Slow It Down

I left my therapists office very, very, very aware that I was not going near my brand new car.

No way.

No how.

I needed to just take a walk for a moment, slow down, get regulated, be in my body.

Then when I felt like I was not going to crash into anyone I walked back to my car, drove it a few blocks and got right back out.

I was up in Noe Valley and I wanted to take a moment and let myself have a little self-care and to sit down and grab a coffee and enjoy the fact that I wasn’t going into work.

Usually after I get out of therapy I make a quick run to Whole Foods on 24th and then skeedadle to work.

Today I wanted to go grocery shopping, but I also wanted to window shop a little and really just to slow down and appreciate that I had some time off.

Oh.

There was a little bit of a niggling voice that reminded me, hey lady, don’t get too comfortable, you’ve got a fuck ton of homework.

Nothing brings that home more than getting an e-mail from a professor reminding me that all assignments for that class need to be turned in by December 9th and um, I haven’t turned in any of those assignments yet.

I have been waiting for this week off to get all caught up with that class.

I had started the readings, but really not gotten too far.

This time off, fyi, is going super fast, I can’t believe tomorrow’s Wednesday already.

And I have been doing homework diligently every day, every damn day, reading, getting caught up, getting ahead, or finishing the reading.

I’m done with all my readings for Jungian Dream Work and all my reading for Drugs and Alcohol.  I’m 3/4s of the way done with Transpersonal and about the same amount done for Psychopharmacology and Human Sexuality.

So not bad, but all those classes also have a final paper, one of them has a final project as well.

I need to get as much work in as I can this week.

And.

Oops.

Fuck.

I’m working tomorrow.

I sort of want to kick myself over it, I should never had said I was available and not think that the mom wouldn’t take me completely up on it.

Not my current family, they are on vacation.

No.

The family I used to work for.

I got a huge mournful face of longing on the last day of school pick up from my former charge and a deep sweet ask for a play date, “when are you going to come over?” He asked with such sweetness and desire I just couldn’t say no and when I bumped into his mom I mentioned I would have down time.

I thought maybe an hour or two, a playdate, something fun and easy.

I got asked to work five hours.

Ugh.

Of course I said yes, the mom had already told the boys I was going to see them and I didn’t want to disappoint them.

I also think I knew, at least in the back of my head, that though I like and respect the parents, I have a much more enjoyable time when I am, or have been, alone with the boys.

So I have a hunch the parents are going to take an afternoon day date and go see a movie or go out to lunch and I will have my two sweet guys to myself.

And maybe the dog, she’s a sweetheart, it will be good to see her too.

It’s not a bad thing the work, it’s just a little like come on kid, you’re busy, even though you’re not working, you’ve got a lot of reading and homework that needs attending to.

But.

Ugh.

Sometimes I have a hard time saying no.

Not always.

And I have said no to this family before when some requests were made, so it feels like a sort of concession, as well as, yes, an opportunity to make a little cash and to get some boy snuggles from my little guys.

I have gotten to do a play date with the youngest and one of my charges that was super fun and sweet, but I haven’t had any alone time with the older boy and I think he may need to see me.

I just got the sense.

And I can often times say no to a parent, especially if I’m busy, but wow, it’s super hard to say no to a child that needs you.

So with a tiny touch of chagrin, yes, I’ll be working tomorrow.

But.

I won’t go in until 1p.m.

So.

Yoga in the morning.

I haven’t been in over a week, or just over a week?

My back’s been sore and I’ve been busy, even though the work hasn’t been happening, oh man has the homework, so tomorrow will be good to get back into it.

I had thought originally with the time off I would be at the studio a lot, but I let myself get some sleep this past weekend and when my back was feeling super tender it felt better to rest than to push it.

I don’t express pain a lot, but I was definitely in some pain, still am, but it seems to be easing up a bit.

I’ve made a doctor’s appointment and I’ve been taking ibuprofen, but the appointment is not for a few weeks.  I’m going to try to be gentle and fingers crossed another few days of not carrying the baby around in the carrier will be good to my back.

And.

I was super nice to myself today, and I got a load of work done.

I re-parked my car in Noe Valley and went to Bernie’s Cafe and got a cafe au lait and sat on a bench and let the sun hit my face.

I got into being in my body and letting go of the material I worked on in therapy.

Suffice to say my therapist is recommending more therapy.

Ugh.

EMDR.

Just check the link, I don’t feel like describing it 100% however, I will say that it is a trauma treatment that is often used for PTSD.

I did it in a session once ten years ago with a therapist and I will say it worked, but it was close to the end of my time with that therapist and I didn’t have more follow-up.

I am ready to do it again.

Although I am loath to go and get more therapy, once a week at $120 a pop is enough.

Then again.

I want to work it out, get it out, process it, I want it out of my body, I want my body to be free, my heart to be free, my soul to move about the world and not go into traumatic reliving.

I need to be in the light.

And I know that means more work.

Fine.

I’m ready.

I told my therapist today that I feel like I can do it now, when I couldn’t before, I could barely touch into the trauma without falling completely apart.

I am much, much, much stronger now.

Internally, externally, emotionally, spiritually.

I am ready to do the work, and I suspect that I will finally get to resolve some things that have been burdening me for decades.

Let them go.

Embrace my life.

Help others.

It was good for me to take the moment today to sit on that bench, to get sun on my face, to slow down, I did some window shopping, I got some groceries, I came home and ate a nice lunch, I sat outside on the back patio.

Then.

I jumped back into the homework.

I kicked out three more hours of reading and I did two of the eight assignments.

Sigh.

There’s a lot to do, but I’ll get it done.

Even with working tomorrow.

It will all fall together and I have absolutely no regrets about being easy with myself at the beginning of the day.

I’m a fucking therapist.

I have got to practice what I preach.

Let me reframe that.

I get to.

 

 

 

Second Wind

And I have no idea where it came from.

Maybe the adrenalin of riding my scooter through the Mission and over the hills towards the Outer Sunset on a Saturday night.

Oh.

Yeah.

With the left over drunken idiots of what used to actually be a cool San Francisco treat.

Santa Con.

Look drunk hipster santa with drunk elf in fishnets, get the fuck out of the way, I just came from Psychoanalytic class and I am not interested in either your psycho-sexual dramas or your apparent desire to play out the Death Drive in jumping out into the street looking for your Uber, Lyft, taxi or other vehicle of conveyance.

Get ye the fuck back to the North Pole or wherever the fuck in the Marina you came from.

Please.

And.

Thank you.

It could be that I just had a second wind because I had to take the time to run to the grocery store, I slightly miscalculated my food for the week, no biggie, but without something to toss in my oatmeal in the morning, apple, etc, I was going to be a very sad lady.

So.

I dashed in and out of the SafeWay in the Castro, which was happily devoid of trashed Santa’s and drunk elves, although definitely equipped with a plethora of cranky trolls working the registers.

I got what I needed and jumped back on the scooter and actually made it inside my house by 9p.m.

I have no idea how the hell that happened.

I left class at 8p.m.

Happy to make such a quick trip and feeling adrenalin from the mad grocery dash and the defensive driving back home, I used it and threw in a load of laundry, packed my lunch for tomorrow, balanced my check book, opened and hung up a few Christmas cards and threw myself in the shower.

I am still jacked up.

I didn’t have any coffee past 10:30 a.m.

Although I could have used one and I thought about it.

Nope.

This is pure herbal tea and adrenalin.

I suppose I am just getting the end of the semester, almost there, keep pushing through, last day of classes is tomorrow, shot of energy.

I do hope that it wears off before I crawl into bed.

The last two nights I did not sleep well.

And I thought after Friday’s full day of classes and little sleep I would totally have gotten some.

But I was up.

I had a bit on my mind.

Blocking someone’s number out of my phone and the ramifications of how and when to set some boundaries really came up for me.

I didn’t really write about it last night as I was caught up in the spell of Christmas magic, but yeah, I have had some uncomfortable interactions with a person and through my own fault, I fully concede I let them step all over my boundaries, a situation that I could have rectified by choosing to not engage with the person, well.

It blew up.

Not, I suppose as bad as it could.

But for a minute there with the text messages coming in rapid fire and the tone and quantity of them.

I got a little spooked.

I have a history of having dealt with some trauma around a romantic relationship that turned sour and the man who I had dated and lived with for five years, after a rough break up, started to stalk me.

That continued for two years.

I will not say this person was stalking me.

I just felt that old fear come up.

And I realized that I was the person who invited it into my home.

I was mad at myself.

But then.

After the awareness.

Fast acceptance.

I don’t believe I have moved so fast from awareness of a defect of character to acceptance.

It rolled right through me.

I forgave myself and realized that I had failed to listen to my gut in regards to the person a long time ago and that listening to my gut is important.

I have been listening.

I hear rumblings, but don’t know what they are associated with and then I start to have feelings and those feelings I ignore.

So.

No more ignoring.

And then some action.

I did some inventory.

I erased the messages.

Actually I was busy erasing them as they came in.

I probably erased ten or twelve of them in rapid succession, then I realized I needed to call in the troops and I got on the phone and talked with someone, checked in, got my suggestions.

Got off the phone.

Deleted more messages that had come in during the conversation.

Then gave myself a big pause.

Took a big breath.

Prayed.

And organized my self.

Picked up my phone.

Scripted a very simple text.

Word for word what had been suggested to me.

Sent it out.

Blocked the contact in my phone.

I had already taken the person off my facecrack friends list earlier in the day.

Perhaps an early warning sign that something was on the horizon.

I will likely see this person next week.

We swim in the same waters, so to speak.

And I am ok with that.

I don’t believe there will be face to face confrontation, in fact, had the person called, I would have taken it, but the mass texting was too freaky and after one very pointed, passive aggressive, manipulative text, I had no inclination to speak with the person on the phone.

That option went right out the window.

I learned some powerful things and I acknowledged deep in myself that I knew this was coming.

Which may have been why I let it go as long as it did.

Not healthy.

Not for me, not for the other person.

However, I am not, will not, beat myself up for the experience.

In my own limited way, I was trying to be of service.

And the other person, well, I believe, too, was trying to do the best that could be done.

That’s what I believe.

That at the bottom of it all.

We are good people.

Communication sometimes goes astray.

And sometimes I need to have space from a person.

That is ok.

I get to be grateful for the time and the growth experience.

And I hope to rest well soon.

One more day of classes, and I found out my day will end a little early, 3:30p.m. instead of 4p.m., a nice gift for the last day of classes.

Almost there.

One final presentation project and two papers to go.

And.

Like that.

My first semester of graduate school.

I am utterly amazed.

And still unfortunately.

Wide awake.

Oh well.

So it goes.

At least I have a Christmas tree to keep me warm and bright.

And dreams of Paris soon to come.

Did you think I forgot?

Ha.

I Got Poked Today

I got poked a week ago.

That sounds weird doesn’t it?

Poking.

What the fuck is that?

Thanks Facecrack for “Like” and “poke.”

Where would my life be without the ubiquitous thumbs up sign on my life.

And the poke.

I mostly ignore.

In fact, that’s what happened with this guy.

I got poked a week ago.

It’s like a soft feel out.

Hey, there, girl, I’m thinking about you, but either I don’t have the balls to reach out directly, or I’m curious to see if maybe you’re interested, by, say, poking me back?

And what did I do?

I took the bait.

I poked back.

And then I forgot it.

Until I got the message saying, hey gorgeous, long time, I’m in town, let’s hang out, I’d love to see you.

And.

BTW.

I’m single.

Well.

Hello.

It’s been a few years since I have spoken to this particular gentleman and suffice to say since there are folks who know folks who know folks, I’m going to keep this on the very vague.

But the BTW I’m single bit.

Well.

Turns out I was sleeping with the guy who was not available to be slept with.

And how I found that out?

She messaged me.

On Facebook.

The day before I was leaving for Burning Man?

No.

Ha!

The day I was leaving for Burning Man.

This was right after moving back from Paris, so three burns ago.

Yes.

And I had tried to talk the gentleman in question into coming with.

It would be so much fun.

It wouldn’t have, in hindsight, I worked 23 or 24 days out on playa that year.

I think I might have had two days off?

I digress.

So.

I find out said gentleman, is not in fact quite as gentlemanly as he could have been.

And wow.

I mean.

WOW.

Did I get a message in the inbox.

I was so startled by the message at first, I did not quite get it.

I was confused.

I didn’t recognize the name.

I didn’t know exactly what was going on.

I had to read it again.

More than once.

I was at work and I was nannying, so I was distracted.

And, yes, I was getting ready to leave with the family that I was nannying for to go to Burning Man for three weeks so I didn’t understand why this woman was messaging me on Facecrack about throwing all her boyfriends shit out into the street and how I better let him know that he should call her.

Huh?

Oh.

Oh.

OH FUCK.

I might have slapped myself on the forehead.

And minutes before l was to leave as I was straightening up a few things in the kitchen and the mom was grabbing to go coffees from a cafe and the dad was doing the last-minute cross check and the baby was bouncing around the kitchen, he called.

I recall being a little terse.

I got an excuse for why he never called me back and then.

And then.

And then.

The bomb.

“I asked you not to blog about it.”

Um, excuse me?

I didn’t.

Well.

Ok.

I did.

I did indeed write about having had sex with someone.

But.

I didn’t write his name.

I was so incredibly vague that the most anyone could have gotten out of it was that I had slept with a man.

I mean.

Vague.

Vague as fuck.

But.

Apparently said girlfriend was smart and I won’t go into how she figured it out.

But she figured it out.

Then.

I told him that she had reached out to me.

Silence.

Fumbling words I listened to but did not register.

And I do recall saying, “I thought you were single.”

His response?

“You didn’t know I was in a relationship?”

Um.

No.

Because you never told me.

And yes.

I had asked.

Anyway.

I got poked today.

And I responded back to the poke.

“You get whatever you write about in your blog,” my friend teased me, “new mattress, scooter, trip to Paris for Christmas.”

(Dear blog, I want to get married, and be kissed on top of the ferris wheel at Place de la Concorde, and go on a honeymoon to Venice, and get all As in graduate school, and never have to be a nanny again, unless I’m taking care of my own children.  Dear blog, I would also like to be very securely well off financially so that I don’t have to worry about retirement, student loans, groceries, or health insurance.  Oh, I would also like a Jeep Wrangler, preferably in black, but I will take dark midnight blue and a Bambi Airstream trailer.  Dear blog, I also want to go to Hawaii, I’ve never been and I’m part Polynesian I would like to see where I came from.  Dear blog.  I want to get laid but I want it to be romantic, see, I want my cake and eat it too and icing and fondant, and chocolate sprinkles, and cherries on top, multiple kinds, because why not, and maybe crushed up Almond Joy bars because you know, I want what I want.)

And here it was.

Sex.

Sex on a stick.

Sex.

Poke, poke, poke.

I mean.

I am not stupid.

This was not a let’s go on a date and see if we have chemistry, we obviously had chemistry, but there was this thing, a girl friend, unbeknownst to me, and um, yeah, so you, my friend, good sir, revealed to me exactly who you are and what you are interested in.

Sex.

And.

You know what?

Great.

Sex is smashing.

Sex is awesome.

Yes.

I want sex.

Damn it.

But.

I do not want to be used and I don’t want to have to even think that there might be another woman out there who I am cheating on her boyfriend, husband, lover, with.

That’s called a living amends.

Not sleeping with a married man or a coupled man.

The imperious urge did rear its head.

It happens.

I entertained the thought.

Then you know what I did?

I paused.

I didn’t respond.

I wrote instead.

I read my reader for my Psych(e)analytic class.

There it was, in black and white, The Repetition Compulsion.

Oh fuck my mother.

Did that ring way too close to the truth.

I was looking down the street at a pothole I have fallen into before wondering how close I could get to the edge without falling in.

I walked away from the street.

I crossed to the other side.

I hid in a bush.

I stalled.

I went to work.

I debated.

What do I really want?

Oh.

Like I don’t know.

I do.

I know what I want.

Dear blog.

I want love.

And sex.

Both of them.

It exists.

I know it does.

I don’t have to sacrifice one for the other and I don’t have to worry about one or the other and fuck, hello, I’m in graduate school, when do I have the time to get laid anyhow and he wasn’t that great in bed anyhow.

Note to self.

Ahem.

I get wound up sometimes.

Ha.

I got home.

I had a long conversation with my Psych(e)analytic professor about the paper I wrote and I have to admit, I cried a little on the phone tears mostly, I got to see some characteristics of myself and work with them and her, my professor, that I didn’t like seeing and make some insights that I got from doing the paper clear to her.

I got an A.

Not sure I got a hard A.

I did drop the ball on one half of a salient point that she wanted the paper to make.

So out of three things she was looking for I had 2.5.

That being said, she also said in her 30 years of teaching she had never received a paper quite like mine.

That was nice to hear.

And the timing with the poke, really.

Hahahaha.

How FREUDIAN can you get?

It all aligned.

I can answer the message.

I can repeat the same silly cycle that I have done all my life.

Or.

I can let love in through the front door and be patient while it makes itself at home.

I don’t have to rush it right off to my bedroom.

I can invite it in for a cup or tea.

Or at least a Coke Zero.

And let it take its time.

Time.

I have in abundance.

Love.

There too.

On the threshold.

Standing in the sunshine.

Perhaps I’ll sit patient on the Davenport and feel the plaid patchwork rough under the palms of my hands.

While love takes off his hat and scarf.

Hang them there.

There’s a hook by the door.

Love.

Stay awhile.

Make yourself at home.

I’m not going anywhere.

Jam It All In

And sandwich it with Freud.

Peanut butter and Freud with bananas.

I got up.

I got going.

Was it really already 9:30a.m.?

There were moments last night when I was awoken and I was satiated with dreams and desire and then I would roll back over and conk out and the dream faded sweet to the other side of the bed and then, the sound of the ocean, the wind through the window and the cool air, thick with the smell of salt fog and ocean.

The hum of the fog horn last night rocked me to sleep.

The sight of Sutro Tower blocked in by fog this morning.

The grey day, but bright awakening.

My body ready to go before my brain.

And then I got it together.

A little routine.

A little prayer.

A little breakfast.

A lot of coffee.

Some Freud.

I am all caught up.

At least in my Psychodynamics course.

I still have two other classes to get my reading on par with what is due and expected by this, my second, full weekend of school.

I will get it done.

Or I won’t.

At least I am better prepared then I was for the last weekend.

I have been doing the work whenever and where ever I can.

Granted.

Yes.

I took some time off last night to howl at the moon.

Really, to just look at it in awe and wonder at the joyful, full, busy, active, god damn good life I have.

I am unrecognizable sometimes to myself.

“I remember, I remember you, you are a part of my story,” he said to me tonight with a big hug, a huge hug, anniversary hugs are always special and I was grateful beyond words to see my friend slip in the door as the lights went down.

I was a hot mess a decade ago.

A decade.

Jesus.

I have spent a decade of my life doing the deal.

Which is fantastic because it has afforded me everything.

Freud and all.

I would not be in graduate school if I was still out their partying.

Fuck.

I was not partying either, not at the end.

It was not a party.

Not at all.

Maybe if it were still a party I would still be playing.

But the playing I get now is so much more satisfying.

“Carmen!” My five-year old charge hollered as I opened up the door to him after he got back with his mom and his younger brother from kindergarten.

He hugged me fiercely than bounced off my legs and ran through the house, “I have to pee!  I have to pee!  I have to pee!”

I’m not sure what Freud would say about that, I don’t think that’s a stage of development, but I was happy to gather all his gear and his brothers and be there and be present for the boys.

For the family in general.

Although no word if they are going to give me a raise.

I suspect if I haven’t heard I am not getting one.

I care, but I don’t care.

Really still just happy that I asked for it.

Despite a desire for making more money I know I am taken care of and I have enough.

I have rent paid for October and I only have a phone bill that I will have to take care of for the month outside of grocery costs.

My over head is really quite low.

I’m not spending money on pleasure reading anymore.

Gah.

Pleasure reading.

I used to do a lot of that.

I let lapse all my magazine subscriptions.

I haven’t read a magazine in three months.

Seriously.

I am sitting here writing my blog and there is a stack of unopened and unread fashion magazines at hand.

Sorry Vogue, W, and Vanity Fair.

I don’t have the time.

I don’t have the time to finish the John Irving novel I started three months ago.

I don’t have time for anything but Freud with ham and cheese.

I actually just realized i might have some more Freud to read.

Fuck.

I have a book that I haven’t even cracked.

Um.

Ha.

Make that three.

One of which I have to do some reading for and I figure I am going to be hitting up my Theory of Group Psychotherapy tomorrow or Wednesday.

Depends on how much I get done for my Therapeutic Communications course as well–I have a paper due for that before Friday.

And.

Thursday I have a phone conversation to be had as soon as I get home from work with my Human Development partner who was unable to connect with me this past weekend due to unexpected schedule changes with her.

This all is starting to sound overwhelming.

Tonight though.

I refuse to be overwhelmed.

I know.

Intrinsic.

Down in my bones, yo’.

That I am doing the best I can.

I am doing pretty fucking alright.

I am moving and shaking and I am showing up and the days.

Damn Gina.

The days go by so fast.

Wasn’t I just in bed?

Wasn’t I just here eating oatmeal with sweet apples and rich persimmons dusted in cinnamon and nutmeg?

Is it 10:30 a.m. or is it 10 p.m.?

The days they pass.

I came back in tonight, “hello house!” I said cheerily and stripped down in the wink of an eye.

I got out of work a snitch early and hustled home on my bicycle, I had twenty minutes before I needed to be at the next place down the street at 44th and Judah.

I hopped into the shower, washed, shaved, jumped out, dried off, slathered lotion all over myself, threw on some clothes, grabbed my bag and even managed to have enough time to take out the garbage, compost, and recycling to the curb.

Jam it all in indeed.

I’m lucky, you know, to get to do all these things.

Ultimately.

This life, this one here, the one that I am living on such a great, big, grand, rich scale, is one that I should not by any rights have.

If life were fair.

I’d be dead.

Instead.

I get to read some more Freud.

No excuse me while I go bet my Oedipus complex on.

Psychosexual dysfunctions, you’re next.

At least my night reading is interesting.

Heh.