Posts Tagged ‘dancing’

Sometimes

July 26, 2017

I’m smiling and you may not know the reason, but I’m smiling and damn it feels good.

I am happy.

I had a great day.

Lots of scootering all over the city.

Lots of errands run.

Amazing what I can do when I’m not working.

Ha.

I mean, I did go to my internship and I saw two clients today.

One who is new and the other who is returning, in fact, my first client, which feels pretty damn good, getting to know this client and seeing how the therapy is working for the client is an amazing experience.

I am growing more and more and finding out more about how I am a therapist.

I model myself a little on my own therapist.

She was fucking fabulous today.

We had an amazing session.

I sat down and said one name.

I want to talk about _____________.

And we dove in.

There was so much there.

I gave a history of the relationship and why it is relevant to me today.

I talked about conflict resolution and how in my past I wasn’t allowed to have conflict.

Conflict was not rewarded with resolution.

It was generally smashed and violently so.

Conflict for me was dangerous and scary and so I just learned at a very, very young age to avoid it at all costs.

Thank you to my school program and working towards getting my Masters in Counseling Psychology, (one more year!) that, oh, what?! Relationships have conflict and that’s ok.

Shit.

Who the fuck knew?

So.

I had some conflict that I needed my therapist to weigh in on.

It was astounding to hear her perspective and when I was stuck she helped me figure out where I was stuck and what it was.

We got to the bottom of it.

I was so freaking happy.

I am still not excited for conflict and when it happened, the conflict I am alluding to, it was years ago but it has become very relevant in present time,  I did not know that resolution could happen, that repair could happen.

I am much better at it now then I used to be.

Some practice, some stepping up and being a woman and an adult.

I remember when I really stepped out of my comfort zone with a former employer and let her know how I felt about an interaction we had and how I was really hurt by it.

I am certain that my past employer had no idea how her words had landed, but man, they had landed so hard on such a tender part of me that I knew I had to address it.

It would mean changing patterns of behavior I had been using for years, survival skills if you will.

And I did.

It was hard.

Man, it was so fucking hard.

But.

It opened a door that I didn’t know was there and an opportunity to exit that work environment a few months later with a kind of grace and dignity that I would not have thought I could have done.

Except that I let the repair happen.

I had the conflict, I said this doesn’t sit well with me, this is how it felt when you said what you did and I want you to know I can’t be treated like this.

It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had.

Scary too.

So freaking scary.

I mean.

It was my job, my everything, and I loved my charges so very much I was devastated by the thought that I might lose my livelihood, one, and two, that I would alienate myself from the boys.

Those children meant so much to me it was excruciating to confront their mom.

Yet.

When I did, as I mentioned before, the conflict though hard was not as hard as I had thought it would be and it led to an unexpected resolution and repair of the relationship.

I mean, the last time I saw her we hugged and we both expressed how good it was to see the other person.

Oh there were lots of other things to work through, in that relationship before we got to that point, but the point is that I got to and I grew so much it astonished me.

There is always an edge to push always an experiencing for me to have.

For which I am grateful beyond words.

I have had so many life experiences that I can really be of service and value to my clients.

That is a huge gift and one that I don’t take lightly.

I have to say.

I really like therapy.

I like being a therapist.

I like being smart, I like using my brain, but more importantly I like making intuitive moves and letting things unfold in the field as my clients and I work together.

It is powerful.

It can be really hard too.

But for the most part.

Man.

I am happy getting to be a therapist.

I have so much to learn but that I am actively using the skills that I have learned over the past few years, in school, and the decades of experience I have had over the span of my life and the challenges met, my God, I have had some challenges and I have a lot to share.

And having the tools and language of therapy is a huge gift.

It’s like having done the readings and the trainings and the dyads and all the paper writing and all the books and articles and internet Ted Talks, the podcasts and the lectures that I have sat through, the work I have done on myself, the inventories and the taking suggestions and trying different things, my God, I can see how important all of it is.

And that none of it is wasted.

None!

My therapist has remarked a number of times to me how “alive” I am.

And I am.

I am happy.

I am free.

I am joyous.

I am of service.

I have purpose.

I am love.

I know.

That last one sounds full of myself.

But you know.

I think I am.

Or better.

That.

I am a conduit for love.

That feels more apt.

A channel.

And to know that I have been given that and that I get to grow more into that shape of love excites me.

Even when it feels overwhelming.

It is an amazing revelation.

And I am here.

Open to all of it.

Grateful.

And.

So relieved to no longer be in my own damn way.

It is extraordinary.

And now.

Please.

Pardon me.

I have some happy dance to do.

Sweet.

Sweet.

Sweetest.

Dreams.

See you on the flip.

 

No One Is Reading

June 12, 2017

Two days in a row.

Not a single hit to the blog.

Wow.

Taking it off social media certainly did the trick and since I will be starting with two new clients this upcoming week I am grateful that I have cleaned things out.

I also winnowed out a lot of other “friends” on facecrack and my social media has come down to me checking into restaurants and yoga.

Yeah.

I did another day of yoga today.

I wasn’t planning on it, although I knew it was an option, I sort of played today by ear.

I didn’t want to stress myself out but I also wanted to make sure that I was prepped for the upcoming week since it will be long and busy and full.

I had a speaking engagement this morning so I got up early on my Sunday and did my morning routine and wrote a bunch and then headed to the Mission.

Sometimes I miss the Mission.

I will have nostalgia for it, especially when the Outer Sunset gets socked in with fog, but this morning I didn’t have that much nostalgia and by the time I was done with my engagement I was really quite happy to get out of the fray and head back out to the ocean.

I could actually feel it in my body when I crested the hill that starts the downward roll to the sea and I could see the ocean and it just soothed me and I felt calm and nurtured and happy to be heading home and not have a lot of responsibility to the day.

I met with a new lady I just started working with and we did some reading and talked, a lot, there was lots of talking and it was good.

It is so good to be able to pass on what I have been given so freely and for it to be accepted so open armed.

I just felt blessed and grateful and by the time she had left I was ready to do the first round of food prep.

I made a shredded chicken hash with Andouille sausage, corn, carmelized onions, and crimini mushrooms.

Instead of potatoes I used brown rice.

No peppers though, peppers give me indigestion.

Which always bums me out.

I have super fond memories of my mom’s stuffed bell peppers from when I was a kid and I crave them once in a while, but all peppers, especially the green ones, tend to give me acid indigestion.

Anyway, so I cooked and had a nice lunch.

And.

Well.

It’s my fathers birthday today and I decided to call him.

Except that the call didn’t go through and the phone isn’t set up to receive voicemail and I took that as a sign, it wasn’t time to talk to my father.

But I could wish him a happy birthday from my heart and remember the last time I saw him and how his skin felt so warm against my lips when I kissed his cheek goodbye.

I hope you’re well papa.

Always, I hope this for you.

I settled my heart and decided to get out of the house and do a little self-care and get a manicure.

I had already done a great big cleaning, sweeping, vacuuming and dusting as well as laundry and putting my kitchen back together once I knew for certain the paint had dried on the cupboards, so I wasn’t slacking in the doing things department.

But.

I figure I’m going to either need to take good nail care maintenance for myself or get a manicure once a week rather than the every other I have been doing.

I want to show up well-groomed for my clients.

I want to be a demonstration of good self-care.

So.

I went up to the Inner Sunset and got the nails did and then I scooted over to Noriega Produce on Noriega and 46th and picked up a few last-minute groceries to have at the house.

And then back home to unpack, fold laundry, and figure out if I was going to the restorative yoga class or not.

I decided to go.

And.

It was so good.

So stretchy and relaxing and I just felt held and coddled and like I was taking super good care of my body and I could feel where I had worked my muscles this past week with all the yoga I had done.

I wish I could go more often, but I’m always down to take advantage of the studio when I can get into a class.

Next week I’ll probably only be able to go on Saturday and Sunday.

Maybe only Sunday.

So getting it in this week was good for me.

It was also super dreamy.

I was in deep revery the majority of the time.

I felt wrapped up in golden sunshine and I went to the meadow.

There is a place, I don’t know how or where it comes from, but I get the image off and on when I am in a certain kind of open body space in yoga class.

I remember the first time I had it and it was with a specific teacher and it happened during a certain time in class and it was accompanied by a bit of music that I never did find out who the artist was, but it was bluesy folk and guitar and achy and melancholic and sweet and reminded me of high mountain meadows and tall grass and long-stemmed wild flowers and I just spun out tonight in the meadow and danced and I was accompanied.

I have never been met there before.

I remember once being in that same space and it was beautiful and I saw myself as myself now holding the hand of a younger woman who held the hand of a younger girl and we walked towards a woman, who was I also, long flowing grey hair and I saw myself.

Girl.

Maid.

Woman.

Crone.

And I was awed by the beauty and the image.

But.

Also sad.

There was no one but I in the meadow and it seemed that I was waiting.

There was a fire to be lit.

Enchantments and witchery and strawberry full moon light and warm night air and yes, bonfires.

Dancing.

And I was met and I saw a long line of faces and stories and I danced and was held and turned and it was extraordinary.

I won’t analyze for you what I saw.

I just had a dream.

On a golden lit early Sunday evening in the Outer Sunset.

I drifted off, buoyant and aglow.

Wrapped in soft butter cream light and warmth.

So much warmth.

As though cocooned in a silk hammock on a summer day nestled into the strong arms of another.

Swaying in the wind.

A swooning melting and then.

Softly the bells chimed pulling back to earth and back to hearth and back home.

To the smell of dinner.

Chicken roasting in the oven and the warm embrace of my clean sweet space.

Happy Sunday.

Sweet dreams.

Good rest.

And.

Godspeed into this hazy night of dreams and revery.

Made It

March 25, 2017

To the weekend.

And I’m just hella happy to be home writing my little blog and it’s not even 9p.m.

I’m already in my bunny slippers.

At least I have some good music on.

There is a dance party up in here, y’all.

I’m listening to Parov Stelar, Mama Talking.

So fucking good.

I’m not quite sure what to call it, Neo Swing,  Electro Jazz, maybe Electro Swing.

Whatever.

I fucking love it.

I definitely dance my ass off when it comes on and I’m quite happy to have discovered some new tunes.

Dancing makes me happy.

And I haven’t had very much chance to do it recently.

I don’t think I have been dancing since right after New Years Eve.

To be honest, I’ve been pretty bushed with the work, the school, the internship, the supervisors, the finding a therapist, the whole damn deal, it’s taken a bit out of me, but I’m grateful and I know it won’t be forever.

I do suspect that it’s going to be about a year or so of being pretty exhausted and trying to keep whatever equilibrium I can.

I also suspect that it will be exhilarating and exciting and overwhelming and sure, why not, I bet it will be fun too, it’s fun to be on the path, to be headed somewhere, to have a direct goal, a vision, I feel like I’m fighting the good fight and doing the work and I know that is its own reward.

Yeah.

I also look forward to a time when I’m actually taking real clients and making money, like real money, I’m just getting by at the moment, it’s not a bad getting by, but it’s a tight getting by for living in San Francisco.

Especially when I start to contemplate having to start to pay out-of-pocket $120 a week for therapy.

The money will be there though, I know it, I have faith, and I’ve a bit socked away for a rainy day.

In Paris.

Actually, I fucking hope that it will not be rainy in Paris when I get there, I will want to devour every last bit of the city and I am hoping for sunny days, warm nights, long walks through the markets, the Marais, where I will be staying, a lunch at a cafe by Place de Vosges, a visit or four to Les Rouge Enfant Marche, a trip out to see the Louis Vuitton Institute out in Parc de Butte Charmont, a walk through the Pompidou, a tattoo, I mean, hello, that’s what I do, at Abraxas, a shopping visit to Fleux, a hat from a vendor in the Bastille, an afternoon at the Jeu de Paume, the Orangerie and the D’Orsay, a walk along the Seine, a walk up to Sacre Couer, a dinner at Odette and Aime, maybe a visit to a Brocante, grab a book and some postcards from Le Merle Moquer, fuck, as long as I’m in that neighborhood I suppose I’ll have to hop to Pere Le Chaise for a stroll, oh the places I’ll go.

I’m allowing myself to use half of my travel savings when I go to Paris.

The rest will be used for Burning Man tickets, travel to and from, supplies, food, and camp gear and that infrastructure.

Of course.

I haven’t gotten the ticket to Burning Man yet.

I have, though, to Paris and I have a place to stay, so I’m allowing myself to spend some money a few nice things and experiences while I’m there.

Not extravagant by any stretch, but for me, decadence.

I’ll eating out, I’ll definitely be drinking cafe cremes in cafes, I’m for sure going back to Cantine, that was fabulous, plus, I know my friend whose place I am staying at in the Marais, will have all sorts of good recommendations for me.

I swear.

Paris dreaming is what is helping through this part of the school process.

I’m in the short stretch of the semester, I’ve got to write a paper this weekend, I remind myself, there’s only two weekends of class left.

I e-mailed my advisor regarding all my paperwork, the supervisor, the therapist, and the internship hours, all the things, and I will be going in next Thursday to get his signature and turn over all the forms to the practicum office and registrars office.

This is happening.

I’m pretty happy with this turn of events, it’s been, yes, a bit nerve-wracking, a bit anxiety inducing, my own doing, but, to be able to walk into my next weekend of classes, two weeks from today, and have my internship nailed down, my schedule of hours, my supervisor set up and scheduled and have started my therapy requirement for the Master’s program requirement, big fucking stuff for me.

I was hoping to have my Community Mental Health project done too, but I’ll be ok with what I just mentioned.

Plus.

I have been knocking back the reading for my classes.

I may try to finish up Couples Therapy this weekend on top of writing my paper for my Trauma class, I will be working next weekend, so I don’t think I’ll be writing any papers.

The kids are also on Spring Break and the family is not going anywhere.

The big yummy hours of reading time I had this week will evaporate the next week.

I’ll get as much prep done this weekend and really, I’ll be damn fine with what ever comes of it, I’ve really been kicking it out.

So.

NO.

I’m not at all sad that I am not out at some club tonight celebrating Friday.

I am happy to be here, at home, rocking the fuck out of some good music.

Besides.

I’ve got a yoga class in the morning.

And.

I will make sure I spend some time hanging out with people tomorrow.

Some fellowshipping and some socializing.

Now.

Excuse me.

I need to dance around my room a little more in my bunny slippers.

Happy Friday!

Unexpected Dance Party

January 8, 2017

I really had not thought that was in the plans for tonight.

I just got back from dancing a good solid two hours at Mighty.

God damn I love House music.

It was so good.

I am going to be stupid sore tomorrow.

I did yoga this morning, ran around all day long and then danced, pretty damn hard, for a good two hours.

I might skip yoga tomorrow and just let myself sleep in.

It’s raining furiously at the moment and I’m thinking I got a good damn work out in, I could be ok with not going to the studio in the morning.

And I’m up late, it’s almost one a.m. and by the time I finish the blog and get to bed it will probably be 2 a.m.

Not that late.

But late for me.

Late for a school girl, a working girl, a busy girl, like me.

I might have been the only person at the club with school books on them.

That’s how I roll up on the club now, bag of text books instead of a bag of blow.

Heh.

I had a pretty good idea that I would be out all day long when I left the house early this afternoon, and I knew I would be taking the BART over to Oakland in the early evening, I figured I might have time to do some reading for school on the train.

I wasn’t expecting to be going clubbing, or I might have left them at the house.

Be that as it may, I did do a little reading, but mostly it was just funny to be out at a club dancing and have all the stuff and things that I carry around with me in my day-to-day life.

But it was worth it.

I got in on a guest list.

Unexpected.

I got free waters all night.

Lovely and unexpected.

I got a ride back from the East Bay to the club.

Totally unexpected.

And.

I got a ride home from the club.

Super grateful.

I mean.

Seriously.

And it was such a turn around from my early experiences in the city with the trains and with Uber.

I have an app on my phone that basically tells me when the trains are running, but this afternoon it was constantly telling me that the train was either stopped or stalled or delayed.

So I took a car to go up to Tart to Tart.

Only to see a train pulling in as my car was pulling up.

Too late to cancel and well, fuck it.

It was a horrible ride and I arrived quite cranky, bad, bad, bad navigation, bad driving, the driver took a speed bump at full speed in Golden Gate Park and I got tossed up in the seat and hit on my head on the roof of the car.

The best part was that the driver shouldn’t have routed through Golden Gate Park, but his navigation directed him there and despite a friendly suggestion that he avoid the park, he did a circle anyway.

Coming out exactly where he had gone in, a nice loop through, a scenic detour, I told myself, be grateful, you’re in a car, it’s a gift, you aren’t wet, you are being carried somewhere, you don’t have to drive, the park is pretty.

Restart your day.

Oh yeah.

That’s a great idea.

So I did.

I just said my morning routine in my head and I started over.

Then I met my friend for a lovely afternoon at the cafe.

We sat and chatted and caught up, she was in Paris over the break from school, and then a walk through the Inner Sunset and lunch.

We parted ways.

I got a manicure.

Then.

The trains, again, running off, I really think that the weather may have had something to do with it.

I got another car.

I needed to make it to the BART to get over to the speaking gig in Oakland.

The driver was not from the city and did not believe me when I suggested he take the left hand lane on Oak instead of the right.

The right feeds to the freeway and always jams up tight.

He argued with me, told me the navigation was right and proceeded to get trapped in the turn lane onto the freeway.

I suggested that he really would have a better time if he got into the left hand lane, he basically told me I was wrong, the navigation knew better, and he was going to stick with the navigation.

I was flabbergasted.

I responded that I have lived in San Francisco for fourteen years.

“I can tell you want to be right,” the driver responded.

“No,” I said, “I want to get to the BART station and not get stuck on the freeway.”

The passenger in the front intervened, “she is right, you are in the wrong lane, and you are going to get stuck going onto the freeway.”

The driver finally acquiesced to changing lanes after the man up front explained it to him.

I was stunned, did I just get a scolding and a talking to because I was a woman telling a man that Google maps didn’t always know the best way to go.

I think I was.

I haven’t had that kind of out-and-out blatant sexism in a while.

And for the first time ever I gave a driver a bad rating.

I had no compunction about it at all.

He didn’t apologize for being rude to me or arguing with me, and even though he was correct, I wanted to be right versus being happy, it was really a jarring experience.

I got out of the car and got to the BART and made it just on time to get to where I needed to be in Rockridge.

The speaking gig went well, I don’t remember anything I said.

Well, I swore a lot, but I tend towards profanity, and I was told it was good.

So that was nice.

Then.

I got talked into the dancing and I just said, fuck it, yes, I’ll go.

Then the ride to the club, the free pass in, the awesome music, the dancing until my knees wanted to buckle and the ride home, all more than made up for a few goofy transportation snags.

It was a really nice way to end a day that had been a bit on the wonky side.

Grateful I got to get right with God and be of service and then to go hang out in the church, the club, and dance and raise my arms and raise my voice and sing and shout and stomp.

God loves music.

Dontcha know?

Seriously.

Music and dancing are spiritual to me and I got right with God.

I got my groove on.

Hella on.

I may also have to get my ibuprofen on before I crawl into bed.

But it was worth it.

Very much so.

Thank you God for House music.

Thank you so very much.

And for always getting me to the church on time.

Always.

Regardless of the navigation.

 

 

That Was Fun

January 1, 2017

In fact.

That might be the most fun I have had on New Years Eve in years.

Last year.

Not so much.

Sadder than sad sitting next to a man I was desperately in love with who could not reciprocate and it was like being skinned alive to be so close and yet so horribly far apart.

The effort we put into not touching each other was extraordinary.

The New Years prior.

I got into a fight with my boyfriend and we broke up shortly thereafter.

The New Year prior to that I was working in Paris and horribly sad to be working, but also happy to be making money.

But.

The Metro got shut down and I ended up walking miles in the rain lost trying to get home to my place in the 9th and tailed by an overly friendly man person who took a liking to me as I was cutting through Place de Clichy trying to navigate my way backwards from the Metro stop that I was supposed to be getting off at before it got shut down.

This year.

Single and happy and carefree and not burdened by needing to work on New Year’s Eve, and I have worked more than my fair share of them, I have, I have.

I got up and went to yoga.

I did laundry.

I had a hot shower and though I wanted, very much to keep my beautiful blown out hair, I had to shower, I had worked up a good sweat in yoga, and so, bye-bye blow out.

Hello curls.

And it’s pretty with the curls, so no complaints.

Some writing this morning and while I was doing the writing I got a message from a friend in the neighborhood who wanted to know if I was going to a party a mutual friend of ours was throwing in the Mission.

I said I was and he said, want a ride?

Hell yes.

I was already nervous about riding my scooter on New Year’s Eve, I had some funky experiences yesterday and I was thinking that I might just end up taking MUNI to get to the party and a car back to the house, so when I got the ride offer, I was all over it.

And the feeling to stay off my scooter really stuck with me.

I wanted to go to the Inner Sunset and hit my nail place and I decided to just take the train.

I read a book on the train.

I chilled.

I didn’t have to worry about distracted drivers or people rushing from one place to another to get that last-minute thing done before the city became crazy.

I just relaxed.

I got to my nail place right before the rush and not that it would have mattered, I’m a regular, I’m nice, I tip 20% and they always fit me in, but there was a huge rush after I had gotten in and I was happy I did when I did.

I flipped through magazines and enjoyed the massage chair.

Then some carnitas for a late lunch.

And.

A train ride home.

I did some grocery shopping at the co-op, Other Avenues, in my neighborhood and made a little food up for tomorrow.

I also made myself a great big double latte.

I knew tonight would be a late night for me and that I would want to do this regardless of what time I got home.

It’s my way to unwind, empty out my head, let go of the day, release and relax.

And it’s habit.

It doesn’t feel right to not write my blog.

She’s a habit I can’t quite kick.

Not that I want to.

Anyway.

I did some food prep, touched up my make up, ate some dinner, read a little bit of the new Don DeLillo book I picked up last week at Green Apple Books and waited for the call from my friend.

He picked me up at 7p.m.

And we got more coffee.

I was zooming.

But.

I have to say, it’s sort of fun to once in a while get a little geared up on coffee.

We got over to the Mission, did the deal with some friends and then.

Yes.

Dancing.

And lots of it.

I danced pretty solid for three hours.

I saw friends I haven’t seen in literally years.

I had girl friends ask me to get a hold of them the next time I went dancing.

I hugged loads of people.

Hell.

I even had a guy ask me for my phone number.

I was not expecting that.

Although.

I did look cute tonight.

If just a tiny bit on the goth side.

I was wearing a little black dress, an off the shoulder shift with black leggings and black platform heels.

That along with the newly dark hair and a smoky eye.

Well.

I did look a little on the goth princess side of town.

And my mani/pedi was super dark navy blue with glitter.

Which looks black with glitter.

My skin tone doesn’t actually look good with solid black nails, my hands look dead, but if I go dark navy or dark purple, it looks black to the glance, but much kinder to my skin tone.

Anyway.

I was a little dark.

But.

It was fun to sport some heels and twirl about in my dress.

Although.

I was also a smart girl, because I do like to dance and there’s only so long I was going to make it in the heels on the dance floor.

I whipped off the heels and popped on my Converse as soon as the David Bowie came over the speakers.

And I danced.

And it was good.

And I will probably be sore in the morning.

But I don’t care.

I have not had a good three-hour dance session in ages.

It was and will be worth it.

My friend and I and another friend all left together and squished into his truck and headed out shortly after midnight.

And man, I am so glad I was not on my scooter.

The number of crazy drivers we encountered.

Ick.

Super grateful to have gotten home safe and sound and unstressed.

I shook out my hair, took off my earrings, put on Thomas Dutronc, French guitar and ballads, and made some tea.

The perfect New Years Eve.

A splendid showing out of the old and a promise of bright joy for the new.

Wishing you and yours.

Love.

Light.

Joy.

And.

Yes.

All the things.

This New Year.

Happy New Year!

I love you.

Seriously.

l do.

And It Was

December 11, 2016

A good day.

I’m a little jazzed up from all the dancing at the wedding and my toes are a little squashed, I don’t normally wear heels all day long and then dance in them, but it was a wedding.

And.

It was wonderful.

I got teary quite a few times.

The bride.

Lordy.

So beautiful.

The ceremony was sweet and funny and full of love.

I was happy to bear witness and be there and it’s been a while since I’ve been to a wedding and it felt really nice to be present to connect and reconnect with friends I don’t often get to see, to have some dancing time, some hugging time, some hanging out and being seen and seeing time.

Granted I am sure I will be hella tired tomorrow for my last day of classes of the semester.

But.

LAST DAY OF CLASSES OF THE SEMESTER!

So very grateful that’s happening.

I’m ready.

The last day of the motherfucking semester.

So lovely.

Today was rather hard to sit through, I had a slight headache and a little bit of tired and also it was rainy and torrential and very grey and wet and I just did not want to go to class.

I did though.

I got through the day.

I got back another paper from Family Therapy with some nice comments on it.

I had a wonderful lunch with a few friends from my cohort.

I got to flounce around the halls in my fancy dress and my blue suede shoes.

Sorry.

No pictures.

I tried taking a few, I did, my friend did, but I don’t know, I just was not feeling it.

Sometimes the pictures they happen and sometimes I can’t get the right angle to save myself and I get tired of taking selfies and I just stuck my phone in my purse and said, fuck it.

I look pretty in my dress, with my hair up and my red lipstick on and I don’t need photographic evidence and I don’t need to post 1,000 self-referential photos on social media.

The phone stayed in my bag most of the wedding.

There was a photographer there, I’m not worried about not getting to see photos from the day.

What was more important was to sit and connect and be with friends.

That was the best.

My best girl friend and I started shaping some definitive plans for a girl day hang out in January.

Sephora, The MOMA, The Balboa for a movie, Chinese food in the Richmond.

Yes.

Yes, please.

It was so good to see her.

It’s hard when your friends move away.

I’m so grateful that moving away was just to the other side of the bay, it’s still hard to get together and getting in and out of the city with the traffic is nuts on everyone so when we do get together, it is such a gift.

I’m lucky to have the women in my life that I do.

So very lucky.

Ah.

Yes.

There.

Winding down.

Hot tea in a cup.

Heels off in the closet.

Stockings slipped off my legs.

I’m still in my dress and crinoline, but bare toes on the rug and happy to be home.

If just for a little while.

I’ll be back up early in the morning and off to class, and gratefully, fingers crossed, I’ll be back on my scooter.

The rain looks like it’s passing for a bit.

I’ll be able to ride to class in the morning.

One more day of classes.

One more week of obsessing about when I’m going to get to writing my last paper.

Which I’ve already figured out will be Saturday, but I do hope I can do a little work on it Monday when I’m at work.

Wow.

Which I just realized.

Will be my last week with the family up in Noe Valley.

And then the week following my last week with my primary family.

The mom and I hammered out the last shifts that I’ll be working, they’re sort of odd hours since the boys will be out of school and the mom has some holiday stuff planned for them, activities, outings the like, I will have off schedule hours the whole week.

Monday will be 10a.m. to 6p.m.

Tuesday 9:30a.m.-5:30p.m.

Wednesday 9:30a.m.-5:30 p.m.

Thursday 9a.m.-1:15 p.m.

And.

Friday, December 23rd, my last day with the boys, 10:30 a.m.-1 p.m.

Fucked up.

But whatever.

I’m not going to worry about it, I am going to be flexible and be there and have a nice last week with them.

It’s wonky.

But.

I am grateful that I will be getting out of work so early on Friday.

I’ll be able to wrap up any last-minute errands I need to attend to before my flight out to Wisconsin and I’ll be able to be mellow about getting there.

I will pack day of when I get home and not be concerned.

I wish I had known that I was going to be out so early on that day, I would have scheduled an earlier flight, but it’s really handy to have the later flight and a good spread of hours to pack, clean, change clothes, tidy up and take care of any last-minute things that need to be taken care of.

Then a week off.

From work and school.

I really am going to take a week off.

No homework.

No reading.

No applying to practicum sites.

Nothing.

Just hang with my friend and her family.

Maybe nap.

Maybe read a book for pleasure.

God damn that sounds so sexy.

I’ve got some things between here and there.

But I’m getting closer and it’s damn nice to know that when I get up in the morning all I have to do is show up for my last day of the semester.

And then.

The Psychopathology paper grind will commence.

I will get it done.

Though.

I will.

I always do.

 

Much Better Now

November 5, 2016

I opted out of dancing tonight.

I opted out of a girl’s dinner.

I just wanted to go home.

It was a long day.

LONG.

It was a hard day at work and despite wanting to process the shit out of it here, it’s not my business to share.

Suffice to say it’s been a challenging week and I’m super grateful it’s done.

I went to do the deal after work and just felt at peace, sitting in a folding chair in a church and listening.

Sharing.

Letting go.

Solution is not trying to figure out what I need to do next, it’s just doing the next thing in front of me.

And despite wanting to socialize a little, I really just wanted to come home.

Yes.

I know.

It’s called isolation.

I just needed to recoup myself from the week.

I will go fellowship tomorrow night.

I will.

I already promised myself that I would.

And I really like the spot that folks go to on Saturday night after my thing with the people who got that problem like, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

They head up to Brenda’s, a soul food place with fried chicken and grits and lemon pie on saltines cracker crusts.

I can’t eat much.

But I did have a damn nice bowl of red beans and rice with andouille sausage last week.

And.

Conversation and lightness and sweetness.

Which I need.

I do also have a date tomorrow.

I know.

Like I said.

Word got out I have a membership to the MOMA.

He messaged me last week while I was people watching in the cafe and sipping my coffee.

I agreed to a date for the following Saturday, which is tomorrow.

I’m not real hopeful, to tell the truth.

Not to be pessimistic, it’s just that I don’t see it as sustainable.

He doesn’t live in town.

Story of my mother fucking life.

Ha.

Albeit, he’s not super far away, 22 miles, 25 miles, where the fuck is Menlo Park anyway.

Anyway, he works in San Francisco, thus the connect, so I figured, oh, just fucking practice, just go out.

I could have gone out tonight, I could be dancing right now, but I did, I did, I did, just needed to come home, to take a scalding hot shower, to take care of myself, to let the week slide of my shoulders and down the drain.

Sometimes it’s easier for me to commit to going out on a Saturday then it is a Sunday, I’m realizing this, as I write, maybe that’s what I will suggest, next time let’s make plans for Saturday.

I’m not so beat from the work week.

I realized today too.

I have been working more hours than I did last semester.

The new family that I split my time with has asked me fairly consistently to work an extra hour here, and extra half hour there.

Mondays I work 9 1/2 hours to 10 hours.

I’ve been working more, of course I am a little more tired.

And I have not gotten as much reading done as I need to do.

But I’m not here to beat myself up.

Yes.

There’s some hulking big papers on the horizon and I sort of don’t give a fuck.

I’ll write them, I’ll get a bit anxious, and then I’ll do the work, like I always do.

Always.

I have two papers due for the next round of classes.

One I will write on Sunday.

The other I will write next Saturday and Sunday–it’s a big one and will probably take me two days to kick through it.

Which is fine.

I will have a clear weekend and another week to knuckle down on the reading.

Tomorrow is probably my last day to have any “free time.”

I’m going to get up and do my morning routine and writing.

I am going to scooter to my nail place and get a manicure.

I’ll go on my MOMA coffee date and see what happens.

Depending on timing I may go grocery shopping before I hit up my 7p.m. commitment.

I really don’t think the date will go that long.

I’m not trying to jinx it either, just, I don’t have expectations.

Which means I won’t have resentments.

Fingers crossed.

I don’t resent my decision tonight either.

Both offers, the dinner and the dancing were last-minute invites.

I hadn’t made plans to do anything tonight, so it wasn’t like I committed and now I’m feeling sorry for myself.

Nope.

Happy to be home listening to my G. Love and Special Sauce.

Because sometimes I need to go back in the day.

I had an ex-boyfriend in my early twenties who was a huge G. Love fan.

He introduced me to them and once in a while he would amuse the hell out me singing about his “baby’s got sauce,” it always made me laugh.

I was with him for five years.

Longest relationship of my life.

And it’s been a long time since.

It’s still hard for me to believe that.

I can allow that to make me sad.

Or.

I can celebrate all the wild and winsome adventures I have gotten to have because I was able to go, sure, I can go to Burning Man.

Paris.

Rome.

New York.

Los Angeles.

Sure.

Let me have that adventure.

I’m down for a road trip.

A side trip.

A walk in the woods, along the creek, underneath the moon or the bright sunshine.

I was riding my scooter home along the park, Golden Gate Park, I always ride home along the park, and I was pondering to myself how I felt.

Did I feel like I was self-sabotaging?

I mean how am I supposed to meet people if I just come home from doing the deal after work on a Friday?

Then I rounded the corner that ends the Pan Handle and begins the long slide of park toward the sea and I saw something glowing through the trees.

What is that?

I looked up.

Is that a kite?

NO!

Oh my God.

It was the moon, a slice, a thick buttery slip of crescent blooming golden buttercup through the pines.

My heart just jumped.

How small my concerns, my worries.

How silly.

When there is a moon like that sailing through the trees.

In the scheme of things me not going out dancing is so small it is fucking laughable.

I take my shit way too serious.

I let the moon glide me home along the road, the mist of the sea rising to meet me as I zipped along, light and joyous and thankful for all that I have.

So much.

So much love.

So much gratitude.

So much.

I have.

It astounds.

Really.

It does.

 

Running Into Old

October 14, 2016

Friends.

Is so very nice.

I saw two people tonight that I have not seen in some time and it was really good to catch up.

“It’s been forever!” I exclaimed to one of my friends, who raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t feel like that to me, but then again I read your blogs.”

Oh.

I love that.

It just made my night.

Especially when it comes from people who I respect and admire, who I think are smart, it warms the cockles of my heart.

Cockles.

It’s a word.

Look it up.

Granted it meant not getting home until after 10:30 p.m. tonight, but I really needed to catch up with my people and it was super nice and I feel more connected and seen.

Sometimes I just need to claim my seat.

And I did that tonight.

I also got to relax and come down from work, the breaking up the week between gigs is challenging.

Not just from the standpoint of the differing locations and the different times, but also in establishing my boundaries again with the boys.

It’s something that usually happens on Mondays.

But I’m not with them on Mondays anymore, I don’t see them until Tuesday, then I’m at the other gig on Wednesday and that means the last couple of Thursdays have been a much greater challenge than they used to be.

I’m rolling with it, but by the end of the day I have been pretty worn out.

Of course.

I have my second wind, but it’s like after 11 p.m. and I should be winding down.

But.

I’m listening to

Bon Entendeur.

Fuck it’s good.

So good.

It’s a bunch of French actors who open the set of music with a little monologue, then the music.

Ooh la la.

I’ve been quite into it.

It’s electro, chill, deep house, hip-hop, disco, house, techno.

Um.

Yes.

And.

More please.

My darling French friend at school had put together a Spotify play list for me and one day she added this awesome mix by The Kungs, a French dj–Valentin Brunel–Cookin’ on Three Burners, This Girl and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

I ended up saving all their music to Spotify and listening pretty compulsively to their artist page on Spotify.

I was so hooked.

Then when I ran into them for the mess in the park that was Hardly Strictly melt down for me, I mentioned it to her husband.

She had relayed to me that he was the one who needed to be thanked for the Kungs hook up, he had discovered them.

So I did.

And the next thing you know he’s adding Bon Entendeur to my phone and, well, god damn, it is so, so, so good.

I’m a happy clam listening to it, let me tell you.

There is always something new and amazing to listen to.

I can’t keep up with it all and when I get hooked on something I do tend to stay with it for a while.

I mean.

I am not necessarily embarrassed by it, but I did listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel for a couple of months pretty non-stop every night earlier this summer.

I got to where I could basically sing a long to everything.

I either want something that I can sing along to.

Or I want something I can groove to when I’m writing.

Once in a while.

I need jazz.

On a Sunday.

Chet Baker.

Miles Davis.

Coleman Hawkins.

Or I need some Regina Spektor, a Saturday night spell of girlishness where I will sing and sway alone in my room.

Sometimes I need The Myna Birds and I need to stomp and shout and be mad melancholic.

Or.

I need some Van Morrison.

Which is familiar and wistful.

Or.

A little Shuggie Otis Strawberry Letter Number 24.

Which is got all sorts of undertones to it, some raw and perfumed with the devil of jasmine on a cold night in the Mission with the fog cool on my heart and the breath of autumn rains soon to come.

At times I need the Bach cello sonatas.

I am an emotional eater of music.

Bon Entendeur really has my ticket right now.

It may be that way since I’m going to Paris in May.

It may be that I like fucking good music.

Probably a little of both.

Oh.

And even though it’s late for me, on a school night.

Tomorrow is Friday.

Thank you God for helping me get through the week.

I do have a lot of homework, a lot of papers that need to get written.

But thank God, I finished the reading for one of my classes–which meant being caught up with the back log of reading I had for the class and finishing the reading that is due for next weekend of classes, so that paper will be easy to write and it’s short.

The other I can do in an hour, max two.

The third, yeah, there’s three.

I’m not exactly sure how to approach.

Depending on how early I get up tomorrow and what the weather is going to be like, it’s supposed to rain, I may knock one paper out tomorrow morning before I go into work.

I bet I can get it done.

Then one on Saturday and one on Sunday.

Totally doable.

Even if I don’t feel like doing them.

I will.

Even if I’d rather dance around in my house listening to god damn tasty French music.

I can probably manage to do a little of both.

Fingers crossed.

Hello weekend.

So nice to see you.

Seriously.

 

To Dance

September 15, 2016

Or.

To not dance.

I got a very sweet e-mail message from a friend today regarding all things Burning Man and when the hell were we going to go out dancing?  And we need to wrangle our third mutual friend and do that damn deal.

Don’t I know it.

September is a tough month for me in regards to that.

It’s the only month in the semester that I have two full weekends of classes.

Next weekend.

Which means this weekend is going to be writing papers, doing as much reading as I can cram into my head and burrowing into a hole.

Unless I get asked on a date.

Heh.

Fuck me.

I’m pretty transparent as it goes.

I’m all about the books, unless there’s make out on the table, then I’m like, um, I can get up early next week and do that paper.

Ha.

Oh.

I do so love how my brain works.

I did, however, give myself an hour of reading today before work and I cranked out a lot of one of my classes.

I am however, loathe, seriously so, to even crack the syllabus for my Psychopathology class.

I got my DSM 5 in the mail yesterday.

Nothing says sexy like a $158 text-book.

This thing is a serious piece of work, I don’t know how much it weighs, but I’m going to say the 5 in the title refers to pounds.

Even though I know it means fifth edition.

This sucker is heavy.

I have the desk reference for taking to class and the gigantic one for working out of.

I have two whopper papers that are going to be a part of the class and the professor said we’ll basically be reading the entire DSM 5 by the end of the semester.

Yeah.

Right.

The full title in case you were wondering: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition.

Say that ten times fast.

The book is 947 pages long.

Now.

I have read books longer than this.

For pleasure, with eagerness and joy.

Not with dread and trepidation.

Also, said longer books were fiction, I wasn’t writing any papers on them and I won’t be going back to them for referencing the rest of my career.

Though to be up front I am hoping that I won’t be using the book all that much.

There is a substantial amount of controversy over the use of the book and how the medical model for psycho therapy has gotten its’ panties in a twist with insurance billings.

You have to have a diagnosis to get your health insurance to reimburse you.

Nobody wants a permanent diagnosis on their record.

I mean.

I joke about mine.

Acute clinical depression.

Acute clinical anxiety.

Severe PTSD.

Classic Adult Child of an Alcoholic.

So.

Let’s see, I’m a drug addict (in recovery, thank you very much), an alcoholic, and yes, I also have an eating disorder.

Anything else here to stare at?

Ha.

The thing is that I don’t really give a fuck what diagnosis I have, either on record or off.

The only thing that I don’t have is a criminal record, although not for lack of trying.

Ahem.

I sought professional help for the anxiety and depression and for three years I was on antidepressants.

I didn’t like being medicated and I was on the lowest dose possible.

I will also add that it saved my life.

I hadn’t had suicidal ideation until I got into recovery.

Which freaked me out.

I discovered later that I was self-medicating, first through food than alcohol and drugs.

And cigarettes.

God, did I love me some smokes.

I’m absurdly grateful for the help I got, help I didn’t even know existed and I didn’t know how to address all the things that were going on.

I couldn’t make sense of the trauma and abuse.

I didn’t know that the neglect and the upbringing I had were not not normal.

It was what it was and I was always surprised when I was told that what I experienced was not healthy, in fact, the very counter-indication of health and normalcy.

Yeah.

What’s normal though?

I suppose a body can get used to anything and my mind and body did what they did to get me through and I had no clue that those things which had helped me deal would eventually stop working.

And when they did.

Well.

It wasn’t very pretty.

But.

Thank God for the help I received.

I am beyond grateful.

I am graced.

Loved.

Taken care of.

“You are going to be of such service to so many people,” he said to me as we were driving back into the city from Sausalito.  “I mean, I just know it, you are going to help so many people.”

I hope so.

Actually.

I pretty much know so.

That sounds like ego, I know that, but I am in a special and unique position.

First that I have gone through the wringer, that I have gone through that puppy more than once, I have a great deal of experience with getting through.

And.

Not only getting through.

But.

Getting better.

Stronger.

More flexible.

More kind.

More loving.

To myself and to others.

But mostly to myself so that I could be more loving to others.

Second, I am extraordinarily resilient, which is just an offshoot of the first.

How I have not drown in all the muck and morass and the sadness and grief, I do not know.

I have hope.

Nay.

I have faith.

Faith like the sunrise rising no matter what, the disco ball spinning in the club, the music beating in my heart, the waves rocking the boat in the night, a cradle of love, God’s hand holding me a loft and strong.

I am taken care of.

So that I can take care of others.

I don’t take antidepressants any longer.

I manage my stress.

I haven’t had a panic attack in years.

Yes.

I get anxious, but I know what to do.

I have a meditation practice, a prayer practice, I am of service, I help out in my community.

Fuck.

People.

I go to yoga.

Spiritual giant, yo.

Mostly though.

I just do the work.

Take the suggestions.

Put one foot in front of the other.

And love.

Lots of love.

Lots of joy.

Lots of happy.

And free.

Yes.

To question the abundance and prosperity I have in my left would be to spit on the hand of God that has helped me through this all, made me stronger, more gracious, more bent with love.

A burden, no.

A gift, yes.

A perspective I am graced to have.

A life beyond anything I could have imagined.

One day at a fucking time.

It’s pretty awesome.

Seriously.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Information

July 23, 2016

Good information to have.

No judgements on myself or others, it’s all just information.

Like.

Second swing through date with guy from Tinder and no, there’s not chemistry, but, nice guy, and I’m glad the he was in town with friends, he’s an Oakland guy, and at a club near the surprise birthday party that I was at and he came by for a little while.

We cut a rug.

But I was pretty tuckered out.

And that was a clear sign to me.

When the allure of coming home was more than the allure of staying on the dance floor shaking it to a good dj with a guy who wants to dance with me.

Fact is.

My knees were sore and my feet were in agony.

I have fallen arches.

I were arch supports in my shoes.

It sucks.

It is what it is.

However.

The party I was at, the hosts asked that we all remove our shoes, which is great, hey, sure, no problem, except, that I realized I was standing and talking and dancing and walking around and exploring the house, it was awesome and cool and made me have hope of there still being bastions of interesting things in the Mission versus the white washing of condos that seems to be in heavy proliferation there.

So.

My feet hurt.

Like awful.

I go to the party at 9:15p.m.

I left at 1:30 a.m.

That’s four hours of being on my bare feet.

Of course there wasn’t chemistry.

I was in pain.

I’m in pain right now, but it’s not as bad.

That being said, no yoga tomorrow.

At least not the early morning classes.

I am going to let myself get a few hours of sleep, get up shower, meet my person at noon, do the podcast at one thirty, have coffee with a friend in the Castro then run over to Scooter Centre and have them show me how to inflate my scooter tires.

They are low and I noticed it last night.

My scooter seems real bouncy on the road.

I am sure that I could figure it out, but there’s a weird little bit of fear in me the first time I go to do something and I have never done it before, I just want to be shown how to do it and I figure I should also make an appointment for a tune up.

I haven’t done so since I go it in November and I have already put on 1,900 miles on it.

That’s what happens when you live 6.5 miles from work.

No wonder my knees are crappy.

Ten years of riding a bicycle in and around the city and the last five of it on a once speed that I had in fixed gear for three years before I flipped over my hub and went to free.

My knees are shot.

Let me not think about the years and years of being in the service industry and all that wear and tear and just the general bad way I took care of myself for so long.

It takes time to heal from some of that and some of that damage may be too far gone.

I’m ok with that.

I am an old lady.

Yeah, I know, I don’t act like that, although I am very old school about certain things, I am wearing bifocals, call them progressives all you want, I’m wearing bifocals and bitching about my fallen arches and sore knees.

Old.

My brain’s wide awake though and here I sit, decompressing from the day, the night, the drive by date.

I do think I’ll be canceling our coffee date on Sunday.

He’s nice, but I was just not feeling it and my time is precious.

I’ll sleep on it, but yeah, I think there’s not much there.

Friend though, I can tell that, definitely a nice guy and we discovered that we do in fact have a few friends in common.

And.

That leads to an interesting conversation I had with a gentleman tonight at the party, the who do you know game, the six degrees of separation from the birthday girl, and we ended up having quite the fun chat before the date showed up.

I even confided that indeed, a date was on the way.

We had fun chit chatting and flirting, there was definitely flirting and though I separated myself off to meet with the other guy who came by, I did happen to bump back into the gentleman who I had conversed with more.

He was in line waiting for the bathroom, which I had just used.

I told him I was going and he asked about finding me on facecrack.

I said, yes, absolutely find me on all things social media.

However.

There is an easier way.

“Do you have your phone on you?” I asked.

He pulled it out.

He handed it to me.

I put my phone number in it, called my phone, and then plugged my name into the contact field.

“Now you’ll know how to find me,” I said.

FYI.

I have never done that before.

And it was real easy.

Good information to know.

I think there was a quick hug, then I was gathering up all my things and scooting out the door.

To scoot on down the road.

To get home to my sweet, humble, cozy little abode.

I am so lucky to have such a full life.

Even if I miss yoga in the morning and don’t have quite the amount of sleep I’d prefer.

Oh!

And I may have procured a ride up to Burning Man.

Not back, which is what I figured would happen, one person up and another back, but hey, that’s half the battle, we’re going to talk next week and iron out details.

And my bike has a ride up.

Things are starting to fall into place.

They always do.

“Have you figured out Burning Man yet?” A friend asked me this evening on the sidewalk outside of Our Lady of SafeWay.

“Nope, but it’ll all fall together, it usually does,” I said and smiled, completely in faith that what I was saying was true, because, well it is.

“That’s what I like about you Carmen, you buy a ticket and you just go!” He smiled in wonder.

That’s called faith.

And I do have that.

I do.

And that is probably why I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I just need to have faith.

And I have it in spades.

Seriously.


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