Posts Tagged ‘Daylight Savings’

Time To Take A Break

March 12, 2018

I should have just skipped it.

Trying to do more work after wrapping up a fairly exhausting weekend of classes, but no, I tried to do more.

But my brain was not working and as I was getting teary eyed in the Pete’s Coffee across the street from my school I knew it was time to concede and throw in the towel.

I was done.

I was a burnt little piece of toast.

Instead I had a really good talk with my best friend who bolstered my spirits and kept me on the phone out the door of the cafe, into my car and up to the Castro where I had to go for my next round of commitments for the day.

Man.

It was a long day.

And of course, I’m just now remembering that it was Daylight Savings so I was on one less hour of sleep.

I got up at 6:30 p.m. which felt like 5:30 a.m.

In fact, I got up right before my alarm went off to use the bathroom, crawled back into bed thinking I had another hour of rest and then the alarm went off and reminded me, that no, nope, no way, it was time to get up and start my day.

It was a hard day and I did a lot of work to stay with it and I am proud of myself for showing up the way I did.

There is a lot of stuff that needs to be addressed before I graduate and the final projects are coming together and I need to be doing more work around those, but for today, well.

I’m fucking done.

It’s ten minutes to 10 p.m. and I have to be up early again tomorrow to go to supervision before work.

I will say, however, that I figured out one small part of the Diversity Scholarship Application that I needed to do and the problem that was so insurmountable at the coffee shop was quickly remedied when I got home.

Some fellowship, some recovery, some doing the deal, meeting with my person and getting right with God, and voila!

Computer stuff is a walk in the park.

I’m still not doing it quite correct, but I don’t give a good god damn, I did what I needed to do and its enough, I have to remind myself that all that time, the work I do is enough.

I did a lot of work this weekend, I participated in every class, I brought myself forward, I was vulnerable with personal experiences and I used that vulnerability to show resilience and to model how my experiences can be of service to my cohort.

At least that’s what I hope I did.

It seemed as though it landed well, my efforts this week, and I’m happy with how I showed up, although, frankly, exhausted, it’s work, this school program and a lot of that work is process work, processing the experience of being in school, the psychological fallout of my own issues and my own work and then watching the interplay of what is happening with others in my cohort and what they are working with.

It was a lot.

And I’m tuckered out.

I don’t even feel much like writing more.

I sort of just want a snack and a cup of tea and a little video to chill out to.

I have a big full week, of course I do, seven clients this week, supervision, therapy, yoga if I can muster the energy before therapy and work on Tuesday, plans to see my best friend, work, as always, and getting my scholarship application filled out and sent in.

I will finish the rest of the work on the application tomorrow.

Now that I have figured out my technical issues it shouldn’t take more than a half hour, 45 minutes tops, to get everything done and turned in.

Fingers crossed.

The scholarship is worth $5,000.

It is applied directly to tuition.

And I don’t even know what the tuition is yet for the program I applied to.

Hopefully I will be hearing back from the program in the next couple of weeks.

I will either get called in for an interview, or I won’t.

I suspect I will.

The dean of the program had related to me that they generally decide within two weeks of the application deadline who they are going to call in for interviews.

I was told that they’ll make the decision very quickly after the interviews are done and that the entire process is typically done by the end of March.

Today’s the 11th.

I am assuming I’ll get the phone call this week.

That’s the thought, anyway.

And then interview. and then go get my PhD.

Of course.

There will be lots of work between here and there.

I can’t quite hold it all right now though, my head is too full and I am too tired.

So with that.

I bid you a wonderful good night.

And sweet dreamy dreams.

The sweetest.

So Glad

March 11, 2018

For my car.

The fog.

My God.

I don’t know that I have seen it this thick ever.

I am so glad that I rode my scooter home today in between school and my evening commitment.

My scooter was hit and run and I had ridden it home yesterday from class without too much worry, the guys at the shop pretty much said it was just some body work damage that was slight and nothing that was mechanical so go ahead and ride and bring it back in the morning.

Which I did.

And it was foggy this morning, but nothing like tonight.

I had the sense that it was going to be bad and I decided that I didn’t want to be out and get caught in it, visibility is just awful, the fog is so thick it condenses on my helmet and it might as well be rain, the roads getting slippy and if I’m riding close to the park, the fog condenses in the trees and drops down in big fat heavy wet drops on you.

No thanks.

My fear was that if I came home I might not leave, but after getting my scooter from the shop I just knew it was the best idea.

Besides, I was, I am all caught up on my homework and had nothing to do.

I suppose I could have found something to do to kill time, but I really just wanted to get my scooter home and get it covered up and put it away far a while.

I love my little car, I have become spoiled.

But the truth is.

I’m also safer in my car and I know it.

I am more visible and I drive safer and I feel so much more comfortable being warm and dry and having music.

I love having music in the car.

The fog was so dense coming home I had my windshield wipers on.

All the way home, it would have been a nightmare on my scooter.

I’m happy that I was safe and let myself have a home cooked meal as well and make a phone call with my best friend and get caught up on the day.

Plus.

I got my new glasses!

I like them.

They are different and I had a few moments of fear that I wasn’t going to like them as much as I did when I tried them originally, I also couldn’t remember what they looked like.

And they are a different look, but I think they flatter my face well and I am already used to the prescription, except when I look up quickly.

Yes.

They are progressives, the optometrists nice way of saying bifocals, so they are for both near and far and when I originally got my first pair of progressives, my just recently retired frames, it took me days to get used to the prescription and I was off-balance in very alarming ways.

I actually fell into a door at work and I walked around like I was drunk for a couple of days.

My entire equilibrium was off.

But once I got used to them, it went away and hasn’t really ever come back.

I had a touch of it for the first half hour I wore the glasses and now, well, now it’s gone and I really am happy I updated my prescription.

It’s not that much different from my previous one, but it is a little stronger and I have noticed the difference.

I like clarity.

I like seeing things well.

It’s nice to have them and I am sure I will get used to the frames as well and how they look on my face.

I’m already wondering about how to wear my hair tomorrow.

And.

Fuck.

Also being annoyed that I am losing an hour of sleep for Daylight Savings time.

I was already planning on getting up early so I could get in a shower before class and I forgot I have to turn my clock ahead.

Ugh.

I guess I’m getting up really early.

Which is fine.

I’ll show up to class and be on time, like I always am.

I do like being in school, even when it annoys the piss out of me, like it did yesterday, I do like showing up and seeing the people in my cohort and I also like running into people who haven’t seen me for years who are all excited about my upcoming graduation.

That happened tonight when I went out to do the deal.

I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in four years, possible a little more.

And it was so good.

It was good to talk about life, she’s gotten married, I have gotten 3/4s of the way through grad school, and get caught up.

“You’re going to be an amazing therapist!” She said tonight.

That feels really nice to hear.

It’s been such work.

And I’m grateful for the work, it means I’m alive and I get to keep learning and that life is not, no it is not, at all boring.

I can say that without a shadow of a doubt.

My life is not fucking boring.

It is full of love, passion, adventure, emotion.

Oh.

All the emotion.

I have feelings.

And they tell me that I am very much alive.

Grateful for those, feelings, even when they are hard to hold or I want them to be different from what is coming up.

I find that today, in this moment, after much work, and I know it is not done or even near to completion, that I have a great container to hold those feelings.

A vast, enormous heart that is ever expansive.

To feel is to know that I am alive.

Oh.

Man.

I am so alive.

So in love with life.

So.

In.

Love.

With.

Well.

You.

Darling.

Of course.

You.

Fuck Yeah

March 12, 2017

I feel fucking good.

And that is not something that I normally feel to this degree on a Saturday night halfway through a long weekend of classes.

No.

Normally I feel, tired, depleted, and sad, exhausted, over blown, over whelmed, over it.

But.

Tonight in the last half hour of my last class I got to do a dyad with another classmate and it turned out to be the best dyad I have done in my two years.

The best.

I felt so good.

I felt it all interconnect, I felt all the information that I have been digesting in huge bites and chunks all integrate and I was just there, in the field, doing the work, being myself and I was a therapist.

Man oh man.

It feels really good.

My “client” felt the same way and the person observing said to me afterward, “man, I wish you were my therapist!”

I was so happy to hear that.

I got so jazzed up.

It might take me a minute to come down from it.

Which I’m ok with.

I am.

I have my little routine, my school night routine, literally, not figuratively, I have a school night routine, I have my lunch packed and prepped for tomorrow, the books and notebooks I will need for class and my stash of tea for when I need to compose myself and comfort myself.

A hot cup of tea does me wonders.

Calms down my parasympathetic system.

Hydrates me.

Warms me up.

Gives me something to fiddle with, my glass Mason jar in its midnight blue cozee that says “everything is going to be alright.”

Which was amply demonstrated to me today when I wasn’t on the high I am now.

When I felt overwhelmed, and overdrawn, over taxed.

I had sat through a practicum workshop during lunch and it was so much information and so many people were clamoring to be heard and have their questions answered, I felt completely overwhelmed.

I did, in the end, get the information I needed.

I stayed a little bit after and was fine for being a little late for my next class as I needed to get sorted with my next steps for the internship.

There’s a lot.

I have to get a supervisor that the school approves of.

I have to start outside therapy.

I have to register for the summer with a special registration form that has to be turned into the registrars office in hard copy.

I have to get a three page paper form to my practicum site, get it signed off by my site supervisor, the school supervisor, my advisor, and the head of the program.

Jeez Louise.

Nothing stressful about doing all of that.

Fuck me.

I meet with my site supervisor on Tuesday after work so I really wanted to make sure that I had all the forms that he will need to fill out.

I collected a big wad of paperwork and found out that my site supervisor has a lot of experience  with the school and that I was going to be in good hands.

Which I had already suspected, but it was still nice to hear.

Then.

I ran into a fellow in the cohort ahead of mine who is working in the same site I will be at and I asked him how I should go about getting a supervisor and he said to ask the head of the institution who I will be seeing on Tuesday.

Fantastic fucking idea.

I will ask, I will take his suggestion, I will get a supervisor.

I got a referral to a therapist for my outside therapy work and hopefully I can get that all lined up as well by the time I start the internship.

So many things to do.

By the time I got to my afternoon class I was blown out of the water and in tears.

Fortunately it was mostly lecture and by the time we got to a place I needed to participate more I had calmed down.

Tired.

But calm.

And after some dinner, my last class of the day.

A good collaborative class discussion on the work that was presented last night, we had three guest lectures do a panel on a Community Mental Health program in the city that focuses on being a liaison between the gangs and the city and the county and the police.

They had some great things to say and it lit up a nice back and forth in our class tonight discussing what we had heard and felt about it.

Then a break, and the dyad work and the juiciness of getting to sit in the seat and claim it and show up and be me.

Me.

A therapist.

So good to know that all those years having an open door policy at work are being put to use, or the dozens of years of recovery have been so integrated into who I am that I could draw upon my experience and go there in a therapeutic role.

It was such a good feeling.

And I could see that it landed with my “client” and that change was being affected and that felt good.

Being of service usually feels really good.

This just affirmed once again that I am in the career I am supposed to be in, that my experiences were not for naught, not that I think that, at least not the last twelve years, it has been made very clear that those experiences are gold, that I am going to get to help more folks and that I am good at what I do.

I have years to go.

I have much more to learn.

And I have a deep humility for the process.

Gratitude too.

And there.

I feel like I have gotten my unwind.

Time to get ready for bed.

It’s an early day tomorrow.

Last of the three days.

And.

Grr.

Day light savings.

I’m losing an hour of sleep.

Oh well.

Just grateful that I will be getting any sleep at all.

So grateful.

Seriously.

The Dying Of The Days

November 6, 2016

Tomorrow begins Day Light Savings.

Fall back.

Thank you for that.

One more hour of sleep in the morning.

I can always use another hour of sleep.

I don’t mourn the passing of the day, I don’t have sorrow for the shorter day.

In fact.

I found myself with a kind of sweet, smokey soft nostalgia for it today, as the day was blurring down around the edges as I rode my scooter home from the date, the errands, the living and doing, the what all I could cram into my afternoon.

I had a nice day.

I had a nice date.

Not a swoon, oh my God he’s it, date, but a nice date.

Will I see him again?

Probably not.

Menlo Park is a little ways away.

And he’s not quite the guy for me.

I was intellectually engaged however, and really had a nice time listening and talking and we did have a nice lunch in the cafe at the MOMA and enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee.

A friend messaged me and said, if he doesn’t get you at least two cups of coffee, it’s over.

I laughed.

Double fisting coffee.

I suppose it is better than double fisting vodka and IPA’s.

Heh.

The date was a nice guy and smart, but I wasn’t physically drawn to him.

There was no zing zip for me.

It felt like making a nice new acquaintance.

But that doesn’t spell chemistry for me and I don’t believe I will be pursuant of it.

Not that I am at this moment pursuing anyone.

I’m not on Tinder, yes, I have hopped on and off it enough times that who the hell knows where I am, but not on the app, not on a dating site, not on the prowl.

Open though.

To possibility.

Magic.

That’s what it felt like when I was on my way back out into the world this evening.

I got done with my date and ran to Buffalo Exchange with the rest of the clothes I hadn’t sold at Crossroads–my bosses toss outs.

All said.

$20.

A free manicure and a nice cup of coffee.

Thanks boss lady.

Then I went grocery shopping and came back to the house.

I roasted a chicken and did some homework and headed back out the door to see some fellows and sit and listen and share if it seemed appropriate and be in the world.

It was on my scooter ride into the NOPA neighborhood that I got that feeling of magic.

The feeling of surprise and possibility.

Back lit by the smell of wood fires and the misty foggy chilly air.

It was like the whole world was smudged with it.

It was very romantic.

I am a sucker for romance.

And sweetness and surprise.

On my date today I was completely caught off guard by this flirtatious older man, totally flirted with me, asked me my name, asked about my tattoos, told me I was a walking piece of art.

He must have been in his late 70s early 80s.

I imagine he was quite the man about town in his day.

I smiled and chatted a little with him when my date got up to refill our coffees.

And then returned to my date.

Who did have some really cool things to talk with me about and in a way did make me feel very special, he was quite enthralled with my recovery story.

Very edited version that I gave to him.

“You should write about that!” He exclaimed at one point, “that’s just, you are, well, you have an amazing story.”

Thank you.

I have written about it.

I write about it all the time.

Ha.

Just check out my blog.

No wait.

Don’t.

I get myself in trouble here sometimes.

I get hot-headed and I have become a lot more circumspect in my writing, but once in a while I have been known to go on a tear, but it never serves.

I get to keep the focus on me and my experience.

Anywho.

I digress.

I was talking to my date about a trip he had been on and the older gentleman leans over and hands me a folded menu from the MOMA’s cafe.

“It was a pleasure to meet you!” He said and smiled brightly.

I looked at the menu.

Oh!

It was the sweetest thing.

A note.

Written in calligraphy.

“Carmen is beautiful.”

I can feel my heart swelling as I write the sentence.

I felt beautiful today.

I wore my favorite dress.

My hair was cooperative.

It can be a little untidy and unruly.

But today it was pretty in its unruliness.

I felt in myself, of myself and complete settled in my skin.

I don’t always and though I did have some nerves before the date, they dissipated.

The note made my day.

I tucked it in my notebook that I carry in my purse and when I got home I put it up on a plate in my kitchen displayed with my other little things that are flotsam and jetsam, moments of magic that I collect like a little squirrel to nibble with thoughtful contemplativeness and private enjoyment.

A post it note from my best friend about a necklace she gave me years ago that is a bike, an old chopper with a banana seat like my playa bike, that says how she saw the necklace and thought of me riding my bike happy and free on the playa.

A map of the Metro in Paris.

A note from a good friend that was stuck in a bag of Stump Town coffee that, paraphrasing here, that he expressed how much he was grateful for me and knew I was having a hard time–I was in that horrid month when I was out of work with a severe ankle injury two years ago–and how he loved me and he knew I would be taken care of, and folded up in that note a $50 bill.

The wedding invitation to a dear friend that’s coming up.

God I wish I had a date for that, but nothing so far.

Magnets from the museums I have been to–The Louvre, The Pompidou, The Musee D’Orsay, the LACMA, The Metropolitan, The MOMA, and many others.

Multitudes of postcards.

A thank you card from a friend that I love, the colors on it are so rich and lush, all pumpkin and gold and burnt orange.

Love letters to myself.

Yes.

Yes, I know how hokey that sounds.

But yes, I do often send myself postcards with little sweet notes.

In the vein of buy your own damn flowers.

Cook your own damn meals.

Write your own fucking love letters.

As I was leaving the spot tonight to ride back home towards the crescent moon sailing a little fuller in the midnight blue skies, I saw a fellow I don’t always talk to, but have always appreciated seeing around.

He had said something that resonated.

I told him that I had a dream about him.

He chuckled and I looked at him, “not like that wise guy.”

I told him a little.

He shared a little.

We had a moment.

It was magic.

And in that moment I realized that I have softened a little further.

Melted a little more.

Allowed more mystery into my heart.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I only know where I’ve been.

But.

Today.

Tonight.

That is just perfect.

Just like me.

And beautiful.

Just like me.

Trust me.

I have a note to prove it.

Heh.

 

Spring Clean My Heart

March 9, 2015

Oops.

I forgot, sort of, that today was Daylight Savings Time.

I was amply reminded last night as I chastised myself to get to bed, it’s almost two a.m. crazy lady, go to sleep.

As I blew out the candles in my room and adjusted down the comforter on my bed my clock on my phone sprang forward.

Shit.

It’s 3 a.m.

Oh man.

And of course, though I woke up with plenty of time before my first lady was coming over to sit in my “kitchen” and do some reading and some checking in, I forgot that I had not set my watch forward.

My computer automatically did it as did my phone.

When I got the phone call I was like, what the hell, I have another hour, did she forget it’s Daylight Savings?

Then I realized.

Oh snap.

I had not moved the watch forward and my lady was right on time.

I was behind.

But not for long and as the case was, my second appointment on the day cancelled at the last-minute.

Like, two minutes before she was supposed to arrive.

I was a tiny bit miffed, I had rearranged my own schedule to accommodate hers, but I also had some compassion, sometimes showing up to do something is a lot harder to do than we are willing to acknowledge.

I took advantage of the “additional” hour I had to get caught up on the things I needed to do for today–grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking.

I went to town on the studio and really cleaned it, dusted, swept, Swisher’ed the place up, even borrowed my housemates vacuum and did the rugs, plus washed the rugs in my bathroom and did my laundry.

I did take a break between grocery shopping and cleaning to enjoy a nice little lunch on the back patio–it wasn’t quite as warm as yesterday, but there was still a nice bit of sun.

And I must say that having the extra hour of light was really lovely.

I stayed off my computer until just a few minutes ago, connecting via phone instead, and letting myself enjoy a book that I finished as the pot of chicken and white beans on the stove reached the culmination of cooking.

I flipped my book shut and “shelved” it next to the stack of books on the floor by the chaise lounge and finished the ginger tea in my mug.

I looked around my studio, again, with wonder and delight at my clean, warm, sunny, sweet, artsy little spot.

I remembered the last place I really lived, in Paris, and realized how far I have come since returning to San Francisco and was overcome with the gratitude that I have let myself stay in one place, to establish a home.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” I told the car load of ladies as we drove back from the Oakland get together last night.

“We’re all trapped into our spots,” my friend acknowledged, “there’s nowhere to go.”

I agree, it’s scary out there with the rents being what they are, and my rent is just what I can afford.

I doubt that I would be able to find what I have here for less.

I am not going anywhere, especially with graduate school looming on the horizon.

The music on my box switched to another song and I suddenly was swept back to Paris, Paris in the rain, Paris breaking my heart.

My friend, my lover, my love, the mixed cd he sent me, the realization, as I listened to the artist, Mike Doughty, sing out his song off of the album I had on heavy rotation in Paris, that I was also spring cleaning my heart.

I had let him go a few weeks ago.

I had been let go by my ex boyfriend a few weeks prior.

I saw the similarities in the two men.

And my heart was sad, awash in soft grief and I felt the tears roll down my face as I remembered all the things my lover was unable to say to me until I was in another country.

The flag on my heart, the stamp, the imprimatur of music that I had ground itself into my soul, my emotions and feelings bubbling up.

And yet.

The grief, the soft tears, the sunset falling through the door to my studio, the dust swept away, the cobwebs pulled down (man, I even dusted the top of my refrigerator), the sink scrubbed, the mirror in the bathroom polished, I had cleaned them both out of my space.

I love them both.

In a little while this hurt will hurt no more.

I loved them both.

And I want to move on from the lover who became my friend, but went down a path I cannot follow.

From the ex boyfriend who was just a taste of what the divine wants from me.

The ex hated Mike Doughty.

I don’t think he even knew who it was when I played Soul Coughing, but he was amazed that anyone would want to listen to Ruby Vroom.

I remember thinking, this may be a non-negotiable.

I am emotionally attached to my music, I won’t deny it.

I remember how I cried when I received those mixed cds in the mail in Paris.

The drumming rain splashing hard in the courtyard as we messaged back and forth over the internet, the way my heart-felt finding that package in the mail slot, the one below the one I was assigned to.

Then.

Returning to find he’d moved on.

Truthfully, so too had I.

We stayed friends though.

Then.

Well.

Things happen and sometimes those things are toxic and awful and tragic to watch.

I know I’ll never lose affection for people and friends that went before.

I don’t know how close the two men were tied to me, although I know it was by my own hand, but the similarities, though I rarely discussed them with others, existed.

Sexually oriented the same way, ex-junkies, younger, in fact, almost identical in age, and neither, in the end wanted me to be their lover.

And that does not mean that there’s anything wrong with me.

No.

It just means that my God wants something different for me.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and I have to say, I love what I have.

Love what you have, and you’ll have more love.

It’s time to change the music on the box.

Because.

Oh baby, baby, it’s all about the moon.

I get to have feelings and I get to hold love, for myself, and move on.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

I have space now for what the Universe wants for me.

I move forward into that light knowing that I am clean.

I have allowed myself to surrender.

Sprung forward.

Launched into the next episode of this.

My exquisite life.

 

 


%d bloggers like this: