Eleven Pages of Writing

Eleven Pages of Writing. *This blog post written 4/22/17 while WordPress site was down.

 

Eleven.

And I’m not done yet.

Of course, it was the biggest part of the paper that I dealt with, the brunt of the work, but the actual paper is not written yet.

The eleven pages was transcript.

Sigh.

I hate writing transcripts.

Super grateful that it is no longer a part of my career.

I did do it once as a part of my internship when I was in the newsroom at KQED as a radio news intern.

I had to transcribe a few times for my reporters, the interns definitely got the grunt work there, that’s for sure, I recall I had to transcribe a speech that Arnold Schwarzenegger gave to the state of California when he was the governor, it might have been the worst thing I have ever done for four hours.

And although this transcription was not so difficult, it was still challenging.

It’s a lot of stopping and starting a recording.

It took hours of work and I’m grateful I did it and now I will be able to write the paper.

But.

Not tonight.

I was afraid that this might happen.

Especially when I saw how long it was taking, it just takes forever, but I did do a lot of thinking while doing the transcribing and I did get a lot of ideas down and I also made notes in the margins about what I could have done differently.

So much of that.

What I could have done differently.

I was transcribing a half hour session of a Couples Therapy mock dyad I did last Sunday with a couple of friends who helped me by-play acting being in a relationship.

They did a great job.

Me.

Not so much.

That being said I did have a few moments of headway and I did do a few things, if not well, at least not flaming bad.

I also know that I am not expected to be a fantastic couples therapist after one semester of work.

It will take time and it will take practice and this was a practice, it was not “real” therapy, it was a practice session it was for me to learn.

And learn I did.

Which is the point and I’m happy about that.

I still have to write the official paper, but I have the transcript worked out, edited and cleaned up.

I have to include ten minutes of the transcript in my paper.

I could have just listened to it, the recording, and choose a ten minute chunk, but in listening to the entire thing and typing it up as I was listening I got to see what worked well, what didn’t work, what could have worked better, and I feel like I got a deeper understanding and a deeper learning.

I’ll be able to sit down and write the paper tomorrow and it should not take more than two hours to write.

I may even pop it out in an hour and a half.

I have looked over one of my books for the class, made some notes, and I have the transcript ready.

I’ll kick it out tomorrow.

I have a few more things going on tomorrow than I did today, but I should still have the space to do the work.

I don’t feel as anxious about doing it as I did earlier this week and I know that I just have to do the slow and steady wins the race deal in regards to all the homework that I have to get through before the last weekend of the semester.

I will probably spend a little time every day this up coming week on my two other big paper projects, this paper I worked on today will be done tomorrow.

I will finish it that was the plan.

Well.

The plan was to finish it today but I didn’t take into account how long the damn transcription would be.

I think I knew it was going to be a while, which was fueling some of my anxiety around the writing, in fact, when it comes right down to it, I bet the time I took to do the transcription will actually be less than the time that I take to write the formal paper.

Speaking of writing.

Day three.

THREE!

Of not having access to my Word press site.

I do not understand what is going on with it but I can’t access it to post blogs to.

Once again I am writing my blog on my Word application and then I’ll post up to my Facebook.

I am not excited about this, but I remind myself I need to blog and I need the time to decompress and shake all the homework out of my system so I can rest well tonight, sleep soundly, get up and do it all again tomorrow.

I did a few other things than homework today, yoga class, laundry, grocery shopping, made a pot roast with root vegetables, did the deal, but did not do the fellowship after.

I thought about it.

But.

I had eaten pot roast before heading out and I wasn’t hungry and I knew that it might be better if I came home, looked over the transcript one more time, flipped through my notes and then slept on the paper.

I’m staring at the reader for the class and thinking I will also flip through it before I give it a complete rest.

The blogging helps, it really does, I’m happy to be writing regardless of my blog site being down and I am ok with the wonky look of it when I post to Facebook.

I now have three blogs that will need to post.

I will post them to the site when it’s back up, even though I’ve put them on Facebook, that way the subscribers still get to see what I’ve been up to and the site holds my drafts and it’s nicer to have them all there than here on my computer.

I can access my drafts and I can read the blog, I just can’t post.

It’s the second time, third time, maybe, that it’s happened.

Hopefully the kinks will get worked out soon.

And with that.

I have to finish up so I can go finish up the rest of my prep work for the Couples Paper.

I’m almost there, even if it feels like I haven’t even started.

I’m almost there.

I am.

Damn it.

Wanted Woman

I got a text today after coming out of my second therapy session, went great, thanks, in regards to some services that someone wanted.

Specifically.

My former employer wanted to know if I could be available to cook for them every few Sundays.

Um.

Uh.

No.

Then my head was like, but it would be great to see the boys and I could make some extra money, and…

Fuck off head.

You are not working on your day off.

NO.

NOPE.

Not going to do it, there really is nothing that I could ask for that would compensate me enough to go into work on a Sunday.

I work 35 hours a week.

Go to graduate school full-time.

Meet with three people on a weekly basis for doing the deal.

Go to do the deal 6-7 times a week.

Plus.

In May I’ll star an internship that will be an additional 15 hours.

May is next month.

The last thing I want to do is spoil the few remaining Sundays I do have off.

And when my internship starts, I will only have Sundays off.

For a year.

One day off a week.

That’s it.

I’m not going to go to my former bosses house and make food.

Not going to do it.

Just saying.

Although, truth be told, I was hella flattered.

It’s nice to know that you are wanted.

I have actually said no a lot lately.

No to some baby sitting gigs.

Two specifically that come to mind, no to this idea of working on my day off and cooking.

No, thank you for thinking of me, but no.

Funny thing too, is how often I get this, “I know you’re busy, I know this is a long shot, but….”

Yup.

I am busy.

And yes, it is a long shot, and nope, still can’t do it.

I have also been asked by three different people to read their writing.

I know I write a blog every day and I write morning pages and I want to be able to read every thing that is sent to me, because that’s what good writers do, they also read, but I’ve got so much reading for school I haven’t even touched the two pieces that were sent to me an there’s a third heading towards my mailbox.

Maybe I’ll read them next year.

Bwahahahaha.

What I am recognizing though, is that I am sought after for my skills and as such, I’m really flattered, it’s nice to be thought of, it’s nice that people want me to weigh in on their writing.

I believe it means that folks think I might have some skills and something to offer.

I was asked last week about writing a blog and what tips I had.

I gave loads of tips.

But basically it comes down to, just write it.

Sit down.

Do the work.

There is, however, only so much work I can do, and as I am on day 9 in a row of working with out a day off, I might have an idea of how precious my time off is.

I have two days coming up, April 10th and 11th, next Monday and Tuesday.

I have to get through two more days of work and three days of school.

Then.

Freedom.

I couldn’t fathom picking up more work right now.

There was a time when I would have, the allure of the extra money is big, but really, I want to have a full rounded life.

I want to have some fun and I want to have a tiny little bit of social life.

I also want to have rest and I want to be able to do yoga.

I have to keep tabs on myself and my self-care, I can’t show up to work or school or my soon to be happening internship if I’m not taking care of myself.

It’s an ethical issue.

It really is.

So I was proud of myself for saying I was unavailable.

I responded with kindness and acumen.

I was nice, I’m saying.

And that felt good too.

People will ask for what they want, and they’re allowed to ask, but I don’t have to people please and say yes to everything that is offered.

I believe that something better than money will happen for me on my Sunday if I’m not busy literally slaving over a hot stove.

God wants more for me than that.

Dating.

Friends.

Life.

Adventures.

Rest.

Recuperation.

All the things.

Not cooking all the things.

Anyway.

I am looking forward to school this weekend, even though my school days are long days, longer than my work days, they are days filled with thinking and showing up and learning and friends.

I am really excited to see my friends.

I have missed them.

I have some catching up to do.

Yes, I do.

The only thing I get bummed about, who would have thought it, is missing yoga on Saturday and Sunday.

Although I may try to sneak in a restorative yoga class Sunday after I get out of classes.

That is a good possibility.

I’m sad to miss my favorite teachers class on Saturday, but so be it.

As long as I can try to get into a Monday class in the morning, I will be making up for the loss of class on Saturday.

I get a head of myself

Let me stay in this week, where, yes, it is full, but there’s wiggle room here and there.

A coffee with a friend.

Catching up with my fellows tomorrow night.

Wrapping up the last bits and pieces of my school preparations.

Doing a little laundry.

And yes.

Chilling out a bit.

Like right now.

A cup of tea.

A video.

A snack.

And bed.

Sounds just about perfect.

No more cooking today.

No soup for you!

Running Into Old

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.

 

Doing The Work

And doing the homework while doing the work.

I did both today.

I did a lot today.

It was a day.

Tomorrow will be a day too.

All the days.

All the work.

Letting out slow, long breath and waiting for the tea pot to boil.

It was a good day at work.

It was a good day to do a lot of work.

I’m done with it for the moment and need a reprieve, which will look an awful lot like watching Project Runway and chilling out with an apple after I finish this blog.

I have done enough.

And.

I remind myself that I am enough.

That I am resilient and strong and I have come through so much to be where I am at and I am grateful that I have been carried to a place where I can see that.

It stops with me.

I thought today, a couple of times.

Then.

I thought.

What if that’s just another way of me trying to protect me?

How about I change instead.

How about I look at the trans-generational traumas in my family on my father’s side and on my mother’s side as the things that have made me the diamond that I am.

“Sometimes God uses a heavy hand to create a beautiful thing,” she told me as I sobbed my way through my first real inventory over a decade ago now.

The pressure it takes to create a diamond from the black morass of sadness I was created.

The crucible that holds me I cannot even begin to list all the ways and hows of it.

The secrets and shame and the wildness and the wrong.

The places I have tried to hide and not be found.

I always was.

I always knew.

I know now and it is a deep sadness, but also a formidable strength.

I sometimes can get tired trying to process it all.

“You had this conversation while you were at work?” He asked me aghast on the phone.

I did.

I had a very deep, but not totally deep, there were layers of things left unsaid and things that I still have questions about, but I got what I needed and I could trace the wellsprings of it farther back than I had first suspected.

High temperatures, high drama, high pressures.

I had some clue, but then I had no clue.

And yet, I knew all along.

In fact.

I had avoided making this particular call as I wasn’t sure I really wanted to open the can of worms.

“Sometimes going to far into a genogram can be hard for a client to deal with,” my advisor said to me as I showed him some of the work I had done.

Um.

Yeah.

And there’s so much more.

It’s like a legacy of pain that just rolls through my family.

It is astounding and deep and yet.

I feel that somehow or other I have gotten out, gotten over to the other side and I am looking at it from a distance.

Yet.

There are these ways that I react to the world and there are these defenses I have that I would like to let go of, to open myself up to more life, to not be fearful that I will be shattered again and need to begin again.

The things that worked for me, the safety defenses, they don’t work so much anymore.

And “it stops with me,” in the way that I have used it is not working.

No partner, no relationship, no children.

Because that way I wouldn’t pass it down.

It would really stop with me.

Ultimately that kind of isolation hurts me too.

It’s a solution and a defense that needs to change.

Grateful for the awareness.

Now to wade through the acceptance part and the forgiveness part and get to the action part.

Not sure exactly what action to take, except that right in front of me and to take the suggestions that others have to give me and to not carry the secret or the shame of it that curdles inward and hurts worse than shining the light on it.

Oh.

There are nooks and crannies I’m not too compelled to go spelunking in, at least not right yet, not right now.

I don’t need to stare at my past, I can just look, take it in, and accept it.

And remind myself that acceptance is not approval.

Fuck no

I fucking hella disapprove of the shit that went down.

I do not, I do not, I do not.

That being said, I can’t change it at all.

Although having a different perspective and hearing about some of the things in my family history definitely cast a different light on things.

So much compassion for the human experience.

And that I’m not dead.

For fucks sake.

Or in some straight jacket or in a gutter with a needle in my arm.

The noise of it all.

The machinery of the monsters that clanks down the hall to stumble upon me hiding in the shadows.

I will not have it.

I will not live underneath that banner of fright.

So.

I heal.

Soft and slow.

Gently I go.

It’s the only way.

Compassion and gentleness for myself and awareness that this does take time, perhaps my whole damn life, and that’s ok too, I shall always be seeking and that, that I do believe, is what will make my life that much fuller and richer and deeper and more experiential.

I am not numb.

Granted I am a little tired.

Granted I would like to make a phone call and say.

Come over, hold me, make it all better.

But there is no one to call that can make it all better.

All better is between me and my God.

And so far.

Well.

Things are going ok.

Really.

They are.

And when they are not, I know where to turn and I know that my feelings are fleeting, they pass, the sadness will be followed by joy or awe or discomfort or all of hundreds of other feeling states.

Feelings are not facts and they won’t kill me.

What I hope is that I can lose a little more of my rigidity and become more flexible while not losing myself or my self care.

Find me in the rooms with art.

Find me with flowers in my hair.

Find me with children strewn across my lap, warm, and a sweet and wearing footie pajamas and listening to me read stories.

Find me with love in my heart.

Find me with my heart on my sleeve.

Find me loving, lovable and worthy of love.

Yes.

Love.

Find me there.

In that field of fallen stars, like fireflies in the grass, at the dusk of this purpled twilight of pain and gray sadness a silent reprieve of pearl light and luminous joy, a flower blooming, a remonstrance of family and a flying laugh, a wallop of joy, a holler of thunder in this church of pain.

The doors flung open.

My heart too big to be contained.

Or.

Restrained.

No more.

My.

Love.

Restrain me no more.

The Days Just

Roll by.

It helps when I get up and get to yoga class.

And do my writing.

And do my reading.

And say my piece and ask for help and make phone calls and reach out and work and eat a good breakfast and drink my coffee.

Side bar.

Rau I love you.

Oh my God.

Finally a beverage I am willing and happy to pay $4 for.

Not that I really want to pay that much, but this shit is on point.

Especially for a lady like me.

It’s an organic cold pressed raw cocoa drink–NO SUGAR, nada, zip, zilch, zero and it tastes like chocolate, well, um because it really is just that.

It is amazing and it is a tantalizing incentive to get me to go grocery shopping when I don’t always feel like it.

I had a little wiggle room after yoga and my shower.

I decided to pop into Rainbow and get a few things that are nice for me to have around the house–nice candles, nice lotion, some apples, and a Rau.

Mmmm delicious.

I was wondering what to write about tonight as nothing is really happening in my life.

Bwahahahahaaha.

Ha.

Fuck me.

I have plenty to do: recovery, work, school, yoga.

Dating when I can squish it in there.

Making time to see friends.

I was on the phone today with a darling friend and we were trying to figure out when and how we were going to make seeing each other happen as the tentative plan to connect fell through for this upcoming weekend.

Mutual friend birthday party happening.

I did decide to go, despite the looming amount of writing that I need to do for the next weekend of school, because I need to connect with the ladies and my friends and I need to be flexible and I said I would, so I am.

That being said, I am sad to miss my friend.

So.

A date to the DeYoung is on the menu to see the Oscar de la Renta exhibition.

I saw it in Paris, but I will happily see it again, I love Oscar and I am guessing that there will be different things on display, I saw more than just de la Renta at Hotel de Ville (City Hall), there was a huge fashion archival being shown, so I expect that this focus will show me some things I haven’t had a chance to see.

Besides.

A museum date with my dear girl friend is definitely a necessary thing for me.

And I found out that I will have some wiggle room in my schedule next month.

The family is going to be going on a little trip and though I will be working while they are away, it will be much shorter hours.

One day I will be there from 9a.m. to 2 p.m. to let the house keeper come in and clean.

I will do errands and laundry and then have the day to myself to hang out and work on homework or maybe go grab a cup of coffee with a dear friend or two and catch up on stuff and things.

That’s the Monday.

The Tuesday I have off completely.

The Wednesday I will go in for a half day and cook food in preparation for the family coming home that next day and the boys being home on Thursday and Friday, both days where I will be working early and leaving early too.

It will be a wonky week, but it will have nice pockets of open time to do things and see folks.

April 11th, 12th, 13th.

Monday through Wednesday.

Working but not really working.

I’ll probably do some self care things, some yoga, maybe a trip to Kabuki.

But basically, hey you, friend, if you’re around Tuesday, April 12th, I’m free.

Let’s kick it.

Yeah.

I know.

That’s my life.

Making plans to hang with my people when and how I can.

Two more weekends of school though!

I’m making it through.

The yoga is definitely helping.

I had a good class today, the teacher today is my favorite, although I do quite like all the instructors I have had.

I cried again.

It always surprises me when that happens.

Still.

Parts of me just must hold onto grief longer than I even realize.

I had a moment of sadness and the tears they came and then I also had a sweet whisper of serenity, breeze right in behind it– big, big, wide open sky, high and bright, and a vision of a field of blue forget me not flowers.

True love and memory.

Sounds about right.

So grateful for letting myself show up on the mat and not have judgements about myself and my body and the process, just showing up and doing it.

I have been taught well.

Show up and do the work.

Let go of the results.

See.

I always looked to yoga as a sort of way to fantasize about a kind of body I wanted to have–a “yoga body.”  You probably have an idea of what I mean: cut arms, slim belly, tight ass, long legs, sculpted, like.

And that is just not me.

I am always going to be a little soft in places.

Doesn’t matter.

It does not matter one little bit.

Instead I have gotten to have the feeling of being lighter in my body because I am not weighed down by grief that I don’t have to carry.

I feel lifted and my heart more open and I see the corn flower blue sky and I don’t think about it pressing down on me, I see myself reaching up towards it.

I see the light.

I am the light.

The lightness in my step, in my heart.

There.

All the work and all the revelations and just sometimes the walking out the door and being humble enough to be a beginner and not know what I am doing and try it anyway.

“Carmen!” She whispered excited in my ear as she was helping me settle into pigeon pose, “this is amazing, you have gotten so much deeper into this pose since you started, you’re doing great.”  She adjusted my left shoulder and gave it a squeeze and left me happy, exhausted yes, but happy, on the mat, in my pose, pushed further than I had before, without it being a horrendous stretch.

Just finding my breath and sending it out into my body.

I thought, quite seriously, about going again tomorrow morning.

But tomorrow is not typically a day I go, it doesn’t quite sync with my schedule and I want to let myself sleep and rest.

I did push it in class today and yesterday and I am glad for it, my body feels it, but I can stand the rest and I don’t want to push too hard after this long cold has finally loosened it’s grip on me.

They day will be what it will be.

And  will show up for it just like I showed up for today.

In the rising sun.

With.

Sweet.

Kindness.

Cornflower blue light.

And

Forget me not.

Love.

Work, Work, Work

Work it out.

And I’m not talking about work.

Although it’s been a hell of a week at work.

Ski week.

Ayup.

Private schools in San Francisco have what’s commonly called ski week–Tahoe anyone?

My boys don’t ski, although the family does take a week in the summer to go to Tahoe.

Nope.

My boys have been with me all week, keeping me busy.

I thought to myself tonight that perhaps I should not schedule any more dates after I am done with work.

That I should go on dates when I have a chance to be fresh and relaxed and mellow and can show up with some sparkle.

I have another first date tomorrow and I am trying  to figure out the cute for date and works for work outfit.

You know, a day to-night sort of deal.

I’m not horribly concerned, my date will be arriving via bicycle, as will I.

My date and I will both be coming from work.

And that’s the work I am thinking about, the work of giving myself time to date and to be available.

It is really easy for me to book myself in.

For instance, I have nothing.

And I mean nothing (ok, well, a commitment Saturday night, but other than that) happening on Saturday.

I really want to schedule some stuff in that time.

I was hoping for another date, either another first date with someone or a second date with someone.

Or.

I don’t know.

Something.

As my week is ending and my weekend fast approaches, I feel compelled to have it all figured out.

More work than I need to give myself.

The illusion of control.

If I know what’s happening, I can control the outcome and manipulate my situation to my best advantage.

Or so my brain tells me.

Shut up brain.

A little free time is good.

Who knows what may happen.

I did think tonight, when I was riding my bike home from my Thursday night commitment, that it would be so nice if the guy I’m going out with tomorrow hit it off and I don’t have to think about asking anyone else out.

I’m a bit tired of it.

I haven’t asked anyone out all this week.

I realized I was coasting along on the fact that I asked out 8 guys last week.

And scheduled two dates for this week.

After tomorrow’s date there is nothing lined up and oh no.

I mean, really, in the scheme of it all, no big shakes, but I feel that I want to keep the momentum going.

It’s just.

Well, it’s a lot of work.

I know that it will pay off.

I just don’t know when and sometimes a girl gets tired doing all the asking.

Hey you.

Yeah you!

You want to ask me out?

Do it.

I mean, I have fucking blinders on anyway, half the time I have no idea if you like me or not anyway, so if you’ve been waiting around wondering if you’re on the list, just cut to the chase and ask.

Because I’m in no place to say no.

I’m throwing it all at the wall.

I’m not desperate.

Really.

I just realized that I like being in a relationship.

I do.

I make a pretty good girl friend.

Even though I wasn’t the right girl friend for the last guy.

And I like the company.

And you know, sex is nice, and kissing, and uh, stuff.

Ha.

Oh.

Fuck me.

I think what happens for me is that at some point or another I try to find the magic bullet.

That thing that is going to work, that combination of asking out, following suggestions, doing the online dating world, Facecrack messaging, etc, that I will figure it out.

And poof!

Boyfriend.

I mean, it’s no different from any other time I have tried to put myself out there as sexy, single, available for dating, smart, fun, great in bed.

Fuck.

My blog is now an over stated want ad for a partner.

Heh.

I’m happy to say I have some humor around this and also, that I am willing to try to change and do different things.

I don’t think I will ever figure it out, dating, life, love, friends, family, recovery, any of it.

Really, it’s all a lot of work and I just have to do it.

The good things, they take effort.

I mean I didn’t lose all that weight by wishing on a star.

I radically changed my diet and lifestyle.

No sugar.

No flour.

No fried foods.

Organic foods.

Bicycling four to six days a week.

Yeah.

That was not a magic pill.

That was some hard fucking work.

And it’s paid off.

So, I’m going to have to do some more work with dating.

And then with school.

Woohoo.

I am still a little in shock that the day has been set for the interview.

A week from today.

I cleared it with work and I will go in for a half day, leaving at 2 p.m. to make sure I get there on time and have a few minutes to sit still, breathe, say a prayer in a bathroom stall, re-apply my lipstick, and nail the interview.

I know I can do it.

Why?

Because I don’t shirk at doing the work.

I’m not about to change that now.

So when a wave of fatigue washes over me, I can surrender to it, and know that this too shall pass, that I am just here playing the role assigned and that God really does want me to be with one fine man.

Seeing as how I am one fine woman.

I will show up tomorrow at work and do my job.

Then I will show up for my life and do the work that leads to the relationship.

It doesn’t have to be with this man or the man I dated last night or the one I haven’t asked out yet, but I will.

I don’t have to know.

I just have to do.

Thinking about it is not the solution.

Acting is.

Here’s to doing the work.

It’s worth it.

I am worth it.

And That’s A Wrap

And an unwrap as well.

Just finished up the work week and look its already Sunday.

Sigh.

However, I can’t complain, I can’t, I was taken care of nicely this week and I will be paying my August rent a little early.

Why?

Because, like, it’s almost Burning Man, dude.

“Hey my camp is looking for an extra ticket if you can spare any.”

The message said.

Puhlease.

I don’t even know you.

Yes, I “liked” your photo on my feed, it’s hard not too when it was some awesome art by some friends of friends that I know from the event, it was a great photo.

But I don’t know you.

I am not likely to find you a spare ticket.

But thanks for telling me I’m attractive and we should meet out on playa.

Yeah, I’ll be getting right on that.

And in other news.

Oh, yeah, that’s my news.  Burning Man.  Burning Man on the brain, I leave in three weeks, so, you know, it’s timing for me, getting things done, in between living my regular life and working my regular job.

Getting ready for the event can feel like a job itself, exhausting before you’ve even made it out the door to the car to drive to the burn to sit in line to get in to work an enormous amount to set up your camp then go have some fun.

No wonder folks get so fucked up out there.

Not all folks.

Not this folk.

My biggest prep is usually getting underwear.

That’s my “burninform” so to speak.

I always jest that I wear the same thing at Burning Man as I wear in San Francisco, just without pants.  So my biggest spend is underpants and bras.  Because I am out there longer than the average bear, or unicorn, or dragon, I mean, it’s Burning Man, it could be a bunny, or an alien too, I go through my clothes differently.

Last year I realized that I had just enough socks, but not enough underpants and bras.

I had fresh underpants for everyday of the week, but I alas, had many a day where it was hot and gross and dusty and when I had the opportunity to take a shower the last thing I wanted to do was put on dusty, sweaty, crusty underpants.

So I had a few days where I went through more than one set of panties.

Cue Nordstrom’s Off the Rack.

Where you can get all of your Burning Man needs met.

Or at least mine.

Because where else are there going to be a plethora of odd colored flashy panties on sale?

No one else wants those fuchsia underpants with the purple and yellow polka dots?  And they’re only $2.93?  Hand them over.

This is also where I get most of my outfits.

My uniform consists of colored tights, colorful underpants, and tank tops.

Throw in a pair of boots and something to stick in my hair and I am set.

That and some makeup.

Boom.

Burniform.

I add my utility belt, a Sigg bottle on a carabiner, and some lip balm, a bandana tied around my right wrist, I wear a watch on my left (it may be playa time for most folks, but I am working and I am on a schedule, I must have a watch on pretty much all the time.  It’s the last thing I take off and the first thing I put on, that or my glasses, but if it’s not first, it’s a close second), my goggles on my left thigh–I use them as a garter belt, and some sunblock.

I picked up three bras, four tank tops, one nightshirt (a girl can’t live on Hello Kitty alone), and three more pairs of underwear, some bath gel, and a cheap tube of mascara–waterproof, and I am pretty much done.

Aside from that, I have all the baby wipes I need, my hair stuff is set, I have boots, I have socks and tights, I have scarves and bandanas, and the majority of my toiletries.  I only lack for a container of hand salve and I will pick that up when I see the kind I like.

My make up kit is set too, although the mom I worked for tonight offered to get me anything I wanted from MAC at her costs.  Aside from working for the Burning Man organization she also is a free-lance make up artist and as such gets huge discounts at MAC.

Oh god.

I don’t know that I needed to know that.

I began formulating things in my head.

Slow your roll, I said to myself.

On more than one occasion today.

I also got unwrapped today.

As in I took off the last Ace bandage and for the first time since the accident walked without the aid of a cast or crutches or walking boot or ankle brace.

Just a sensible pair of Saucony’s and a pair of socks.

I felt naked.

And delicious.

And scared enough when the occasional twinge came, then throb, then shooting pain, to slow it the fuck down.

I left the house feeling pretty good about it and really strong.

That lasted for a few hours, then the inevitable, the ankle got sore, I got tired, I had to slow down.  I used the escalators in the train stations, I slowed down in the store.  I sat down and rested.

I only went a few places today–my house to Tart to Tart on 7th and Irving, Nordstrom’s Rack downtown, then to my job in the Castro.

In a way, the most I walked was around the store at Nordstrom’s from the underwear department to the dressing room.

It wore me out though.

I was not limping by the time I got up to my gig in the Castro, but I was walking very slowly.

I took it as an opportunity to be really present.

I felt that I saw everything.

Things that are normal and invisible because I am moving to fast most of the time to see them.  The color of the MUNI uniform, the smell of the air as the fog moved through, the sun when it sprayed through the trees at sunset, the view.

Wow.

Sometimes I forget how amazing the view is from the top of the Castro.

And now back home.

Home.

My little spot by the sea.

I lit some candles, I made some tea, I sat down with my ever-present bag of frozen peas and I got really grateful for the experience of the week and how doing the work and showing up has made it possible for me to be doing the work and showing up.

That is the sentiment I meant to express, not a typo, the latter.

Tomorrow I will show up again, pay my rent a little early, break out a Burning Man bra for fun, go see a lady friend for reading and recovery, and then show up for my lunch date with the brother of my friend who passed.

All without my ankle wrapped.

So I can be sure and go slow and be present.

The best gift.

Living in the moment.