Posts Tagged ‘dark’

Separation of Church and State

December 16, 2018

And it finally happened.

I am so grateful to report that after much time, many failed attempts, yelling at my computer, yelling at the WordPress chat help, not literally, although I do think I told one of the people on the chat that I was as computer conversant as a tired four-year old.

I really felt like throwing a tantrum with that chat and I excused myself from it quickly when I realized I might, probably not, but might throw my computer on the floor and stomp on it.

So it is with much happiness and relief that I can report my website, my professional website, and my personal blog are no longer connected.

Oh.

They still are, but not really, not in a way that anyone could figure out and my friend who helped me even made the suggestion to change my face on the profile picture so I couldn’t be recognized that way.

Hence the new icon which is a graffiti photo I took many years ago in Paris.

Six years ago it feels like.

Paris was much on my mind today.

And in many of my conversations.

I went and saw my dear friend Barnaby at his new shop in Oakland, East Bay Tattoo, and he touched up the color on my pink jackalope bunny tattoo that he gave me for my 40th birthday when we were living as room mates in Paris.

We both marveled at how far we’d come since that time in Paris.

We were both trying to figure things out and neither one of us thought that we’d actually be moving back here.

Barnaby landed in Oakland and I in the Outer Sunset.

Six years later he’s the father of two boys and he and his partner own a house in Oakland and he just opened a new shop.

Six years later I’m a psychotherapist, not going to tell you my name though, oh no, I don’t want you finding my website from my personal blog (this baby is dark, no social media, no LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, nada), I’m also a PhD student and I own a car!

I mean.

I remember how I felt leaving Paris when we did, my heart-felt bruised, I felt defeated, broken, I had tried so damn hard to make it work and Paris was not having it.

Not having me.

Although she has welcomed me back with open arms and love every time that I have gone back since.

I feel like I have learned so much about myself from my time spent in Paris.

So my friend and I reminisced and talked about all the things we did there and the conversations and all the things that we have done in the time between and how life is.

You know.

Life is pretty damn good.

Even though.

Fuck my life.

I just found out that my paper is due at 5p.m. instead of midnight.

And!!!

Hahhahahahahahahaha.

God.

I must be a little on edge about getting my shit done by all the deadlines.

I forgot, tomorrow is Sunday, not Monday.

The paper is due Monday.

Of course I’ll be working and not really have time to address the paper, so I’ve been planning all along to have the work done by Sunday night and turn it in Sunday night after I get back from doing the deal up in the Castro.

Whew.

What a goofy little moment of panic.

I was all sorts of mad.

Heh.

Ah.

Breathing deeply again.

So.

I will hopefully be posting on a much more regular basis on my blog now that I don’t have any worry about potential clients finding out about it.

I mean.

Ahem.

My most “popular” blog is about cocaine and vodka enemas, not something I want any perspective client to be reading about.

I know how that sounds.

I never have and never will administer or be given a cocaine vodka enema, but I had a friend tell me a story once and I was so horrified by the idea, I’d never heard of it and I guess it’s actually a thing, that I wrote a blog about it many moons ago and what do you know.

It’s the most searched for tag that leads people to my blog.

I have actually thought about deleting it, but you know, it’s actually well written and it does in fact allude to recovery, so maybe someone out there who happens to stumble upon it might get the idea that they actually have a better shot at life without shooting cocaine up their bum mixed with vodka.

Anyway.

There are lots of other things in my blog I’d rather not have my therapy clients find out.

Like I’ve been to Burning Man eleven times.

(Dirty hippy)

(Sex addict)

(addict in general)

(weirdo)

I won’t say that any of those things don’t apply, but ahem, you know, I’m happy with who I am and not really shy about sharing.

God forbid a client read any of the blogs I wrote about my brief and tumultuous jaunt on Tinder.

God was that a heap of crap.

With one or two shining moments, but mostly a lot of yuck.

And now.

Well.

THANK YOU FRIEND!

I don’t have to worry about it.

I can write happily and freely about everything.

Well.

heh.

I don’t actually write about everything either, you know a girl has to have a few things kept back.

At least for right now.

There may well be a time and place when that changes, but right now, yeah, there are a few things that don’t wind up in these posts and that’s alright too.

I’m just so happy to have my little blog space back.

I don’t mind that it’s gone so dark, it’s like my own little private universe with a few select friends that like to hang out and have a cup of coffee with me and catch up.

I’ve got some followers who know me in my personal life as a real bona fide person, and I’m cool with that, but the rest of the world can keep right on thinking of me as Auntie Bubba.

I’m very.

Very.

Very.

Cool with that.

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This Love Of Mine

August 18, 2018

Well.

I did it.

I listened to a playlist the ex had made me on the way home.

I’m not upset that I did it, it was going to happen at some time.

I was, however, hit harder by the music than I suspected I would be.

I sang a little, I teared up, I reprimanded myself for being emotional while driving home in the fog, he would have hated that I did that, he was always so concerned about me getting home safely.

It was a dreamy sort of drive home, though, darkly romantic with the fog halos around the street lamps lining Lincoln Avenue.

It’s Friday.

I’m alone.

I miss my love.

It’s been ten days and it feels like an eternity since I saw him.

I had a thought that I should call him and of course, I stamped that out, it’s not going to do any good and it will only make you sad, don’t do it.

I will just have to continue walking through the feelings when they come up and probably not listen to any of the playlists he’s made me for a while.

I am still far too tender.

I do have plenty of things to distract myself with.

God.

Do I ever.

I need to print off the rest of my syllabi and start the organizing my readings that will need to be done before the intensive begins.

I also have a bunch of things I need to organize for the new internship.

One of them being that I have settled upon a price for the times I will use the office.

$125/week.

I think it’s a damn fair price.

It’s $25 more than what I asked and about what I thought it would end up being, so I’m totally fine with it and responded as such.

Now I have to coordinate with the person at Grateful Heart Therapy who negotiates the leases for the interns.

My God.

I’m going to be renting an office!

Shit.

I haven’t even found a place to rent for myself yet.

Not that I’m not looking, but I’m not doing it with pressing haste.

I am trying to let myself sit still until I need to get a place.

I don’t want the stress of moving while I’m starting the PhD program.

The program will be stress enough.

And I’ve been getting lots of emails from the new internship, things that need to be done, dates that I need to book out in my calendar, head shots that need to be done.

So much stuff.

I”m a bit pooped out thinking about it all right now.

It was a long week at work and I think, cue the sad song sing along in the car, that I am also emotionally exhausted with the grieving of the relationship.

It’s been ten days.

It hasn’t been that long and I loved him, love him, so fucking much, that it may just keep taking some time.

So the best I can do is be nice to myself and not freak out that I haven’t read the orientation packet with a fine tooth comb or figured out my therapy business name or started my online presence yet.

Those things will come.

I am proud of myself for doing the little things.

Like getting up, showering, making my bed, doing laundry, folding it and putting it away, cooking myself food, seeing clients, being sweet with the monkeys today at work.

I even baked cookies.

Not for me, my charges.

But it was nice to bake and take my mind off of all the things and just be present with the kids and have a sweet time with them.

We made sugar cookies and homemade frosting and used lots of sprinkles.

An illegal amount of sprinkles really.

It was a nice thing to do on a Friday.

Another nice thing I am going to do is not set my alarm.

I was thinking about swimming in the morning, but honestly, I just can’t muster it up right now.

I may wake up and feel differently, but I’m just going to let myself off the hook and let whatever happens happen.

I have a lot to take care of and it’s ok if I stay home and just do the work I need to address before heading out to group supervision.

I have plans tomorrow night with some girlfriends for dinner and a movie, so I will also be getting in some social time.

All I want right now though is some zone out time.

I’m going to call it a night, make some tea and watch a video.

No more sad songs tonight.

Although I can’t guarantee that I won’t cry a little before I go to sleep tonight.

 

A Crow Will Smile

July 31, 2017

At your funeral.

Le petit mort.

Or.

Perhaps it is.

The death of self.

It, the crow–

Audacious trickster.

Sits on my open chest.

Eating my heart.

Dismembering it.

Pulling it out with its strong beak.

I can feel it, severing the connections.

The blood pulses and pools.

The crow, grabs it out and flies off.

Carrying my heart across the fields.

Over the desert.

To you.

Will you eat it?

Will it be a fricassee?

Will the fire of blood sate you?

But no.

The crow.

He is a messenger, a courier, a carrier of things.

All the things.

The bright and beautiful.

Magic and mysterious.

They catch his eye.

And he carries them back and forth.

A shuttler of bounty.

A lover who is masked with darkness and the slick oily flutter.

Of his wings.

He settles upon you, my heart in his ebony beak.

A daisy springs from it.

There.

See.

It flowers for you.

You in turn, hand the crow your heart.

Plucked from beneath the cage of your chest.

The crow hops down onto your raised arm and tucks the heart.

My heart.

Into the cavity there.

The blood and sinews collapse upon it and take it into your body.

I am within you.

The crow chortles in its throat.

A satisfied sound.

Then it grasps your heart in the lance of its bill.

And.

Flies back to me.

My chest bared, eyes wide open, laying flat on my back.

Tears spilling down my face.

Knowing that I have given you everything.

Not expecting.

Not once.

To have your heart placed inside my chest.

To have my blood pumping through its chambers.

And yet.

This.

This is exactly what happens.

The dark wings flutter.

The open mouth exhales.

The heart falls from the crows beak.

A rose sprouting from it.

And drops into my open chest.

I sigh.

Such.

Unexpected ecstasy.

Lacing my fingers over the wound which seals itself.

Heals itself.

I arise.

Flowering for you.

You now in me.

As I am.

Within you.

Love betwixt.

Apart.

Yet.

Always.

Together.


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