Posts Tagged ‘amends’

Just Keep Writing

June 19, 2017

Very, very, very few hits on the blog yesterday and today.

Of course.

It is Father’s Day.

Folks have things to do, people to see, loved ones to celebrate.

I sent my dad warm thoughts, it’s how I can show up today, loving from a distance.

I did try last week on his birthday to call the cell phone number I have for him, but the call did not go through and I took that as the time is not now.

I may never have the time for my dad.

I have acceptance for that, some sorrow, but mostly acceptance and a kind of peace around it.

There are times that I have wished for more from my father, but I have always known, despite not having much contact with him through the years, that I was loved by him.

Who am I to say that how he expressed his love was not the right thing for me?

I cannot choose how people express their love.

I have a certain idea how it should look, but my ideas are often wrong.

So often wrong.

It’s rather ridiculous.

But hey, I’m trying.

I may fall, but at least I know that I am trying.

And I love.

So, so, so hard.

My God, I love hard.

And it may not be what someone wants either.

I have tried being softer and kinder and easier with my love, for myself, for others, to not squeeze too hard, to be gentle, to be flexible and have deeper perspective and appreciation for all forms of love.

I’m not sure where I am going with this ramble, just that I am glad for my father and I hope he is well and I love him.

I do.

So many kinds of love, so much vastness of feeling.

So many memories.

Some easier to recall than others.

Grateful for them all.

Grateful for today.

It was a good day.

I woke up earlier than I was planning, but then again, I hadn’t planned on staying up late last night, but the cup of coffee I gleefully, rebelliously drank with my friend at the anniversary party last night had its way with me.

I was going to let myself have eight hours of sleep.

But the light in my room woke me up and I knew I would feel better if I got up and got myself going.

So I hopped up, put on the yoga clothes and went to the studio down the block.

It was a great class and I was very happy with the teacher.

Then a nice mellow, slow morning.

Met with a lady, did the deal, did some laundry, did some shopping, did some cooking.

And.

Holy cats.

I read some fiction.

I read a book.

In the sun.

On the back porch.

It was sunny in San Francisco and the beach was packed and the parks were packed and it was Father’s Day all over the place.

I did go down to the beach for a little bit, but when it’s nice out, and it was, it was over 80 degrees, the beach gets really bombarded and add a national celebrate a parent holiday and the traffic and people were off the hook.

I sat in a dune for a while and enjoyed the sea and the sun, but after maybe twenty minutes I just decided to go back home and read on the back porch.

I knew it would be quiet.

And it was lovely.

I definitely got a few freckles today and I got warm in my bones.

It felt nice to put up my feet and relax a little.

The next week is a busy one.

Aren’t they all?

But.

It does make the time go faster and I’m excited to be seeing clients now at the internship.

I also peeped the weather for the next week and it looks gorgeous and sunny and the June gloom that is so often the weather in the city for the summer seems to have abated and I am grateful.

There is so much in my life to be grateful for.

So much learning.

As I navigate through my days I see where I have stumbled and where I have been selfish and when I am not being of good service to a situation.

I can make things about myself really fast.

I catch it more often than I have in the past, but I am always a bit chagrined when I do it.

I get to recall the feeling in my body when I hurt someone or make something about me when it really has nothing to do with me, out of fear, that’s usually where I am acting from, fear.

Fear that I won’t get what I want or I will lose what I have.

And the fear is baseless.

Groundless.

Silly.

I have been given so much and I have so much, that to live in any kind of fear is a kind of waste, a superfluous worry of time, when I could be enjoying the sunshine, the daydream, the revery of sitting still in the back yard and feeling the warmth on my skin where I am caught and held in perfection.

I am human, but that is an excuse.

I have to also change when I see things in myself that I don’t care for, I can’t wish them away.

I can, however, pray about it and hope to be of better service in the future.

Remembering how it feels when I have done something that doesn’t serve another because I am in fear of not getting what I want.

Ah growth.

Painful growth.

I heard it said once or twice, though, that pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.

I definitely grew a little today.

And the pain is not as tender as it has been in the past, but it is there so I chose now, in this moment, to remember what I felt and what I was feeling and to not let those fears get in the way of enjoying my day.

The sun.

The soft warmth.

The dreamy.

I do like the dreamy.

Please God.

Don’t let me fuck up the dreamy.

 

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Happy Thanksgiving!

June 1, 2017

Yes.

I am aware that tomorrow is June 1st and not November.

It has been one hell of a month.

So much happening.

Amazing things truly.

I love my life, I’m lucky, I’m graced, I’m blessed.

And.

I might just being going to Hawaii for Thanksgiving!

Yup.

It will be my first time, unless something unusual pops up and I find myself in the islands, which I am not opposed to, but to tell you the truth, I hadn’t expected to hear the news today that I might be in the islands for the holiday.

My family I work for brought it up today.

I will have off that weekend from school and work, well, since it is work, will let me have the time.

It’s not a real vacation for me, I’ll be working, but, oh, the location does not suck.

Not at all.

And like I said, I’ve never been to Hawaii.

I really should go, I am part Polynesian after all.

Puerto Rican and Polynesian on my father’s side.

German and Scot on my mom’s side.

I had someone tell me once that I was a Polynesian princess mixed with white trash.

Heh.

I might have a little trashy in me.

I definitely have some princess in me, that’s for sure.

Nevertheless, I am thrilled at the idea.

I love that the family really wants me to be included in their lives and I really love working for them.

Tomorrow marks five months of work and it’s been such a great job for me and the parents really appreciate me and the kids love me.

I love my charges.

LOVE.

Both of the older kids were under the weather today and one of them stayed home from school.

Work was huge amounts of snuggling, singing every song I know from my years of being a nanny, and an almost endless repetition of a lullaby that I usually sing to the baby, and all the babies I have ever worked with and a lot of my toddlers too, to the oldest boy while rubbing his back and petting him and just sitting and crooning to him.

He is the sweetest boy and super smart and vulnerable and the request to keep repeating the lullaby and stroking his soft blonde hair, oh, my heart, I just wanted to curl him up in my arms and kiss away the fever.

He got lots of love and I got to be the Queen of Snuggles.

I also got to do some cooking while he was watching a movie, sick days get movies, and I revelled in the cooking.

It feels good to cook, I miss it sometimes, cooking for a partner or my family.

I used to cook all the big holiday meals for my family and oh, the baking, and the stews, the jams and cheesecakes and pies, the cookies and pork chops.

Midwestern much.

Aside.

I said “bubbler” today and the woman looked at me like I was an alien.

Bubbler is water fountain in Wisconsineese.

I made up that last word, rhymes with cheese, bubbler is a total Wisconsin word, there are a few more, but that one slips once in a while into the conversation, or “pop” instead of “soda.”

Once and a while my roots show.

I am, however, not so connected to my Hawaiian and Puerto Rican roots.

My father wasn’t much around growing up and though I always kept in touch with my grandmother, I didn’t have much idea about Hawaii.

I had things from Hawaii that my grandmother would send and I remember boxes of chocolate covered macadamia nuts and once a grass skirt, coming in the mail from my grandmother.

I think we had placemats too and a few books about the islands and where the family was from.

It wasn’t until I moved back to California as an adult that I met my father’s side of the family in a more concrete way.

I remember meeting some cousins for the first time and being blown away by how much I looked like them, how they looked like my sister, and how I was actually lighter skinned than the majority of the family.

“They look like me!”

It was a relief and in a way an almost instantaneous connection that I had not always felt with my mothers Germanic roots and Scottish ancestry.

I was neither pale skin nor blue-eyed, or green-eyed as my mother.

I did not have blond hair.

Nope.

I got tan.

I didn’t really burn.

Well, once in a while, after long ass days detassling corn in the fields around Waunakee during the summers when I was working the crews, I might get a shoulder burn or a heavy crop dusting of freckles.

My mom though, my God, she could burn so easily, such creamy white fair skin.

Yeah.

So coming to California and starting to get those connections to my father’s family was a revelation.

I’m still not as close as I suppose I can be, social media does most of the work for me and there’s still stuff with my father that I have reservations broaching my family about.

I ceded his care when I was in Alaska in the hospital to the head of the administrative at the hospital.

I love my father.

I have exquisite and amazing child hood memories of him.

I also have some pretty awful ones too.

But.

He wasn’t around and when he had the accident that lead to the coma that led me to Anchorage, I went almost more to settle my own heart, then for anything else.

I sat by that hospital bed in the ICU for four night and five days.

He was in a coma the entire time I was there.

I held his hand and talked to him.

I forgave him.

And.

I asked for him to forgive me.

I made friends in Anchorage and the fellowship there carried me when I wanted to collapse into the snowbanks and the cold air and just cry my heart out.

I managed to not get stuck in any snowbanks but I won’t ever forget the dark night sky outside the window of the room the hospital hospitality house put me up in, for families of critical care patients at the facility, and the roughness of the sheets on the bed and how alone I was.

No.

That’s not true.

I wasn’t alone, I had God, I was carried, but I was by myself.

I was grateful, beyond grateful, to be there for my family and to relay messages out to the world and to let my grandmother be in contact with me and my uncle and my cousins and the love seed that was planted there.

I have never talked to any of them about letting go of my father’s care, but I did visit my grandmother that next summer and it meant everything to me to say “I love you,” and in that moment, as I was leaving to get on a plane from San Diego, in my grandmothers arms, I could feel how much she loved me too.

I will always have that moment.

And I look forward to getting to go to Hawaii.

Even if it’s not with my employers, which is sounds like it might actually be, I will go.

I have some more healing to do in that corner of my heart history.

I will swim in the ocean and walk on the beaches and turn my face to the sun.

I will go home again.

Although it has never left me.

Impressed as it is on the cheekbones in my face, the wide plush smile on my face, the curls in my hair, the freckles on the crest of my nose, the wilderness of my hips, the sway in my walk.

I have not forgotten.

I always have had the islands in me.

Always.

Don’t Mind Me

February 2, 2017

Singing French music slightly off-key at the top of my lungs.

I felt like singing and well.

There you go.

And French music makes me happy, especially when I am listening to a play list that my best French friend made for my on my Spotify.

It’s pretty awesome, a. a friend who makes a play list for you and b. that it’s mostly French music.

Although there’s some English music in there, it feels very apropos as I have been thinking a lot about travel today.

Paris in May.

Ten days.

Ten days.

Oh, let me say it again, ten days in Paris in May.

Paris in Spring.

My heart sings.

My feet tap dance a little, I just did a twirl about my room to the guitars and the vocals of Je t’aime Paris before I sat down to type.

I’m also making some other travel plans.

Puerto Rico.

In, wait for it.

July.

I know.

That sounds nuts.

And it’s actually funny, the only other time I have been to Puerto Rico was actually in July, a friend that I worked with at the Angelic Brewing Company got married there, she and her husband were both from Puerto Rico, what the hell they were doing in Wisconsin, I’m still not sure about.

But.

They wanted to get married in the oldest cathedral in Old San Juan.

Where, apparently, everyone who is Puerto Rican wants to get married.

The wait list was years long.

Unless you got married in the off-season.

Like, um, ha, July.

I think they still had to wait a damn long time for the date they did get, but yeah, it was hot.

But you know where it’s not hot in July?

Yeah.

San Francisco.

The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco.

Mark Twain had it pretty spot on.

Last July was colder than last February.

In fact, I remember making out with a guy last February on the beach, barefoot and it was warm, surprisingly warm, one of the few nights where it was warm enough to be down at the beach and bare foot.

I remember him kissing me and the moon was sinking slow behind me, it was the day after Valentines Day and for whatever reason, I think it might have been ski week for the private school kids I was nannying, I had off that week.

I had school that weekend and then I had gotten dressed up on Valentines Day, passed out Valentines Day cards to my classmates and after class let out, I went up to the Castro and did the deal and spoke a big gay men’s gathering.

I met my Puerto Rican fairy godfather at dinner that night before the meeting.

We hit it the fuck off.

Fast forward to my birthday this past year, he brings me a bag of coffee from Puerto Rico, a jar of Adobo spice, and a guidebook to the 100 best places to go to in Puerto Rico.

He had just gotten back from a business trip there and it turns out is there currently and will be back mid-February.

He will be making a few more trips back for business and one of those trips, yes, in July, I will be going with him.

I wasn’t originally planning July, but July just happened to happen for me.

I found out from my family that they will be going on a big family vacation for three weeks.

I will have three weeks off in July.

THREE.

So.

Definitely Puerto Rico.

I have the airline ticket voucher from when I cancelled my trip to Wisconsin at Christmas.

The airline happens to fly to Puerto Rico.

I am thinking a week there.

Then fly back.

And.

Then.

Alaska.

Yeah.

I know.

Big fucking mood swing travel.

But.

I have always wanted to go up to Alaska during the summer and I have friends that live there and the fellowship is great.

And.

Um.

My dad is there.

I haven’t spoken to him since I left him in a coma in Anchorage two years ago.

I do not know where or why the thought popped into my head, but pop it did and it felt so right it gave me shivers.

“Go see your dad.”

That was not my thought.

It was planted there.

And I realized as soon as I had it that yes, I need to do that.

I’ve got his phone number and I figure I’ll contact the recovery center he’s been staying in and just feel it out.

I certainly don’t want to make a huge deal out of it.

Although, it is a huge deal.

I just felt very compelled to go and see him and do it soon, I don’t need to question it and though I had some trepidation about it, it feels very much like what I need to be doing.

It’s more for me than it is for my dad, I think, I need to heal a bit more around the relationship and I feel that a face to face, eye to eye, would do me some good.

Oh.

I’m sure it will be painful too.

But through that, growth, and I long for growth.

I want to heal those spaces and holes in my heart and be fully capable of saying I did everything I could to rectify my relationships with my parents while I can.

I also, really have wanted to go to Alaska during the summer and I have a couple of friends up there who just got married and it would be great to see them and maybe get out into the wilderness a little and take my camera and explore.

Then.

I had another thought.

Well heck.

Why don’t I go to Portland too?

My sister just moved there with my youngest niece and it’s been a couple of years since I have seen them.

I could fly back from Anchorage to Portland, hang out for a long weekend, then fly to San Francisco.

I looked up flights with the estimated dates of travel and I could do one way tickets, SFO->Anchorage->Portland->SFO.

Total cost.

$361.

I can freaking swing that.

I’m not planning anything yet, I have yet to get confirmed dates from my employers, but I did agree to take some of those days as paid vacation time and they agreed to pay me for my time for the other two weeks.

I had already bought my ticket to Paris when I had interviewed for the job, that vacation and those days off are part of my vacation pay.

Which means, that I will actually get another three weeks paid off.

Mind blowing.

And the right thing to do.

I’m contracted to work for them and I get paid a minimum of 35 hours per week.

They don’t use me for those hours, they pay me regardless.

When I find out dates I will go from there.

I know Puerto Rico is happening.

I will sit on Anchorage and Portland, talk to my people, make sure I’m making a spiritual decision and not an ego centric driven one, but rather be coming from a place of humility.

It’s family and I have challenges navigating family.

I’m doing better than I have ever in my life.

There is that.

But it is still vulnerable for me.

And who knows.

I may be in practicum and be tied to the city, so who knows.

No plans yet.

Just slow cooking some travel on the back burner.

And hopefully.

In the back woods, the G.reat O.ut D.oors, sounds damn good.

And a coffee shop or three in Portland.

I could get behind that.

I like coffee

Just a little bit.

Heh.

 

 

 

You Look Like

June 30, 2016

Mint chocolate chip ice cream with cherries on top.

He said as I walked by.

“LOVE YOUR HAIR,” he added, giving me the nod for extra special emphasis.

Thanks dude.

Everybody likes to look like ice cream.

Well.

I do.

I did have to laugh a little at myself though for the outfit I was rolling down the street with, or up the street as the case may be, heading to the spot I spend my Wednesday evenings at getting right with God.

I had come home, started my laundry and rubbed one out.

Hey.

Look.

Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Although I could have taken up an offer I was made this afternoon.

“How about ten months?” He texted me.

“Um, hmm, I’ll think about that, let me get back to you,” I replied.

I got back to him a few minutes later, I already knew the answer, but it was fun for a moment to consider.

“Get your year and check back with me,” I replied.

Mother fucker.

REALLY?

Like the third one in a week.

What is up?

Did no one get their birthday last June?

What the fuck is in the air?

My hormones I suppose.

The blood is high, I can tell you what.

My cycle won’t hit until I get back from New Orleans.

Great, I thought tonight as I stripped down to hop in the shower, my breasts a good half size larger than yesterday, great, I’m ovulating or soon will be.

Meh.

I do not need to head of to New Orleans with plans of getting laid, I have other things to think about, do, go to, experience.

Was I heading to New Orleans with a partner, it would be the perfect place to wander romantic in the warm night rains and make out under a lamp post.

Just nibble my neck there and there and then we’ll stroll through the French Quarter and maybe a few cemeteries, because, well, death is sexy, no?

Anyway.

I took care of business, and then laundry and then the shower and in between packing for the trip and being on top of the clothes being in the wash, I had, um, a curious assortment of an outfit as I walked out the door.

And.

I have to say, I pulled it off.

I don’t know how, but sometimes more is better.

Leopard print leggings.

A mint colored nightshirt with candy skulls in pink and white piping, topped off with a sea green sweatshirt and of course a big mountain of cotton candy pink hair with some pink roses and a sequined star clip.

Because sequins.

Hello.

I probably look ridiculous.

But.

Fuck it.

It made me happy and I was cozy as fuck.

Because, bitches, it’s cold out there.

Freaking foggy, chilly, cold, etc, etc, etc.

It was 50 degrees this morning when I got up and socked in with fog, which never really lifted.

It got a tiny bit sunny in the Mission, but the fog that had burned off was rapidly being replaced by 3 p.m. with a fresh batch of cold as fuck rolling in over Twin Peaks.

Hello summer in San Francisco.

They are not kidding.

And the Outer Sunset?

Shut the fuck up.

It was never not foggy out here.

I don’t suppose it ever really burned off.

When I hopped off my scooter and came in and greeted my house, “hello house,” I immediately turned on the heat and lit up some candles.

Welcome to summer, break out your scarves.

I am so looking forward to being somewhere warm for a little while.

I’m sure the heat and the humidity will lose their luster pretty quick, but right now, it sounds fantastic.

A warm run of nights where I can walk outside bare skinned to the air and drift in the warm magnolia scent of summer.

Bring it the fuck on.

One more shift at work and then I’m ghost.

I’ll finish work at 6p.m.

Scooter home.

Grab my rolling suitcase, which is 95% packed, and head out the door to the airport.

I will probably call for a car.

I could try the MUNI and the BART, but I think I’ll also be hitting rush hour commute time and I don’t particularly care to risk being late on the flight.

I would rather get there a little early and blog from the waiting area at the gate.

Tomorrow!

I fly out tomorrow.

My flight is out of SFO at 10:41 p.m.

I’ll have a brief, less than an hour, layover in Las Vegas, then onto Houston, Texas, with another brief layover and transfer.

What with the time change I will arrive in New Orleans at 8:24 a.m.

I’m not excited about the indirect flight, the two change overs are going to wreck me for sleep, but it was worth it to get the discounted ticket, otherwise it was going to be another three to four hundred dollars to fly direct.

I figured that was money for the Air BnB.

Or for the experience of being there, restaurants, souvenirs, tickets to places, should I swing into the New Orleans Museum of Modern Art, it’s actually close to where I am staying, or just for riding around the French Quarter on a street car.

The disjointed travel was worth it.

I’m not upset and it worked out well for me timing wise too.

I’ll hang out and have a nice leisurely breakfast somewhere fabulous in the hood where I am staying and roll into my Air BnB at noon.

A swim in the pool?

A soak in the tub?

A fresh change of clothes, a sexy sundress.

And then off to explore a little and a late lunch before for going to the conference and hitting the registration and the big night get together.

I’m so ready.

Saturday I am really going to play by ear.

I know where I will be in the evening, at the conference, but I really do want to do a little exploring, walk, shop, dine, see what New Orleans has to offer, and also, what do I have to offer to the city, since I am such a taker.

How can I go and best be of service to the situation?

Make amends for the time previous I was there and my behavior, it was not so pretty.

I’m wild with excitement.

And I’ll keep you posted on all the adventures.

Promise.

See you next from the gate at United Airlines flight 455 SFO.

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

You Know You’re Busy

June 22, 2016

When you haven’t finished the second half of Game of Thrones.

I stopped mid-way Sunday night.

I had to.

I had to put it down, I was tired, I had a long weekend and I had to be at work early Monday to do stuff for the house and the household, even though the family was still out of town.

Make the oatmeal for the boys for the week, run to Lucca Ravioli and get a pound and a half of sliced peppered turkey, make broccoli soup, make beef stew, put fresh sheets and duvets on the boy’s beds, make sure the housekeeper got in and out.

All the things.

I told a friend I ran into last night that I hadn’t finished it and he marveled at my will power.

Strangely though, I have no will power.

It just is what happened and I also know myself well enough that I like to get a certain amount of sleep.

I got it.

Which is good, my sleep last night was a little erratic.

Which happens.

So tonight, I’m sure I’ll get back to my GOT.

However, I knew I had to do the writing, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to or had anything new to say or add in regards to my week.

Well.

I mean, there’s things.

But I’m not sure how much I feel like putting out there.

Sometimes I’m transparent as fuck.

And sometimes.

Well.

I’m not.

I will admit that I have been haunting Mike Doughty’s website waiting for the tour dates to be announced for the Living Room Tour he’s on.

There’s a date in September, the 1st, that he will be here in San Francisco.

I would like to get tickets, I have a few friends who also want tickets and I’ll be buying four once the date goes on sale.

Yesterday it was not on the roster of places, but I knew through a weird round about way that he would be in SF as it was listed as a place that should you want to host a show I could have applied.

Except.

Well.

Heh.

He wants a space that can hold 35-40 people.

That’s not my place.

I mean.

I would be willing to cram that many people in my studio, but it might be a tad close quarters, I would be like, so, you’ll be playing from my bed and, um, fuck, hahaha, I love this, I just blushed.

Mike Doughty in my bed.

Whoa.

I just blushed again.

I am such a girl.

Anyway.

My studio is too small for the tour so I didn’t apply.

However.

I asked a friend and he forwarded that information to another friend.

But.

I haven’t heard anything.

Until yesterday when it popped up in my facecrack feed that there was a show here scheduled for September 1st.

A host has been found.

Well.

I do want tickets to that.

But they’re not on sale yet.

I had a wild idea to message him and ask for tickets.

“Do not be a fanboy!” My friend said when I relayed the message that I was now friends with Mike on all things facecrack.

I know.

I know.

I don’t like that thing, I don’t want to be that girl.

I would, however, like to see him.

Fingers crossed.

I’ll be able to get tickets and if not, well, then I might message him, but I won’t ask for tickets, I think I’d rather ask him out to coffee and just sit and hang out.

This is all just idle fantasy.

Just because there’s a connection on social media does not necessarily mean connection.

Although there is something there.

I’m not going to, as my friend intimated, fanboy out.

Nah.

If it happens I get tickets, cool.

I almost want them more for a ladybug of mine.

She and her boyfriend are big fans and it would be really cool to get them tickets or my friend Stark Raving Brad, since he took me to the Paul Simon concert at the Greek in Berkeley, or for all of us.

I just figure the show will sell out quick.

Last time I saw him was at the Fillmore and that was pretty packed, certainly more than 40 people in attendance, so a Living Room show will probably sell out fast.

Anywho.

The things that capture my attention, all for your reading pleasure here.

Dating.

Sex.

Making out.

Going out.

Recovery.

Doing the deal.

Not doing the deal.

NO, hahaha, I kid on the last, I’m in it hard core right now, especially since my schedule is a bit more flexible with work.

Even with my work schedule being all over the place at work, the not having to think about being in school or having homework or reading to do, except for pleasure reading–on my third book since I got out of the end of the semester and countless magazines, I’m getting a little gluttonous, but it’s super fun–I’m going to lots of church basements.

The highlight of the day, quite often.

That and getting re-connected to my friends and fellows who I haven’t seen much of this past year, and getting to rooms I haven’t been to in months.

“Are you the speaker!?” A friend asked last night.

Nope.

But god damn it was good to see faces and get hugs.

Reconnecting last night with another person I had been estranged from too and getting an amends, that was powerful.

Yeah.

I guess you could say, life is pretty damn good.

If not having tickets to a show that I want to go to is my biggest problem, well, please, life is a bed of fucking roses.

And.

I am excited.

I just received the confirmation about doing the podcast this upcoming Saturday.

I’ll be up in Noe Valley at one p.m. to get recorded, live!

Eek a mouse.

Better do some practice.

Actually.

Ha.

I should.

It’s been a little while since I have recited any of my work for a person.

Maybe I’ll see if I can get a person to sit and listen to me for a minute over this next week.

Any takers?

I’ll be in the Mission for work and out and about in the Outer Sunset.

Maybe I’ll wrangle an ear tomorrow.

I get done with work at 6p.m. and won’t be getting to my commitment until 8:30 p.m.

If you’re in the Outer Sunset tomorrow and want to hear a few poems, hit me up.

And with that.

I’m out.

I have some Game of Thrones to finish up.

Yes.

Willpower.

Hahahahaha.

None here.

Move along.

Please, seriously.

Nothing to see.

Nope.

Not a thing.

Wink, wink.

Nudge.

Fucking.

Nudge.

Heh.

 

Pulled That Trigger

June 11, 2016

Holy shit.

I can’t believe I did it.

Especially when I looked at the cost of flying there.

Fuck.

But.

Fuck it.

I want to go and I decided.

And I registered.

Yes.

I am going to be out of town Fourth of July weekend again.

Last year I was in Atlanta.

This year.

NEW ORLEANS!

Woot! Woot!

Heh.

I am a little excited.

I found out the family I am working for will be at Carmel Valley Ranch down the coast for the holiday weekend and I’ll have that Friday-Monday off from work.

Then, tonight, I heard an announcement about he “Road to Detroit.”

What?

My ears perked right up.

I plan on being in Detroit for the big one in 2020.

Yeah.

I like to make the plans.

But Atlanta was so amazing, I committed then and there to go to the next one.

Well.

Wouldn’t you know?

They’ve decided to build some enthusiasm for the big one in 2020 by doing smaller regional events and the first one, this year, is in New Orleans.

My whole body broke out in goosebumps.

I have been thinking non-stop, every day since Saturday, about going to New Orleans.

In fact.

I started writing it down in my morning pages, I am a world traveler, I am going to New Orleans for Jazz Fest.

But.

l have to say, when I listened to my heart, my gut, my interior, Jazz Fest seemed just too far off, so the other day I just started writing I am going to New Orleans.

Then.

Tonight.

The announcement, the see me after for more information.

I registered.

Fuck, it was only $10 to register!

The Atlanta convention was $100.

Granted, money well fucking spent, but still.

Anyway.

I talked to the dude and forked over my ten bucks and did a happy dance and rode my scooter home with a wild silly grin slapped on my face.

Until I started looking at tickets to fly there.

Holy shit.

That’s a lot.

Then again.

It’s going to be a lot no matter where I go.

I had reached out to my friend in Wisconsin and not gotten back from her and the tickets to Minneapolis/St. Paul were about the same as New Orleans.

And well.

Fuck.

I owe myself an amends to go back to New Orleans and do it right.

I have only been one other time.

I was only there a night.

I was busy running away from home with my not so secret crush, as it would later turn out, at the age of 19, having just dropped out of college, blew that full ride good.

Seriously.

Fucked myself out of a full ride to university.

I just had to get the fuck out of Dodge, or Madison as the case may be.

It was a huge geographic.

I had no idea where I was going to end up.

Homestead Florida.

Never heard of it?

Don’t worry, you don’t want to know.

Along the way there, so many adventures.

My we were so young.

He was 17 and I had just turned 19.

We had very little money.

He had a Datsun 280 Z.

It was maroon.

It had bucket seats and a tape deck.

We listened to Jethro Tull and Steve Miller and The Eagles and anything Southern rock we could.

We smoke a lot of cigarettes.

A lot.

We camped out.

But in New Orleans.

We stayed in a cheap motel on the very edges of town and decided the next day to stop and go through the down town area.

We were so young and naive and broke.

We parked in a parking garage and I remember my friend climbing out of the car, my soon to be lover but never truly boyfriend, I got scooped by the older guy in Florida who you know did some minor hot point hits for the Mafia and was 28 to my 19 and introduced me to smoking crack cocaine and I was his old lady, but I digress, and his curly, unruly hair barely held down under the sailor’s hat he had bought at Sacred Feather on State Street in Madison–a Greek sailor captain’s hat in dark navy blue.

I remember the first time I heard “True Dreams of Wichita” off Soul Coughing’s album Ruby Vroom, I felt like my heart was going to blow out of itself.

Push out dead air from a parking garage
Where you stand with the keys and your cool hat of silence
Where you grip her love like a driver’s liscense

That.

That was what it was like.

Standing in the humid murk of New Orleans and we were running away and it was scary and romantic and full of bravado and more than a modicum of stupidity.

Young and dumb and so on fire for life.

And too stupid to admit how afraid I was.

So fucking scared.

It only got worse, but that day, wandering around New Orleans, the boys in the Quarter tap dancing with Coca Cola bottle caps on the soles of their shoes, no diamonds here, and my heart trilled in my chest when we walked down a windy little street and I saw a peek inside a courtyard.

The trellis heavy with flowers and the wrought iron gate, the quiet splash of water in a standing fountain and I felt something batter in my chest, a bird with a broken wing.

I want to live here.

I want to come here again.

I want to sip bowls of coffee with my bare feet on the patio cement.

I want creole food and The Meters and Clifton Chenier and Gumbo yaya and voodoo and heat and humidity, I want the hair lifted off the back of my neck and spit curls at the nape damp with heat and sweat and love and the miraculous.

I had no idea what I wanted.

But.

Oh.

I did so want.

We spent no money.

Except.

At at tobacco shop.

I bought one pack of fancy Nat Sherman silk cuts.

And he bought one really nice, for a couple of naive kids from the North, cigar.

We got lost on the way back to the motel.

Remember folks, I’m a bad navigator.

And we had the car literally, and I am not joking, shook down for the change in the console at a 7-11 we stopped at for directions.

It scared both of us.

But we got out and that was it.

My only visit to New Orleans.

I dare say.

This time will be a little different.

Though I hope for bowls of chicory coffee and jambalaya, shrimp creole, and dirty rice, Zydeco music, much doing the deal, and summer dresses and sandals to dance in.

I’m about over the foggy gloomy summer.

I’m going to New Orleans!

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

Bitches.

 

Roll With It

June 8, 2016

I mean.

It was a weird day.

Not a bad day.

No.

Not at all.

But hella weird.

Wacky.

Occasionally wonderful.

A bit on the oddball side.

I got things that I was afraid I wasn’t going to get.

I got asked out.

I was called beautiful and spiritual.

Which, oh, not a Tinder date, fyi, who does that anyway on Tinder?

I am swiping yes because I find you spiritually compelling!

I was quite flattered by the ask and now we have a coffee date for this Saturday.

I actually remember meeting this person years ago and thinking, hmm, I think he finds me attractive and wondering if he was going to ask me out then.

It’s been awhile since I have seen him, but apparently he did not forget and reached out today and that, well, that was nice.

I also got my replacement permit!

I actually did not believe I was going to get it.

I went into the SFMTA pretty much, like, ok, just be prepared, it probably ain’t going to fly, but I’m going to try anyway.

And.

It was amazing.

It was a completely different experience.

There was no line to get into the line.

The area was 3/4s less full then when I went last week.

The woman who helped me was sweet and friendly and we chatted and the next thing you know, after she casually flipped through all the paper work, hands me the new permit.

Here you go.

And I’m on my way.

TWENTY MINTUES LATER!

I got to work early.

Parked and cleaned off my fender.

I peeled the sticker and made sure it was stuck.

In fact, a little later in the day when I was making one of my many runs around the neighborhood, this time just to the corner market, I went back to my scooter with clear packing tape and taped the fucking permit down to the bumper.

No more falling off.

Because I don’t want to do that show at the SFMTA ever, ever, ever again.

The boys were with the mom a lot today and so I spent the majority of my time taking care of food prep and cooking–butter lettuce wraps with ginger chicken and hoisin sauce, green onions, celery, water chestnuts and brown rice.  Plus, tomorrow there’s an errand we need to run in the morning, so I packed up a big picnic lunch to take to the beach for the boys and the mom.

I’m actually not sure what I will do for myself tomorrow since my little sea food stew makes better being heated up.

I’ll figure it out, I don’t feel like doing it right now.

I feel like just letting the day lose itself off my skin.

I really did roll with things well today.

Even when I got the un-expected amends.

Please people, just a reminder, more to myself than anyone else, it’s not really an amends if you’re doing it to make yourself feel better.

I got a loopy apology from someone this evening that was so distinctly uncomfortable to hear that I am surprised, in hindsight, to see how calm I was and that I was able to say thank you and I’m glad you feel better.

Because the apology, for behavior in the past that was not much different than the behavior manifested every other time I have engaged with the person, was more for them to feel better than me and I realized.

This person is desperate to feel better and who am I to get in the way of that.

Hasn’t he had enough sorrow in his life already?

I can accept.

I didn’t need the apology and for a minute I was rather hot with a touch of annoyance, but it faded off quickly as I scootered off into the fog.

Karl the fog.

My how you creep.

My how much like having an expensive dermabrasion whilst riding my scooter home.

I chuckled, really it’s like getting free aqua therapy for my pores as my face was blasted with fog, I should get a face cover, I don’t think the fog is going to let up any time soon.

Sorry.

I digress.

Anyway.

By the time I was on the Pan Handle I had let it go and forgot and I don’t need to be right, I don’t have to tell anyone how to do it right or better.

I just get to improve myself.

I can feel the experience and know for my future actions what felt good and what felt bad and go from there.

Act according to how I want to be treated.

The man was miserable, and had apparently been carrying this thing for years, and I felt compassion for him and also a modicum of empathy with his experience, which is far different from sympathy and perhaps, at least in my opinion, more human.

So.

I got to be a human.

I got to take a couple phone call check ins as well when I got home and I don’t know where the words came from, I just shared my experience, my strength, my faith.

Hope sometimes is not the word that best expresses it for me.

Faith is the wheelbarrow that carries hope across the high wire of my desires.

I often don’t get what I want.

This is not a bad thing.

If I got what I wanted I wouldn’t be of service the way that I have been culled for.

I am lucky.

I could be one of those people that I see on the streets wrapped up in old sleeping bags, there but for the grace of God, go I.

I could be the girl smoking crack on Capp Street.

I could be the woman bent over searching, searching, searching for that crumb on the street.

I could so easily have fallen through the cracks.

And the fact that I still get to be here.

To be apologized to awkwardly.

To be given a permit to park where I work.

To be able to accept the compliment of being beautiful in someone’s eyes.

To be considered spiritual.

To get to be this human.

This woman.

This child of God.

I can roll with that.

My life is on and on and on.

A constant source of amazement.

Seriously.

Luckiest girl in the world.

All day long.

 

Alone

May 29, 2016

But not lonely.

Oh.

I suppose I could have gone there.

Especially when there is an easy place to go, the I’m all by myself spot.

But the thing is.

I like my company.

I took myself to yoga.

Got my nails did.

“Nice color!” Tad at Cheap Pete’s complimented me as he was helping me frame the print I picked up in New York.

“Wait, you got this in New York,” he looked up at me quizzically.

“I know, it’s funny, actually, the artist had all these big pieces, too big for me really to get back on the plane, and she pulled this little sheath of prints out of a battered green leather valise, and I sort of had to,” I said, smiling at the recent memory.

“But it’s a map of Paris,” Tad protested.

“Yup, which makes it even better, I lived in Paris for six months and it just seemed apropos, I don’t know, to be buying a knock off Banksy from a street vendor outside the MOMA in New York, and well, now, it’s here, in San Francisco.”

I paused.

“You sure you’re not from New York?  I lived there for ten years, you kinda got New York written all over you,” Tad finished measuring the print.

That was actually something that came up today, earlier, at Tart to Tart when I met with my person.

“I’m from New York, you have the energy,” she said, “you either get picked up by that energy and people respond to it, or it grinds you down.”

I had obviously responded to it.

It’s funny.

I have thought that there would be a time in my life when I would live and work in New York.

I just don’t know about those crazy winters though.

And the hot, hot, humid, soul sucking summers.

I mean.

I grew up in Wisconsin.

I know some savage seasons.

“Three weeks in Spring and three weeks in fall,” Tad said, “that’s it, that’s the good weather in New York.  Versus oh, I don’t know the 200 or so days I get in the East Bay of great weather.”

He does have a point.

Although I have to say it was nice to be met with energy similar to mine.

A little gritty.

A lot joyful.

Artists running amok.

The graffiti.

The pulse.

I felt it.

I can be laid back though.

I CAN!

I swear.

I let myself be laid back today.

I wanted to make big plans and hustle about.

I mean.

I did get asked to the prom last night.

Sadly, though, I’m not available for that dance card.

Still it was super saturated with sweetness and I took it to bed with me, the text message that popped into my phone screen right as I was dozing off to sleep.

There’s  Second Chance Prom going on over in the East Bay tonight.

And don’t get me wrong.

I would love to cut a rug.

I was thinking about the Derrick Carter show next Friday at Mighty, but I might have a date.

Not quite sure yet if we’re getting together Friday or Saturday.

I found out I have all day off next Saturday.

My get together with my person that normally happens on Saturdays is not happening, she’s got another commitment she has to show up for and it’s a rare day indeed that I have the entire Saturday off.

My date would be coming from out of town, so that could work well in my favor, a long date out and about in the city.

Yeah.

I’m trying to date.

I even did some swipey swipey on Tinder today.

But.

OH MY GOD.

The “nopes.”

Mama just got right with the vibrator.

Recharged happily.

Me and it.

Wink.

I like the idea of a casual hook up, but really, I do have to have some reasonable connection.

And some things for me are tabboo.

I’m not going to sleep with someone who’s in a relationship, married, or what have you.

I’m not going to hook up with anyone who’s in recovery with less than a year.

Wrong-o.

 

Although, my brain concocted some stories today.

Justification leads me right down a stupid, narrow, not good path.

“What’s his name?” She asked.

I told.

“OH, great name!” She responded.

I know.

Then I told her how much time.

Her face closed.

“Nope,” she squinched up her face, “not a good idea, no, don’t, no you can’t.”

Yeah.

I KNOW.

That’s why I keep telling on myself.

All my people know.

I go to more than one deal to do the deal if you catch my drift.

And if you don’t.

It doesn’t matter.

Some things are off the table.

“It’s all ego,” I told her, “and I know it, and I can hear my disease loud and clear,” I paused.

“Yeah, no, he’s off limits, and don’t you think it’s some ego on his side too?” She asked me.

I didn’t understand.

“Look God gave you this beauty, I still don’t think you get it, you are a beautiful woman and men respond to that, it’s like you’re walking around with blinders on,” she stopped, cocked her head at me.  “And now, you have an inner beauty that matches, if not subsumes it.”

“You are lit up,” she finished.

I do feel that way.

I have done all my amends and moved forward this round of doing the deal and it feels good.

I have just the aforementioned living amends to do.

Amongst which.

The yoga.

I got down today.

I did a few poses I had not been able to do before.

I had a beautiful morning in class.

Yeah.

It was hard.

But it set the tone for my day.

Get up, kneel, pray, drink an homemade cold brewed iced coffee, go to yoga, hot shower, breakfast, laundry, hop on the scooter, meet my person, go to the Gratitude Center, get right with God, take myself out to lunch, get the nails did, scooter over to Cheap Petes and frame my little bit of New York, home to do a little grocery shopping, then homemade dinner on my back porch in the last warming rays of the late afternoon, early evening.

I finished the book I picked up at the Strand.

Chuck Palahniuck’s “Beautiful You.”

And um, checked the charge on my stuff.

Heh.

And that’s it.

That’s my day.

Some Nightmares on Wax playing right now.

Some hot tea in my future.

Maybe a video.

Get up do the yoga again tomorrow and keep on enjoying this beautiful, precious, lovely, sometimes alone, but never lonely, damn fine life I lead.

I am so graced.

So loved.

So lucky.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

Oh Hello

March 19, 2016

I said to my house with distinct pleasure when I walked in the door just a few minutes ago.

I had forgotten, completely, that I had got down on the house before work today.

Scrubbed the bathroom, swept the floors, dusted, took all the trash out, did the recycling, swiffered the floors, fuck, I even vacuumed.

It was sparkling when I came home and such a nice surprise.

I did a lot of things before work today.

Like.

Yes.

I sent in my amended tax statement.

I should be getting back $805 for the penalty I paid but turns out I didn’t need to.

It will take about three weeks to process.

I’m sure it will take longer than that and I don’t care, I’m not financially in straits, it just was a really good feeling, dare I say, adult, to print off the forms, sign them, affix the appropriate paper work to the form, seal them up in an envelope and drop it in the mail box.

I did not sit on it at all.

I took that bitch right out to the mailbox and mailed it.

I also went grocery shopping and sat down for a moment at the little parklet by the store and wrote out my mom a card.

Just because it’s nice to send mom a card once in a while and I was thinking about her.

I got back from the grocery store and had a half hour to “kill” before work.

I decided that since I’m working again tomorrow, four hours of active duty and then five hours when the boys will be sleeping, good excuse to work on my homework, maybe write that little two page paper I need to do for Multi-Culture class.

Oh.

Fuck.

I have to post to the fucking Applied Spirituality forum.

God damn it.

As you may have cottoned to.

I don’t like this class and I don’t often feel very spiritual about it when I think of the work that I am supposed to do.

But.

I get to do it and it’s due tomorrow?

Ack.

I better check that.

I could be due tonight.

Grrr.

Anyway, I can sort that out after I finish writing this blog.

I got my house clean because I knew it was the best thing to do.

And I am glad I did.

I am busy tomorrow.

I am meeting with my person and finishing reading her my inventory.

Then some lunch, a little lady time, mani/pedi.

Then off to the Mission.

I may have a few minutes to kick it around the hood.

I may not.

I have to be there at 5p.m.

I’m working until 2 a.m.

Then I have a ladybug coming over to do some doing the deal on Sunday at 1p.m.

And.

Heh.

I may have a date.

Not a Tinder date either.

(Oh so many “Nopes”)

I have been using the app but not so much action seems to be coming from it, but the Universe does seem to hear me say, hey I’m single and sexy and available for pursuing.

Let’s have fun.

That’s all this is about.

Having fun.

If it’s not fun, fuck it.

I’m not interested.

I don’t have enough time.

I do have time for hanging out and having a good time.

He’s going to call me on Sunday.

See that’s the nice thing.

We have already established that there is chemistry.

We did that when we exchanged phone numbers a couple of weeks ago.

He knew I was in school last weekend and working this week, but when he saw me he asked what I was doing this weekend and the possible time slot I was perhaps setting aside for a maybe Tinder date is now being held for him.

Which is nice.

Already know what he looks like and his age and his smile and I can say reality is a much nicer thing than a swipe on a phone.

That being said.

I will keep on keeping on.

As I was told.

There’s nothing wrong with the app, what needs to change is you.

Yup.

Change.

The only thing I can count on.

Change.

I have changed so much.

It really does amaze me and when I was riding up Lincoln today with a song in my heart, the trees in the park, the flowers blooming, the red tail hawk soaring, I felt uplifted and grateful and just fucking amazed at this life I have.

I have an amazing life.

I live in San Francisco.

I have great tattoos.

I have a scooter that’s completely paid in full.

I have a place to live that I can afford.

In San Francisco, let me repeat, afford.

(Although once in a while I still kick myself for turning down the Junior One Bedroom Studio on Valencia at 21st.  Oh how sweet would my commute be?  OH how cheap my rent would be.  It was $850 when I looked at it.  I turned it down because I thought the carpet was nasty and I wanted to explore living somewhere other than the Mission. D’oh!)

I am in graduate school.

I am doing well in graduate school.

I get to go to Burning Man.

For my tenth year in a row–a decade at Burning Man and no Burning Man tattoo, not that I am opposed to one but the Man symbol has never done it for me.

I get to go to New York in May and have a place to stay at a friends house in Brooklyn.

All these things.

And so much more.

Filtered through my heart, dripped down into my heart, and I breathed and laughed and could have cried, but I was scootering and didn’t want my vision impaired, so I held it down a little, but yeah, I was the girl on the scooter laughing with joy this afternoon.

Sometimes.

It just hits me and I am overwhelmed with the love and the living and all the fabulous things I get to do.

Even my Applied Spirituality class.

I get to do this.

I get to have these experiences.

Rock on life.

Let’s have a fan-fucking-tastic weekend.

Right.

 

Sometimes I Wonder

March 4, 2016

About that blog of yours.

A friend of mine said today after I explained why I wanted to vomit and had been crying all morning.

Nobody wants to wake up to an alarm.

But I would have happily.

Except nope.

My internal alarm went off five minutes before my alarm went off.

I had a hard time falling asleep and I used a little vibrating help to put me down, then slept all the way through until 8:25 a.m.

I looked at my phone to check the time.

I saw a few texts.

I rubbed my eyes.

I stared at the little tiny letters.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck my life.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCFUCKFUCK.

Aw.

Man.

“Did you now your IG account links to your blog?”

“Glad you ‘gave it the old college try’.”

Oh fuck me people.

He read the blog.

He found the blog.

I am an asshole.

ASSHOLE.

Cue why I should never date.

No wait.

Cue to why I should never write about other people when I am mad at myself.

I wasn’t nice to dude and dude found out.

Dude did I feel awful, I’m not excusing my actions, I’m just going to write about what’s been on my mind all day, because that’s what I do.

“You really put it all out there,” a friend of mine said once, “that’s what makes it so good to read, but you know, I get worried about you sometimes,” he said with a look.

“I mean, I can’t write about the stuff you put out there, I just can’t,” he paused, “I’m glad you do, but you sure as shit put your heart on your sleeve.”

Yeah.

I do.

And I was sad and mad at myself this morning, I took out my frustrations about myself and my inability to ask for what I need or to say, hey, this isn’t working for me, thanks for coming out, I’m glad to have met.”

Because part of it was a lot of fun, the texting, the flirting, it inured my little heart for a while.

My starving, foolish, idiotic heart that doesn’t want to feel all the feels, so yeah, let’s check out with a little text flirtation.

Harmless, right?

Except then I poured some gasoline on the bonfire of my vanity.

I have absolutely no leg to stand on.

I hurt someone’s feelings and I was told.

Ugh.

How do I get myself in scrapes like this?

I wasn’t honest.

I wasn’t up front right away.

Instead of a moment of discomfort, instead of saying, hey, you know, maybe not the best match after all, I just played along like nothing was happening, like it was all good, all fine.

I basically fucking lied.

“Oh my God, you look great,” she said to me as I bumped into her on the street heading down to the scene of the crime last night.

“I’m heading to a first date,” I said, “I’m nervous.”

“You look great! He’s not good enough for you,” she laughed, “it’s an interview, not a date! Have fun!”

Turns out I wasn’t good enough for him.

I did, however, make amends.

Oh humility, isn’t there a better way to get to thee?

I mean, yeah, there is, you’re honest right from the get go, instead of stifling it, you address it, by “you” I mean of course, “me.”

I have to change, I have to become better, I hate that I was awful to this man.

I really thought I was a better person, nope, just another asshole on a dating app.

App, if you didn’t already read yesterday’s missive, has been deleted.

I shouldn’t online date, I probably shouldn’t date at all, I keep fucking it up.

Focus on myself, focus on yoga, focus on work, recovery, my job, school.

Or.

I could also say, hey, chalk it up, you made a mistake, yes, you hurt someone, but you don’t have to do it again and I won’t.

That’s the thing, this will not happen again.

I immediately made phone calls, I checked in with my people, I wrote two separate inventories and made those phone calls.

I got one immediate answer, “you absolutely owe him an amends, you hurt his feelings, I’ll call you back in a few.”

Ugh.

Fuck.

More tears.

And a sick stomach.

I wanted to throw up.

Note to self, trust your body, if it doesn’t feel right, that’s your barometer, use it.

I drank some water, put on my kettle, made some coffee, I started to boil an egg, but I actually felt sick thinking about eating it.

I confirmed my yoga class and sat down and really wrote.

I had a great phone call back from a girl friend and she helped me hash it out.

I went to yoga and I did not die.

But fuck, I cried on the mat.

I let it go, I got into the poses, I dashed to the bathroom and honked my nose hard and cleared it and got back on the mat.

By the time the class was over I felt better.

I saw some light in the day.

I got home, intercepted a text from one of my people, took a hot shower, threw laundry in the wash, and made breakfast.

I dressed, got my scooter ready, and went to work.

I worked.

I showed up.

I cleaned and laundered and stripped beds and made food and I sat in the knowledge of what I had done and how it had affected me and this other person and what I could have done different, what I should have done instead.

I got the call back right before I was sitting down to have dinner with my instructions to the amends.

I got off the phone, but on an audio story for the boys, made sure they were set up with their dinners, kissed them both and walked into the front room to make the call.

He answered on the first ring.

Oh holy fuck.

“Hey, _____________,  I just wanted to call and let you know I realize that my actions hurt you and I apologize, it was not my intention to do so, I am sorry.”

He said thanks for calling, he accepted my apology.

I asked if there was anything else I could do, he said no, I said, again, my apologies, please take good care. And hung up.

I think that’s called “adulting.”

Fuck.

I didn’t want to write about it, but there it is, I don’t know how to write about anything but my fucking self, I’m my best, worst material, I am my worst enemy.

I love my little blog, but I will not use it as a mass weapon of destruction.

So.

I got to keep it clean.

I have to keep my side of the street clean.

That’s the best I got today.

I still feel a bit rotten about it, but I also know that not forgiving myself, and oh, the insights I have gotten to see in myself today, better days come around, get better, get better, better days come around get better.

Sun, sun, sun, will come up now.

My insights, too much to put down right now because I do not want to misconstrue anyone with the idea that there was anything wrong with the other person, this shit all falls right in my lap.

I didn’t like going through it, but I have seen what I needed to see and I will be better.

I will.

I promise.

I can’t go through that again.

I just can’t.

Grateful that tomorrow is a new day for me to be a better woman.

I am going to do better.

I just am.

 


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