Archive for the ‘Social Media’ Category

Seasons Of Grief

July 11, 2017

“I know we’ve never been very close,” she said to me, touching my arm, “but how you are walking through this, I just wanted to let you know, it is brave and beautiful and there are a lot of people sending you love.”

I gasped.

I wasn’t expecting that sentiment.

She continued, “and I know it’s probably really hard to understand, but sometimes,” she paused, “sometimes God breaks our hearts so that they can hold more love.”

I burst into tears.

She hugged me and went her own way.

I see her now and again.

Here and there, in rooms of churches, on a folding chair, with a group of acquaintances, a smile, a wave, but not much else.

I saw her tonight.

I touched her arm.

She hugged me, we both cried.

Our community lost someone today.

Someone very dear.

Someone who shined very hard when he was with us.

He was taken far too young.

I have known him for eleven years, I met him early on in my days of recovery.

I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye tonight, when he was so new, so fresh, such a kid, such a little fucking punk, with this huge heart and pretty face, and dirty skinny black jeans and his punk rock attitude and dangling cigarette sneer on his mouth.

All hiding a very scared frightened kid.

All that bravado and machismo hiding vast reservoirs of tenderness.

I was thinking about a particular afternoon.

It was sunny, we were all in the courtyard of this church at 15th and Julien in the Mission.

He was in Giants regalia and so was Silas and so was another fellow and they all had their arms wrapped around each other, and the smiles, the grins, the love radiating off them was glorious to behold.

I kept seeing that in my mind today and the tears would just start and how I got through the day without telling my boss I don’t know, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, and the kids wanted to play with me and I wasn’t the most present.  I kept getting texts and messages and phone calls and reaching out to people in the community.

I had to stay the fuck off social media after a while, it was just a constant stream of his face in photographs, so many of his goofy, stupid, grinning face.

The last time I saw him I smacked him.

“Stay, why don’t you,” followed by a hug, and a “knock it off our you’re going to die.”

He laughed.

I laughed.

We hugged again.

He died.

He died last night.

He over dosed.

I cried.

This morning, literally in my oatmeal.

I got the news and I was shocked.

Perhaps not surprised, I mean, I wish I could say that it was more of a surprise, but I knew what he did, I had heard his story so many times.

“Oh, yeah, gah, shooting up with a dirty rig and piss water from a public toilet down by the Civic Center, sticking the needle in my groin cuz I couldn’t find a vein.”

I countered with, “doing so much blow I throw up after snorting a line, all over my blow, so I let it dry out and I cut it, chopped it, and snorted it.”

High fives all around.

There is a kind a levity and humor, gallows humor, that comes with sobriety sometimes.

And joy.

So much joy.

His face when he smiled, when he played music.

So much fucking talent blown.

Ugh.

I remember loaning him some money, I can’t even remember when or for what and I just told him to not bother paying me back, “keep it and when you’re fucking famous and world touring you give me a backstage pass.”

“Deal!”  He said, “I love you, I would have given you a backstage pass anyway.”

I hope he’s got the best backstage pass right now.

I hope he’s playing up there with Hendrix and Jeff Buckley, with Lemmy from Motorhead, with all his favorites, just fucking jamming the fuck out.

Happy and smoking a cigarette and woo’ing the ladies.

He was a pretty boy, he was.

It hit home today.

And I was reminded of another thing that a friend said to me when my best friend died, almost ten years now, his anniversary fast approaches, at the end of this month, that “grief is not linear.”

It does not have a time frame.

It does not have a schedule.

It does not have an end or a beginning.

It will come in waves.

I saw a man tonight who used to work with my best friend and we both just sobbed on each other, it was too damn familiar, all the faces, all the people pressed together, all the tears.

I looked at him and said, “you better stick around, you just better.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied.  “I heard the news and I thought of _______________ and I heard your voice and I just couldn’t not be here, I’m so glad you’re here.”

So many hugs tonight.

So many tears.

So many friends from my early days in recovery and all the memories and joys of seeing them.

And.

A reunion.

An old friend who let me go a long time ago was there.

We’d had a falling out of sorts, I don’t even know exactly all the details anymore, but we’d been best friends after my best friend died, she walked me through so much of that process and grief and we were super tight for two or three years after that and then a misunderstanding, a communication that misfires, conflict that we tried to resolve and just couldn’t.

She saw me.

I almost didn’t recognize her.

She stood up, we hugged and we both burst into tears.

There were a lot of “I’m sorry’s” and a lot of “so good to see you.”

We exchanged numbers.

She just friend’ed me again on Facebook.

Desmond.

You little fucker.

I really did not need you to die to reunite with my old friend, but I’ll take it as a parting gift, my sweet boy, that your passing brought so many people together tonight.

There were moments today when the tears wouldn’t stop falling and then.

Then.

Oh.

There were moments, so very many, when I was exquisitely alive, so alive I almost felt guilty.

Almost.

This life is so precious.

I will not waste it.

I will cram as much as I can in.

I will live.

I promise you.

I will live.

And I will love.

With all my heart.

So fucking hard.

So.

Hard.

I promise you.

All the life you did not live.

I will live for you.

And then some.

Promise.

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.

 

Thanks

March 1, 2017

But no thanks.

I said it out loud.

I tossed the item that has been sitting in my closet for months now into the trash and I brushed off my hands.

Done.

And.

Done.

Yesterday evening I ran into a former lover.

I hadn’t seen him in months.

Someone I had some passion with, but also some one I had some issues with and eventually ended up saying, to myself and to others, enough is enough, this is not working for me.

I unfriended said person on Facecrack and I deleted his numbers in my phone and I blocked the numbers and then.

Well.

I let him go.

Which was good.

I had plenty of other things to distract me with and he wasn’t in a place and I wasn’t either.

As much as I might have tried to kid myself I had done too much personal work to know that it was going nowhere and I was just going to get more and more annoyed with myself if I continued to play into the situation.

I had to have help seeing that.

I normally do.

So when I found myself, last night when I got home, contemplating not telling the person that I do work with about having run into the lover, well, I knew my motives were no good.

“You’re only as sick as your secrets,” and “your secrets will take you out,” both rang in my head pretty much right away.

I picked up the phone.

I called my person.

I left a message.

I did some inventory and e-mailed it off.

I go at a resounding let’s meet tonight answer from my person this morning and a text from the old lover this morning.

Hahaha.

Ah.

For fucks sake.

The ex-lover was texting to offer me some help with my scooter.

But the thing is.

It didn’t feel like it was about my scooter.

Oh.

Maybe.

But.

REALLY.

When I looked at myself, when I wrote out what was going on in my brain, oh, my motives were no good, they were all a twitter and all gossipy and all what will it feel like to hop on the back of his cycle and go for a ride.

And stop it.

Oh no you don’t.

Lady pants.

Just because you want to rev your engines does not mean this is the man to rev them with.

In fact, you emphatically said you wouldn’t with him again.

So stop it.

And there was no emergency, no need to engage, no need to return the text, I could wait until after work, I could wait until I met my person at Church Street Cafe.

I could tell the tale, the hello’s and how you doing’s at the spot last night, I could talk about the offer to fix something that really has no need to get fixed (a cosmetic fix on my scooter from when it got hit) and I could talk about the titillation and I could be honest.

And.

Yes.

I took the suggestion to respond to the ex-lover with a “Hey, thank you, but I’ve got it taken care of.”

Or something to that effect.

I don’t think I was quite that verbose.

Then.

With a tiny bit of hand holding, even though I knew I would all along, I deleted the text, deleted the number and blocked the number on my phone.

Done and done.

I am ready to be dating and loving with someone and I am so in need of getting some kissing in, but I don’t need to be going backwards.

I deserve to be treated well.

And I have to start with myself on that, I knew this guy was not the one, but there was a bit of a dance and it was fun to be pursued and god damn he was handsome, but, there wasn’t enough there, not enough for my heart, not enough for my brain, and the sex was nice, but let me be honest, not that great.

Certainly not great enough to go stir the crazy pot again.

I am so grateful that I stopped before heading down the street with the big man-hole that I tend to fall into and I stopped to look, to ponder, and instead of going down the road alone, I called and talked to someone else, and said, I won’t go down the road until you can meet with me and we can talk about it and if I go down that road, I’ll have a hand to hold.

But.

You know.

That road has been closed for repairs.

Big old road block.

Dead end sign.

The bridge is out.

Take the other route, you’ll be better served.

When I saw my person walk in through the door at the cafe I knew, hell, I knew as soon as I left a voicemail last night, yup, I won’t be seeing the ex again and I won’t be accepting any help with my scooter.

I want that foot board fixed I can take it to the shop where I bought it.

When I got home this evening I fished the box with the part out of my closet and I threw it away.

I don’t need anything in my house that will tempt me to continue down that closed road.

There’s a brighter way through for me.

There’s a fun way, a happy way, a way in which I can honor who I am and that I get to be treated better than I was.

I deserve the best.

I am grateful that I can “act as if” and know that yeah, sure, it might have been fun for a minute or two with the ex, but ultimately it would have been fun with problems and eventually just problems.

I got to skip through all that.

And now I’m clear for take off.

Easy skies.

Bright blue.

Open to possibilities.

Not obsessed with a relationship that did not work for me or trying to figure out how to make it work for me now.

Nope.

Ready and available for the man who is ready and available for me.

No distractions.

Thanks.

But, really.

No, thanks.

 

Why, Yes, That Is Correct

February 21, 2017

I am making chicken and rice soup with vegetables right now.

Yes.

At 9 p.m. at night with terrible and gusty winds.

Chicken soup is super homey and I felt in need of throwing together a pot.

Plus.

I had the time.

And.

It doesn’t take too much time.

I have it down to a science and since I roasted a chicken yesterday I figured I would whip up some soup when I got home and had dinner.

The soup will be done in less than a half hour.

I’ll freeze some and can the rest.

Lunch and dinner for the week.

Easy to just grab a Mason jar of chicken soup with rice and head out the door.

I normally would make the soup on the same night I roast the chicken, but I hung out with a friend yesterday in the afternoon and had coffee.

I am practicing reaching out to people and connecting when I feel lonely.

It was a perfect afternoon jaunt over to the Richmond side of the park, up to Balboa and 38th.

We went to La Promenade Cafe across the street from the Balboa Theater.

It’s a great neighborhood cafe with lots of tables and nooks and crannies and couches.

It was surprisingly packed yesterday with students and laptops, but also with gamers.

I didn’t even recognize most of what people were playing, but I felt happy to be in the midst of the energy and to see people connect with one another face to face.

Rather than Facebook to Facebook.

Speaking of ye olde social media.

I had someone send me a friend request yesterday who I had unfriended a few months back for good reason and at the suggestion of my person and I also blocked his phone number and deleted his number in my phone.

Space was made and taken.

I was surprised to get the request.

Then.

Not so surprised.

And.

Then.

Surprised that I considered accepting it.

But.

In the end.

Yes.

I deleted it.

There was a reason, there is a reason, and no contact is still the best thing for me with said gentleman.

That being said.

I was happy to have made the decision to do something, even such a small thing, as deleting the request, instead of hemming, hawing re-accepting and going back into the crazy.

Sometimes I turn down crazy town road and I see that great big pothole (man-hole) that I have fallen into before and I am so tempted.

I won’t fall in this time, just watch!

Sure Lucy.

How about I just don’t try to kick that ball today?

It felt really good to take contrary action and to not engage.

Healthy like.

Sane.

Different.

I like it.

Then today when I logged into all things interwebs and was checking through I noticed that although I had deleted the friend request it showed up that said person was following my public posts.

Hmm.

I’m not so sure I want that.

I haven’t ever really thought about my privacy on Facebook.

I don’t publish political stuff on my page, in fact, any time I am tagged in a political post I remove that tag and delete it on my timeline.

Don’t post shit to my page.

Please.

And thank you.

I don’t give a fuck if our political leanings are the same, I don’t want to think about politics when I’m on social media.

Anyway.

I logged into privacy settings and holy shit.

I might as well have let the whole world know what was going on or not going on with me.

Everything was set to public.

I cannot fathom how or when I did that.

Unless I just wasn’t paying attention.

So.

I made it all private.

I figure this is good timing for me anyway.

I’ll be starting practicum soon and I should make sure my social media stuff isn’t accessible to people whom I’m not friends with.

I don’t post racy pictures of myself.

I find that kind of tacky.

That’s just my judgement.

But.

My personal stuff is my personal stuff.

And.

I have been “found” by a few guys on Tinder when I was on Tinder.

I am not on it.

Haven’t been on it for a bit now.

I took it off my phone but once in a while I would notice that I was getting hits on Instagram that seemed to be coming from Tinder.

So I got the app again on my phone and checked it out.

Sure enough.

I had to delete my account through the app before I could actually be off it.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t have it on my phone.

It was still “live” out there in the world.

Creepy.

So.

Deleted that.

Buh bye.

I’m so not opposed to sex.

I love sex.

But.

I am opposed to that particular app and I realize that yes, I prefer some intimacy, emotional, intellectual, yes, even spiritual, before I want to drop my knickers.

Like if someone from my friends group on Facebook did want to ask me out on a date, I would be down.

But.

For someone to find me on Tinder, photostalk me through Instagram, find me on Facebook and then message me, um.

NOT INTERESTED.

That particular scenario has happened three times.

I don’t expect it will again.

Boundaries.

I need to have them.

I have had nebulous, porous, wobbly boundaries, and it just ends up biting me on the ass.

Every time.

Better boundaries make for better relationships.

This is what I am learning.

Good skill to have.

I am sure I’ll waffle again, but I’m getting better and better and the change feels good and I am not watching the horror show of my own dramatic script writing.

Nope.

I’m changing the channel and getting right into the what is right in front of me, moment.

Reality is so much better than fantasy.

Fantasy feels safer.

But in the end.

For me.

It’s isolation.

And for me to isolate is to die.

I’ll pass, thanks.

Here’s to living in the present.

The gift I’m given every day.

Grateful for that.

Seriously.

 

Growing Up

February 8, 2017

Moving on.

Letting go of the things that don’t serve me.

Letting go of ways and means of being that I have been.

Shedding.

Fuck.

It feels really good.

I had to have a little hand holding tonight as I took some suggestions regarding my personal life and relationships.

“No body treats you like that,” he said to me, “and I will not stand here and let you be treated like that, now unfriend.”

BAM.

I sent a message and let go of the results.

I changed.

Like that.

It has taken years to get to this point and to let go, of this old idea that I somehow need to give you more than me, that I am not enough, that I have to buy your love, respect, or that I need to give you something for you to be my friend, lover, partner.

Nope.

I am enough and I deserve to be treated well.

I stood up for myself.

Not by myself, though, I had to have some hand holding.

I had gotten the suggestion this evening and it matched up with how I was feeling, even though I was afraid to take the action required, I knew, deep within me, that it was the thing to do.

And.

I realized that I can’t do it alone.

I needed his help.

“Wait, can I just do this now, with you here, I don’t know if I can do it when I get home,” I said.  I mean.  I knew I would, but I knew it would be easier for me to do it with my person there sitting across the table, warm, supporting, holding me through the process of letting go and moving on.

There is no there there.

“I expect to get blow back from this,” I said as I sent out the message and then took the next suggestion and cleaned some house.

“Doesn’t matter, you did your part, you cleaned your side of the street, how the other person responds doesn’t matter,” he said.

He took my hands and held them as I shed a few tears, took a deep breath and did the next action in front of me.

The relief of standing up for myself, asking for what I want, and really I do not have any expectations that the want will be met at all, none, nada, in fact, and that somehow made it easier and harder at the same time.

But let go I did.

And I realized I just made a huge amount of room for what will work in my life, for friendships, relationships, jobs, school, for letting in the love and going where the love is and being happier in my person and with myself.

Such stunning relief.

Let go.

Move on.

With love.

With unconditional regard for others and what they need to do to grow and be.

It’s not my business.

 

My business.

Is.

Me.

 

What works best, how will I grow, how may I serve, what does that look like.

I left my person with such deep gratitude and love.

I have grown so much since working with him and I have such respect for the work.

It awes me.

And I change.

It is good.

It is so good.

I am so excited for what this year is going to bring.

The travel I get to do.

I’m planning a trip to Puerto Rico.

Another to Anchorage.

One to Portland.

And.

Of course.

Burning Man.

Yes.

I know.

I am working full-time and going to school full time and I will be interning.

How the hell am I going to pull it off?

I don’t know.

But get pulled off it will.

I am thinking that I may camp somewhere new this year, my dear friend from my first camp that split off and started his own invited me to camp with them this year.

Go where the love is.

Go where I am wanted and appreciated.

And.

Don’t go to work.

I have worked every year.

I have paid my dues.

Maybe.

Just maybe go this year and don’t work, oh, I know, I’ll help out, wherever I am camped, that is what I do, but on my terms and not tied to anyone, not tied to a scheduled, not leashed to a job.

Just a camp.

Just a spot to put up my tent and be.

Just me.

Just the playa.

Just Burning Man.

That’s such a lovely thought.

A goal.

My year is already so littered with love and goodness, travel, art, school, friends, getting to be in San Francisco, getting my practicum placement, getting to be an intern, getting to start helping clients and accruing the hours toward my license.

And it’s just the beginning of February.

And.

It is just the beginning.

This thirteenth year of being in recovery is going to blow the top off.

I can feel it.

I am expanding.

My heart growing.

I am shedding old skin and stepping out new.

It feels extraordinary and freeing and magical.

Alive.

And let me not forget.

I am also going to Paris in May.

I mean.

My life is extraordinary.

I am so grateful I keep showing up, suiting up, doing the damn deal, living by spiritual principles.

I’m not a saint.

I’m going to fuck up.

But that too is a gift and an opportunity to grow more.

All this growth.

I am graced to get to do it.

It can be a struggle.

Or it can be a surrender.

Today.

It was melting surrender, a washing away, a saying goodbye, a letting go, with the rain sluicing down the gutters and the fog prowling on soft cat feet, as I listened to Bon Entendeur streaming from my headphones as the N-Judah barreled its way down towards Ocean Beach, I looked at my reflection across the way in the mirrored window of the train.

I smiled.

So much joy.

Such simple shifts.

And boom.

A giant leap forward in my life and in my recovery.

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Seriously.

It’s going to be fucking amazing.

AMAZING.

Solidarity In Solitude

January 22, 2017

No.

I did not march.

Although I was giving myself a complex about it, I did not go.

I did the deal.

I did the laundry.

I did the homework.

I did the writing.

I did the grocery shopping and the cooking and then, the more doing of the homework.

I’m a feminist for being in grad school, paying my own way, working as a self-employed woman, being sober, radical isn’t it, not smoking, being kind, using my voice and my experience to help others.

I could list lists of lists to convince you.

But the only person I really needed to convince was myself.

As I found myself feeling judged by friends for not going.

I think a lot of this had nothing to do with friends, I don’t think anyone gave my presence a second fucking thought, except that whenever I got asked if I was going, or it was assumed I was going, I bristled.

So I wrote some inventory.

First thing that came out is that I was afraid of being judged, that I was in judgement around myself, my experience, and god fucking forbid, whether or not my friends on social media saw pictures of me marching around with a pink cat hat on.

Sorry.

But no.

And I support Planned Parenthood.

Fuck.

They sure as shit supported me.

Years and years of service and sliding scale and birth control.

I went there in early recovery when I slept with a man and didn’t use a condom and found out he was an ex-heroin junkie who used to shoot dope with dirty rigs.

Oh my fucking god.

Get me to the doctor.

Planned Parenthood.

HIV test.

Negative, thank you.

And out the door.

I have donated plenty of money to them and I believe in them.

I believe in love, liberals, random acts of kindness, activism, resistance, raising your voice.

I mean.

I do live in San Francisco.

But I also believe in radical self-care.

And when I recalled, after doing some great work at beating myself up for waffling on whether I was going to go to the march, was that today was my first day off in two weeks.

Of course I didn’t want to go to the march!

I wanted to go back to bed.

I wanted to cancel on my yoga class.

I wanted to hide under the covers.

I did not.

I did get up.

I did go to yoga.

I did lots of breathing and I knew, even as I sat in solidarity with my sisters, mothers, friends, aunts, cousins, girl-friends, mentors, teachers, I need to do self-care today.

When I finished my inventory and realized, that yes, once again, I am just in abject terror or being unloved, abandoned, and alone, I felt a lot better, made a phone call, did a check in, got on the train, got a cafe au lait at Tart to Tart and went an anniversary celebration of a 70-year-old institution here in San Francisco.

It was amazing.

It was sweet.

Lots of old-time experience, strength, and hope.

And though I knew part of me might feel a little untoward for not going to the march I wasn’t horribly upset to be missing it, for I was making connection, radical spiritual connection with many people quietly doing something that has been consistently saving lives for decades.

I’m ok with that.

And I was also ok to go get a mani/pedi and sit in the window and watch the trains go by.

Trains so packed with people that it wouldn’t pick up more and the stop in front of the beauty parlour was overflowing with women and picket signs and pink hats and supportive spouses, boyfriends, kids.

It was a beautiful thing to watch and witness.

And yeah, there’s a part of me that wishes to be there, but the part of me that gets overwhelmed by big mob like crowds was more than happy to sit back and focus on doing reading for school.

That’s a pretty radical thing.

Working full-time and going to school full time.

I had no compunctions about coming home when the rains came in and curling up with my homework and doing a bunch of reading and roasting a chicken in the oven.

So many years.

So many decades of doing for others before doing for myself.

I felt immense gratitude for this expression of humanity, for allowing myself the quite reprieve of a day off and not trying to work hard to work harder.

I really needed a break and I am glad I got over the guilt of taking it.

If I had isolated, if I hadn’t made an effort to go out and see my fellows, to talk with a friend on the phone, to connect with the clerk at the grocery store, then I would feel bad.

If I had spent all day lolling about pleasure reading or watching Netflix, I would feel bad.

But I didn’t.

I did a lot of work.

Shit.

I am doing it again.

Rationalizing and justifying why I didn’t go.

I didn’t go because I didn’t want to.

There.

Done.

Moving the fuck on.

Tomorrow.

Yoga in the morning.

Meeting with a lady in the afternoon to read and share experience.

Getting a tattoo after that.

Meeting with a friend after that for dinner, catch up, and doing the deal.

It’s a nice weekend, this, especially when I don’t need to feel guilty, not enough, or bad, for making decisions that are ultimately mine to make.

Not to people please.

Just to show up the best way I know how to today.

Right here.

Right now.

This is ok.

Seriously.

It really is.

Pete The Cat

November 17, 2016

Is a co-dependent.

Seriously.

Have you read the one about him and the goldfish?

I couldn’t help my commentary as I was reading the story to my charges today.

It cracked me up.

Takes one to know on.

I’ve gotten a lot better though, more advocating for myself and more letting myself have the things that I need to have to take care of myself.

After all.

It’s hella hard to take care of others if I haven’t taken care of myself.

I’ve been doing pretty good at that of late.

I got up early and made coffee and got my breakfast started, but did not eat it, I don’t like how I feel if I eat breakfast before yoga, it’s not a good feeling.

But I knew it was going to be a little tight this morning to do all the things I wanted to do before I had to leave for work.

So.

Yeah.

I made breakfast and set it aside before I went to the studio.

I really wanted to get in one more day at the studio before the school week begins.

Tomorrow I can’t, I’ll be heading down town to the Healthy San Francisco offices.

I don’t qualify for Healthy SF anymore, I’m just covered until January, so I need to get all my stuff together and apply for Covered California.

Which is actually real health insurance.

Healthy SF is not, but I’ve used it and every year at tax time I get dinged for it not being “real” insurance and I have to pay a fine.

I love how this country likes to punish those who don’t have enough by taking away their resources.

I always have a bit of snit when I have to pay the fine for not having health insurance, it just seems a bit unfair.

I can’t afford health insurance, so let me pay a fine for not having health insurance.

Fuck you.

Anyway.

I’m ready to have the real thing and I’m hoping it won’t be too expensive.

I know it will be more than I have been paying and I’m just going to be fine with it.

Paying for my glasses this past year out-of-pocket, since Healthy SF doesn’t cover eye care or dental, was really expensive.  I’d like to not do that again.

I figure between the fine and what the costs of my two sets of glasses were I can afford to do the Covered California.

I believe I will be taken care of.

So I took care of all the minutiae that they require and printed off my bank statement and my payroll stubs.

I’m set.

I just have to go in, hand them my paper work, fill out the application and decide what plan to choose.

Preferably one with dental and eye care.

Then I work and get my shit together for the school weekend.

I got no reading done today.

I was hoping to get a nap, but the baby was teething.

Argh.

And the boys, her brothers were both home early from school.

There was really no break and there was certainly no down time to do any of my school reading.

But.

Ultimately.

I am ok with that as my papers are written and I did reading for all my classes.

I’m not that far behind, just not completely caught up and frankly, I’m so happy I cranked out my paper this past weekend I don’t really care.

I looked at myself today and smiled.

“You’re doing a good job kid,” I said.

I believed it, it’s nice to look around and have my stuff taken care of, food is prepped up, my papers are in their school folder, stacks of books on my desk, laundry done, I just need to show up and participate.

And.

Well.

I’m pretty good at that.

And stay awake.

I always have a challenge getting enough sleep the weekends I’m in school.

I get somewhere between five and six hours when I normally get 8.

By the end of the weekend I’m a little bonkers.

But.

I keep looking towards next week with a sweet longing, I will have days and days and days off.

I will sleep in.

I may not even do homework.

Ok.

That’s probably not true.

But.

Oh.

What would it be like to do some pleasure reading?

Actually read something that is fiction.

God damn that sounds so fucking sexy.

Maybe I will bring one book to enjoy.

I’ll probably wait until Christmas though, when I travel back to Wisconsin, and let myself have a few good thick books for the winter break.

I’ll get about two weeks of not having to read for school.

Although the break is longer than that, it’s almost a month if I recall from last year, but the syllabi usually get released and I’ll need to be doing reading for the start of the second semester fairly quick.

I remember how fast it snuck up on me last year and I was like.

Shit.

I have to start reading now!

I don’t need to feel that kind of panic going into the second semester.

And I will need to start preparing for my practicum and where I’m going to intern.

Fuck.

That’s going to be more work too.

Always the work.

But.

I suppose I’m used to it by now and I’m getting better and time management and I have to say, I’ve been good about not engaging with my social media right away in the morning.

I give myself my morning.

Nice breakfast.

Time to do my morning routine, drink some coffee, do some writing.

Read when I can.

So the first few hours of the day are mine alone and I’ve become a little greedy with those hours, ignoring messages or calls or texts until I have done all the writing and coffee and reading and getting ready for my day.

I’m being selfish.

Or.

As I prefer.

I’m taking care of myself.

Poor Pete the Cat by the end of the story has painted everyone in his family a goldfish painting, everyone in his class, his school bus driver, his grandma, even the mayor at Cat City Hall wants a painting from Pete the Cat.

Pete’s got homework.

Pete’s got to feed Goldie his goldfish.

Pete looks exhausted.

Pete gets a great idea and paints one huge painting for the whole city and puts it up in the middle of downtown.

I’d rather just learn from Pete’s lesson, although I don’t think the author was going for a co-dependent kitten, I got the message loud and clear.

Taking care of myself is the best way to help those around me.

And I do want to help.

So.

With that.

I’m out.

I need to eat a persimmon and have some tea before bed.

And.

Maybe a video.

Even Pete would approve of that.

Good night.

Cats and kittens.

It’s been a good day.

And.

It’s all groovy.

Pete would approve of that too.

I Saw Your Car

September 6, 2016

In the parking lot at the 7-Eleven on the corner.

It sounds like the start to a really bad country western song, doesn’t it?

I kept right on right on, moving on.

I did stop.

I did pause.

I did have a wave of something come over me.

I suspect that you were thinking of me, I had you sudden and random in my head as I switched out my glasses and put on the frames you liked to see me in before leaving my house this evening to walk up and do the deal at the place up the road.

I am tan and my hair is in braids.

Like you like.

Like that.

I conjured you to the parking lot, heir to Slurpees and candy bars, to hot dogs on a rolling tray, glistening under the heat lamps, oily and delicious, the crisp coated chicken wings, baking under another set of lights, waiting to be scooped up into thin white paper bags, that spot with grease upon contact.

God only knows the years people have lost consuming such junk.

Devious in it’s siren song.

Though not so delicious as the memory of the first time we kissed.

And then.

I realized.

What the fuck am I doing standing on this sidewalk?

Do I really need to replay that mess?

No.

I have had these odd moments.

Moments when I feel like I’m being given a chance to go back and repeat old behaviors.

Or.

Move forward.

I fished in my purse for my phone, as though I suddenly had some momentous phone call coming in and I had to answer it.

Why was I there, on the sidewalk, stopped in my tracks?

Skin a glow.

Warm.

Soft, skirt billowing about my knees.

Then.

I put the phone resolutely back in my bag, there was no incoming message, there was no sign from God.

Although, there was.

There it was.

Make the decision.

Stay and talk and get wrapped up in a man who is not available for me to get wrapped up in, fantasize about a nothingness that is there, scuttling like a Kit Kat wrapper discarded in the parking lot.

Or.

Jump the other direction.

I was reminded that I was not to chase.

Not to pursue.

To know what I want.

And to sit and wait for that.

That the desire to chase was going to come up and I could let it pass through me and let it go out the other way, run down to the beach, sink into the sand, softly paddle down to the waves lapping at the moon.

And disappear underneath that yellow buttercream frosted moon, a dusted crescent sugar cookie, a soft bitten kind of love sailing over the black velvet waves.

Buh bye.

Bye, my baby, good bye.

I walked up the sidewalk.

I thought about all ways that I took care of myself today.

From sleeping in, to washing my bed sheets and making a fresh bed.

The good food I cooked for myself.

The writing I did.

The quiet time I took.

The phone calls I made and the conversations I had.

The gift I gave myself of not leaving the neighborhood, not seeking to have an agenda, to do something, to make something happen.

No need.

There was no need.

No.

The need was to go slow.

To languish in the sun.

Languid, liquid, warm, soft, sluiced with the sunshine.

It was not foggy today.

It’s Indian Summer in San Francisco.

And thank God.

It finally came.

Granted I spent much of “Fogust” out of town, but the few days that I was here in August, it was surprisingly grey and foggy and cold.

To come back, to be out of the first weekend of my second year of grad school and to have a day where it was sunny, warm, and without fog, was a huge gift.

One that my brain was eager to sabotage by running around and “getting stuff done.”

I have no real idea what this stuff was that needed to get done.

I went grocery shopping yesterday and I really didn’t need to do anything.

I was directed to get my “mind of me” and to go outside, go to coffee, go walk on the beach, get out of myself.

So.

I did.

I took a few phones calls in the back yard, checked in with my people, then walked up to Trouble Coffee And Coconut Club and had a very hot, very wet, very expensive latte.

I sat out in the front parklet and watched the ocean from the wooden top beam of the fenced in space.

I let the sun splash down on me.

I tasted the espresso and milk and let it envelop me.

I went to The General Store and actually found a dress I just adored and even though it was much more expensive than I wanted to spend, I liked it too much to not get it.

I spent the majority of my clothing allowance on it and smiled with sweet happiness that I allowed myself the gift of getting it.

I’ll wear it tomorrow.

I thought about relationships and myself and friendships and remembered the admonishment to spend time with either myself or with girlfriends.

Guy friends I can get too wrapped up in and the fantasy of maybe they’re the guy I should be dating gets in the way of it.

I remembered what my friend said, let it happen, sit still, allow the work to take and don’t push it.

I walked down to the ocean and walked along the beach.

I watched dogs jump in and out of the surf.

I watched surfers drift in and out of the waves.

The sun shone.

The sand stuck to my toes and then washed off as the water lapped over my feet, surprising, cold, crisp, alerting my whole body to how alive I am.

I found a large drift wood log and sat.

I watched a game of frisbee.

I checked some messages and saw a man I had dated a few months back commented on something I posted on social media, I texted him, answered the question, but did not pursue it further.  I didn’t ask, hey, what are you doing?  Want to hang out?

That’s the hard part.

The not pursuing.

Yet.

As I sit with myself, leaning more and more into the strength there.

I know that I am worthy of love.

Of pursuit.

And I’m not too concerned about it.

The feelings come and go.

But I don’t have to treat them as though they are real or permanent.

Just a fleeting kiss of ghosted memory.

And gone.

Like my footsteps past the parking lot.

The neon glow of the sign behind me casting a shadow ahead of me.

Glimmers come shining off the dance floor that I chose to exit from.

Asphalt sparkles in the night.

And the caress of wood smoke hovering in the saline air.

Love.

Love.

Here.

There.

Everywhere.

God, in the details.

The swish of my skirt around my ankles.

The curl of hair, tucked behind my ear.

And.

The soothing whisper.

Soon.

Here.

At the still point of this Universe.

Love.

Will find me.

On the corner of 46th and Judah.

A whimpering croon, oh baby girl.

Just.

Come.

And.

Hold my hand.

And together.

We will walk.

Towards that unknown land.

Love.

Just there, over the dunes.

Under the cusp of the moon.

I am here.

I await.

Still.

And.

Strong.

For.

You.

It Took Me A Minute

August 3, 2016

I had to phrase it just so.

I am a little afraid of what is about to happen.

Excited too, though.

Hella excited.

I was given a ticket to the event.

You know, that thing in the desert.

Yeah.

That.

And I am beyond over the moon, I was not expecting it, though it was inferred that it could be a possibility, I bought the ticket knowing that I may have to pay full price and hey, if that’s the price I need to pay to go to the event.

Well.

Fuck it.

I’ll pay.

Things though, they work out.

And I was gifted a ticket.

I can’t describe how I reacted to the e-mail I received other than I made a lot of little high pitched yelping laughs of joy and jumped around my room like a baby kangaroo let out of the pouch for the first time.

I can sell the ticket I have!

I can sell the vehicle pass too!

I was given a pass as well.

The interesting thing is that I didn’t ask, but I did offer, I offered to help where I could, without expectation because I dearly love the event and the people involved, especially in one little nook of the playa and the thought of getting to hang out with them in any capacity makes me glow.

I was texting with a friend from school who has not gone and she doesn’t quite get it.

And.

Well.

Lots of folks don’t quite get it.

Great.

No worries.

I can describe it until I’m blue in the face, I can show pictures, I can express my feelings, I can talk about all the friends that I miss and only see on playa, I can talk about dust storms and white outs and double rainbows and the hot springs and the smash of stars at night and the howling at the sky when the sun sets, but nothing ever compares to the actual experience of going.

And it’s branded on my heart.

It’s imprinted on my soul.

I can’t get it out, that’s playa dust for you.

Once it’s in there it’s pervasive and never leaves.

So yeah, I’ll be at the offices this week helping out with a little project and I am so happy to get to go in and do grunt office work.

It’s sort of stupid.

I mean.

It’s a day off from work, yet, I am choosing, happily to go volunteer some of my time to help out my favorite team.

It just really makes me happy.

I was asked to come in, if I had any free time on Thursday, and the crazy thing is I do.

I don’t normally, I would be at work, but the family I nanny for is out of town and I have the day free.

I figure I’ll get up and do some yoga then go down to the offices in the Mission and hang out with friends all day and do office work.

The things I like to do on my day off.

Heh.

I’m actually really happy to go.

And I am super happy to get to sell this ticket, hopefully make someone happy who wasn’t able to get one in the main sale.

I’m selling it for the same cost as I paid.

$540 gets you the whole shebang–ticket to the event, vehicle pass, taxes paid, etc.

I was nervous to post to social media for a while, I sort of don’t want to deal with it, but after offering it to a few friends I knew might be interested I decided it was time to put it out there.

I was also, heh, nervous about selling it until I had the other ticket in hand, but I’ve looked at the email I got earlier today while I was on my lunch date so many times that I know I’m getting the ticket.

I was going to wait until I had it in my hand but then thought, I could help someone out, maybe someone like me who wanted to go and couldn’t get it together.

I’m not going to price gauge, I’m just asking for exactly what I paid.

Which is basically going to cover the cost of renting a car, gassing said car, and detailing said car when I get back from the playa.

Plus, because I don’t have a credit card.

I have to put a deposit in cash on the car and they take almost a full month to refund that deposit.  It’s a big damn deposit too.

It’s a bit of a pain in the ass, so being able to sell the ticket is going to help me recoup the loss of money from transporting myself up.

And in other news.

I got some more gear in the mail.

Tomorrow I plan on doing a dry run and setting up my tent in the back yard, even though, I hate to admit it, I’m a little intimidated to take it out of it’s neat and tidy little sack and mess it up.

However, I want to make sure that I know how to put it together and I’m going to get rebar to reinforce the tent stakes, so I need to know how many pieces of rebar I need to purchase.

That and some work gloves and I’ll be set.

I’m pretty much ready.

I’ve got cold brewed organic coffee concentrate.

I got my tent.

I got my bed.

I got a car rental.

I got a spare ticket and vehicle pass.

Hit me up love.

Let’s get dusty together!

 

Post Script

The ticket and vehicle pass sold before I even finished the blog.

 

Well, That Was Fast

July 9, 2016

I’M GOING TO BURNING MAN!!!

Not that I am excited or anything.

So fucking excited, piss my pants excited, burst into tears excited, over the moon excited, can’t believe I actually get to go excited.

“Well, of course you are,” a friend commented on my facecrack page, she never doubts that I will be there, of course I will be there.

“Work or play?” The next question asked.

Holy shit.

PLAY!

I haven’t played in years, almost a decade you could say, although that’s not quite true, since this will be my tenth burn.

I sort of played my first year, but got scooped up into working at the Center Camp Cafe and I worked some pretty gnarly shifts there, picking up extra hours when the man was lit up early and a bunch of people left Cafe to go work on building a new man for the event.

That was my first year.

“You need to set up a Burner Profile,” my friend told me, who’s helping me get the ticket and who’s just a freaking peach and I’m so glad I asked.

I mean.

So fucking glad.

Pride in reverse was something I recognized last night when I was doing some inventory, and also how when it was suggested by a friend that I go anyway, that I go early, that I skip the burn and be back for school early, I poo poo’ed the idea.

Martyr.

I realized that I was willing, capable, and had completely sabotaged myself around going.

The way I wanted to go was not happening, so I’m not going, and I’m going to feel all butt hurt and sad about it, but not say anything and take it like a trooper and be the big girl.

And fuck that shit.

I mean.

Really?

I want to go, I can ask and see about doing it differently.

And when I asked.

It all fell right into place.

Shockingly so.

I got a response on the ticket this morning.

I found a place to camp literally minutes later.

I almost couldn’t bring myself to open the e-mail when I saw my friend had responded, she’s going to say no, it’s not available, it’s not an option, I can’t go, why did I bother…

Wait.

What?

She’s got a ticket!!

I can go.

Fuck.

Now I have to ask off from work again.

My brain wanted to get all on fire about that.

And what about gear?

You don’t have any gear, it chimed in moments later.

Shh.

And a ride!

How the fuck are you getting there and back, especially since you’re going to have to leave Wednesday of the event.

Shut up.

One freaking thing at a time lady.

One thing at a time.

So once I found out I had the ticket, and I’ll be paying and I make a tight scrunch face at having to put out the money, but fuck it, I’m going, so whatever, hello student loans, shh, don’t tell the government.

But seriously?

I’ll be a happier student if I get to roll into my first semester of my second year of grad school having had a few days previous on playa, I’m happy to use my financial aid.

I have a tiny scrap of it left in savings from after my New Orleans trip.

Prudent reserve be damned, get me to the playa.

The next thing I did once I stopped hyperventilating about having gotten a ticket, was to e-mail the family I nanny for and ask, with a bit of humble pie in my ask, but nonetheless, I did it, I asked.

And.

I got a response before I walked into work.

I was locking up my scooter and checking my e-mails and there it was.

A message from the mom:

I don’t see a problem with this.  We will just have more food frozen before maybe so we don’t eat too crappy that week.  We can work this out.
Glad you’re gonna go after all.  Seemed a little wrong for you to miss it.
I cook for the family (holy Toledo I made a lot of food today! Broccoli soup, zucchini noodles, spaghetti and meatballs for the boys, prepped tons of raw veggies and fruit for the weekend, and even roasted up a cauliflower which was devoured upon being taken out of the oven) and if that’s all I got to do to go, cook some extra meals and freeze them up for them, no freaking problem.
My pleasure.
I got totally teary reading the message and had to take a moment to clean myself up and go into work.
Which was a big day and I was just whomped by the end of it and in tears later when I talked to a friend about the day.
I realized I was emotionally overwhelmed with the excitement of getting to go to the event and also a bit over come with the preparations and what and where and when and all the things.
And the end of the week and the boys are rambunctious and I’ve been doing double duty on the stove and I was just walloped.
But I got my groove back.
As evidenced by me sitting here writing this.
I also put up my Burner Profile–MF Poppins–and e-mailed my friend the information she needed to assist in getting the ticket.
I still need a tent.
I probably secured an air mattress tonight.
I have bedding, I just need to hie it over to the Mission and grab my old quilt from a friend who’s been baby sitting it since I moved to Paris, I suppose three years time is about right to recollect.
The other stuff and things will happen.
Mostly.
What I need is a ride there and back.
I’m hoping to get out of town the evening of the 26th and be able to land on playa early on the 27th.
I’ll be working that Friday but free to leave as soon as work ends.
I’ll need to be back the 31st, that Wednesday.
I’ve got tickets to Mike Doughty the evening of the 1st and I have school starting on the 2nd.
I can’t be later than the 1st mid morning/early afternoon.
But I think it’d be better if I got back the 31st or left playa that day, so that I have a chance to wash the dust off me before I go to the concert.
I got the ticket.
I got a place to camp.
I got the time off from work.
I am sure I’ll get a ride there and back.
I might have to go up with someone and come back with another someone.
I’m good company.
Seriously.
And so very happy.
Very.
Very.
Very.
Happy that I get to go.
Over the moon and back times infinity.
Luckiest girl in the world.
Seriously.
Burning Man 2016.
This is happening.

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