Posts Tagged ‘cats’

Random Thougts

July 14, 2022

From COVIDLANDIA.

I should hashtag that.

Do people make money off hashtags?

I felt so much better today than the last five days.

And then this afternoon, it kind of bitch slapped me back down.

I got really tired.

Napped a little on the couch.

I was like, wait, why am I in shoes, put on the bunny slippers now girl.

Bunny slippers, Ziggy the cat and read the last pages of Mike Doughty’s memoir I Die Each Time I Hear the Sound.

Which had fan girl bought like, um, two years ago and never read.

Oops.

Sorry dude.

(by the way, read this, it’s very good and it was pleasing to think about where I was in my life listening to Soul Coughing, or when Mike went out on solo tour and a bunch of us from the Angelic Brewing Company went to see him at Cafe Montmarte in Madison, and one of my girlfriend’s, fucking high as shit, announced to the crowd how much she was in love with Mike and that she was “high on mushrooms” and then he heckled her. Fuck that was great.)

I got busy with a dissertation and living through a pandemic.

I mean.

I managed to get pretty far when it comes down to it, two years, four months, but it still got me.

Ugh.

I have slowly been catching up on the reading, pleasure reading that is.

I finished Jennifer Egan’s The Candy House right before the plague drop kicked me.

Creepy good.

Also, was before the back and forth bullshit with my institute of higher learning.

Aside.

Aside to the aside, there’s going to be a lot of asides, there will be asides to the asides ad infinitum.

I mean.

COVID.

Anyway.

I got an email from the dude at the Writing Center with the final edits to my dissertation that needed to be done and it took me a minute to look at them really today.

But I did.

And I made progress.

And fingers, crossed, now I really am in the final stretch.

I bounced out of bed.

I felt GREAT.

Holy shit.

The headache finally fucking went away.

I took the trash out, the recycling, the compost, I got dressed, like in clothes that don’t scream lounging around the house, I put on sneakers, not my bunny slippers.

I ate breakfast at the table, not in bed watching Atlanta on Hulu.

ASIDE.

Like what the fuck HULU?

Here’s this glorious, witty, sarcastic, pointed, intellectual, insightful, amazing and painful, sad, deeply poignant look at the black experience in America and y’all keep playing that hideous Amazon Prime video with a black man crooning about “coco butter” (or is it cold, cold butter?) and dancing around in a bad 70s disco throw back. I mean, WTF? It was like this very meta, hella meta, am I just woozy with COVID fever? frame to watch Atlanta through. Black man dancing around encouraging everyone to go buy some camping gear?

Hello.

What?

WHATTHEFUCKINGHELL?

I’m sure there’s a Reddit somewhere about this, but it made me sick.

It reminded me of being in undergrad at UW Madison and watching Spike Lee’s Bamboozled in the theater and how people kept laughing at really creepy ass shit and it got more and more uncomfortable and people started walking out.

I think I’m one of thirty people that saw that movie come out in the theaters.

Anyway.

Next time, note to self, if I get Hulu, buy it without the commercials, I think I just back doored this shit to skip paying and get “one month free”.

Now that I wrapped Atlanta, I’m out.

Until Handmaid’s Tale comes back.

FUCK.

Hits a little close to home doesn’t it?

I’m very apolitical on my social, but I can’t get away from it at work, everyone, every single one of my clients, male, female, straight, bi, queer, trans, BI-POC, every one, has been talking the politics.

I can’t get away from it.

And sometimes I get a little paranoid, like, yeah, I got some views, but if you can pointedly target me with cat litter ads.

STOP THAT SHIT PLEASE. IT’S BAD ENOUGH I GOT TO LOOK AT THAT SHIT ONCE A DAY, WHEN I CLEAN THE DAMN BOX. LITERALLY. STOP IT IN MY FEED MOTHERFUCKERS. I KEEP THE CATBOX CLEAN I DON’T NEED THE AUTOMATED ONE, IT WOULD LIKE SCARE MY CATS AND THEY WILL SHIT ON MY BED.

STOP.

Maybe, you can, like figure out my political leanings and be noting that data somewhere.

Like, if you can target me with Cynthia Rowley frocks, yes, I bought one in New York, motherfuckers, you can probably reverse engineer that shit and figure out which way I lean.

HELLA LIBERAL BITCHES.

Maybe I should write from a COVID standpoint more often, I can just be like, I was hallucinating, listening to Big Freedia, and blogging, what?

I also.

I didn’t.

I swear, I did not do it.

But, fuck, I really wanted to.

I, um, donned a double mask, KN95, yo, and washed my hands, and sanitized and went outside to move my car for street parking and on way way back there was like a gaggle of teens in front of the fancy ass boba shop around the corner from my house and there was like a herd of them and I was like, fuck, move, move, move.

I almost yelled, “I HAVE COVID, MOVE BITCHES”.

I didn’t.

But, the temptation.

Fierce.

They must have sensed I was not fucking around though, cuz the tweenage waters parted and I thought, oh, that does smell kind of good, is that creme brulee? Do they make creme brulee boba?

Side note.

Yesterday I kept smelling something weird and I was like, did someone burn something cooking in one of the apartments, though I’ve never had cooking smells before.

Did the cafe next door burn something?

Wait, it’s Tuesday, I think, yeah, Tuesday, it’s closed.

What is that smell?

Oh.

That’s what it is.

This morning when I felt better and blew my nose, I realized it was blood, I was smelling my own damn blood when I was blowing my nose so hard so I could breathe through one of my nostrils.

MOTHERFUCKING GROSS.

Aside.

I used to do a lot of cocaine.

ALOT.

I totes forgot how bad my nose used to get stuffed up from it.

Good grief.

Thank fucking god I’m sober.

Also.

Do you know you have to show an ID to get Mucinex?

I had a wee panic attack, hahahahahahahahaha, fucking freak out, on Saturday when I went from mild symptoms, to oh shit, this got serious and I can’t breathe and my nose is so stuffed up and I can’t breathe and shit god damn.

I tried to InstaCart Mucinex and it was too late to order.

I got some off brand knock off Walgreens that probably only had a placebo effect for all the good it seemed to do on my symptoms.

But I took it and felt “better”.

I got the Mucinex delivered the next morning.

Aside.

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL INSTACART?

HOLY GOD DAMN.

A BAG OF GROCERIES SHOULD NOT BE $94.

AND WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA TO GIVE ME THIS AVOCADO?

SADDEST FUCKING AVOCADO IN THE WHOLE GOD DAMN WORLD.

My buyer must have took pity on this vegetable, cuz there is no reason why I paid $7 for this sad thing.

SERIOUSLY.

When my Mucinex got delivered, and that cost a tidy $40, remember when coke was $50 a gram and my dealer would deliver to me and it was in less than 20 minutes anywhere I was in the city, mostly the Mission, like let me be honest, but shit, he didn’t ID me for the bag.

I told the lady, “I have COVID.”

SHE HAD TO SEE MY ID AND MATCH THE DATE OF BIRTH TO THE INFO ON MY INSTACART ACCOUNT.

Lady, look at my wrinkles.

I put the card down on the step and walked six feet back whilst she gingerly picked it up and compared it to the info on her phone.

Fuck lady.

I’m 49.

50 this year.

Just like say I’m of age and don’t touch my COVID covered ID.

SORRY.

Other random COVID thoughts.

I should start an Instagram page of my cats.

Because.

They are cute.

And because, cats.

But then I had a thought, like what if my clients found my cat page?

And saw that I wear bunny slippers and have a pink couch.

Psychoanalyze that shit.

Nah.

I’ll just annoy my close friends with my cute cat pix.

They are cute.

Also.

Thank goodness for Zoom meetings.

I mean.

I was hella tired and super stoked to see people in person.

Until the person secretary’ing up at the spot had COVID and did I get it from you dude?

Anyway.

I am toggling through day six.

Watching B movies.

Hustlers yo, damn JLo.

And Better Call Saul.

Dragging that one out slow though, it is so good.

And keeping myself up at night planning what to wear to Burning Man.

Aside.

FUCK YOU KEEPING MY BURNING MAN GEAR.

ahem.

My gear is in the garage of guy I had gone on a few dates with who wanted to date me, but well, um, I was not having the passive communication, drove me fucking bats and I broke it off and I wasn’t interested in poly anyhow, not that there’s anything wrong, get your love on people, I don’t judge, just not for me and no I am not going to a sex party, I have hella tattoos and prolly someone’s fucking metamour of a client is gonna be there and yikes, and hey, yeah, thanks for storing my Burning Man gear.

Can I um, get that shit back?

One of my friends said.

How much will it cost to replace?

I threw out a number.

Sounds worth it to avoid the drama.

But.

Uh, shit.

I like drama?

So I reached out and was treated to the same passive communication that drove me crazy last time and then I was like, dude is avoiding me and I hurt some feelings and cool, cool, cool.

Keep my dusty ass shit.

I wanted to buy new boots anyway.

So.

YESSSS MAMA.

I upgraded my tent.

Aside.

One day I will upgrade to a trailer but I ain’t got that kind of cash yet.

I upgraded to a six man black out tent.

Yeah.

Six-man.

I mean, I like some space.

And a new queen size blow up mattress, cuz girl likes her sleep.

And yes.

l did get new boots.

Heh.

I almost don’t know if I can, but fuck, fuck it, why not.

Heh.

I got some platforms from Demonia.

Yeah.

I am that bitch.

They are platform, reflective, purple blue leather (vegan).

BWAHAHAHAHAAHA.

I’m already kind of tall.

I’m gonna tower.

And since I can rock a platform I will have no problem stomping all over the playa.

So.

Yeah.

After a little written inventory about the last cryptic text I got from dude I realized I did not indeed want the drama, and as per my person’s suggestions, I blocked him and I have wrote off my playa gear.

So.

I’ve been a little like a feverish kid in a candy store stalking the inter webs for all things Burning Man.

And honestly, I am pretty set.

I’ve been eleven times, twelve?

Eleven, this is time number twleve.

I know how to do the deal.

I gots a new tent, new cooler, new parasol, new boots, new googles.

I already have closets with out there clothes, what I wear to Burning Man is basically what ever is in the closet and dresser, with my funky playa boots and maybe some fishnets.

I already have a makeup kit.

I already have the crazy hair.

Hella aside.

My stylist posted in her Insta that she would give anyone 5% discount next time they came in if they tagged her in their post with a pix of colored hair/style she’d done.

I was like, hells yes, cuz expensive and give me discount.

Except.

I’ve never posted a story before.

Yeah.

I know.

Shaddup.

I have never been on Tik Tok or Snap either.

Yes. I have seen a TIK TOK, I don’t live in a fucking cave people.

So, I post this photo I took like three weeks ago, but not realizing how to do it and it gets out and I didn’t tag her, she saw it anyway, picked it up, re-posted and hey, girl, discount, and like now it’s on all the social spots and everybody be like

FUCK YOU LOOK AMAZE!

ALLHEALEDFROMCOVIDANDHELLASASSY!

Um.

No.

I took a selfie I was sending to a guy I went on one date with three and a half weeks ago, lying on my bed with full makeup on.

I haven’t put makeup on since last Thursday, my hair is in messy buns like a six year old girl, I’m in fur covered leggings cuz one of my cat’s is white and likes snuggling and I’m in bunny slippers.

There is no sexy going on over here.

And aside.

Why didn’t we have a second date?

Oh wait, you’re still living with your ex.

I got to stop trying the apps, they fucking suck.

I’m down to like, seriously, just get picked up in a grocery store right now, cuz you now I won’t be instacarting any more avocados yo, whilst perusing the produce.

Or.

Maybe, when I’m at the park reading a book.

When I’m not contagious, I won’t be out in the public till I test negative, save the lecture.

Anywho.

Day six.

That was fun.

Try, try again

February 14, 2022

Ok.

So.

I got back on the damn app.

I had a few moments of wondering if I would run across dude’s profile, but so far nada.

Which is nice.

Also, ran across a former client.

Eek.

Swipe Left! Swipe left!

And.

An ex from five’ish years ago.

Also.

Swipe left.

And, when you match with a lady and she reaches out, I’m on Bumble, and sends a messages, don’t reply in all emoji’s.

Unless you don’t want to go on a date.

WTF?

Folks have some strange behaviors.

I’m not going straight up sober only guys, but I am looking more closely at the whole frequency of smoking weed thing.

And.

I do recognize quite clearly that I have to be direct about my needs.

I am not here to diminish my needs.

I am also proud of myself for the things that I did do with the last guy that I dated.

I clearly stated my sexual needs.

I said when I hadn’t an orgasm.

Albeit.

l did not appreciate the response.

“I didn’t know you were keeping score.”

No.

But, you didn’t check in with me either.

I mean.

I know you came.

But just because I’m a little vocal does not mean I did.

Anywho.

It’s not about taking anyone’s inventory but my own, thanks.

So, I spoke up about my sexual desires and what I like, and that was cool. Probably the most direct and transparent I have ever been.

Also, apparently my drive is still quite high.

I mean, I’m 49, but I still have some very clear needs here.

I also spoke up for non-sexual physical intimacy.

Something I have modeled to a person I’m dating, but never really spoke up for.

I’ll give dude credit, he did articulate that he’d noticed, but he was not able to give what I was looking for.

I am a cuddle bug.

I also recognized that I get excited about dating and connecting.

In this excitement, I down played when was good for me to be hanging out.

Monday nights after a long day of client sessions and driving cross town at 8:30p.m. when I have an early client session on Tuesday morning and then I drive back and can’t find parking where I live.

No good.

That happened the second week we were hanging out.

I ended up circling and circling and nearly crying at 1 a.m. trying to find a place to park.

I did not let that happen again.

So.

Yeah.

I learned.

I learned I can’t down play my needs, dim my voice, or do for another when I’m not taking care of myself.

Basic ass shit.

But.

As my therapist has stated this past week, I did not have healthy romantic models in my childhood.

Um.

No.

And I learned, at a very young age, that when I asked for my needs to be met I would be met with violence.

So I tend to down play them or try to figure them out of my own and I never, ever let the other person know I’m disappointed or sad or whatever “negative” emotion I am having.

Those aren’t allowed.

But.

It’s ok to let another person know how I feel, actually really important, I was disappointed a number of times and didn’t say anything.

Somewhere inside me is a little girl who thinks she doesn’t deserve to have her needs met.

I had someone ask me recently what I need and I was able to articulate it quite clearly.

I mean.

I know what I want.

Now, it’s just a matter of continuing to speak up for it and if the person can’t meet the need, that’s ok.

Dating is going to be about curiosity and exploration.

I’m not trying to find the one to complete me.

I’m complete, thanks.

But.

I am looking for a compliment.

Someone who wants to travel with me–you better have a passport, have fucking awesome sex, make out a bunch, drink a lot of coffee, make me laugh, cuddle, be taller than me, wants to be in a committed, monogamous romantic relationship, and eats their steak rare.

Oh.

And don’t be allergic to cats.

I have two.

They like their steak rare as well.

Heh.

No Bandwidth

September 14, 2019

I mean.

Ok.

Maybe a tiny bit.

There is some.

But it is small and slight and I chose to write a blog instead of using it for homework.

Don’t worry.

Shh.

Anxiety be gone.

I will work the homework is a serious manner tomorrow.

I promise.

I had one client cancellation, there will be homework done then.

And after I finish with my last client at 2p.m., aside from lunch, I have no plans except to bury myself in the work.

My fucking god.

There is a lot of work.

And I have been doing some over the week, don’t get me wrong, I have attended to it.

JESUS FUCK.

I am so grateful I just caught that, I had an assignment due.

I actually don’t know if I would have caught that if I hadn’t been writing this.

I stopped and popped into my online classroom and saw correctly that I had something due.

Good grief.

I am so glad I caught that!

I already had done the work, I just hadn’t formatted it to turn in.

Whew.

It’s turned in and now I can go back to whining about how much work this all is and when the fuck and am I going to have the time to do all the reading.

All the reading.

So much reading.

So much.

I have seven, seven, new books that have arrived in the mail this week.

I’m going to say that again.

SEVEN.

Ugh.

I keep reminding myself that I just have to do what’s in front of me today.

It really becomes impossible if I look at that stack of books, like maybe if I just sleep at my desk and never leave it and never move I might, might, get through the stack by the end of the semester.

But.

I have a life.

A big life.

A full life.

I also have a private practice I am trying to fill since, well, that’s like my income.

Not fully.

But soon.

Today, yes, today.

Today was my last Friday as a nanny.

I am still nannying, but I am reducing my hours down to three days a week as opposed to the five days a week I’ve been working for like, forever.

Thirteen years, give or take a few other odd jobs here and there, I have been nannying for thirteen years.

There is an end in sight.

And maybe that’s why I needed to write tonight.

To mark this.

It’s a big step.

Next week I work two days less a week as a nanny.

And soon, by the end of the year, by February at the latest, I am hopeful that I will be done completely as a nanny and be fully self-supporting as a therapist.

It’s a big freaking deal.

I have been working so long and so hard to get here.

I remember when I turned ten years sober how I was putting the finishing touches on my application to my Master’s in Psychology program.

That was four and a half years ago.

It’s been a long road, but I have been on it, working and working and working and the working, well, it does seem to be paying off.

I reflected this morning while I was doing my morning pages (I still do that, I may not be blogging every day like I used to, but I am still committed to that practice, I can’t not write, I would die) that I have really come far since last year.

I moved into my new place September 15th of last year, I started my first year of a PhD program, I was hired in August to work for Grateful Heart as an Associate MFT to establish my practice.

I left my other internship where I was not paid to transition to Grateful Heart in October.

I had four clients.

Now.

I have eighteen.

That’s a pretty damn big deal.

To make it through a year of a PhD program, work full time and set up a private practice therapy business.

I don’t know that I held down the fort in all areas all that well.

Oh.

And yeah.

I broke up with my soul mate, the love of my life, the one.

The fucking one.

I have been grieving that a lot lately.

It’s been a lot of sadness and tough at times and I don’t write much about it here.

Aside from the odd poetry post that I happen to throw up.

Tonight’s full harvest moon is also not helping.

It’s been excruciating when I think about the language of love that we spoke to each other through the moon.

How many text messages and phone calls looking at the moon wishing for him?

So many.

Crying for the moon in the sky, crying for him.

Crying all the time.

I still cry.

It catches me off-guard sometimes.

I think this last time it’s been different, more final, more ending.

Hopeless and heartbroken.

And still thriving.

Still alive.

My therapist reflected that to me this week after I shared some things about the current issues I have around the ending of the relationship and how I am still affected by it.

She said, “you can be heartbroken and thrive too.”

Heartbroken.

And.

Thriving.

And overwhelmed by the work, but up to it and ready for it and grateful for the lessening of nanny hours so that I can work more on my dissertation and my course work.

So that I may cultivate more clients for my therapy practice so that I may, sooner, oh please, rather than later, stop nannying altogether.

I don’t know how it will look or when it will happen, but I sense it is out there just around the corner.

Just there.

Under the shadow of the moon.

Like my love for you, my love.

Always just there.

Lit by the moon.

 

Free Day

April 14, 2018

Today.

No reflux.

Knock on wood, I still have a few hours of the day left, but for real, no reflux.

Oh.

I thought it was going to come at any moment and there was a tiny hint of it on the way into work, but it just never really coalesced.

So relieved.

And the fucking doctor’s office finally got back to me.

For a consult.

The doctor went over my referral and denied doing the endoscopy bundled into the consult.

Meh.

I have to see the GI first and then he’ll decide at that time whether or not to proceed with an endoscopy.

Fine.

May 2nd.

More weeks away, but the next step has been taken and maybe there is another answer out there, maybe there is something else that can be done, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.

At least not yet.

heh.

Which reminds me, note to self, I need to register for the fall semester on the 17th of the month, which is basically four days away.

Just popped that on my calendar.

Lots of stuff happening in the next few weeks.

Lots.

I just updated my calendar a bit and also I just signed up for yoga class.

I haven’t been in sometime, weeks and weeks.

School and horrible reflux.

The last time I went I had reflux really badly and it was the most miserable experience, I couldn’t bear to bring myself to go again, if I woke up and had reflux I was either cancelling the class or if I went to bed with it really heavy I would just not sign up for a class.

But since I haven’t had it today and mornings for the last week or so have been pretty stable, I’m going to take a gamble and go.

If it happens, if I get it, I’ll take it easy, or slip out.

I am not going to torture myself, it was so awful when I did it before, it was the worst experience and I’m just not down for making myself feel bad.

However, I am hopeful that I can go and the only pain will be from not having done it in a while.

I am also obligated to go to group supervision, but honestly, it’s not a weekend of school and though it means being time committed to a certain place at a certain time for two hours, I can totally muster through.

I’m excited for the weekend.

I’ve been looking forward to it all week, I’ll get to hang out with my best friend and that will be super nice.

I’ve missed my friend dearly.

It will be really good to catch up and reconnect.

Other things this weekend will be dinners out.

Tomorrow night at Brenda’s with my person after I do my Saturday night commitment.

And.

Sunday at France’s with my best friend to celebrate an anniversary.

I’m going to even get dressed up, Frances is a nice place and it’s hard to get reservations there, from what I’ve been told, but I was able to secure a late reso for us on Sunday and I decided I’m dressing up.

Not nanny clothes.

Not therapist clothes.

Fun, pretty, dress up.

I found a dress on HellBunny and it came today.

Fits perfect.

It’s a fifties style retro dress, sort of fit and flare, sky blue with navy blue and white flowers.

I think it’s quite pretty and I’m excited to go out on the town.

I need that kind of fun in my life, even if I have to get up early and go to supervision the next day, it’s worth it.

I only have a few more sessions left with my solo supervisor!

That feels so strange to say, I remember when I was first seeing him and I thought I would never be done with it, a year and a half!

And it’s gone by quite fast.

Due, in no small part, to being a busy person.

I only meet with him two more times.

Which means I have to get my paperwork in order here soon.

I picked up the paperwork I needed today from my internship and I’ll be bringing that into my solo supervisor to sign on Monday, then it goes back to the school.

I need to also look over my graduation requirements and make sure that I am getting all the right things together to turn into the school to prove that I have fulfilled the requirements.

I need my therapist to sign off on our sessions, 50 of them, which I’m just a tiny bit shy of, but will have by the time my last weekend of classes happens.

And I need to get on the party planning for my graduation too.

Plus.

Oh, let me not forget, I have two more papers to write.

I’m actually hoping to get to one of them on Sunday.

I have some time in the afternoon after I meet with the two ladybugs I normally see on Sundays to do the deal.

My person whom I also meet with asked me to meet tomorrow night, hence Brenda’s, which leaves me with a few solid hours to get some work done.

I’m hoping to knock out the majority, if not all of my Research Methods paper.

It’s a lot to do, but I know I will feel better addressing it sooner rather than later and the more I can get done heading into my last weekend of classes the better.

I’m secretly hopeful that I can have it all done in the next couple of weekends so that I can be chill for my last weekend of classes.

Fingers crossed.

No reflux in the morning and some yoga.

And whatever I get done this weekend.

Well.

It will be enough.

It always is.

 

Almost There!

February 25, 2018

I am almost done with my PhD application!

I have submitted my writing sample–ten pages of an academic paper I wrote for my Transpersonal Spirituality class.

I figured that was a good paper to submit to the program as it, the PhD, is in Transformative Inquiry.

I refreshed and polished my resume and updated it so that it was applicable to the application and I sent that in as well.

I did the online application and submitted that.

I contacted both of the people who wrote me letters of recommendation and confirmed that they had sent said letters to the department.

And.

I ordered my transcripts from UW Madison and CIIS.

I was a little miffed at first that I had to order transcripts.

Can’t the admissions office just look up the transcripts I already sent in from UW Madison when I applied for the Masters program?

And.

Really?

Does the admissions department need a sealed envelope from the registrars office.

Can’t someone just walk that shit down from the 4th floor to the second floor?

I mean.

Fucking come on.

But.

Then I was like.

Ok, not my rules, not my bailiwick, not my place to criticize, not going to change anything by getting all fired up and I certainly am not going to fucking sabotage myself by not getting the transcripts to the admissions team.

So.

I shelled out the $40 bucks and ordered them to be delivered.

They should get there by the time the deadline closes for the applications.

And if they don’t, which I think they will, I will contact the dean of the Transformative Inquiry program and show copies of the receipts indicating that the materials are on the way.

I don’t think it will be a problem and I will also, now that I’m thinking about it, draft her an e-mail and just let her know I was unaware that they would need my transcripts again since I am currently enrolled at the university, that I paid to have them rushed delivered and shit, she can just look me up online and see that I have a 4.0 for my Masters degree.

It’s silly stuff, but I’d rather pay out the little extra and make sure that I dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s.”

And really I am happy to do the work.

Although it is a little nerve-wracking.

I had a moment earlier today when I just didn’t know if I was going to get it all done and it felt really overwhelming and I had a mild fuck it moment.

But.

Then I remembered the glowing letters of recommendation that I have received and I thought about how disappointed I would be in myself and I just told myself to take some deep breaths and just do the next action in front of me.

Nothing more.

Just that.

Which at one point was just wash my breakfast dishes.

Then.

It was to do my morning writing.

I had hit a place in the online application process where I felt I was too anxious to continue doing it and I realized that a good way to quell that anxiety would be to do my morning pages.

So.

I just stopped working on the application and wrote three and a half pages long hand and then I did my hair and make up.

I got sassy today too.

I was feeling it.

It helps sometimes for me to get sassy when I am working on something like this, it brings my energy up to be playful and dressed up.

I dare say it worked.

I also focused on doing what the next thing was all day long.

After I got my transcripts ordered I had to mail out a piece of mail and I had to go to group supervision.

So.

I did just that.

I got in my car and I drove to the nearest mailbox and I sent off a signed document for permission to send my transcripts from CIIS to CIIS.

I let go of resentment and judgement around it and just sent in the request.

Then I drove to my internship.

Getting there with just enough time to run to Gus’s Market and grab a to go box and get a salad for lunch.

I sat through two hours of group supervision, I discussed clients, I talked about personal self-care, I checked in about a new client and I supported the other trainees in the room with their processes.

After group supervision I dashed over to Optical Underground, which had moved from Grant Avenue to Linden Alley.

The traffic was hellacious, but I made it there on time and I was able to pick out two new frames for my new prescription.

I, yes, splurged on some prescription sunglasses, and I got a nice new pair for progressive glasses for every day use.

I also asked that they tighten up my current frames, which had gone all loosey goosey on me.

I am really happy I got the glasses and then I bounced to the bank to deposit a check from my employers for the over time I worked this past week.

They always pay me for overtime in cash rather than having me get taxed, which is really quite nice.

Filled up the car with gas and found parking close to my nail salon.

Manicure and eye brow waxing.

Then off to do the deal.

And back home.

I wasn’t going to do a bunch more work on the application.

But I had a moment of realizing that I could do it, that there were in fact, a few things that I could just address tonight and get out-of-the-way.

Thus the resume, the transcript order (first one I did earlier and I couldn’t figure out how to access my UW Madison account before I left for group supervision) for the second set of transcripts, the academic writing sample (ten pages that I went back over and combed and edited to tighten and polish), and the resume.

And.

Voila!

I only have to do the autobiographical statement tomorrow and a statement about my goals for the program.

I should be able to knock that out in an hour.

Very happy with everything I got done today.

God damn.

I am almost done with my PhD application!

How crazy is that?

Good Day

April 2, 2017

Long day.

Glad it’s done day.

Wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow day.

But.

Oh well.

That being said at least I had some time before and after work for myself.

I got up and went to yoga and had a really good class.

I cried.

It was good and sometimes when it’s really good, something lifts and moves and I get emotional relief not just a nice quiet relief from my thoughts but a shifting inside and something gets worked out.

I had some stuff get worked out that I wasn’t expecting and I floated back to the house after.

A hot shower and a text from the mom saying I wasn’t needed until 1p.m.

I had been scheduled to come in at noon.

So I had some extra time to do some writing, check in with a friend and do some homework as well as get my spending plan done for the month of April.

I was right, not that I’m keeping track, but by eliminating my clothing allowance and my savings allowance I’ll be able to afford doing the weekly therapy.

I may change that at some point and as I applied to get financial aid for my summer session of practicum, which is considered a class, I will probably use some of that money towards tuition, of course, and also towards the therapy.

It’s required by the school for my degree, might as well use student loan money to pay for it.

When that happens, depending on how much I get over the tuition bill, sometimes it’s only been a few hundred dollars, I’ll use that towards my therapy and allow myself money back into my clothes or savings allowance.

Suffice to say.

I have enough for April to get by without freaking out, taking money from my travel savings account, or having to sell my plasma.

I jest.

I haven’t sold my plasma in years.

Not that I could anyhow, I’ve had a recent tattoo and you cannot donate blood or plasma for a year after you’ve gotten a tattoo.

So.

Like.

I’ve not donated blood in the past decade pretty much.

Ha.

Money enough is coming in, is what I’m saying and I was able to figure that all out before I went into work.

It was a chill day and I had a nice time with the kids.

I was a little tired, not physically so much, but mentally.

It’s a long stretch to be with the kids that many days in a row.

I made it through though, and got off early enough to run and get a few groceries from the store and then over to 1100 Divisadero to do the deal and meet up with friends.

After which, dinner at Souvla, a Greek restaurant in the NOPA.

I had an amazing dinner and mostly on account of the company, but the food is really good too.

I am really grateful for this group of fellows and so happy that have committed to continue seeing them every week, it’s really been helping me stay balanced with my school and work stuff.

And although I am working tomorrow, it will be an interesting adventure.

The family is actually coming out to me.

The weather tomorrow is looking warm and sunny and the mom wants to bring all the kids to the beach.

She said that they will be coming out to Ocean Beach and will send me a little text when they get close and we’ll all go have a beach day.

I can handle that!

I’m going to get up and do a yoga class again and be ready by noon, although it may be more like 1 p.m. by the time they get out here.

I’m happy to be staying in my neighborhood and I won’t have to do any cooking or cleaning or laundry, I’m grateful for that and for not having to do a commute in either.

The traffic today was crazy.

Everybody was out and headed to the park or the beach and that’s basically where I live and it was a longer commute time that it is during the week.

I am very happy to stay put in the hood tomorrow and just hang out with the kiddos at the beach and build sand castles and walk the tide line and look for shells and be out in the sunshine all day.

I am down with that.

And get paid.

Yes.

Thank you.

I haven’t yet been down to the beach on the nice weather day in a while.

I’m looking forward to it.

I also did not get the sense that I would be working all the way until 6 p.m.

The mom assured me though, that I would be compensated for the hours we had discussed.

I find that really fair and reasonable, and I’m grateful that I didn’t have to say anything about it, she just said, you’ll be paid the full amount we discussed.

Thank you!

Not much else to report this news cycle.

At least not anything that I’m willing to write about.

I fear that my blogs have not been so scintillating that they will start losing readership, then I remember, I don’t write for an audience, I write for myself and I would be writing even if only ten people were reading.

Or if no one were reading.

It is my space.

I claim it.

I own it.

It helps me and the really juicy stuff, well, involves other people and their stories are theirs, not mine, to tell.

So I bid you adieu.

A good night.

And.

Sweet.

Sweet.

Sweet.

Dreams.

Sexy Got Her Homework On

March 27, 2017

And her yoga on.

But not her sex on.

Well.

Not true.

I took care of business after my second yoga class today.

Yes.

I said that, two yoga classes today.

I have never done that before.

It’s not that big a deal and at the same time, it sort of was.

I went to my normal 9 a.m. Sunday morning class and got a very good sweat on and proceeded to watch my entire day change in the span of a few text messages.

When I got back from my yoga class I got a cancellation then after I got out of my shower and was getting my breakfast ready, my coffee date cancelled.

So.

I sent a lover a message.

And.

Nope.

NO response.

That kind of day.

So.

I got to do extraordinary amounts of self-care.

Which was needed and much cleaning and house hold attending.

And.

Cooking and grocery shopping.

This next few weeks is going to be busy.

I will be working two weeks straight for the family, the dad will be leaving Thursday for a business trip out-of-town so I will be working next Saturday and Sunday.

It’s actually going to be three weeks of work and school before I have another weekend off.

It’s going to be intense.

So I’m grateful I had today all to myself.

I was good company.

I took some extra time this morning for my writing and I made myself the most delicious coconut/almond milk latte and decided to just let the day unfold and not worry about anything.

I knew I also had to get a paper written for my Trauma class, my step-father made it into a paper this go around, and do cooking and food prep.

But I didn’t force myself or stress.

I just took each moment as its own little exquisite experience.

I washed all my bedding and did two loads of laundry, even washed the rugs in the bathroom, and swept, vacuumed, washed, polished, and cleaned my whole house.

It looks so nice.

I also went grocery shopping for two weeks of food.

I will probably have to re-up on fresh fruit, but I have enough coffee, eggs, oatmeal, brown rice, almond milk, organic carrots, frozen blueberries, and prepared food to get me through the weeks to come.

I roasted a chicken today and I made jambalaya.

I froze the majority of it and canned the rest of the chicken soup I had leftover from last week.

I have meals for days and I feel happy to have dealt with it.

I didn’t leave the neighborhood.

Although I did take my scooter to the Safeway on Balboa to get my groceries.

I wasn’t going to take it further, I knew there was going to be one more episode of rain and sure enough, there was, but not before I had run all the errands I needed to do and the next week and a half looks like sunshine.

That is going to be super helpful, I have my first therapy session with my new therapist Tuesday before work and I have an appointment to see my advisor at school Thursday before work.

The before work, work begins.

In actuality, I realize, it began already last week, I have been doing things before work for the last couple of weeks since the last school weekend.

Which reminds me, I need to swing by the post office before work in the morning and pick up a package.

I think work is going to be pretty busy, not just with working next weekend, but also, its Spring Break for the kiddos, which means I won’t have reading time for school work.

I feel like I’m ok though, I have done a lot of the Couple’s Therapy reading already, finished all my Trauma reading and I wrote my Trauma paper today.

I had some push back on it.

I realize I have been having some feelings of, “over it,” move along, I’m tired of this stuff.

It can get exhausting looking at the trauma minefields in my life history and how I got through some seemingly unscathed, but the patterns of the things I did to survive stay with me, little bombs of shrapnel on my psyche that explode without warning and leave me tired on the side of the road picking the stuff out of the pockets of my emotions.

“I feel brutalized,” I was telling my person yesterday at Tart to Tart, that place has seen a lot of my tears, about an incident that happen last week and how I felt and why I was angry.

We did a lot of work around it and I got some very good suggestions and I took them, I’m still taking them, I will keep taking them as the days move forward.

I hadn’t realized how much I was carrying until I said out loud that I felt brutalized and that it reminded me, I later saw, of my step-father and my mom and some stuff that happened to me growing up.

All the things that happened growing up.

Glad I start therapy on Tuesday, Jesus fuck.

Of course, under the lens of my graduate school work, of course, a lot of stuff is going to come up, the pot just keeps getting stirred and things pop to the surface, so when I sat down to write my paper I realized just how much I didn’t want to write it and I let myself start out that way.

And.

Five pages and 1,562 words later.

I was finished.

In fact.

I finished it so fast that I realized I could go to the restorative yoga class tonight at my studio.

Yes, I had already practiced today, but the restorative is really meditative and relaxing and it’s not about getting a work out, it’s about being in your body and supporting different parts of it that don’t typically get support or rest.

It was just so what I needed.

I came home, lit some candles, checked my messages, saw nothing from anyone, and said, well, I’ll just take care of me and took care of me.

I am actually a little surprised that I had so much sexual energy today, I just finished my period yesterday, but as I am getting older I can tell that sometimes it comes out in different ways energetically.

I also had some fodder for fantasy running around my head that I just let myself have.

I could say it was counter transference from the work I did today, which is another entire blog and far to clinical for me to delve into here.

Or.

I could just say.

After getting flowers, a home cooked dinner, and a restorative yoga class I was just in a yummy, dreamy space.

And I let myself go there too.

Yes.

Thank you self-care Sunday.

You rocked.

Ready for the next weeks work.

Bring it on.

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 Might Play Hooky

July 29, 2015

Mwhahahaaha.

I’m going to go over to a friend’s house and have a slumber party.

On a school night!

OOOOH.

Well.

I’m not working tomorrow, the family has left town for a Tahoe adventure and I don’t have to get up at 7:30 a.m. to be at work tomorrow.

I am sleeping in.

It’s my Friday!

I’m not playing hooky from my blog, however, my friend has insisted that I act like it’s a normal night.

But dude, look at the size of your flat screen tv!

I want to watch a movie.

It’s like being in a movie theater, but better, I can put my feet up on the table and not poke the person’s head who is in front of me, because ain’t nobody there.  And there is the added bonus of I don’t have to wake up early, so it’s not a big deal if I write this and then watch a movie, my friend is patient.

And.

The other bonus?

A couch.

Oh sweet Jesus.

It’s awful nice to sit on a couch, I haven’t had a couch to sit on in some time.

I mean, there’s a couch at work, but really, how often am I sitting at work?

Not much.

Although I did have a nice sit down reading session with the boys as mom and dad packed up the car and get ready to leave town.  They timed it perfectly so the youngest was nodding out on my lap ready for quiet time in the car.

“Mama, I sleep in-car, ‘k?” He said at one point, with his sweet little grey cat (used to be white she did) underneath his chin, his weight warm and heavy on my lap made me want to curl up in a little nap ball myself.

I managed to stay awake and not let the sleepy get in me.

The family left the house around 1:15p.m.

I stayed on another three hours, cleaning, tidying, making food for them for when they got back–black bean chili with sautéed turkey and onions, red bell peppers, green chili’s and a batch of corn bread muffins–all to go into the freezer.  All they have to do is take it out and defrost and voila, homemade dinner with no having to think about it.

Occasionally I flirt with the idea of prepping and making food as a sort of side business.

I’m a really good cook and I know what people like.

I also know how to make food that people like that’s healthy.

My housemate actually asked me to help her with some meal planning.

I make food for myself every week, cook up a big batch of whatever is floating my boat at the store, then I supplement with fruit and snack veggies–carrot sticks–at work.

This week I’ve been enjoying turmeric spiced brown rice with stewed organic chicken thighs, crushed tomatoes, onions, garlic, yellow bell peppers.  I mix that all up, stick it in a Mason jar and take it to work, heat it up in the microwave, top it with half a sliced avocado and voila!

I don’t have a problem eating the same thing all week-long.

Makes me happy to sit down with my home cooked food.

But, yeah, I’ll probably not take on anything else right now, I have enough on my plate with the graduate school thing happening and the burning that dude in the desert and maybe, I’ll find out more tonight, doing a brief quick and dirty trip to Yosemite.

Regardless.

It’s the weekend.

It’s my Friday and it may well be my last weekend to have any kind of play time for a little bit.

Though I reckon I will get my playful on at Burning Man.

“You’re the most joyful person I have ever met,” my friend told me last night.

That made me smile.

Though it is true that I have my moments and I have my feels and I get sad, I also get happy.

Happy to be of service.

Happy to be in my skin.

Happy to be out in the unexpected sunshine that San Francisco has been experiencing.

July is not really known for its stellar summer weather, and this has been exceedingly exceptional.

When I rode my bicycle home from the Inner Sunset this evening, I got done early enough at work that I skipped my normal 7:15 pm deal in the Castro and went to 7th and Irving and hit the 6:30 p.m. and even had enough time prior to get my nails done my eyebrows waxed.

Thank you very much.

My friend’s cat is flirting with me.

A couch, a cat, a good friend, a big screen tv.

This “Friday” night is starting out just right.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

I have a secret to tell you.

I’m not wearing a watch.

I’m not going to set an alarm on my phone and I’m not going to worry about what time it is when I go to bed or when I get up.

I get up when I’m not tired any more.

And maybe I stay in bed even if I’m not tired.

That would be novel.

While the world goes to work I’ll just roll over and go back to bed.

Hehehe.

And possibly camping.

I don’t know if we would go tomorrow or head out Thursday, but once I am done blogging, that topic and what to watch for a movie are the next on the agenda.

We’re going to play sleep away summer camp and gossip until the cat says go to bed.

Do cats do that?

It’s been awhile since I have had one, I forget their cat-like ways.

But this one is stupid cute.

Her name is Melody.

But every body calls her “Murder Face.”

Heh.

That makes me smile.

I have to say it’s been a long week with my brain running this way in that in regards to things I have no control over and the consistent and constant redirecting my attentions to where they need to be, on my own self care, that despite it being a Tuesday night, it actually does really feel like the end of the week.

I can’t wait to see what the “weekend” brings.

I’ll keep you posted.

You’re The Carmen Cat

April 7, 2015

He whispered to me and cuddled into a little ball in the corner of his bed.

“Don’t eat my toes!”  He admonished me as I reached to stroke the tender little balls of his feet.

“Not even one nibble?” I asked.

“No!” He giggled and burrowed under his blanket.

I hate waking up a sleeping bunny, but the nap was going really long and I knew I would get what for if I didn’t get him up and out and on the move, but fresh-baked boy is so delicious, especially when he is drowsy and warm and sweet, his deep brown eyes battened with eyelashes blinking slow at me.

He sleeps with his cat–Meow Meow–a little grey thing that is actually white in the original.

He has another stuffed cat, black and with white socks, that he calls, I kid you not, “The Other Meow Meow.”

Today he asked me to juggle for him.

I sing the theme song from the Ringling Brothers Circus and toss balls high into the air.

He sings along with me and moves his hands like he’s juggling.

Most of the time the balls get flung around the room and he laughs hysterically.

“Juggle Carmen!  Juggle!”

I taught myself how to juggle when I was 18, had just dropped out of college was living with my pregnant sister, her boyfriend and her best friend in the trailer of said best friends mom and dad, who were on vacation in Mexico for a month.  The trailer was in Stoughton.

It was cold.

We were broke.

Except when I was writing bad checks at the supermarket to buy food and smokes for the entire household.

My sister’s boyfriend, baby daddy, and general sleazy older guy preying on young stupid women who were blind to being used for having already been raised by their usury parents, had us all convinced that he was in love with each one of us, but betrothed to my sister.

God bless him.

He had it worked out.

He was 29 or 30?

We were, from oldest to youngest, 18, 17, and 16.5 years of age.

We all smoked, did his bidding, fetched him food, bevvies, wrote bad checks, and generally ran amok in the wilds of Madison and the local environs.

He was tall, dark, handsome, had thighs I wanted to just look at all night, they were so long and plied with muscle and a way of looking at you from behind a shank of oily dark hair, that had you smitten into doing his bidding, that you, and only you, were the only thing he was looking at in the world–the only thing that mattered at all, ever.

For whatever reason he had us all believing that we needed a street skill.

Some sort of trick or song and dance or number that each of us could fall back on in case we needed to beg or busk on the streets.

He played guitar.

I don’t know what my sister’s skill was.

Looking pretty, I suppose.

I’m not sure what her friend’s was.

Being annoying, I suspected.

I had no skills.

Aside from allowing myself to be talked into letting a middle age man kiss, really, just slobber over them, ugh, my poor feet, when the “family unit” whatever we were calling ourselves, the self-styled coven of idiots we were, was broke.

At, of course, the suggestion of my sister’s boyfriend.

I have never done porn.

I suspect it would be like what I sat through, the slurping of the toes, it was one of the most humiliating things I have ever done for money, and by far the most ghastly.

I stripped once, that’s another story, in a long line of weirdo things I did to help sustain the family, that might have actually been easier than the foot fetish dude.

Aside.

Ever watch Shameless?

The American version.

Yeah.

Well, sometimes it hits a little too close to home.

Enough said.

So Damien, that was the name he went by.

Note to self, really?

I fell for someone who went by Damien.

It was either that or Wolf, but I think he was dating my sister’s best friend.

I slept with him, none the less.

Are you wondering yet how I went from cuddling with a little boy and juggling to this line of thought?

I bet you are.

Damien, assumed name, not his real name, decided that we were going to learn how to juggle.

My sister was bored to death with it in five minutes and went back to painting her long nails.

Her friend tried for perhaps ten minutes, then too, joined my sister on the couch (leatherette bands with the high wood curved corners and that stale brown/mustard/black/cream plaid that all couches seemed to be at the time) and began filing her nails.

I, however, was down for the challenge.

It took longer than I thought it should, hours, I think, but in the end, I had mastered the art of three ball juggling and could even do a trick or two.

I never did it for money though.

Until I nannied.

Then, well, it’s like you’re the Pied Piper of nannies, or Mary Fucking Poppins with tattoos, they come running.

“Juggle Meow Meow! Carmen Cat!  Juggle Meow Meow and The Other Meow Meow and Kitty Kitty.”

He rolled over in the bed, “please, oh please.”

I laughed.

Of course, my little kitten, I will juggle for you.

Juggling stuffed cats is easier than juggling live cats, not that I have tried, but it’s still a lot harder than juggling balls.

I tossed the grey cat, the black and white cat and the all black cat up in the air, I sang my little song, he clambered out of bed and tried to catch the cats then threw them all over the room.

“Let’s play Meow Meow Ball,” he said and whipped the stuffed grey cat across the room.

The kid’s got an arm.

He might be throwing more than a cat curve ball one of these days.

“Honey, let’s take Meow Meow downstairs and have a kitty cat snack,” I scooped him up and the stuffed cats and we went down for a cracker with sun butter on it and some milk before heading out into the wild world.

“I didn’t know you juggled,” the mom said laughing, “I thought you meant it metaphorically, like herding cats, you were referring to the boys, juggling them like cats.”

I laughed.

I told her about one winter in Wisconsin, it was cold, school was cancelled and I taught myself how to juggle.

I left out the part about dropping out of school, running away from home, bouncing checks all over Madison and beyond, chain-smoking cigarettes, doing prescription speed out of the medicine cabinets of my sister’s friends parents in their trailer in Stoughton and running amok on State Street with the other gutter punks, playing pinball at Challenges, and older men with dark eyes and salacious agendas.

I mean, my back ground check came back clear.

Why go louse it up?

It did, however, sink home, once again, how far I have come and how grateful I am to be where I am today.

Just another Carmen Cat doing the soft shoe shuffle for another two and a half-year old boy, juggling cats and singing.

This Old Cat, he plays one, he plays knick knack on your thumb, with a knick knack paddy whack, give a cat a ball, this old Cat goes rolling home.

“Meow Meow loves you.”

I love you too.

Sweet boy.

I love you too.

And

I hope I always get to be.

Your Carmen Cat.


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