Posts Tagged ‘Bill WIthers’

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.

 

Self-Care, Self-Aware, Boundaries

July 20, 2015

I don’t have them always and typically I am wildly uncomfortable when I assert them.

But.

Assert them I do.

And then I find a kind of freedom that I never knew existed.

Having suddenly a person in my life with whom I am spending a lot of time with I am getting to explore what those things mean to me.

I have also realized that I can be flexible and have fun, that in the space where I get out of my routine is usually where God wants to show me something.

The comfort of a routine I cannot emphasize enough.

I know this stems from the unknowable and often unpredictable raising of me as a child.

There was no routine.

There was no normal.

“Normal,” my friend reminds me, “is a setting on a dryer.”

What is normal?

I don’t know, but I do know what sane thinking is and I have had a lot of that recently.

Also some insane thinking too, I will admit it.

The stuff with graduate school is really blowing me out, or I am letting myself be prey to the victimized idea that I can’t figure it out, that I can’t be perfect, so why even bother trying?

How about trying to have some humility?

Some patience and self-care and self-love?

How about that?

Perhaps that’s where I should start.

What makes me happy?

Oh.

Bill Withers.

Let’s listen to some Lovely Day, that will help.

Let me cook some nice breakfast and have a cup of coffee.

Let me write some in my notebook.

“Get the recovery for yourself that you wish she had,” I told her this afternoon as she rumpled through her hair.  I resisted trying to settled the frantic birds that were her hands from tearing and twisting her hair.

“I don’t get it,” she said, “it just doesn’t make sense.”

Nope.

It doesn’t.

Not when I often forget to use the oxygen mask myself before I go to help another.

My thinking can go to zero to crazily obsessed with certain people, places, or things, and then I’m living in the world of “could, should, or would,” reacting or not reacting, or rather reacting as opposed to acting, trying to figure out what is right or wrong, good or bad.

I put my judgements on the situation or person or thing.

Financial aid you stump me.

Syllabus you stump me.

I surrender.

I give up.

Excuse me.

I need to go make a cup of tea.

I don’t need to browbeat myself because I don’t know.

I can ask for help.

So I took the phone number down of the financial aid office and also the business office of the school and prepared what questions I need to ask.

Then I looked up the program co-ordinator and sent her a e-mail asking what would be the most efficient way of gathering my books and reading materials, that I felt flummoxed by the process.

Did she have any suggestions for me?

For instance I saw the reader for one of my classes listed on Amazon for $150.

Then I saw it listed elsewhere for way cheaper, but a different printing and a different adjunct editor.

So which one do I buy?

Or which addition?

And see.

Like that.

There I go obsessing about it.

So Stop.

Stop it now.

I just wrote all that down and put it in my God box.

I don’t have to figure it out now.

I don’t have to figure it out at all.

There are people whose specific job is to advise new student.

Just because I have a BA in English Literature does not mean I know how to proceed forward with what it takes to be a Psychology Masters student.

I’m not supposed to know.

If I knew what I was doing I wouldn’t need to go to school.

My friend saw me getting ramped up and said, “you need a hug.”

Yup.

I do.

I need a lot of hugs.

I am good at giving them out, but not always good at asking for them.

It’s taken me a long time, a lot of work, and continuous practice to ask for what I need and there are still plenty of times when I go tharn and just can’t do it.

I get into that mode of self-sufficiency as I am so scared to rely on anyone that I must figure it all out and have it all ready before you even have entered the room to help me that I won’t have to have your help.

Asking for help is not shameful.

Note to self.

I get to treat myself like the three-year old I take care of.

I was sitting in a room, a warm room, did you feel how warm it was today in San Francisco, even now, my back door on the in-law is open and I am in a sundress and bare feet and my cup of tea is almost too hot to drink, almost.

And I was meditating.

The sun was slanting through the windows and the breeze was warm and the twilight hours in summer, my favorite light, and I could feel myself basking in it.

Light is God.

A hot shower is God.

Love is God.

The ocean is God.

Having been filled with the light I can always turn towards the source and get more.

I saw this when I was deep into it, without thought or warning, I heard a man’s voice, deep, Southern, thick with Texan drawl say in my heart, “take your little girls hand and let her know you’re taking care of her, and she will be alright.  I don’t care if you think that’s silly or stupid, do it anyway.”

I reached out to her.

She was sitting on the kitchen floor of my grandmother’s kitchen in a yellow sundress with white polka dots, I reached out to her from my heart in my pale blue dress with its froth of crinoline underneath it and took her hand, then I turned and I reached out toward the light and took the hand offered there.

I am taken care of.

I am loved.

And tonight I will tuck in that little girl and smooth back the hair from her forehead and let her know she is loved and taken care of.

I’ll be alright.

Because I already am.

Working My Way Back In

July 7, 2014

Slow like.

I got up earlier than I wanted to.

I am practising for the upcoming week, my impending, doom, dum, dum, doom, drum beating in my head, of resuming work.

I have been out of my job now for a month.

It has felt like some odd dream that was lasting forever and then suddenly, today, I woke up.

Tomorrow life resumes its previous shape, though slightly altered.

“Look at those pink shoes!” She exclaimed, “I have never seen you out of your Converse,” slight pause, “unless you are wearing sky high platform heels.”

I am a creature of extremes.

I am out of my shoe comfort zone, but more comfortable for that, my ankle needs more support than the Converse can give and so, enter my Saucony Jazz sneaks in pink with lime green and pink shoe laces.

My feet look like candy colored slippers.

Excuse me while I gnaw on a green and pink taffy pull of lace.

I wrote a lot this morning, ate a nice breakfast, made my bed without the boot on or use of the crutches–both have been regulated to the back of the closet, where I wish them to stay forever and ever amen–with my foot wrapped up in an ace bandage to provide some extra support.

I made small plans today.

Went up to St. Annes and hung out there for an hour and was told I “lit up the room.”

Which made me smile.

Truth be told, I am a touch maudlin and a bit at a loss to express how this past month has took hold of me.

Perhaps it is just the waking up in my own bed this morning, rather than the one in the bedroom at the cabin on Lake 26, Town of Swiss, outside of Danbury Wisconsin, where the loons woke me up and the light through the pines needled itself into my heart.

I was sitting on my back porch having an early’ish dinner and the sun had finally plowed its way through the fog and clouds and I noticed a red splotch on my wrist, then another and another.

Fuck.

Poison ivy?

My best friend had pointed it out to me and described it quite well and I knew to avoid it, but I had gotten swept up into the blueberry picking madness, that at one point had me sitting in a patch like a little brown bear stuffing berries atlernately in my mouth and then into the bucket–a Cedar Crest ice cream pail–hazily waving away the flies and gnats that were descending upon me.

I had my snack and then, man, oh man, was the insect world having its meal.

The rash was not a rash, I realized, no itching, couldn’t be poison ivy, nope.

Rather.

Mosquito bites.

“Moquito” the littlest one said, dropping the s off the world in his soft lisp voice.

The first time I heard it I thought he was saying “mojito” and did wonder for a brief moment is his mom and dad had suddenly taken up with the ubiquitous drink rather than the craft beers which are more their style.

Though they both drank more Klarbunn fizzy water than anything else during the time I was there.

Speaking of which, I had forgotten how tasty that little beverage is–black cherry Karbunn sparkling water, I’ll take a case of that to Burning Man, yes please.

The nice thing about “moquito” bites is that if you can muster the will to not scratch at them, they will stop being itchy after a few moments.

But once I start the itching, it won’t stop until I have a scab and miracle of miracles, I was so distracted by the wild blue berry bushes I was pillaging to have not taken the time to do anything other than swat them away when I noticed them.

I shall return to work tomorrow with some red spots, a weak ankle, and a mind somewhat turned inward, perhaps more than I would like.

It feels as though today I got a bit introspective and a little sad too.

Is it enough to sit and listen to the hush of the ocean as it stirs through the air, the whistle rustle of thick black oily raven wings beating the sky, the bright purple wild geraniums in the yard dancing in the light breeze, is it enough to just notice these things?

I have an old fallacious idea that down time needs to be planning and doing time.

I am experiencing some chargrin that I have not done more with my time.

The alternative thought is that I allowed myself to heal as best I could without putting pressure upon myself to magically will it better.

The push to self-improve has not been as self destructive as it has in the past.

That is not to say that it isn’t there, it is, and it too, a dull roar smash of sounds that whirl in dust devil dervishes in the back of my head, with a occasional voice breaking through the jumble to admonish me for the lack of being further ahead with this aspect of my life or that.

I know my purpose though and I met it today and I let myself just be slow and have a simple day.

After St. Anne’s I went to the farmers market at 9th and Judah and bought four perfect, heavy, just ripened to perfection, yellow organic nectarines.

I had one today after lunch and cannot remember a better one in my life.

It was so good I put down the book I was reading to sit and savor it with complete and total concentration.

Yellow nectarines are my favorite fruit.

When they are just so.

And they are not often just so.

Not too ripe.

Not too under ripe.

Have to be yellow.

White ones are gross.

Cannot be a peach.

I dislike the fuzz and the textural difference is such that it really does drive me bats.

Peaches and nectarines are not the same.

One golden moment of bliss.

I also got organic broccoli and cauliflower, a deep purple burgundy red cabbage, a bunch of sweet organic carrots, and a pound of organic brussels sprouts, then I caught the train back home.

I made beans and rice to take to work for the week and also a large chopped red cabbage salad with carrots and broccoli, a small apple, cauliflower, olive oil and apple cider vinegar.

I wasn’t too fancy.

I don’t have fancy in me today.

Some slight sadness still lingering.

But I know it is enough.

This life by the sea, the sound of love cradling me deep.

I don’t have to know where this is going, just that I am well enough to put myself back up on the path.

The sadness will pass and before long this will be jus that time when.

I sat for a long time and was still.

And love came to me when I was least looking for it.

 

You just can’t pass it away, it’s love.

And love comes eager to stay, 

It just works out that way.


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