiful, so insightful, so thoughtful, it was just such an over the moon experience.

I mean I got to go to the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, and The New Whitney and then, to top it off I get a private tour of this amazing artist out of nowhere?

Who is the luckiest girl in the world?

Me.

Hands down.

And perhaps I should change that up as I realize I have been a woman.

A proud woman, a respectful woman, a woman who looks the world in the face and who above all is not afraid to smile and thank someone for their contributions.

We all want to be seen.

And when I am allowed to see someone and the things that they do that make them artists, I am so very grateful.

I am blessed.

I am graced.

I am loved.

Thanks New York, thanks Brooklyn, thanks to my friends who drank coffee with me and the ones I called and said, hey where should I eat today, and all the friends who said, hey check this place out and to all those people who smiled at me in the city and said, “nice outfit!”

I like being seen too.

It’s been special New York.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

Which I left in San Francisco.

Time for me to go back home.

But you will not soon be forgot.

I promise.

Kisses.

And.

Big.

Big.

Big.

Love.

 

Made It!

March 14, 2016

I got through the last day of my three day weekend of classes.

With a little help from my friends.

I got a ride in this morning again.

And a ride after school, although I did not go straight home, no, I headed to the Castro instead and did something that I may rue at a later hour.

I had an Americano at 5p.m. while I was waiting for my friend to join me and go to dinner.

I probably should not have but I was trying to get out of the rain and the mindless milling about the Castro.

It’s fun to window shop, but not when it’s pouring out and the wind is blowing your umbrella inside out.

I ducked into Revielle and the coffee was delicious and I may be awake a little longer than I suspected I will, or.

I may not.

The Day Light Savings Spring forward made for a short night of sleep and I am pretty sure I’ll be able to find my way to sleep.

The question I’m actually debating is whether or not I have the chutzpah to go to yoga class tomorrow before work.

I would like to, especially since I was unable to make any yoga classes this weekend.

But.

Sleep may really be the answer.

Not like I have some challenging week ahead of me, but running three days straight on a slight sleep deficit does tend to add up.

I was joking with a member of my cohort about being sleepy and how that must mean someone in my class was a pathological narcissist as one of the transference characteristics is extreme sleepiness in response to the defensive structures that the narcissist has built up.

If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry, I don’t exactly either.

But.

I am beginning to see that I may, that is, I may be getting it.

The material is really starting to ooze in everywhere and also I see parts of myself that are beginning to have more cohesion with the program and with my cohort, with the process of doing the work and the work, well, working on me.

I joked around a little yesterday about realizing that I had dated a closet narcissist, a melancholic and depressive, and a probable borderline personality.

That’s so sexy.

Not.

I have, however, not dated them for as long or I have avoided going out with them again and really, hey, hey, look at that, it’s not them who are the problem.

“So I realized,” I said to my dinner companion as we swapped stories and caught up and loved on each other, I am so happy to have this new friend in my life, “I needed to let him go and walk away.”

No texting.

No reaching out.

No waiting for the phone to ring.

Because all the people that I have dated have one thing in common, aside from mental illness, ha, just kidding.

They have all dated me.

I am the one with the issues.

As I shared with my new “therapist” today in our first dyad session.

I was a bit challenged by being the client, and it’s just me, being me, but I worked my way through it, and realized, even if the therapist didn’t, that I have done a lot of work.

Oh so much work.

On myself.

And the work, well, it can ease off, I could use a break.

I don’t feel like working on myself right now.

I feel like taking a break.

I feel like.

Perhaps.

Yes, perhaps.

This is a good time to not self-improve and just be delighted with who I am and the work I have done, to acknowledge, if just for a moment the work and I then accept it and let it sit for a while.

That feeling of acknowledgement.

Not that I’m going to sit too long.

I am like a shark.

I must keep on moving or I will die.

I joked with my “therapist” that a moving target was harder to hit than a still one.

And that’s really it in a tidy little package.

(Nutshell)

I get to sit with my results, not for too long, I don’t want to rest on my laurels, but I do want to take a moment and just notice for myself that I showed up every day on time with the readings done and the papers written.

I showed up and I participated.

I showed up and I connected with people.

“I just want you to know how much I appreciate the service you do, just by being here, just by being you,” she said today at lunch out of the blue.

I was not expecting that.

I was also told by someone in my cohort that my colorful outfits and flowers in my hair and my authenticity of self was a really refreshing thing, he called it, in fact, “a breath of fresh air.”

Grateful that I get to be of service just by being my authentic self.

Such a gift.

I had a really good day today and maybe that’s the coffee talking, but I really felt connected to my friends at school and then this evening up in the Castro, a roast chicken dinner with my new friend and an hour or so in a church basement to set me up just so for the rest of the week.

It’s just a work week.

Just.

Heh.

I will probably give myself the day off tomorrow from school work.

At least a day of grace period before I dive back into the reading and the next round of papers that will need to get written.

But I am officially half way through second semester, first year, of graduate school.

Midterm.

Crazy.

Crazy good.

I made it through March.

I have two more months left.

Then New York.

And a summer off.

I am more than certain I will be busy with other things between here and there, more adventures in dating, in letting go, in soft surrender, in acceptance, in lightening up.

And yes.

Having fun.

Yes please.

More fun.

Please.

Just as I am certain that I may not rest on my laurels, but I will take a moment to appreciate, with kind eyes, the work I have done.

Good job kid.

Good freaking job.

Bring It

February 15, 2016

It was brought.

Of course, I don’t remember what I brought.

But it was brought.

It’s best when I don’t recall what I said, then I know that I was speaking from love, from my heart, that I have become a conduit for the message and not the mess.

Because, frankly.

I am often the mess.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Life.

Well.

It’s messy.

My heart, it’s a messy place, but at least I get in it, I try, I stumble, I get hot and flushed and flustered and say something and cry.

And that’s in school.

But hey, I’m going to school to be a therapist, processing the pain is a part of it.

Being in the pain, meeting you in the pain, holding your hand and walking through to the other side.

Or just through the Castro.

I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out with a girlfriend who’s husband is out of town for the weekend she came with me to the Castro.

We had Philz.

Which might have been a mistake, I am not sure how I am going to fall asleep tonight.

I am a bit keyed up.

A wonderful early evening with a dear friend, a meal with my fellows, and meeting new friends and having old friends surprise me and so many hugs

So many.

My day was filled with hugs.

That is such a gift.

I gave a Valentines Day card to each person in my cohort and it was just the best feeling.

Plus.

Well, when you’re told to bring it, I do and I was all gussied up, my new teal dress with the big flare skirt and the sweet heart neckline, loads of flowers in my hair my black and cream cardigan with the hearts on it (I literally wore my heart (s) on my sleeve all day long) and it was so much fun to deliver Valentines to my cohort.

I felt like the Valentines Day Fairy.

I got such wonderful response and it felt really good to give and not have asked for anything in return.

The return was the feeling I had when I was writing the card and thinking of the person and wishing them light and love and joy.

It was more for me, I think, in the end so much of it is, but I also know that the gesture touched a lot of my classmates and that felt special and joyous and I am grateful I took the time to write them all out.

31 Valentines.

Whew.

I also got a surprise text from an old friend back in Wisconsin wishing me a happy Valentines Day.

There was a time when getting a Valentines Day wish from this man would have been a loaded gun to point and shoot at my unrequited love trigger.

Today.

It was just a sweet message.

Not an offer to fall into fantasy land.

Not an invitation to get miserable for the love I did not “think” I had.

I have so much love.

I mean.

I was inundated with it today.

These are your friends.

Plus.

I gave myself lots of love.

I took some actions and really let myself feel the love that was there for me, I was available to take it in, to touch, to hold a hand, to pat a shoulder, to be present, to be of service.

It was an amazing day.

I practiced good self-love too.

I treated myself to lunch out during my school break and ended up having the most amazing lunch with two of my girlfriends from the cohort and a professor and a TA and it was just out of this world fun to hang out and eat lunch and connect with these incredible, smart, talented, creative women.

I felt like I held my own and added to the conversation.

I want to bring my best forward and I really felt like I was able to do that.

On the day that celebrates love I choose to do just that.

I will choose to do just that again tomorrow.

I choose it for this moment.

For all moments.

I may falter.

I may forget.

But I have faith that I will always get back up and dust off and do it again.

I may get heart broken.

But the heart grows bigger.

And that’s good.

I had a basket full of love to give out today and it felt extraordinary.

The noise of love.

The thrush in my heart.

The swallows swooping in the skin of sunset.

My face lifted to the smattering of stars riding into the indigo night.

I run rampart through the cacophony.

I am a part of this world, I don’t feel separated, I feel joined and loved and blessed and lucky.

Oh, so god damned lucky.

I have a vase, a Mason jar, but who’s counting, full of flowers on my table that I let myself buy for myself on Friday, I participated in class, I showed up, I was my best self, I tried.

I dressed pretty for myself.

And to say.

Hey, this is me and I’m done apologizing.

And I let the day happen the way the way the day was supposed to happen.

I got a pinky promise from a drag queen sitting in the window of a restaurant to continue to be so fabulous, “Girl you got it in that dress,” she said.

Snap.

That’s something coming from someone as fabulous as she was.

I mean, I was flattered.

And best of all?

I am almost there.

One half day to go.

I’m going into work at 9 a.m. and I plan on being done by 2p.m.

Then.

Six days off.

Six.

Oh glorious time off.

Time off that I have promised to let myself enjoy and have fun and continue in the vein of self-love and self-care.

Valentines Day is once a year.

But my love.

The kind that sustains me.

Is always.

Forever.

Valentines Day.

Every day.

Times infinity.

To the moon and back a thousand times.

Like that.

Get ‘Er Done

August 25, 2015

Good god damn, I’m good.

Or I’m on fire.

Or I’m just hella fast at typing.

Perhaps a little of all of the above.

I just finished my third of four papers that need to be done before I head out to that thing in the desert.

I wrote a ten page, 3,226 page document in, wait for it, 2.25 hours.

How do I know it was that fast?

The professor asked that we e-mail her an empty message at some point after the retreat ended so that she had our e-mail address in her address book.

I did e-maile her this evening.

I got a response to said e-mail while I was writing the reaction paper and when I sent off my paper it was approximately two hours and fifteen minutes later according to the time date stamp on the first e-mail message she sent.

The paper just flew out of my fingers, in fact, I was about to become one of those people whom she had warned about, the person who has so much to say that they write more than the required amount.

There was a firm limit of ten pages on the paper and I wrote ten.

I could have written more.

There was so much ground to cover that I only got to a few things, the things most important to me, the things that I learned the most from, the conflict wherein i had the most difficulties navigating and all the lessons therein.

I learned a lot.

In the group, not so much in the paper, writing the paper just allowed me to flesh it out, to put the words to the feelings, to tell the story of my experience.

I don’t doubt that every single person in my group has a story to tell and a riveting experience of learning.

Or not.

Maybe I was the only one, though I am self-centered, I am not that self-centered.

I learned a lot because I put myself out there a lot, I was in the hot seat a lot, I initiated and I got into the mix.

It wasn’t always what I thought and I wasn’t always graceful, I fell on my face a lot, I made a lot of assumptions–you know those things that make an “ass” out of “u” and “me.”  Man, did I make a lot of those and I had no idea that I was making them until my fellow group members started pointing them out.

I made mistakes, but I learned from them.

I fell down, but I got back up and I got back in the dance and it was with much gratitude that I wrote the paper.

I feel really good about getting it done as well as it is one less thing on my plate before I go to Burning Man.

I am really excited.

The count down is beginning.

My bins are pretty much packed, I’m getting picked up early Thursday morning, 7 a.m. or 7:30 a.m.

Hell I would be wiling to get picked up earlier than that, I am ready to get out of dodge.

I do have one last paper to write and I will do that tomorrow.

I almost attempted to sneak it in tonight, but my head is no longer in that space and I would need to readjust my brain to get into another paper.

I’m not worried about it either, it’s a short guy and will clock in at two pages, max three.

It’s actually a two-part paper, the first part is 1-2 pages in length, the second is a proposal and is no more than one page in length.  So, en toto, three pages.

I can have that done in less than an hour and while it would have felt great to get another one knocked off, my juice for the paper writing is not there and I wanted to have a little candy left over for my blog.

Speaking of blog I am having serious considerations of not bringing my laptop to the event.

This would be the first time in many, many, many years, that I would not bring it out.

First, I am uncertain that I want to risk it being out there, I just bought this baby, my Macbook Air, and I want to have it for the entirety of my graduate school career.  I have no idea what the dust could do to it, but I know that it can frizzle electronics pretty bad.

Second, I may not have internet access.

I have worked the last six years in areas where I was able to get onto the internet via those I was working for.

I told myself yesterday that I would not take my laptop.

I told myself today that I would.

I am in a quandary.

Then I think, maybe I need to have a different experience, maybe the blog needs a break, I mean, maybe I need a break from the blog, really unplug myself and go out there and experience the magic sans internet and facecrack and social media.

I mean really get off the grid and be in the moment.

I don’t know yet, but I suspect my heart does and I may allow myself to put down this sweet baby to allow myself a new and different adventure at Burning Man.

I realized too that I am better prepared than I have been in, well, ever.

Despite having a posh ass place to stay the last two years, I really felt so compelled to work and make things happen that I did not allow myself a lot of leeway with what I brought and what I bought.

Plus, I have accumulated the stuffs now, I have the things that I are nice to have, but not necessary to the experience, but still really nice to have–a shoulder harness, a utility belt, a furry blanket (I need to bring a pillow and I am wondering if I will sacrifice one of my bed pillows to the cause), lots of socks–I mean lots, I have more socks than there are days on playa, but it’s always nice to have extra socks and if I decide I need an outfit change I will have the matching stripes, polka dots, hearts, flowers, argyle, checks, or solids, to do the outfit due justice.

And most important.

My tea kettle and favorite tea are packed as well as two bags of really good coffee.

I’m ready.

I’m almost done with the paper writing and having knocked the big gun out-of-the-way tonight I feel I can breathe a little easier and enjoy the rest of the time here in Glen Ellen with the family.

But.

Burning Man.

I’m coming for you.

I’m ready to get dusty.

What A Ride

June 29, 2015

In so many iterations I cannot fathom all of the ramifications right now.

I just got home from Los Angeles.

Although technically I just got home from a late night sushi dinner at Raw on 19th and Taraval.

Which was awesome, great company, fresh sushi, fast, good price, and hello, open at 10p.m. on a Sunday, and busy at that.

I know, you’re not supposed to eat sushi on a Sunday, or so the wives’ tale goes, but we were desperate, mostly me, despite not feeling all that hungry, I had a lot of iced coffee today, for food.

I knew better than to come home and not have some dinner in my body and the only other option would have been a late night run on Safeway and then cooking at my house.

I am not in the mood to cook.

I have so much on my mind, in my heart, in my soul, smeared across the windshield with golden light and thoughts and dreams and words, the touch of a hand, the constant conversation, the incessant pressing of love against my face as the sun set in the West as we drove up from the South, watching the roiling clouds of grey teeming over the San Francisco hills.

I have not had my cell phone off for so much time in years, nor, as you, my dear reader, may have notice, my computer.

There was no wifi at the Air BnB we were staying at.

I could catch some service on my iPhone, but sorry folks, there is no way in hell I’m going to write a blog on my phone.

Nope.

So.

Days without a blog.

Although not days without writing.

I did bring my notebook and I did do writing and as I was unpacking my go bag–I am damn skippy proud of how well I packed–I pulled out my new Claire Fontaine notebook, in deep sage green, with creamy lined paper, and taped the effects of the trip in the front page of my journal.

The first class ticket on American Airlines.

Man.

First class.

Thank you friend.

It was so nice.

Even for such a short trip, to have priority at the gate, to have faster check in, to scoot right through security, I felt spoiled and princess like.

So much so and so quickly did I get through that I actually had time to grab a manicure before I boarded.

I have never paid so much for a manicure in my life, but I thought, when someone you dearly adore says, let’s celebrate, I’m flying you down first class to LA, let’s go look at the Rothkos,

(OH MY GOD THE ROTHKO’S)

And I’ll put you up with me at my Air BnB in Santa Monica, it’s ok to splurge on a six-dollar cold pressed organic iced coffee from Equator Coffee and then go sit down and have your nails done.

You are officially on a celebration weekend.

The celebrating.

It was celebratory.

I danced up and down the steps of the Walt Disney Concert Hall designed by Gehry.

I lifted my face to the sky and marveled at the scoops and swoops and the neon lights bouncing off the building.

We walked around it and marveled at the symmetry of the building and talked and talked and talked.

There was much talking.

My friend and I had so much to talk about.

We could be talking right now.

Except.

Well, mama has to get up and go to work tomorrow and he’s got work to do too and the celebration will continue in my heart as I look at the other small pieces of paper taped next to that first class place ticket.

(OH MY GOD THE ROTHKO’S)

Should I ever have a child, a little boy, I would name him Rothko.

I was that overwhelmed, awed, blown away and just enamored with the pieces I saw.

I am speaking of the first day of my two-day party to celebrate (said celebration for the receiving the graduate school scholarships that I have been awarded over the past two weeks) and the trip to the MOCA.

The Museum of Contemporary Art.

It was just intense and overwhelming and amazing.

As before mentioned the Rothko’s were astounding, the humanness of the art, the luminosity of the paint, the spectrum of emotion I felt being in that gallery surrounded by the presence of such love and glory and art.

Art, love, God.

It’s all the same isn’t it?

I got to experience so much of that this weekend, I am still reeling with the love and kindness, the compassion of my friend, the utmost generosity.

I didn’t pay for anything.

I was spoiled and treated like a princess and ate lovely food and got driven all over the city and well, I even got to do that little girl thing that I most wanted to do but was also perhaps most resistant to ask for.

I got to go to the Santa Monica Boardwalk and go for a ride on the roller coaster and the Scrambler.

And.

The ferris wheel.

To be on the top of the circle, with some one so dear to me, to be swung high into the velvet of God’s deep indigo sky with the waves rolling in under the boardwalk and the smell of funnel cake and popcorn, or the happy screams of little kids on the roller coaster and the joy, the joy of being alive, present in the moment, so amazing.

I cannot quite even begin to comprehend all the ramifications of what this weekend has wrought for me.

Next to the MOCA ticket and the first class ticket and the postcard is my Zoltar fortune.

None your business.

Some things too sacred and special to share.

Some love you want to hold against your heart.

For fear that the bottom will drop out like it did that time you were kissed on the couch and you will never be the same again.

I will never be the same again.

And that is just alright with me.

I may have stepped off the ferris wheel, giddy and giggly and wobbly with my heart bouncy and bright and my smile so large it must have lit the sky a small bright star of love on the cusp of the ocean, the edge of the sea, the beginning of a new world view shimmers into sight.

But I am still riding high.

Still celebratory in my joy and the love I was able to bear witness to and receive, in the capacity for honest communication and appreciation of life, art, the heart, opening and breaking and making more space for more feelings and more.

Yes.

More.

And more.

Love.

I’ll buy that ticket any day of the week.

It’s a ride I never want to stop and regardless of what happens next.

I know that ferris wheel in my heart will continue to revolve.

And.

Evolve.

It will go the distance.

What A Long Strange Day

March 1, 2015

It’s been.

Not a bad day.

No, not at all.

Just strange.

Disjointed, out-of-place, off my schedule, up and about and going places and doing things, not much things, but things, that I don’t ordinarily do and places I haven’t been to in a long time.

24th Street for one, below Valencia Street.

It’s been a long while since I was in that neck of the woods.

I had a workshop that I was running up in Noe Valley today and it was sort of smack in the middle of my early afternoon.

Too early for me to get lunch out and about, but too late to get stuff done here in the neighborhood before I had to be up in Noe.

I did get a call from a girlfriend as I was writing this morning and we made plans to meet and hang out after my commitment was up.

A commitment that I am extremely grateful I got to show up for and do and be of service.

“You are gifted,” she said to me, “you really know how to do this thing.”

I’m not sure if she was referencing my style or the way I ran the workshop or what, but I do have to say, I was quite happy with how it came off.

I have never done anything quite like it before and it was a unique experience for me to go through.

One in which I did a lot of reflection around for the weeks coming up to it and one in which I was happy to say went off so well.

It was also fun to dress up for it and flounce about town in my polka dot party dress.

A lot of the workshop was showing the steps I took to be my authentic self in recovery and discussing body image and sexuality and how I have found growth, amazing growth in those areas.

It felt not only appropriate but down right correct to be dressed up in my outfit with my hair done up with roses and bright red lipstick on and just be me.

I have felt like I am stepping more and more into my skin and I so do like that.

Afterward I took myself out for a late lunch at a little Chinese restaurant, Tung Sing, on 24th.

Simple, light, easy, steamed veggies and shrimp, brown rice, green tea.

I ate half my meal, packed up the other half for tomorrow, and walked down 24th from Noe Valley into the Mission nibbling on an apple I picked up from the Farmer’s Market in Noe Valley.

Ah.

The Mission.

Loud.

Dirty.

Weirdly gentrified and old school drug addled all at the same time.

It was a boiling pot of tourists taking Uber straight to Balmy Alley in their Coach leopard print slip ons and Kate Spade clutches to snap photos of the murals to the homeless nut bag talking to himself on the corner where the line wound around the block to Humphrey Slocombe for artisanal ice cream.

Olive oil ice cream anyone?

I met my friend walking up the street and we window shopped and talked about life and schedules and Burning Man.

If I’m going.

I want to.

How I’m going to go.

I don’t know.

She’s already got her ticket, has a place to camp, is roaring into her second year ready to have a new experience after the debacles at the Gate last year getting stuck in the rain storm at will call.

I have no idea where I would camp, where I would get my ticket from, how I would go, what I would stay in, how I would do it.

But I suspect, do it I will.

She and I talked scenarios and meandered at a slow, leisure like pace.

We stopped at Philz so she could grab her coffee.

I declined staying for coffee.

I was actually a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the tourists and I cannot remember a time when I had ever walked into Philz before on 24th and Folsom and felt so not a part of.

It was such an awkward combination of tech guys and tourists and hipsters, but out-of-town hipsters, that I did not want to stay and intermingle.

Maybe another day.

Today I was grateful for my quiet, or quieter, life down by the sea.

There are tourists out here too, but it’s just a little different and not as developed and nowhere near as crowded.

So instead of grabbing a cup, large, no sugar, just cream, of the Greater Alarm, I went with my friend and looked at more shops and made sure to walk on the sunny side of the street.

I got my sunshine on, that’s for sure.

We walked up 24th to Noe Valley, stopping at Issa on 24th and Chattanooga and then over to Common Scents before hitting the Whole Foods salad bar.

Then.

Starbux.

Not because I like the tea or the coffee all that much, but because it’s central to my evening commitment, there’s WIFI and there’s big cushy window seats to people watch from.

And sky watch.

The sunset tonight was spectacular.

Not so much the news that I heard shortly thereafter, namely, that the spot I was headed to had been cancelled without notice.

Well shoot.

Who knows what I might have done with my day if I hadn’t been wandering around waiting to cover my Saturday evening commitment.

I was miffed momentarily, then whipped out my phone, looked up some information and headed off to catch the MUNI back to the Sunset.

Arriving at my destination early I popped into Tart to Tart and got a lemon ginger tea and read my book for about 45 minutes.

Then I ran into old friends also displaced from this evening’s routine.

We joked about being ex-pats and caught up.

It was as strange day, again, not unpleasant, just long and meandering and in some ways good for me to see that I have really grown quite fond of my side of town.

I’m a city girl for sure, just look at how I dress, but I need the quiet and the stillness out here, down by the sea.

I thought I would always be a Mission girl, for always and forever.

And while I know I will always be a San Francisco lass.

I may have turned the corner.

To becoming a local from the Sunset.

The Outer Sunset at that.

Who would have guessed.

 


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