Driven

I did not fuck around today.

This happens when one, and I mean, me, is up at 6 a.m.

I actually woke up at 4 a.m. to use the bathroom and my brain attacked me.

I couldn’t fall right back to sleep.

So many thoughts in my head.

So many places I wanted to be.

I had a rough time getting back to sleep, so when the alarm went off at 6 a.m. I was not happy, but I bounded out of bed and jumped right into my day.

I was up early to do my morning routine and because I had to be in Berkeley this morning to set up my account with Wells Fargo.

Grateful Heart uses Wells Fargo and thus, now, so do I.

I also was up early so that I could get across town and pick up another associate who I have known for years who happened to get hired the week before I did.

She knew I had a car from doing orientation with me a few weeks ago and had asked if she could get a lift to and from the city.

I was happy to oblige.

I was thinking earlier of all the people who have given me rides here and there in the city and how nice it was to finally be playing that gift forward.

So yeah, I could have used an extra half hour of sleep, but it was really quite nice to be of service to a fellow.

We chatted and caught up on the way there and I think I may be developing a new friendship.

With a woman!

With a woman my age in recovery.

So freaking nice.

I have had some dear, amazing, special friends over the years, but San Francisco can be a bit transient, especially with the rents being what they have become and the cost of living going higher and higher.

We talked a lot about that.

I told her about my buyout and she told me how she negotiated down a rent raise at her current place.

A place that although she does not have rent control, but because she’s been there so long and it was in an area of the city that was previously not a delicious place to live in the city, is still relatively cheap.

When she told me what her new rent was I was astounded, it was $100 less than what I spend her on my studio and I’m paying below market.

I told her she could not move, that there really was nothing at all out there in the price range that she described.

In fact.

There is little in the price range that I was hoping for, for myself.

But.

The buy out.

And having taken a bit extra out in student loans for this semester, I have enough to get me into a place comfortably.

And I can spend a little more than I want, should I need.

I started doing some bigger price searches.

I’ve raised my rent to $2300 a month in my searches.

Part of me cringes at that.

That’s basically a thousand more than what I spend now.

But I can do ten months of that kind of increase with the money from the buyout and with the student loan disbursement after I paid tuition, I can cover a few more months of that and be in someplace much more expensive.

Because, fingers crossed, I will be making substantially more money as I go about setting up my private practice internship office.

I got the small business loan monies, that I have to pay back to Grateful Heart, either through fundraising, which I will shortly be setting up a GoFundMe account, or through the accrual of fees from my clients.

It wasn’t a huge loan, $1500, but that’s enough for three months of rent at my office space.

It doesn’t cover three months of administrative costs, or the cost of getting a Square account, setting up a website or doing GSuite, which I have to set up all of that as well, plus business cards, but it gets me started.

I can’t withdraw any money from the account, I can only deposit to it.

So now that I have the account number I can set up the GoFundMe and it goes directly to Grateful Heart.

I can be transparent about where the money is going, that it’s not lining my pockets, but setting up a base for my practice so that I can get started.

So that happened.

Then I headed back to the city, dropped my new friend/old acquaintance, and headed to my first open house of the day.

I had four that I wanted to make before I got to supervision, for my other internship.

Between the two internships, I put in four hours of work on my “day off.”

I didn’t know if I was going to make all four, but the one I wanted to see the most was the one with the earliest open house.

And in the end, it was also the only one that I applied to.

Fingers crossed people.

I was ready to drop all the money I could on it, but the manager had very strict directions for how the process was going to go and I couldn’t get into the conversation with him without it getting misunderstood really quickly.

Language barrier.

So.

I just made it very clear that I wanted the place, I filled out the application, turned over my credit report, my letter of reference from my job, and gave him all the information he needed.

If I get it, move in would be next Thursday.

If I get it, I’m moving in next weekend.

Like I said, fingers crossed.

The only thing it didn’t have that I wanted was laundry on site, but there’s a laundry mat a 1/4 block away, so I wasn’t too upset about that.

It was big, the main studio part wasn’t that big, really just a touch bigger than my main room currently, but the kitchen.

OOOOH.

So big.

I mean.

Really big.

I could have a huge table, which I have always wanted, I have always envisioned a great big farm kitchen table to spread out all my books and school work and papers on.

I once housesat for a man in East Oakland who had this magnificent huge dining table and I would spread out all my work on it, it was just lovely.

I could see myself in this studio, with a great big table, a couple of chairs and just acres of room to write and work and do homework.

The kitchen also had a full size fridge, a full size gas range, lots of shelves, two windows, and a pantry!

The bathroom was no great shakes, no bathtub, but a good clean space, and a decent shower stall, plus again, lots of shelves, including shelves outside of the bathroom.

I mean.

Really I want the place.

I did all the actions I could do, now I have to let go of the results.

And I really made an effort to get to all the open houses.

From the one I saw at 11 a.m. on Guerrero and 18th (location!!!!) then over across town, like literally all the way across town, to a one bedroom in-law in the Outer Sunset on 45th and Taraval by noon.

To a studio on the Haight, literally on Haight street, just in the lower part, not the upper.

To another studio on Fell Street.

All three were poor fits for me.

The in-law was cramped, dirty, and ill lit, low ceilings, bad light, I was like, no more goddamn caves for me.

I said thank you, no thank you and left.

Which was what happened at the next one on the Lower Haight, much smaller than the place on Guerrero and $150 more expensive.

No thanks.

Then when I zipped over to Fell Street, the studio was already taken and was no longer being shown.

I mean, literally some one did what I was trying to do at the Guerrero studio, but they managed to drop the cash to the landlord and get it.

There was an agitated man on the porch angrily texting a friend when I arrived who informed me.

Oh well.

So then I drove back over to the Mission and made group supervision with enough time to grab a salad from Guss’s Market and do twenty minutes of reading for school.

And that’s not counting the driving I did later.

I think I drove more today than I normally do in a week.

I am very, very, very grateful to my best friend for talking me into that car.

It has been such a gift.

So I took care of her too, my little marshmallow, and drove her to the car wash as well.

Before I did my evenings derring do’s.

Grateful for that car does not begin to even cover it.

Seriously.

Nothing’s Sunk In

I have not yet felt the reality of being done with my Master’s program.

It has not sunk in at all.

I bumped into, and invited, a former employer who I ran into today in Noe Valley to my party, who replied after giving me a huge hug, how much the boys would love to see me and that they would of course come.

It was very sweet.

She and her partner are both psychiatrists, so it was really nice and quite validating to get some of the recognition from them when I worked for them regarding my abilities.

The last time I bumped into them I had just begun practicum.

Now I’ve completed the program.

It was a touch surreal.

The time has gone by fast, even though it was such a slog too.

So much work.

She insisted that I needed to stop and take it in and take a moment.

But I don’t have any moments.

Not right now.

Not right yet.

To appreciate and reflect and give myself a pat on the back.

I just jumped right back into work today and before work I had to go to Hayes Valley and drop of my paperwork that needed to be signed.

And of course.

I fucked it up.

OHMYFUCKINGGOD.

What is my problem?

Tired.

You are tired and overwhelmed and want everything to be completed and you just finished a Herculean task and haven’t really sat with the reality of what it all means.

And.

I didn’t fuck it up that bad.

But for a minute there.

I was so mad at myself I could have screamed on the corner of Gough and Hayes.

In fact.

I did say a couple of profanities out loud in frustration.

I was so set on getting the paperwork to the right place, to the right mailbox on to the next thing that had to be done, so über focused, that I didn’t realize the door code to the building I was using was the wrong one.

I made the presumption (as it has happened in the past when I met with my supervisor that I would occasionally get to the office before it was open and I would have to wait until he arrived to turn the dead bolt) that when the code didn’t work it was because there was no one in the office and the dead bolt was still in place.

I was so mad.

Why wasn’t there someone there?

There’s always someone there by this time.

What the fuck is going on.

I was so frustrated, thinking that I had come all the way down and there was no way of getting my paperwork to my supervisor and shit, I’m going to have to come down again and damn it all to hell.

I sighed.

I turned around.

Then.

I noticed the mail slot.

I could put the envelope through the mail slot.

I hemmed and hawed, the post it note with my supervisor’s name and suite number  could come off, then how would anyone know where it was supposed to go.

But.

I figured if he didn’t get it I would just print off another form and run it back down.

I slid it through the mail slot.

I decided I had enough time to mail out my Mother’s Day gift and I headed off to get into my car and wait a second.

The code.

Did I use the wrong code?

What code did I use?

Shit.

I think I used my therapists code.

My therapist in Noe Valley.

Hallelujah!

I ran back, I looked up my supervisor’s code, I let myself into the building, I went to the mail slot and looked at the floor.

There was nothing there!

Where’d the hell it go?

I dashed upstairs.

The door to my supervisor’s office was closed, I know better than to knock, he could have been in session, but I hoped fervently that he was there and had gotten the envelope.

There was nothing left to do but go and send and e-mail and feel a bit chagrined and not beat myself up too much, I still did a little, and get on to the next thing.

Mailing said package.

Which I did.

Then ran into the former employer.

And yes.

I did acknowledge she was right, I need to stop.

To sit.

To savor it.

But honestly.

All I feel like doing is crying.

I’m in a lot of pain again with the reflux and I haven’t enjoyed the ending of the program partially because I haven’t had the time to do so but also because I’m in gnarly ass pain again.

Fortunately.

The GI’s office got back to me today and booked the three procedures with me the doctor wants to do.

I will go in on May 17th and see what is going on.

I have taken that whole day off from work, I’ll be doing a ph test and wearing a wire that will be inserted through my nose into my esophagus and into my stomach, for 24 hours.

I had already asked off for the 18th, figuring that I would be socializing with my mom who’s coming for my graduation.

I really don’t want to deal with a parent visit and the wire test, but what the fuck can I do?

I can’t take being in pain like this much longer and I’ll deal with the visit the best I can.

The doctor will also do an endoscopy.

The procedure will be done at 1p.m and I can’t eat 6 hours prior or drink fluids 4 hours prior.

My mom called today, she’s back from her trip and wants to discuss her trip.

I don’t even know what to say right now.

I feel like I’m just hanging on, I’m not sure I can manage more.

I’m just in pain.

I know it will pass.

I won’t die.

I mean.

I hope not.

I want to wear my cap and gown.

I want to walk the stage.

I want to celebrate on the beach with the people I love.

I really do.

So Tired

So, so, so tired.

And yet.

Here I am.

Writing.

I feel like I just need to open up my head and dump out the contents, let go of the day, and also pat myself on the fucking back for making it through a Monday, a full and very busy beginning to my week.

Up early to do my morning routine and breakfast and all the things and some writing, hop on the scooter and head down to Gough and Fell to meet with my supervisor.

Who still intimidates me a bit, but it’s just because he is so damn smart and he’s not afraid of showing me his smarts, nor is he afraid to engage me intellectually and also to challenge me and how I think.

I super appreciate his very insightful perspective and I do feel like I am taking a master’s class on psychoanalytics.

He constantly blows my mind.

I was relaying two different client cases today and he gave me extraordinary insight into both of them.

I felt at one point a bit chagrined that I had not done as well in my session with one of my clients as I had thought.

Then I realized.

I showed up for that client and I helped and the client helped me and I didn’t mess it up, I just got a different view of what was happening in the session and I’m astounded to have it.

I have so much to learn and I am grateful I didn’t spend most of the day beating myself up for it.

I felt like I learned an extraordinary amount in a very small amount of time, I took copious notes.

I mean.

I normally do, but in comparison to the scant notes I take during two hours of group supervision it is a lot.

There was so much to reflect on and I am again and again grateful that I have this supervisor and that he chose to work with me.

He sees something in me and was actually, so it seemed, rather excited for me and the client that we spent so much time going over their case.

I am also happy to have his input because I’ll be better able to help my client.

Whom I see tomorrow.

It will be our third session.

I also started with a new client tonight.

So now I have three clients.

And I have a new client consult on Friday.

Which means this week I see four clients.

Half of what I will eventually carry.

It feels like a lot, but being eased into it has helped and I’m slowly adjusting to this new level of busy with the internship and work.

I expressed to my boss today how happy I was to be seeing clients and learning how to hold that space before I am in my next semester of classes.

I really would have been overloaded had I taken on doing practicum and a new semester of classes.

I feel like I am a little a head of the curve.

Not much.

But enough.

Enough to know that I am going to be ok and that the amount of work is doable.

Challenging as fuck, but doable.

And it feels good to be adding up the hours.

They will add up as long as I keep taking steps forward.

I am not going to extrapolate how many hours I will have by the time I graduate, aside from knowing with complete surety that I will have enough hours to graduate the program.

I won’t have enough hours to take my boards, that is years away, but I will have a good amount and I feel like I will be fast looking at getting my MFTI number.

Which means getting paid to doing the work.

I can’t get paid until I graduate.

And I am ok with it.

I am learning and it will take time to get comfortable.

But I can already tell that I am feeling better in my sessions, more comfortable with knowing what forms to fill out, what office to go to, where the keys are kept, the general lay of the land.

Getting some time working on the calendar that I share with the rest of the interns and practitioners, getting used to checking my e-mail far more frequently than I did before.

It really feels like I have taken on a second job.

In fact.

My boss said as much to my charges tonight when they all said goodbye and gave me hugs, “she’s off to her second job, give her big hugs!”

And big hugs were had.

I’m, of course, not as tired as I was.

I had a good phone call check-in following my client and going off to do the deal at 8:30p.m. this evening.

It was an unexpected speaking engagement that I agreed to do to help a lady out and I’m glad I went.

It did mean a very late dinner for me and being more than a little wonky at 2 p.m. today when I got the request.

I understand very well why some folks like a siesta at that time of day, I was on the couch with one of my charges scratching her back and we both cuddled up and closed our eyes and swear to God I could have drifted right off then and there.

But.

I didn’t.

And although I couldn’t fathom, I mean, could not, how I was going to make it through the day, I did.

And I’m so grateful to be home.

So.

Now.

A quick cup of tea and off to bed.

Therapy, work, client is my schedule for tomorrow.

Sleep is necessary.

Good night.

Sweet.

Sweet.

Sweetest.

Dreams.

 

Ratchet It Down

I’m trying to get mellow.

It has been a long day, much was done, much accomplished.

Biggest accomplishment was getting out to do the deal at a spot up in Potrero Hill that I don’t get to very often anymore since it’s an 8:30 p.m. gig and I’m trying to not be out that late on ‘school nights’ but, I knew when I was watching the lights of the city come up as the sun set that I needed to go and get my connection on.

And I did.

And it was good.

I got to see some folks I haven’t seen in a while and get reconnected and get some good hugs and see some sweet faces.

Always a plus.

And now I’ll be able to go into work tomorrow and be a kind, tolerant, generous person, the kind of woman I want to be.

I told myself it was going to be a long weekend.

No days off for this lady.

So I wanted to be getting the connection in.

I will also be doing the deal all through the weekend, but there’s not much down time for me.

Super grateful I got all the school stuff out-of-the-way.

So much stuff.

I met with my advisor today who is also the head of the department, which is fun, I get to share my experiences and suggestions with someone who has a vested interest in creating positive change in my program.

I’m not quite sure how we got on topic, something to do with the goal of pursuing the PhD and how I will need to do a lot of writing and I just chuckled and told him that my writing is fine, that I have a writing practice that I have been doing steady as she goes for ten years.

And this little blog that I have been doing for 7 and 1/2 years.

I have a practice you might say.

I told him that there are some folks in my cohort who have expressed some jealousy at how fast I can whip out a paper.

But.

That I have a method to it, yes, the practice is super helpful, I mean, fuck, it keeps my typing speed at a maximum I’ll tell you that, but it also is a practice and the more I do it the easier it becomes.

And.

I have a method to my madness when I am writing a school paper and I shared that method with him.

His eyes lit up.

“Do you think you could do something for me?” He asked.

I nodded yes and he laid out his idea for a teaching panel about how to write papers.

He wants me to sit on it and help incoming students with the process of writing papers.

I was very flattered.

And I’m always willing to share my experience with doing the work.

Of course.

It’s work.

That’s the thing, it’s not hard per se, but there is effort involved.

Sometimes when I talk to people about what I am doing or how I am doing I apparently give off this casualness about the work, but it’s work, I show up and do every day.

EVERY DAY.

Twice a day.

And let me be honest.

It saves me, it nurtures me, it is art, it love, it is poesie, it is pretty flowers in my hair.

I can make up the most fantastical amazing things the words and ideas and images I can suddenly be standing on the Trocadero in Paris and be transported to the sound of the Seine and the batobus going by, the cars rolling over the bridge or me, on my bicycle rolling along the bike path headed towards Rue de Commerce to see some fellows and get to down and do the deal.

I can see squares with green grass and gravel paths and benches under beech trees.

Or.

Like tonight.

Riding my scooter home from Potrero Hill the moon, oh the moon, a heavy-handed ladle of butter in a midnight blue velvet enamel coated spoon, the syrup of sweet heady jasmine floating to me through the cool air.

Or.

How that one turn from Fell Street as it becomes Lincoln Avenue and the open swath of green grass that leads into the park proper, how the air there is always cooler and brushes over me like a cat with cold fur from being outside in the night.

Furry and soft and petulant.

Then the over blown smell of cut clover at Keezar Park, a rounded bend in the road and the moon now to my right peeking and booing from in between the Monterey Pines in the park.

Divinity.

I mean.

Shit.

I could go on like that forever.

There is a logic to how I write and there is a rhyme and reason.

Sometimes I can explain that desperate call in my heart and sometimes the words fail.

But.

I keep showing up anyway.

And that is the trick.

“Just breathe and show up,” I told myself this morning as I walked out the door, saying good-bye to my little home by the sea to scooter off to school and jump through the next hoops to do the work to eventually, one day, be a great big grown up therapist instead of a junior baby in waiting.

I jest a little.

But.

It is a long road ahead.

Nonetheless.

It is important that I acknowledge the movement forward.

It is a big deal.

All my papers signed off and turned in.

All the “t’s” crossed.

All the “i’s” dotted.

I even talked with the financial aid department today.

I wasn’t expecting to be in practicum this summer, it just came together that way.

The summer practicum costs about $2200 to do.

Basically $1,098 per credit, was what I was told, with the caveat of “don’t quote me on that, but I believe that will be the cost” from the financial aid admin I spoke to today.

I decided at one point that I don’t want to take out any loans for school this summer.

I have a little in savings from my tax return.

Then.

I  got a financial aid e-mail from the school and I thought, maybe I should, that way if anything happens I won’t have to dip into my travel savings.

I really want to give myself a nice break in May and be able to do all the things in Paris that will make going to Paris all the fun that I need.

So.

Tomorrow.

One more little hoop to jump.

My paperwork is turned into the registrar and it’s official, I am an intern.

But.

The “course” needs to be paid for.

I will do the application, give myself the gift of a worry free trip in May and get my grad school on when I get back.

Internship begins May 22nd.

I will be ready.

Yes.

Yes, I will.

One Shot

It doesn’t happen very often.

And.

When it does.

It happens on the way home from work rather than on the way to work.

Every once in a while I make it the 6.5 miles from work to home without having to put my foot down on the pavement.

It is the most delicious and delirious thing and I realized as I was crossing Divisadero on Oak that I might actually have a unicorn of a ride happening.

I made the timed lights, I picked up my speed, I felt my left knee complain, I said, come on baby, we got this, and zoom zip, through the light and rolling down the Pan Handle and it’s all, almost, but not quite, downhill from there.

I have made it once to work from my house, 46th Avenue and Judah to Lexington and 20th, on my bicycle without putting down a foot.

It was a reckless ride and not something that I need to experience again.

I just wanted to see if I could do it, and I could, but it meant running lights, stop signs, riding down Lincoln all the way to the Wiggle and a lot of clever maneuverings on my bicycle that weren’t the safest.

I am really safe on my bicycle.

Some folks are nuts.

I want to live.

I have so much to live for.

Just the level of contentment I have for my little home right now, it knows no bounds.

I got the cutest message from a woman in my cohort about a photo I had put up on Instagram with my little nook in the corner of my studio that has a chaise lounge and a “new” reading lamp, that it looked like just the place to curl up and read all of Professor Dubitzky’s reading in.

Of course she didn’t say Professor Dubitzky.

Ha.

She said, “Milly D.”

Our inside, though, I am sure the professor does know and winks at it, name for the teacher.

What I love is that the class is all Freudian analysis and yes, that’s right, my corner seat is a chaise lounge.

The doctor is in.

Er.

The graduate school student is in.

I have started writing “I am a therapist” in my morning pages where I write my affirmations.

It follows right after the one that says, “I am an artist.”

And I added another today.

“I own a brand new Buddy Scooter.”

Yes.

I am back in the market.

I talked a lot about it with a friend of mine who is really good with money and negotiating and asked if he would help me go down to Scooter Centre and get a good deal on the scooter.

It does not look like they have the Buddy I want, I want the Buddy Italia in Avocado, in the shop.   Although, I bet they could get it in if they don’t have it in stock.

It’s a 170cc, goes up to 60 mph and gets 92 miles per gallon.

It also has a two-year parts and labor warranty which includes road side assistance.

It’s about $3200.

I could go buy it right now.

But.

That would mean using my prudent reserve and my student loan disbursement up.

I would feel uncomfortable not having a prudent reserve and I don’t like that feeling where there is nothing in the savings account.

So.

I talked to my friend tonight and told him about how I have been setting aside money and also that I expect I will get a bonus at work on my birthday again, which is a week before Christmas, so it was basically a holiday bonus, but whatever, I don’t have to label it anything other than a gift.

A gift that I am banking on using to buy the scooter.

In conjunction with the money I have been setting aside.

The plan, God is laughing, I hear you, my thought, is that I will go down on December 19th, which is the day after my birthday and hand my friend my money, I figure, go to the bank, withdraw the cash and walk in with cash and get a better deal, and let him do the negotiating.

Which means in 60 days I’ll have a new scooter!

This is the plan.

Who knows if it will happen, but that’s the thought process so far.

I won’t get burned buying a used “Vespa” again, although I wouldn’t mind a Vespa, new, they are a bit more expensive then the Buddy and I would have to wait a bit longer to save up the money, probably at least another six months.

I don’t want to wait that much longer.

My knees be aching again and maybe, yes, maybe, it’s time to stop commuting 15 miles a day on the thing.

It’s been 10 years of riding a bicycle in this city.

I would miss it.

And.

I would miss the exercise.

But.

I can do different things.

I can learn to surf, I got a wet suit.

I can scooter to a pool.

I can go to yoga.

The time that I would save from riding my bicycle would not be a great deal, but it would be significant enough that I think I would be able to take a yoga class or go swimming at a pool on the way to work.

Who knows.

I am not going to worry about the exercise part, it’s important to my life and I need it to keep the crazy brain at bay.

I thought all these things when I was riding through the park, the cool breath of October flowing over my body, ruffling my hair, there is nothing quite as sexy, to me, I don’t know that any one else who’s ever experienced it (not that I have asked), but, there is something so sensual about getting off my bike when I get home and after I lock up the garage I go inside my cozy, sweet studio, and sweep the hair up off my neck and it’s cold.

Cold.

From the wind and the air.

It is such a delicious feeling to lift the cool hair off my neck and swirl it up into a bun.

I shiver thinking about it.

I would miss that.

But then again.

I won’t miss the painful knees.

I did make sure to get to work early and do a lot of stretching, it’s the IT band in my knees that is too tight and I can do some things to strengthen the muscles around my hips, that’s why I was contemplating yoga a little while ago–although, really, in what time?  The stretching helps, but sometimes I think, maybe, just maybe, 10 years is a good run for bicycle commuting in San Francisco.

A decade of riding these mean streets.

I have seen a lot of change.

And more than one lost tourist with the Blazing Saddle logo on their bike stopped at Oak and Stanyan trying to figure out where they are on the map and where the hell the bike path goes and where is the fucking ocean anyway?  And the bridge, how do we get to the bridge?

I have even ridden folks through the Pan Handle and around the Wiggle to get them to go where they are going, I did that not too long ago, I was stopped, asked for directions and I noticed the glazed look coming over the woman’s face when I told her where to go and what streets to take, and just took pity.

“Follow me, just follow me for the next ten minutes, and I will get you to Market, at which point I will cross the intersection and you will turn left and be able to follow Market Street where you need to go.”

Just here to be of service.

I don’t have to think about it too much.

But it is exciting.

I like the idea of change and my life getting bigger and fuller and lovelier.

Not that more is needed.

I have everything I need.

And more than I ever expected to have.

So.

Much.

More.

So.

Much.

Love.

I Passed!

I failed.

Huh?

I passed!

I got my motorcycle licence today, but man it was a confusing sort of experience, courtesy of the DMV and a weird little stipulation for the licence which stated that if you haven’t renewed your regular drivers licence within the last year, you also have to take the written test for a car.

What?

No!

I did not know that.

Fuck.

I did not study that booklet.

I got to the DMV with plenty of time to spare and re-read a few things that I figured were going to be on the exam.  I waited patiently for my appointment time to be hollered out by the security cop on premise.

And whoa, there needs to be security cops roving about, there was some serious feelings happening, a few of them were my own by the end of the two hours I was there, a man and a clerk hollering at each other right in front of me, a nosy busybody woman who kept trying to engage with me, until I moved, more than one person getting yelled at in the test area to turn off their phone, not talk, and put away the booklet.

I actually watched one woman get booted from taking the exam as she was consulting her phone, whether or not she was looking for test answers I don’t know, in fact, I don’t think she was.

She was doing what everyone else in line wanted to be doing, checking their phone, because the line for the test was super long.

Not to take it.

Not to take the photograph either.

But to have the test corrected.

I get a head of myself here, just a bit.

Let’s reel back to the sweet gentleman who was helping me, expediting everything really quite quickly, I had hopes of not only getting out in time for work, but getting there maybe even a half hour or so earlier than I had told my employers.

But no, those hopes, dashed.

Before said dashing of hopes I was able to pay all my fees–$33 for the licence itself then another $169 for the registration and taxes on the scooter–I got the sticker, I am the registered owner of a 1965 Vespa, it’s all mine, the title is being transferred from my friend to me and I have the receipt all tucked away in the scooter’s little side compartment should I be stopped before I get the real one in the mail.

First thing I did when I got back to the house was slap that sticker on the license plate of my scooter.

My scooter.

Oh my God.

I have a scooter.

It’s not just some fantasy imagination in my brain, this is all really happening.

The motorcycle safety course, the putting the deposit on it, all of it has felt unreal, surreal, fantasy like, the reality is not reality yet.

But it’s getting there.

After I got the sticker I was routed to take a photograph.

WORST photo ever.

I mean bad, bad, bad, how did I get a double chin in this photo?

How?

I was horrified.

But ultimately, I don’t care.

I know what I look like and it ain’t that bad awful photo on my licence.

No.

I cringed when I got the picture back, but I carried all my paperwork and my receipts and my form from the safety course over to the next contestant on the Price is Right.

Er.

I mean.

The next window of harried DMV worker who really could give a fuck.

She was slow, but had a number of tasks that she was doing, including monitoring the test area–she was the one who kicked the girl out of line for using her phone (she had to turn over all paperwork and was told that she couldn’t come back and take the test for six weeks as a penalty. Damn.) as well as processing the test paperwork and correcting the test.

There were two lines just for her.

And she took her time with it.

Oh yes she did.

When I got to the front of the first line she flipped through my paperwork and handed me the tests I had to take.

I was still miffed to have to take them both, but I shut up about it.

I got two wrong on the motorcycle test.

And four wrong on the automobile test.

One too many.

Fuck me.

I of course did not find this out right away.

I had to wait 45 minutes in the test correcting line to find that out.

By the time I finally got to the front of the line it was almost noon, ie, when I was supposed to be at work and I had not been able to take out my phone and send off a text to let the families know I was still at the DMV.

I did not want to get kicked out for “cheating” with my phone.

I was super upset to find out that I had to retake the test.

At first I was just disconcerted.

She handed me back the automobile test and asked me to answer four more questions on the test.

I apparently did not get them right.

Then she said I could take the test again right then and there, but I would have to get back in line.

I could study over the tests with the correct answers and get another test (they have three different versions of it) and try again.

Should I not answer that one within the limits I would have to have a four-week wait to retake, or something like that, I was too mad to hear exactly what she was saying, it also was made clear, I would have to make an appointment to retake the test on another day, versus just staying put.

But I couldn’t stay put.

I had to go to work.

I was in tears and pissed and it was raining and I texted the families and said I was on my way and on my way I went.

Wet and mad as a doused cat.

Not exactly the best way to show up to work.

I eventually got myself together.

Eating a hot bowl of homemade soup for lunch really helped.

Then I realized I did not have the booklet for the automobile test and I would want it to go back and take the test.

Ugh.

Then in rapid succession things happened.

Fell into place and within a half hour of leaving the house with the boys tucked up into the stroller in rain jackets, I had passed the written for the automobile test at the DMV.

Huh?

The heavens parted, the sun came out, I wheeled the stroller over to Fell Street, the baby fell asleep on the way, I got to the office, grabbed the booklet and saw that there was no line.

NO LINE!

There was also a new woman at the desk for the tests.

I walked over and took out my paperwork and asked and she said, go to it, park the stroller next to you and keep them quiet, she handed me a new test and shooed me off.

A snack cracker for the older boy, confirmation the baby was still asleep, and voila, in five minutes I re-took the test, 100% and was out the door with my paper receipt saying I had passed and my new license with my motorcycle upgrade and horrible photo will be arriving in the mail in the next seven to ten days.

Holy crow.

I was amazed.

Did that just happen?

It did.

I have the paperwork to prove it.

And I took my scooter out for her inaugural run in the park with my friend.

I have a bit of practising to do before I am able to run it around town–it’s not an automatic–and I need to get used to using the clutch, but I am on my way.

Scooter Town USA.

Here I come.

I am still in awe that I actually was able to go back, re-take the test, get 100% and be out the doors of the DMV a half hour after I left the house in Cole Valley pushing a double stroller with two little boys in it.

But I am not going to question it anymore.

It really happened.

I have my license.

It’s on.

Inexplicably Crazy

So I took some contrary action.

Might have had something to do with my little monkey who I watched today having the teething of monstrosity.

I felt so bad for the bug, it sucks.

The only good thing about teething, well aside from getting teeth to eat tasty food with, is that the pain is forgotten.

I don’t remember teething, do you?

I woke up a little cuckoo, truth be told.

I knew I was going to be free after five p.m. and I did not have any plans and I was dreading that unscheduled time.

I made a slight plan and did my best to adhere to that.

And I got outside.

I did lots of walking through the Mission today and went over to Capp and 23rd to hang out with some folks for a bit.

Realizing that I don’t really belong in the Mission anymore.

Not that to say I don’t really love being there, but it feels like too much, too much commerce, too much traffic, too many people trying to get someplace fast, fast, fast.

I just wanted to slow down.

Sometimes when I am odds with myself and my day I have a hard time deciding what to do anyway.

I hate to admit this as well, I don’t like riding my bicycle out late at night.

Especially on Fridays and Saturdays.

Actually, I don’t like riding my bicycle any time after 5p.m. on Friday, everybody is out getting their crazy on and it feels frenzied.

I actually stopped short of hitting a pedestrian today who was so absorbed in his little smart phone that he walked right off the curb and right into me.

I was going slow and had the premonition he might make that exact move, so I stopped and gentle patted him on his shoulder as I slid past on my bike.

“Be careful when you cross over the street without looking,” I said and patted him softly.

Which is great.

Because there have been times when I wanted to hit pedestrians for doing just what this guy did.

I think that by the time Friday rolls around I am exhausted from all the defensive bicycle riding that I do.

I am hyper vigilant on my bicycle, despite the increase in bicycle commuters, there seems to be more accidents happening, more people getting hit, more anger on the roads.

And perhaps it is just the Sunset, and I suspect that it really is, the amount of crazy driving when folks are looking for parking spots on Irving is just nuts.

It feels like I am in some sort of arcade game.

Except that I am not.

There is no do over here.

When I left work I still had no direction as to where I wanted to go but I knew I wanted out of the Mission and damn quick, the traffic had already begun to pick up and I whipped down Noe from 19th, hitting 18th, weaving around double parked cars and over to 17th and then to Church Street.

I hit the Pan Handle.

Debated going grocery shopping.

Had no desire to stop at Whole Paycheck.

Debated going to 7th and Irving.

But I already did that today, my brain whinged.

Yeah, and it sort of sucked, so maybe you should go again.

And I knew that I probably should.

I can’t remember the last time I double dipped in one day, but my brain really did feel on fucking fuego.

So, I steeled myself for a stop and instead of turning onto 7th Street when I was riding down Irving, I found myself blowing through the light and winging my way on down the road.

What the fuck are you doing?

I yelled at myself.

Stop.

I have had a couple of moments like that today.

Earlier on my ride into work I had a moment of not wanting to ride through the Pan Handle on the bike path, I would just be taking Oak Street all the way to the Wiggle, thank you very much.

But my head was absolutely screaming at me.

TAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHE….

I don’t recall every being that loud about taking the path.

I normally do zip on down the road and say, fuck you motherfucker, it’s not commute time, give me the full lane.

But I wasn’t feeling it.

I got spooked.

I took the bike path.

Same thing tonight.

I just knew I wasn’t supposed to ride my bike down Irving Street on a Friday at five o’clock.

I just knew.

I tried to blow it off, that little voice in my head, not the lying one, but the one that when I have a clear channel and have been doing the work, and believe you me, I have been doing the fucking work, I hear and am guided by well.

GETOFFYOURBIKE!

NOW.

O-fucking-k.

Chill.

I abruptly signalled a stop and swung my leg over the saddle, getting off and popping my bicycle up on the sidewalk.

I turned around and walked back to 7th and Irving.

I locked it up in its customary spot and headed out to Crepevine to grab some dinner.

I made a phone call and drank a big glass of water and got some food.

Man.

I don’t know what was going on, but I could not ignore it.

We will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us.

I guess so.

Something was telling me to slow down.

I don’t have much planned for the weekend but I think I will take the MUNI tomorrow.

The nice thing is that I don’t have to rationalize what happen, I got home safe and sound and though I am home on a Friday night, I am happy to be here, with the smell of bonfires drifting in from the beach.

Maybe I should do that tomorrow.

Go down to the beach in the evening and have a little fire by the shore.

I do feel that a date for me is in the offing.

I wrote about that this morning.

Go to the DeYoung, see the Dieborken exhibit.

Or maybe over to the Conservatory of Flowers.

The Butterfly Exhibit has been extended through March.

Maybe a soak in a hot tub.

Something.

Nothing I need worry about right now.

No worries at all.

Especially since my bike is safely locked up in the garage and the voice in my head has mellowed out with the dinner and the quiet sitting of an hour in a room with bad flourescent lighting.

Crazy like a fox.

Yes I am.

But at least I fucking know it.

I also know what the solution is for it.

Thank God.