Birthday Weekend Wrap Up

It was good.

So good.

I mean.

Super sweet and special, and full of so much love.

And dancing.

And hugs.

And love.

I know, I mentioned that already, but it was just a lovely weekend.

I mean.

Not all of it.

Going over the bridge yesterday, the Bay Bridge, the traffic was so bad I had a moment of why the fuck am I going to Oakland to do this party?

But it was worth it.

So worth it.

I had such a lovely time and got to see folks that I haven’t seen in a while and hear great music and dance and giggle and laugh.

I laughed a lot.

I felt very happy, joyous, free.

It was spectacular.

I still feel like that and also a wee tiny bit emotional, not a lot, but a tiny bit, I was surprised just a few moments ago when I was up in the Castro Most Holy Redeemer to find myself having the anticipation and anxiety of getting a little round metal chip with the Roman numerals ten and three ones on it.

Thirteen

Thirteen years.

It still astounds me.

It felt really, really, really special.

I saw folks there that saw me when I first came in, who helped me and talked to me and bought me coffees and bummed me cigarettes and made suggestions about what to do and shared their experience, strength, hope with me, in such strong graceful ways that their message still stays with me.

Show up.

Suit up.

Be of service.

Say yes.

And extraordinary things will happen.

It is astounding how many things have happened for me.

I had an inkling that this past year was going to be a big one, I remember writing about it in a blog that would have been around this time last year, feeling that it would be fortuitous, that big, big, big things were happening.

My God.

Did the big things happen.

They really did.

I am not the same woman who turned twelve, I have grown so much this past year and really walked through some things that I had no idea I was going to get to experience.

I am so loved.

So blessed.

Graced.

And grateful.

I cannot imagine how, but I feel that this year moving forward will be much the same–full of excitement, growth, travel, love, adventure.

School.

Graduating from one program.

Starting another.

Work of course, internship, of course, recovery, the big of course.

Travel.

I will go to Paris to see my best friend there, although I don’t have set dates yet, I’m still waiting for my work to sort itself out as far as their holiday, summer, travel.

I may be going with them for part of it.

And I want to do other little trips too.

Fun things.

Weekends out of the city.

New places to go and experience.

I feel abundant.

Expansive.

I feel that my capacity for love has grown and opened wide my heart so much.

I have all these images of things  and words and endearments in my head, I am suffused with this feeling of love and I am so happy for it.

My love.

So happy.

I have a feeling that this year is going to be beyond anything I have yet to experience.

It’s a wondrous thing to have faith and be taken care of and show up and really live.

I mean.

Passionately live.

I am so alive.

I am so lucky to be alive.

Frankly.

I should be dead.

Or.

Just scraping along the gutter, in the filth and the muck, trying to make beautiful things and failing.

I have made so many beautiful things since I started this journey thirteen years ago.

Poetry.

Photographs.

Friendships.

Love.

I have made huge leaps of faith.

I have made decisions that I didn’t even know I could make.

I have made music, or collaborated in making music.

I have been in a film.

I have made my way into foreign countries, sat in cafes under many different skies, and scribbled away in so many notebooks I lost count long ago.

I have ridden bicycles all over the place.

San Francisco to LA.

Oakland to Berkeley.

The Outer Sunset to the Outer Mission.

Over the Golden Gate bridge numerous times, down into Sausalito and over to Tiburon, and one memorable day, up to the top of Mt. Tam.

And in Paris.

Nothing says amazing adventure like bringing your own bicycle to the city of Lights and taking a ride down the Champs Elysees.

Although.

Truth be told I only did that a few times.

The Champs Elysees is cobblestone and that was not a pleasant ride but fuck, it was fun to do it a couple of times and say that I had.

Or past the Eiffel Tower.

I did that ride a lot on Sundays.

I have ridden my bike at Burning Man too, not the same bike, but one that I loved for many years, ridden off into many a dusty sunset to dance at the edge of the desert and sing with joy at the heavens.

I have gotten up in front of people and performed my poetry.

Spoken word in Paris at Le Chat Noir.

In the downtown office of Form4 Architecture for their principle architect.

On stage at The Elbow Room and in the studio of Sunshine Jones.

I have done plenty of mundane, every day, simple, day-to-day things too.

Often times, more often than not, with gratitude for just getting to stay in San Francisco.

That’s some kind of miracle, that I still get to live here.

The miracles are innumerable, the gifts astounding.

I can only keep it by giving it away.

The paradox that I love.

Here out by the sea, in my little studio, listening to jazz, writing to you and letting you know about my day and how important you are to me.

So important.

I am overblown with gratitude.

Love.

Love.

Love.

Thank you for thirteen years.

It’s been freaking amazing.

Girl Date

I totally took myself out today.

I did it all.

First.

I let myself sleep the fuck in.

I mean, I didn’t get up until 9:15 a.m.

So sleeping in, especially considering that I am up three hours earlier tomorrow so that I can meet with my supervisor–whom I would have met with today but it was a holiday.

I totally treated it like a holiday as well.

I went to a yoga class that I used to be able to go before I started my current nanny gig.

I had lunch with my favorite, most loved person in the entire world.

Pause.

Let me just let that sink in.

I got to have lunch with the person I hold in the highest esteem, who loves me unconditionally, who sees me, who supports me without question, who witnesses everything I do, who helps me see when I am self-sabotaging, and how to change that and be better and stronger and sweeter and softer and live my life to the fullest full definition of happy, joyous and free.

I mean.

That is an extraordinary gift.

We met at Souvla on Divisadero and had great big salads and talked and got totally caught up and I revealed myself and there was no shying away from me or judging, only complete sunshine and love.

I am beyond grateful for this man in my life, I wouldn’t have the life I have without him.

He is a human, don’t get me wrong, I am not putting him on a pedestal, he shows me how to be more human myself, more vulnerable, more willing to show up and more present in the moment when I do.

He is the greatest gift and I do not know what I would do without him.

We are even talking about making travel plans together.

We have talked about it before.

We travel in a similar way, carry on only, get situated, go get connected with fellows and then walk and see and witness and art and churches and more art and museums and cafes and sitting still next to each other and also knowing that we both are self-sufficient travelers, that neither of us is afraid to say, give me space, I want to do a wander on my own or nap or whatever.

We have mutual friends in Barcelona as well as Paris.

We are talking about going to Barcelona together and maybe taking the TGV to Paris or Marseille, probably Paris as we have friends there too and I will need very much to see my Parisian girlfriend and her new family.

Next May.

When I graduate from my Masters of Psychology program, a grand European tour with my mentor, I couldn’t really think of a better gift, his company means so much to me.

So.

Yeah.

Lunch was fucking fabulous and we also dished and laughed and I talked about needing to set firm boundaries around any extra nanny work that may try to weasel its way in when my employers are away in July.

And then he went his way and I went mine.

Off to the MOMA.

I wanted to catch the last day of the Matisse/Diebenkorn show.

Of course.

It was sold out, even as a member of the MOMA I couldn’t get in to see it.

And truth be told, I don’t really care a fig for Matisse, and I’ve seen so much of his work in Paris that I didn’t feel that I was missing out.

I could have my girl date with myself just fine wandering around all the other galleries without having to stand in the huge, and I do mean HUGE, line that was queued up for the show.

I strolled through the second floor galleries and got acquainted again with one of my favorite artists in the museum–Clyfford Still–1906-1980.  I adore his work, there is one painting especially that always gets me and I did my stare in awe and wonder at it for a good fair amount of time before taking myself for a cafe au lait at the Sight Glass cafe on the 3rd floor of the museum.

I sat and dreamily dreamed and people watched while sipping my coffee–days off always included cafe breaks and nursing a coffee while people watching.

Then I hit the Larry Sultan photography exhibit, which was extraordinary.

And.

Since everyone was in line for the Matisse/Diebenkorn show, the gallery was practically empty.

Heaven.

I got my art girl dose in heavy-duty.

Then having some time and seeing that the sun had decided to cut through the fog and make an appearance, I strolled through Yerba Buena Gardens, and yes, got another coffee, this time iced, and planted myself on the sheltered terrace of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, sipped ice coffee and watched the clouds scut through the sky.

I am always so overwhelmed and grateful for the gardens and the art and the fountains and though the skyline has changed dramatically in the fifteen years I have been in San Francisco, there is still all this familiarity for the place I was sitting in.

How many times had I gone through that park high or drunk?

Smoking cigarettes and slamming extra caffeine to keep up with the high-end dining restaurant that I worked at, Hawthorne Lane, how many times had I caught cabs in front of the Metreon to go to my dealers or to have myself carried to the End Up or 1015 or some underground party.

So many times.

And the dread and the terror that was just below the surface of my skin, beating my heart with fear as I walked the paths through the garden to work, short cutting on my way to the restaurant to work a double to make up for all the money I blew on blow.

And.

Instead.

Twelve and a half years later.

Coiffed, sweetly dressed, yellow silk flower in my hair, expensive shoes on my feet, Hobo purse in my lap, having just left an exquisite show at the MOMA, I sit happy and serene, joyous and free, in that same space, quietly and consistently showing up to make amends to the area and to assuage that damage I did to myself.

So grateful I don’t have the words.

Although.

I have to say I will always keep striving to find them.

Grateful for sunshine, clarity, serenity, communicating my needs, being emotionally transparent.

For all the good things in my life.

For my life.

God damn.

Life is more than fair, you know, if it were fair, I’d be dead.

And I am so not.

I am exquisitely alive.

So.

Fucking.

Alive.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

Well, That Was No Fun

I knew, sort of, but not really, that I might be courting disaster by making the decision I made this morning.

And I made it anyway.

The good news is that I did not get hurt.

But man.

It was an uncomfortable ride home.

I decided to not take my scooter in to work.

I had planned on taking MUNI.

Then.

I don’t know what happened, but I got a wild hair up my ass and decided I was going to take my one speed.

Now.

I love my bicycle and its true I have done tons of wet weather riding in San Francisco.

However.

It’s been a minute since I’ve done any commuting on it and I was seriously regretting it as I sloshed through puddles and got soaked, seriously drowned rat soaked on my way home tonight.

The one upside is that I stripped down completely, threw all my clothes in the wash–prompting an early start to the weekend laundry and also giving the excuse to crawl into my pajamas and put on my very cozy bunny slippers.

I mean a wet, rainy ride home in the rain should be rewarded with fluffy bunny slippers.

Just sayin’.

I’m glad I did it, the bike ride in was actually really nice.

I had forgotten how much I love the smell of clover blooming in Kezar Triangle or the smell of the eucalyptus in the Pan Handle.

So good.

It was also a nice ride as I made it in before the rain began to fall.

I even popped over to Valencia Cyclery and got a detachable fender for the rainy ride home.

And it fell off.

I don’t even know where.

But it fell off and I got drenched.

Soaked.

I was wearing a rain jacket so my body was dry, just from the waist down got wet.

Anyhow.

I won’t be doing that again.

Sometimes memory can play tricks on me.

Like.

Oh, it’s not that bad, riding in the rain, at night, in San Francisco, where I swear people lose their minds when it rains and they drive.

I don’t understand it.

Especially since I learned how to drive in Wisconsin, meaning ice, snow, sleet, horrible driving conditions, I know it’s a little challenging when the weather changes, but it’s crazy out there.

Tomorrow I’ll take the MUNI train in, good old N-Judah line.

It’ll be too long, which is what prompted me to do the bicycle today too, it just takes such a long time to get to work on the train–it’s triple to quadruple the time it takes in comparison to my scooter and about twice as long as me riding in on my bike.

I have a thing for efficiency and using my time well.

I just didn’t want to waste time today.

And.

I needed the exercise, let me also put that out there.

I sort of fell off the beam with the yoga and I haven’t been in about two months.

Well.

Maybe not quite that long, but a month and a half?

Yeah.

That seems about right.

And I will get revved up and say to myself, tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll go back to the studio and I just can’t get my ass to do it.

I have been praying for willingness, I have put that shit in my God box, I have told my people, both of whom were like, girl get yourself back into that.

I know.

I know.

I am being stubborn.

I’m holding a lot of excess emotions and it’s not fun.

I need to exercise, I’m an active person and when I transitioned from riding my bicycle 15 miles a day five days a week to riding my scooter almost every day, well, the yoga was a huge deal.

I also.

Fuck I don’t want to say it, but it’s on my mind.

I’ve gained a few pounds.

Not a lot.

I’d say three to five pounds.

So either I start working out again or I have to cut down on my food intake.

I don’t eat sugar or flour, I don’t eat processed foods, I don’t eat nut butters, I don’t eat white potatoes, very infrequently do I eat any kind of potato.

I eat hella healthy, but I like to have a snack at night and since I stopped riding my bike and doing the yoga I really don’t need it, but the habit, is well, a habit.

I’ve been telling myself for the last couple of weeks, the snack has to go and/or you have to go back to yoga.

Ugh.

I hate this stuff.

I feel like I am always working to maintain and sometimes I have to work harder to maintain than the majority of people I interact with.

Then I think.

Compare and despair.

And I think about how much work I have done, which shows me that I am capable of doing it now.

I just don’t want to.

Yet.

When I think of all the things I “don’t want to do” and that I do them anyway as they are good for me, I realize again that I don’t know what’s best for me.

I have the feeling I will get back on the mat and I will cry my eyes out.

It’s been leaking out.

I cried a bit today.

Earlier this morning.

When I met with my person tonight at Church Street Cafe.

Now.

I’m just grieving some more.

And it comes and goes and I get angry and then that too passes and I’m just sorrowful.

I am not wallowing in it, which is good, I just don’t want to feel it either.

Yoga breaks me down and gives me access to a lot of those emotions and also it allows me to let go of things that aren’t mine to carry too.

Sometimes I will carry other people’s stuff without even realizing it.

I’m feeling it in my body, there’s stuff there that’s not mine, doesn’t actually matter whose stuff it is, just that it’s not mine, and I need to work it out of my system.

Riding my bicycle today helped with that.

Also talking to my person.

“Girl, get back to yoga, you need to get your ya ya’s out, you have too much energy,” he concluded, looking at me from under the brim of his yellow slicker.

“I know,” I said and ducked my head down, damn you tears.

It was just the rain on my face, I swear.

And I do know.

And when I write it down here, things change, I change.

It’s a step in the direction I need to more towards.

I don’t know that I’ll get my ass in tomorrow.

But I’m going to shoot for Saturday.

My favorite teacher is there and though he has a challenging class, he also has a kind heart and I know he’ll just be happy to see me there again.

He always is.

So.

There.

Committed.

You read it here first.

Yoga.

9 a.m. Saturday.

It’s a date.

 

And All That

All there is to balance.

All there is to do.

All the fun to be had.

All the flirting.

I love flirting.

It is just so much fun.

I also like taking it a little further, so here’s to trying again and another date for tomorrow night.

Yes.

I am busy.

But fuck it, I also have been told so many times to lighten up and go have fun and all work and graduate school are not going to be allowed to suck the fun out of my life.

And there’s room for it.

I do have room for it.

I am busy, yes, but not so busy that a little lightness, a cup of tea, a conversation, can’t be made.

I can and have made the time.

So here’s to another round of trying and also knowing that I don’t have to make the same mistakes, and also that, yes, there’s probably other mistakes that I will make and overall and all and all, it’s all for the good.

No matter what.

Ah dating.

So much fun.

So many places to get humility.

But really, what I have been responding to is when I am being sparkled at.

That seems a really good way for me to know that there is something true there.

Is the person shining at me?

Is the man across from me engaged.

I mean chemistry.

So.

I’ll be climbing back into the saddle and having very much learned my lesson, be a better date as well.

And if there’s no chemistry, so be it, I tried.

Just keep showing up.

And just leave it alone.

I did some inventory tonight with my person after work and it was just so good.

I shared and when asked what I should have done instead, it was so simple, “walked away and left him alone.”

Or as my dearest girlfriend said today, and has said before, “go where it’s warm.”

And believe them when they say they are not available or if they don’t call back or text back that’s the same as I’m not available and it doesn’t even matter if they’re interested.

“Honey, they’re all interested, they’re just not all available.”

Exactly.

So believe them when they say I’m not available and save yourself the fucking heart ache.

Because they, the guys, the men, anyone, could be a friend too, are giving you all the information you need right up front, right away, and I can hear it with honesty and integrity and believe it.

Which means living in reality.

Not fantasy.

Because even though fantasy is nice it sure as shit ain’t real.

And the “safety” it offers is not really safe, it’s just another way to self-sabotage my way to unhappiness.

I’m also lightly holding all the things in my heart around this.

It has been an ever deepening awareness of myself that I have been sticking my hand into for years, this I want to date, be involved romantically, try, and then not wanting to try, feeling unworthy, unlovable, not good enough.

You know what’s crazy?

Every single swipe on Tinder that is a positive for me, every guy that I have said, sure, I’d go on a date, has been a match.

100%

I haven’t not matched at all.

And.

I realized it was freaking me the fuck out.

Whoa.

I am attractive.

Shit, fuck, what?

Um.

Hello.

And there’s this nasty little voice in me, oh, that’s just a good picture, you’re more photogenic, you’re body’s not good enough, etc, etc, etc.

Shut up.

I am perfect.

The body is perfect.

Well.

Imperfectly perfect, perfect for me, soft in spots, curvy in others, a grey hair there, a wrinkle here, but this is it, this is me and me is pretty and sweet and sexy and nice and stupid sometimes, but I try and my heart is big and I’m a great cook.

Not that I’m trying to get you to ask me out or anything.

Heh.

I’m must appreciating my assets and knowing, really, firmly, in good stead realizing, that I am worthy.

Worthy of love.

Worthy of respect.

Which all has to do with how I treat myself and the behavior I accept or do not accept from those I engage with.

Which means knowing what I need and want and sticking to my guns.

Anywho.

That’s what’s upstairs in my thoughts tonight.

That and weather and being a bit bummed to not be on my scooter, I thought I was going ot get in one more day of being on it, but it started to rain as I was doing some reading for school before I headed into work, so I grabbed a car and it looks like that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of the week.

I’m not going to ride my bike, I’m not going to waste time on MUNI, my time is a precious resource, so I’m also not going to be upset about spending a few extra dollars getting to and from work and to and from school.

Tomorrow, more reading, get the final edits done on my papers, work, my commitment, and a tea date.

Then.

I get ready for the school weekend and I’ll see you on the other side.

Well.

I’ll still be showing up here.

I haven’t failed to blog yet since I started graduate school.

Kind of amazing that, now that I am thinking about it, but I love it so, I do, my little blog.

My troublesome outlet, I do love it, I do.

The writing is my balm.

The words clicking out of the keyboard onto the screen, then out into the world, to land, well, who knows where.

Just that I sent them out.

Just that I show up.

That’s all.

Try.

Fall down.

Get the fuck back up.

Laugh at myself.

And love myself.

And oh yeah, let me not forget this one, remember.

Always.

That I am worthy.

I am enough.

Yes.

Oh yes.

I am.

So.

Fucking.

Worthy.

It’s Not The App

It’s you.

That is a direct quote.

I was sharing something with my person about the frustrations of online dating and then I said something, for the life of me (unconsciously don’t want to embarrass myself?) I cannot remember exactly what I said, but I basically blamed Tinder for my inability to score a date.

“It’s not the app, it’s you,” she said again.

I know, I know.

Cue a lot of school reading today, a lot of introspection, and a lot of writing.

The normal writing I do, every morning, although I did have a different tack today than typical.

I found myself waking up with my alarm and feeling that instead of taking the time to make breakfast and do my morning pages, the thing to do would be to get up and go right to the yoga class at 9 a.m. instead of the one I had signed up for at 10:30 a.m.

I wasn’t hungry, I had a late snack last night with my tea and I knew that if I did eat breakfast and go to the class I might feel a little bogged down with the oatmeal in my body.

So.

I hopped up, striped my bed–Sunday is bed sheet day, fresh sheets are a must to start off the we–drank some water, brushed my teeth, threw my hair up into a messy bun, re-made my bed with clean sheets, read some stuff, said some stuff, drank a quick shot of iced coffee with unsweetened vanilla almond milk and strolled the 1/2 block to Yoga Beach for the Vinyasa Flow class.

Today was my 9th day of yoga.

I have been going for fifteen days.

Not bad.

And I recognized the yoga instructor!

An acquaintance from the hood who I had no idea worked at the studio.

“I was wondering when I would see you here!” He said with a big smile.

I told him that it was class number 9 and I was pretty into it, although very humbled by the experience.

I have also been enjoying the feeling in my body though, of length, of my core getting stronger, of not losing the bicycle muscle I have in my legs, my hips have been feeling looser, not so tight, and my knees have also felt better.

And yes.

Thank you ego for the reminder.

I’ve lost a little weight.

Not the goal, but a nice side benefit.

Mostly from the exercise I presume, but also I have noticed a distinct tendency to eat even cleaner than I typically do.

Yes, that is kale in my fridge.

The class was good and I actually was able to do one of the poses that the first time I saw it demonstrated I was like, um, no.

Except.

Today.

Well.

I just did it.

It wasn’t a big deal move, I’m not standing on my head or anything, but it was fun to see myself stretch and try for something that just a week ago seemed intimidating and impossible.

Sometimes great change can happen quickly.

I just have to be flexible to the situation when things happen.

I left the studio with an open heart and a great deal of gratitude.

I walked past a huddle of neighbors on a stoop outside smoking cigarettes and lounging in the only real sun the day was to have, with some humor in my heart.

I used to be that girl on the front porch steps smoking cigarettes and hanging with the boys.

Not anymore.

Nope.

Today I was the girl all blissed out with the yoga mat in her bag strolling home to eat a bowl of organic oatmeal and apples with blueberries.

Heh.

“Just getting out of yoga?” One of the guys asked and drew on his cigarette, “down the block, Yoga Beach, right, they just opened, yeah.”

“Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago,” I said and smiled, we all silently acknowledged the humor of the moment, two bros and a gal smoking in the sun, obviously all a touch hung over.

“Gotta check that out, you know, soon, ease it in the schedule,” he smiled.

I patted the dog lolling in front of the stoop, “you should, it’s great,” and I walked home happy and a tiny bit incredulous to be this woman who gets up and goes to yoga before eating a healthy breakfast and doing fabulous self-care.

Said self-care meant also not re-employing the dating app on my phone.

This is not to say that I might not or that I may not go back to OkCupid.

I had a really enlightening day about it yesterday from not just my person’s viewpoint, but also from another woman.

Ironically, the woman who saw me walk down to cafe.

They both intimated that it was a job, it would take work, that it would not be without effort and I realized how much I had expected, in some odd ball kind of way, without really realizing it, that I wanted fairy tale pixie dust magic with the damn thing.

Instantaneous gratification.

Which on one hand there is the illusion there to it.

But.

On the other.

It’s not the app, it’s me.

Cue all the reading for school and the paper I wrote, second one in the weekend!

I realized some things, other than some discomfort to see that I was great at dating narcissists, border line personalities, and where I had negative counter transference in a variety of work and personal relationships.

Yeesh.

It was intense to read it and also to know that knowledge of self does not always avail me.

But taking different actions certainly does.

So when I wanted to use the app I did not re-install it, because it would have been avoidance of doing the school work that I needed to do–checking out through fantasy.

However.

I also see the benefits of trying again.

Pick myself up and try again.

The change is not the app, the change is me.

How I see the world, how I operate, how I move in it.

And learn, accept, forgive, and grow.

I don’t know that I’m going to find true love on Tinder or Match.com or OKCupid or Bumble or Hinge or Facebook or Myspace.

Ok.

That last one might have been reaching, but I think you understand the gist.

That being said.

I won’t also find it if I don’t try.

Those things worth having are worth working for.

I am not afraid of the work.

And I’m not too busy to do it.

When I say I’m too busy, that’s me pushing you out of my life.

I can, however, know what my needs are and if I need to study I can refrain from engaging with the dating, but if I need to have some fun and try getting out of my comfort zone.

Well.

I’m going to damn it.

Because I’m worth it and I deserve to be happy.

No man will ever complete me, but I do believe that some one may well be my companion and my compliment.

That is something to strive for.

And to continue to lighten up.

Take it easy.

And laugh at myself.

There’s a good few chuckles in there to be had.

Seriously.

More than a few.

Heh.

If You Could

See me now.

You would see how committed I am.

Fuck me.

The internet in my in-law sucks.

But.

Haha.

I found out there’s nothing wrong with it in the fucking hallway.

So.

Yes.

That is correct.

I am writing my blog in the hallway, the entryway to my house, basically I’m not in my fucking house, but the door is open.

It’s cold out here.

Fuck.

Not really how I want to be doing this, but at least I am online and I figure, well, I am a fast writer, I’ll have this done quick like and then go back in my house and not have internet some more.

I kind of am not cool with it.

But.

After the conversation with my housemate, this morning, I asked as I was trying to get online to look at my syllabus and start doing some homework for the class–she emphatically noted, “it’s must be your computer, because I’m getting online upstairs.”

It’s not my computer.

It’s apparently where my computer is.

Like in my house.

Or in the hallway.

Haha.

But I still needed to see what was on the syllabus.

Probably should have waited a little while though.

I wanted to throw up when I saw the reading.

Fuck me.

I really hope the reader is done tomorrow.

I want to be able to get them and not be reading this stuff online.

I need to underline and highlight, the stuff is not going to stick for me.

And if I have to jog out to the god damn hallway to get online I’m not going to be a very happy lady.

Ugh.

Maybe what I will do is go back inside and write this in word then come back out and get online and post.

It’s a pain, but at least I’ll be warm.

And the seating is more comfortable.

And I won’t have to listen to the noise coming from upstairs either, it’s distracting as all hell.

Ah.

It’s not the big things.

The big things.

They hurt, they’re hard, but I know how to deal with them, write it down, put it in the God box.

(pink bunny)

Let it go.

Surrender.

Maybe cry some.

Ok.

Shut up.

Cry a lot.

But hey, the feelings they pass faster that way, they do.

Call someone.

Make an inventory.

Call another someone.

Go do some service.

And the big stuff, I can navigate it.

The small shit, the little bump under the carpet, the daily grievances of life, sometimes that is the stuff that I cannot negotiate.

Like what is that sound?

It’s like a remote control car being driven around in a relentless circle.

It’s not the soundtrack to the movie, but it’s…

See.

I digress.

The little stuff can wallop the hell out of me.

I can’t fucking take it.

I’m freezing.

Back inside my little lair.

I like my little lair.

Even if the internet is not reciprocating with me, at least I am cozy.

And the sound track is so much better.

A little Al Green, “Let’s Stay Together.”

That’s more like it.

God damn I love some Reverend Green.

I remember dancing to it at the Angelic, once in a while getting spun around the front of the bar by this person or that, Charles, the bartender, who was not the best bartender but my God, he could lead a good partner dance.

For a moment, being twirled around in front of the band and throwing my head back and laughing.

I must have been a sight.

I still am a sight.

I am also having a heavy duty hair geographic itch.

Serious itch.

I have been reaching out about it to a few folks, looking for a new spot, I’ve been with my person for a long time but I have been encouraged to expand out towards other horizons.

I mean, it’s been heavily suggested and since I take suggestions, I need a new hairdresser.

Because.

I am thinking, yes, go all blonde.

Do it.

Blaze the shit out of my hair just once.

“Girl, it is getting big,” he said to me tonight after I checked in and let him know what was going on with me.

You know, some more crying, but good crying, relief crying.

Sometimes a girl has to get it out.

I’ve cried an awful lot lately, but I know how cathartic it is and how I have needed to let go and surrender.

And.

Oh.

I think I have!

I’ve done it!

I’ve let go!

Yippee!

Then.

Nope.

Ah fuck.

Feelings.

They just keep happening.

Ok.

So have them, make friends with them, the less I struggle, the more I surrender and I feel like I have finally laid it all down, put it all on the ground, said, hey you, feelings, you go on about your bad selves and I’ll just be laying here mushed out on the ground.

Contemplating Spring.

I’ll be watching the dogwood blossom and the blue sky ahead and maybe I’ll be breathing free and steady and full of love.

Nah.

Not maybe.

I will be.

I am now.

I feel lighter and looser and gladder, even though sad, in my person.

A loosening and letting go.

Love is a story that can’t be told.

Sing it Al.

The time is right.

It’s almost that time.

Though not quite, I still have a few days to go, but the revelations I have had this year around this anniversary, well, they are something.

(Oh, look at that, saving of my draft failed, yeah, I know, motherfucker, I can’t get internet in my hobbit hole today, or for the last five in a row, which yeah, fuck you, is not as relaxing as you think it would be.  If I wanted to be off the grid I would unplug on my own, thank you very much)

Am I going to have to write an inventory about my WiFi?

Bahahaha.

Oh.

I am a sick person.

Fuck.

At least I know it.

Back out to the hallway with you.

Where I am metaphorically, so often, in the hallway, in the dark, looking for the next door to open.

Free.

Though.

Free to move about.

Free to love.

Free to let go.

Free to move forward.

Because.

The best thing I can do is give you your love

 

PS.

The acoustic’s in the hallway are fantastic for singing.

 

Detach With Drama

Or.

Detach with love.

I know I sound like a wussy, but I chose the latter rather than the former, even though I wanted to be all dramatic about it.

I got a text from the ex again last night.

Come on.

It was hard enough to see him, and just move on, I had my feelings, I processed my shit, I wrote it out.

I thought, I don’t need to do any more inventory, I’ll just do a gratitude list tonight and e-mail my person with that and then.

Eeeooo.

My phone whistled at me.

I had a text.

It was 11:38p.m.

I ignored it.

I was busy watching the last few minutes of Broadchurch, so good, if you haven’t seen it, get on it.  I highly recommend it.

I had forgotten, by the time the episode ended, that I had received a text and I was getting myself ready for bed and checking to set my alarm when I saw it.

Unidentified number.

But oh, very identifiable information.

Fuck.

Leave me alone man.

I had deleted my ex out of my phone, but receiving a late night text about how it was good to see me, even from afar and how it took all of him to not come up to me and engage with me and interact so he could hear my voice, well the number might not have had an id attached to it, but it was him.

And I don’t quote exactly.

I’m giving you the gist of it.

I don’t remember the message verbatim.

I read it once.

Deleted it.

Then I cried.

Then I got pissed.

Then, well, I guess I did have an inventory to write.

When we retire at night.

Uh yeah, I had me some resentments, some fear, some selfishness crop up.

I wrote it out.

I sent it off.

I went to bed and slept like a log.

No texts this morning, no messages, no nothing.

No drama in my head.

I thought about it.

I thought, I should text so and so and call this person and that person and I should.

Get over it.

I should get over it.

Oh.

Who cares?

I don’t give a damn no more.

I’m moving on.

I’d like to suggest to my ex that he do the same.

And who knows, I suspect he is, in his own way, and though it seems a bit bumbly, I’m sure he’s pretty unaware of the emotional impact of his actions.

I don’t believe he’s trying to hurt me.

And he’s not stalking me.

A friend suggested today that he was being selfish though, texting after he asked for 90 days no contact, texting me twice in the last week, really, and that I should block the number.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I suppose I could.

What I did though, was practice being in the moment today.

Being in the sunshine.

Dude.

It was 70 degrees today.

I rode my bicycle home, and it was a slightly chillier ride than I anticipated, but, I rode home without a sweatshirt on.

Just me and my short-sleeved mini-dress and leggings.

Delicious.

I wanted to enjoy every drop of sunshine I could.

I ate well.

I woke up early and wrote extra pages this morning in my notebook.

I devised my hula hoop in my head and I climbed inside the ring.

Taking care of myself and believing that there is enough, more than enough, all the resources in the world, I have them.

I am not deprived.

There will be other dates.

There will be another boyfriend.

There will be more sex.

Please.

Let there be more sex.

It wasn’t forthcoming towards the end of the relationship and I am ready for a little affection.

To that extent.

I got on the phone today and made a call and let the gentleman from last night know that I have a three-day weekend and we should get together.

Has he gotten back to me?

Nope.

Nor has anyone else who I have asked out this week, and you know what.

Who cares?

Again, there’s no drama here.

Detaching from my own expectations around dating too.

However, I keep taking action, that is where the juice is.

Doing the deal.

Of course after the hug and the aforementioned snuggle conversation I had with my friend I was prone to want to see him again, but if I don’t it’s cool.

It’s just more information.

I don’t have to put a good or bad tag on it.

I am just clearing the way for what comes next, or whom.

And my vibrator’s all charged up in the meantime.

Ahem.

It’s a three-day weekend though, and who knows what magic is going to happen.

I’m listening to some Basement Jaxx as I write and I get to go see them Saturday at Public Works.

I am dancing.

I am also going to go to a party for a friend who is moving out of the city indefinitely, so there will be fellowshipping happening and who knows, maybe someone to add to the list.

That’s Saturday in the afternoon.

Tomorrow night I’m meeting a couple of people after work for tea and talk and then doing my regular Friday night deal.

I could go out after that.

Or not.

I’ve got Sunday pretty wide open.

And the weather is supposed to be in the 70s for the next four days.

Excellent.

There are no problems.

My life is lovely.

The weather is divine.

I’m going to ask someone else out tomorrow.

Who?

Don’t know yet, but I will.

Or maybe I’ll get asked out.

Don’t have to worry about it.

And I don’t have to have drama about the ex.

I really don’t.

Even though I have had a few moments of violent excessive thoughts of smacking him.

And then fucking the hell out of him and then walking away.

And well.

That’s not very spiritual now is it.

They are only thoughts though, and I don’t act on my thoughts, they pass, emotions go away, and really, at some point, I’d like to give him a hug and say no hard feelings.

But I think maybe when I am not a single lady.

Whilst I am a single lady I am just going to stay out-of-the-way and continue to not contact him and let it all go.

Sweetly.

Quietly.

Without fuss.

Wearing my big girl pants and walking through with my head high and my dignity in tact.

Like I already have been.

Gracefully keeping my side of the street clean.

Clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Super Sunday

Has nothing to do with any bowl, ball, or beer.

Just a lot of super sober activity.

I ran into a friend on my way down to the beach to climb the dunes and watch the last of the sunset.

I told him what I had done for the day, then flexed my muscles in a mock dance of humour.

“Look at me, I’m super sober woman.”

We both laughed.

He told me the beach was empty, but for “a smattering” of people.

I like that.

Smattering.

I did a smattering of things today, more so than I thought I would do.

Laundry, fresh sheets on the bed, sweeping, cleaned the bathroom, took out the compost, hung out with two separate ladies and did a lot of listening and bearing witness to.

Which in case you were wondering, can take it out of a person.

And at the same time, fill one up so much that the overflow of tears after my last lady had left caused me to pick up the phone and make some phone calls and express to each person I left messages for how much they meant to me and how grateful I was that they too had done the same service for me.

That I am not alone.

That I have a fellowship.

That I have a solution is so powerful when I stop and look at it.

The sun beamed benevolent upon my face and I sat looking at the wild flowers growing up in the cracks of pavement in the back patio, weeds, I suppose, but glowing, translucent baskets of yellow light, lanterns of joy waving in the high grass.

Then I got a hold of a dear girlfriend and committed some more details for the Atlanta trip.

My friend and I had discussed the conference back a while, but soon thereafter it didn’t look like she was going to be able to make it.

Circumstances changed and she can and I told my other friend I had made plans with, that plans had changed.

I didn’t like telling my friend that my plans had changed, but I spent time thinking over the last days what would work best for me and being with my girl friend was the best scenario for me.

And I found a place to stay!

I received a confirmation e-mail this afternoon that the bed and breakfast I looked into had a room that my girlfriend and I could share with two single beds.

Huzzah!

And it’s within a five-mile radius of the conference center, which is lovely, since it appears that there’s really nothing at all available closer in.

In fact, I am happily surprised that the room was available.

I quickly returned the e-mail, said yes, please, I’ll take the room, and I can put down a deposit to hold it or even pay for it all up front.

Whatever it takes.

To top it off, the cherry on the bed and breakfast sundae, it’s a spiritual center in mid-town Atlanta, a sort of yoga/workshop/spirituality center.

Called.

Yes.

The Self Discovery Center.

Giggle.

They have three rooms with either queen size or twin beds, each one has its own bath, and they provide a breakfast each day.  The grounds look gorgeous, there’s a meditation garden, mwahahaha, lots of trees, and a communal kitchen we can use (as long as we cook vegetarian meals there, though not a vegetarian I play one on tv quite well).

The cost?

$95 + $10 for any extra person.

Two lovely ladies for $105.

Which means that I’ll have a place to stay that will cost me $157.50 for three days.

Wahoo.

That leaves me plenty of wiggle room for travel expenses, I figure I’ll Uber into the conference and back, meals out, when I feel like I want to eat some meat, haha, and lots of coffee.

Oh.

There will be coffee.

I sent my friend my airline itinerary so she can match up her flight and travel times with mine.

The only drawback to the facility is that we can’t check in until 3p.m.

But, what ever.

I’ll go to the conference.

I’ll get my badge.

I will sign up for any workshops or seminars or what have you that seem interesting, I’ll take myself out to breakfast, wander the down town, maybe catch up with a friend who lives in Atlanta if he’s available, hang out in a cafe.

I am so stoked.

I am also quite stoked that I did my, yes, drum roll please.

Taxes.

I filed and I am done.

I got all the information I needed from my employers last year, coordinated all my forms and did the deal.

I just used Turbo Tax.

It’s the easiest thing and I already had an account set up with them.

Done and done.

Super sober Sunday then concluded with a sunset walk on the beach.

Well, in the dunes.

I didn’t actually roll all the way down to the shore, the air was getting cold and brisk and my ankle has been bothering me a little, so I took it easy and just stuck to the tops of the dunes.

My friend had been correct, there were only a smattering of folks out, mostly out in the water, the surfers catching their last sets before the sun set.

Then I came back to the house, ate a nice dinner, lit some candles and read my book for an hour while listening to some jazz and reflecting on how fortunate I am and how grateful I am for the simplicity of my life.

And the loveliness of my home.

I really do have a sweet little home.

My ducks all in a row.

Or my bunnies, I suppose.

I don’t know who won the super bowl.

But it sure feels like I did.

 

 

Work It Out

I’m finding my groove again.

The fog seems to be lifting and my life, rich, full, busy, any other adjective that subscribes to big and content and happy, insert here.

The unfriending of my ex on Facebook was really helpful.

A couple of times during the day I had moments of expecting a call or text and then I thought.

Ha.

I bet he doesn’t even realize.

Not that it matters if he did.

Because what he thinks of me is none of my business.

My business is me and getting down to the taking care of me that is needed on a daily basis.

Today really was mostly about showing up at work and doing a good job, meeting with a dear heart after work, reading some out of an important piece of literature with her, drinking tea, sharing experience, strength, hope, then going to see some fellows in the neighborhood.

I may have found a new Wednesday night deal.

I am grateful for it.

I also ran into an old friend I have not seen in over a year, some one very dear to me and it was so good to catch up.

I was quite tempted to do a bit a late night fellowshipping with the crew there, head down to Java Beach, play some Cards Against Humanity, but  I knew that I needed to come home, write, eat a little snack and get on with the end of the evening.

It was a long day, but the sadness seems to be lifting and there’s some excitement and I realized, as I left the house with a flower in my hair, glitter socks on my feet, pink lipstick and hot-house blue eyeliner, that I was back.

Here I am world.

And I sparkle.

So get prepared.

I don’t believe I lost myself so much in the relationship that I lost my identity, but I will say, I did tone it down a little and I don’t care that I did that.

Something learned.

God, the past months, all the learning, about myself, not him, myself, that I did.

I have to show up for myself, advocate for my needs, know my needs, know what I like and dislike, realized I am up for some things, but definitely not others, still be wiling to try new experiences.

Some of which I won’t be trying again.

Thank you very much.

And if you want further clarification you best have my phone number because I am not putting that out on my blog.

Please.

I don’t write about EVERYTHING here.

Only in my morning pages.

Only in my private notebooks do I write about everything.

Suffice to say, I deserve to give myself props for putting things out there and going the extra bit and trying new things.

I may not be able to hang with a straight pepper diet, but I can still be spicy.

Just saying.

I like that I am also of service to those around me by showing up and being honest with what has happened and letting people in and showing those in my fellowship, in my community, that I didn’t have to do any thing idiotic to negate the experience, or not feel around it.

Although, there was an hour or two, especially on Saturday, when I felt like it was the best I could do to just show up.

If I hadn’t bought tickets to Public Works and invited a bunch of friends, some who came into the city, I would have stayed home and burrowed under the blankets and watched videos.

Aside.

Transparent!

So very good.

If you haven’t caught it, check it out.  I was very, am very, impressed by it.

End aside.

I realized today that I spent most of Saturday being in a little bit of shock and denial and also a bit of self-deprecation.

Sunday I was emotionally hung over.

Monday I was recovering.

Tuesday I took him off Face Book.

Today I wrote out more stuff, shared it with another, then resolutely turned around and helped another person who was going through the wringer.

That’s what I do.

That’s what works.

And of course, I am tired.

Not exhausted, but tired.

I had a moment at work when I thought, why, despite having Monday off, does this week feel so damn long?

Um.

Because.

Maybe I didn’t really have a weekend.

I didn’t really have a day off, I was recovering from the break up and going through the feelings and facts are facts, sometimes this work is the harder work than just showing up at my regular day job.

I do the work.

That I have to acknowledge.

To myself, mostly, but it’s not a bad thing to write about.

I really show up and I do the work.

It’s simple.

But not easy.

When I was having an argument in my head this morning while I was making coffee about my Face Book page and what about 90 days with no contact precludes posting on my page and I, uh, you, uh.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

If I am having a conversation with some one who is not in the room with me I need to take some actions.

I sat down and took them, and I felt better.

Fast acting relief.

So grateful it comes at the end of a pen, not a pipe or a straw, or a bottle.

I got balanced out and I was able to go about my day and show up for the delicious little boys I take care of and cook a really nice meal for the family, and go to the park and sit in the sun and listen, really listen to the sounds of the playground while I drank a coffee.

My equilibrium is back.

And I am so grateful for that.

I’m certain there will be more feelings, but they are easing and the forgiveness I have granted myself around the experience and the relief I have of being just me, just my pink sparkly self again, is vast.

Life.

It keeps happening.

And all of it.

Truly.

Is amazing.

Sudden And Unexpected Stimuli

May cause surprise tears for no good god damn reason.

I wasn’t in a bad place, in fact, I was in a really sweet place—my back patio, sitting in the sun enjoying an after lunch cup of pumpkin spice black tea, a little hold out from the holidays, and I heard it and I felt my heart lurch and the prickles of tears at the corners of my eyes.

And damn it man.

I was all good.

I was.

Until I heard the loud, low rumble, of a Harley Davidson motorcycle go booming past.

My ex rides a Harley.

I don’t think it was him.

Although I did at first.

I expected the sound of the muffler to suddenly quell and to hear the engine cut out and get a text chirp that he was here.

That’s how it used to work.

Now.

I apparently have an emotional connection to motorcycle muffler sounds.

Great.

There is more than one Harley in the neighborhood, my housemate reminded me, and his is not the only Harley in the hood–he does live in the hood however, four and a half blocks away, so there is the possibility it was him.

Whether or not it was is not the issue though.

Just the sound of it.

It was not something I had any awareness was going to trigger such a response.

Not that I thought, oh, it’s been a weekend, I’m done with the process, I have done enough feeling, let me go back to normal.

But.

In a way, I had done just exactly that.

I got up, had breakfast, did my genuflection upon my knees, I jest I don’t really genuflect, but the posture of humility by going down on my knees to help me get right with God is one that I find really helpful.

God, please show me what you would have me to do.

Write.

That’s where I go.

I write.

I wrote four pages long hand after breakfast and into my second cup of coffee.

I wrote about my feelings, I wrote about having the day off and having no idea what I should do, but that I would be taking it easy, that I did not, in fact, have to go out clothes shopping, I did not have to deal with my scooter (nothing’s really wrong with it, but the friend who adjusted the idle did so a little higher than I need and it made the ride home yesterday a little untenable), I could, perhaps, just stay put.

Oh.

I had to get out there a little bit; I had to get groceries, I mean really.

When this lady has no apples in the house, it’s time to go get my shop on.

I did my writing and then snuck in a ten-minute meditation.

That too, the meditating really helps.

I decided I would stay close, just get my groceries, cook some food up for the week (red beans and brown rice, chicken and tomatoes with Italian herbs and black olives, garlic, onions and broccoli).

I would then do something for myself that looked like fun and easy self-care.

I would sit in the sun and read.

I got back from my grocery outing, may I just repeat, for the zillionth time how lovely it is that my commute to the grocery store is along the Great Highway next to the Pacific Ocean, the beauty of it gob smacks me every time, prepped my food and then made up a plate to have outside on the back patio.

Lunch was raw veggies and homemade humus and a hard-boiled egg, a banana for dessert and a chaser of pumpkin spice tea.

Totally simple and easy, which is usually what I want when I am making food I don’t plan on eating right away—I jarred up my stew and rice and froze some of it too—I plan on taking it into work.

I picked up the Stephen King novel I’m totally into and let the sun shine down on my face.

More than once, I slipped the bookmarker in between the pages, shut the book, and closed my eyes, drowning in delicious white, warm, golden, sunshine.

I am a whore for the sunlight.

I need it, I need to capture as much as I can, soak it all up and store it in my body at the cellular level—ward of depression—and well, it just feels so good to sit in the sun and be smothered in it.

I was thus reposed when I heard the rumble of the motorcycle pipes.

I couldn’t ignore them.

And I was surprised by how deeply it touched a part of me.

The sadness, it’s still there, muted a touch from going about my daily routine, but still there, still needing to be felt.

Not my plan, man.

Can’t I go back to enjoying my book?

I could not.

I packed it in, made a fresh cup of tea and went up to my housemate’s pad, where she was prepping popcorn for an afternoon movie.

We had tea, caught up, and I told her about the break up.

It was nice to get a little more out there and also get to hear a little bit about how she is and what’s been going on in her life.

The helpfulness of listening to someone else rather than focusing on my little trials and tribulations is beyond measure.

Then I got to do it again, twice more.

I met with a couple of ladies in the late afternoon and did some work with them and shared my experience around what had happened and then let it go some more and showed them that I didn’t have to do anything stupid about it.

That yes, I could indeed have the feelings, and then let them go.

Oh, I’m sure they will come up again.

They did along with a hyper awareness of my space when just a little while later I was sitting where I usually sit on a Monday night and I heard the sound of a motorcycle.

He’s not going to come here.

I told myself that.

And I knew that to be true.

But the feelings, they were there.

Sadness, and also a dark expectation of anticipatory dread, will I see him, what will I say? How will I handle this?

He won’t come here.

I heard it repeated in my head and knew that to be true and the only thing to do was focus on the next action in front of me, then the next, and then the next action after that.

And one day, soon, I suspect.

I will hear a motorcycle and it will just be a motorcycle.

Until then.

When I do.

Which I will.

I live in the Outer Sunset, it seems every other person is riding one; I will take my focus and put it to helping someone else out.

However that looks.

In whatever way I can.

This is not about me.

It’s just a feeling.

And this too.

Shall pass.