Posts Tagged ‘fellows’

What’s Up Sexy?

June 23, 2016

Who the fuck doesn’t want to be greeted like that?

I know I do.

I smiled.

What’s up?

Indeed.

All the things.

Lots of work.

Lots of doing the deal.

Lots of love.

Lots of self-care.

And just a kiss of poetry.

I had a friend reach out to me as I was getting ready to wrap up at work and he offered to hear me practice my poems in between the here and the there.

I said hell yes.

I was quite flattered and very happy to have my silly little request to get some help coalesce.

Ask for what you want, you might get it.

In fact.

In my experience I often times get what I ask for.

It may not come in the package I was expecting, but I generally am heard.

Except when I ask for a boyfriend.

Ha.

Not that I am lacking any sort of attention.

I’m pretty taken care of and that’s a nice thing, and I have options, and time and I’m allowing myself to have fun and be present and show up without expectations.

I still have expectations, but the faster I see them for what they are, the faster I get to let go of them and see what is really going to work for me.

Not obsessing about those who can’t show up for me or who have chosen to withdraw in ways I don’t approve of.

Like anyone needs my approval.

Nope.

Just me and my God, that’s it, and I get to do whatever I want, as long as I accept the consequences of those actions.

Like.

I’ll be up a little late tonight.

I’m jazzed over how the poetry practice went and my friend’s very insightful way of looking at the experience of how I wrote the pieces and I loved getting to speak them out loud to an audience.

Even though it is nerve wracking and I wanted to sound better and realize that no matter how good I sound I will always want to be better.

And that’s ok.

That’s something to shoot for, just being a little bit better.

There will never be perfection.

Well, in the idea that I am perfect in my imperfections.

But.

That there will always be progress.

That’s what I get to strive for and I am grateful for that.

Wildly grateful.

Full of heart and heat and desire to do more, be more, be of service, to surrender, let go, give in.

There is great beauty in that surrender.

And sexiness too, I think, anyway, a kind of beauty in that letting go that when done without thought for how it will be received is a kind of extraordinary thing.

I might have been feeling a little bit of that when I saw my friend just a little bit ago up at the spot.

And.

I also have to say.

I am grateful I was feeling sexy and saucy and sassy.

As I ran into a gentleman I had a brief intense date with back in February who completely ghosted me so bad that it was a touch disgruntling to be played so hot and cold.

I got to do some work around that, oh yes I did.

So.

Completely feeling my swagger, my messy pink hair in braids, my lipgloss freshly applied, my hips swinging as I dance down the block.

Oh.

And hey.

Ha.

What’s up mister walking your dog by the 7-11.

I got a “hey” and “it’s cold” and a quick sliding glance and a scurry by.

Yeah.

Scurry baby.

I ain’t got time for that shit.

You have yourself a nice ass night.

I smiled and wandered up the street, seeing all my friends coming towards the place and happy to walk into the warm glowing room and get greeted by my fellows, my family, my friends.

Fuck me.

I am such a lucky girl.

Really.

The luckiest girl in the world.

I get to do so much.

I get to be so much.

I get to feel so much.

“The good news,” she said, “is that you get to have feelings.”

Pause.

“The bad news,” she continued, “is that you get to have feelings.”

Right now.

I’m in the good parts of that.

I feel fucking fabulous.

The hair is on point.

Summer is starting out as something fun.

I get to go to New Orleans next weekend, I leave a week from tomorrow, for three days.

I get to hang out with people I like and love and care about.

I have friends.

I have a life.

I have a place to live.

Fuck.

I get to live in San Francisco.

That is amazing.

Especially on a nanny salary.

I get to write and dance and blog and be out in the world and seen.

I am seen.

I am known.

I am accountable.

I like these things.

I can isolate too easily and with no regards to the world and what is happening if I don’t take care of the basic things in my life and recovery.

I have to put the horse first.

Sometimes I have to put that so first, always really, I could do or have what I have if i didn’t, that I can’t even see how I will get through a situation.

I just know that I will if I focus on solution.

I focus on problem.

It only gets bigger.

I focus on doing the next action, getting into solution, loving, being of service, why the problem fucking takes care of itself.

And I didn’t do anything.

See.

My best ideas are ass.

I’m not capable of making great decisions for myself.

I have no perspective.

So I get out of my way, out of my blinders, if I can shift my perspective just a tiny amount, man, it’s amazing.

Transformation.

Utter and complete and astounding.

Magic.

Poetry.

Sex.

Sugar.

Love.

Music.

Star shine.

God’s kiss freckling my upturned face.

All the things.

Baby.

All the fucking things.

Amazing.

I can’t explain it, I don’t want to, I don’t need to.

I think that’s called faith.

Or.

Grace.

Shall we just agree to agree?

It’s love.

And it’s everywhere.

Just look.

I promise.

It is here.

It is there.

It is.

Right now.

It is always.

Love.

The new sexy.

 

Advertisements

You Look Great!

April 11, 2016

Did you lose weight?

Just the weight of having made it through the school weekend.

It is a heavy weight to carry sometimes, and as my TA in The Clinical Relationship said to my group this afternoon as we were parting, “you did really hard work this weekend, I just want to acknowledge that.”

Thanks man.

It was big, big, big work.

And.

Ah.

Yes.

I am almost done with the work.

I still have a paper to write, a paper that the professor actually gave us some more time to address.

So.

If I don’t want to write it tomorrow at work, I don’t have to.

Although, it’s probably for the best to bring my laptop and my reader, my notes, and just kick it out and deal with it.

Sometimes more time does not actually help me in the process of writing.

Ooh.

Look.

I can procrastinate this a little longer.

Frankly.

Um.

No.

Get it done.

Then relax.

“God, I open my big mouth sometimes,” she said to me afterward, “I just blurted out what I was seeing,” she said with apology.

“It’s ok, it’s nice to hear, I don’t own a scale, so I actually couldn’t tell you if I had lost weight,” I replied.

“Your face, it just looks amazing, maybe it’s because your hair’s down, I don’t know that I have ever seen it down.”  She gazed at my face, puzzled, “it’s just, it’s beautiful, your face, you look so, so light.”

I smiled.

And I do feel light.

I was happy today at school.

I got up with a decent amount of sleep.

I had a great first class of the day.

I connected with my two favorite ladies in the cohort and made plans with both of them for future time to spend together.

Slumber party next school weekend!

That will be such a blast.

I also participated and felt really good with what I contributed to class.

And.

Ahem.

I got a text message from my Tuesday evening date asking how I was.

Lovely, sir.

I am just lovely.

He’s out of town, but shall be returning this week.

Perfect.

I’ll be well rested.

Ahem.

I may also have another date this week, I’m just playing it by ear and letting whatever happens happen and enjoy the fact that I don’t have to focus on any one man.

I am having fun, remember?

Yes.

Fun.

I am happy.

I am tired.

It was a long weekend.

But I feel good.

Really good.

I feel loved and blessed and held.

I have friends.

I have a home.

I have school.

I get to do these amazing things and have these deep, effective, moving, my God, how emotionally moving some of this is, experiences.

I got my last assignments for the final weekend of classes.

I got papers to write people.

But.

I also have time.

And there is reading.

And there is time.

There is abundance.

There is lightness.

And purpose and magic.

Music.

I’m listening to The Listener’s album again, “Wooden Heart.”

It is so good.

So good.

Oh, my clamoring heart.

I am such a fucking lucky girl.

I almost took a nap today after I got back from class, I was pretty darn wiped out, but I stayed awake, went over to Thai Cottage and got myself some pumpkin curry and brown rice, came back here and read for a while.

No.

I did not read for school!

So proud of allowing myself a nice forty-five minute chunk of leisure reading, , John Irving.

A book I started last summer.

Last fucking summer.

I started it in Sonoma, at the house in Glen Ellen where the family I work for rent a place for a few weeks and have their summer vacation in some weather that actually acts like summer.

I can’t remember the last time I started a book and didn’t finish it.

However.

I started that piece of literature on a study break from school work and then, well, I just went straight to Burning Man and then straight back to school and then straight back to work and repeat, well, take out the going to Burning Man part, but I have just been reading and writing and doing school.

I pulled it off the shelf nestled into my chaise lounge, sipped on a cup of tea and read.

It was delicious.

But I was getting too sleepy and almost nodded off.

Instead.

I put on some music and danced around and got my blood up.

Then.

OH.

I pumped up the tires on my dear, beloved, and not much ridden bicycle.

Yup.

I took the whip out for a ride.

It felt so good to be in the saddle, to be in my body, and not in my head, not thinking, not processing emotions, not in a therapy dyad with a new therapist learning how to do her deal practicing on my emotional playing field.

From the moment I wheeled her out of the garage, it was like I hadn’t been off her at all, but the truth is, I have.

It’s been a month?

After I go the parking permit for work, I’ve been taking my scooter and my bike, well, she’s gotten a little dusty.

My body did not forget the motions, my legs pistons, my hands light on the handle bars, the wind soft, caressing on my face, lifting the curls up off my neck, and I am one with the bicycle and flying down 46th Avenue.

Flying.

Floating.

Magic.

The sunset at Moraga and 46th, the smell of beach bonfire drifting upwards, the salt, the ocean, the light of the bouncing off the pearlescent clouds.

The joy in my heart.

That’s what the woman saw.

The joy in my heart writ large on my face.

I cannot tell what part or the work informs the whole the most, I just keep moving believing that it is all love, brightness, light.

Rapturous with love.

And.

Perhaps hallucinatory with needing to sleep.

But let me just stick to the love part.

That’s the best anyway.

Love me, my love.

As I love you.

The raven with the moon in its mouth.

The song on my sleeve.

The music of the spheres.

Here.

There.

Everywhere.

Love.

 

 

Rounding The Corner

April 10, 2016

Heading into home.

Almost there.

One more day and it’s a half day.

And I’m done with my reading and my papers, except the one due next week, but let me not go there quite yet.

One more day.

Then one more weekend of classes.

And a lot more papers.

Not too bad on the readings.

I won’t get too swept away in thinking about it.

I’m making it through and I had a good day.

I did not wake up on the wrong side of the bed today, in fact, I woke up pretty well rested all things considered, perhaps the most sleep I have managed to get on a school night since the beginning of my classes.

It wasn’t eight hours.

But it might have been seven.

Considering that most of the nights before I have class average five to six, this was big.

And I could feel it.

I didn’t feel rushed this morning.

I didn’t feel out of step.

I had a nice morning routine and I had a nice breakfast and a couple cups of coffee before heading out the door.

I called for a car.

I got to class almost 25 minutes before it began!

I wasn’t expecting to catch a ride so fast and the traffic was light.

It was actually rather nice to get to school early.

I put away my food and chatted with fellows in other cohorts, I heated up a third cup of coffee, yeah, like that, and I made my way to my first class.

I participated and I got to share some things that were challenging and difficult, but also really quite powerful and I got to see where I have grown.

I also had a much better dyad as the client today and I went into it with an attitude of how to best be of service to the situation.

Because this woman is not really my therapist.

She is my fellow cohort member, she is a student, she is there to learn just as much as I.

I think it went better and I didn’t feel quite so angry after leaving the session as I did yesterday.

I had a nice lunch with a couple of my classmates.

I drank tea with a professor and TA in between classes in the cafe.

I hugged another TA, of course I asked first, and made a nice connection with him.

We have friends in common.

And it is really edifying to have that connection with someone in my program.

A fellow amongst fellows.

So to speak.

The weekend is two-thirds done.

To think it was about a year ago, March 6th, that I received my acceptance letter to the school.

So much has changed since then.

I could not have forecasted the year and how it was to be in any way and it is a very powerful perspective to have.

One that I hold with great gratitude.

I really do show up.

I really do the work.

And there is other work that must be attended to as well.

I slipped into bed last night and just as I was falling asleep I had a little thought and an image sneak into my head.

The image was a bottle of rose wine and a wine glass on a table with a white cloth at an outdoor cafe.

Rose?

What the fuck?

I didn’t fucking drink wine when I was out there.

I did blow and swilled high end IPA’s and bitter ales.

I drank vodka martinis.

On the rocks.

Dirty.

Extra olives.

Blue cheese stuffed if you got them, bitches.

Rose?

That was never a choice I made.

Then the thought, sneaky little fucker, right as I am drifting off to sleep.

“Well, I’ll get good and drunk when the weekend is over.”

What the fuck?

Who put that there?

Oh.

Yeah.

My disease.

I’m not cured.

I have a reprieve.

But I haven’t had as much of that reprieve when I am in a school weekend and yeah, yesterday was long, I was cranky for no identifiable reasons (I found many during the day, but none of them quite stuck), of course my disease is going to pipe up.

When I am vulnerable.

On the cusp of sleep.

I actually shook myself awake, “no fucking way,” I said.

I opened my eyes, I looked up at the night sky out the back door of my studio and saw the sky, dark and vibrant and full of stars and said, “I don’t want to drink.”

And closed my eyes and fell promptly to sleep.

Arising only once before my alarm to go to the bathroom and pee.

I love my cup of tea at the end of the night, but it does facilitate getting up and using the bathroom during the night.

I got my sleep, though, and I checked in with my people on the car ride into class.

It was a good day.

And.

I have one day left.

A half day.

I’ll be out by 4 p.m.

Free to grab dinner somewhere or do the deal or both.

Free to breathe and stretch and walk around and not be sitting in a desk.

Free to be in awe and wonder that I am a graduate school student.

“OH, I have such big respect for psychologist’s,” my drive said tonight, then related a story about getting some much needed help when he was younger and in a bad spot in his life.

“Psychology saved my life,” he said, “you’re going to be a great psychologist.”

I hope so.

That may be in the future.

I had another idea for a possible dissertation topic regarding a theory on Mystification as it’s used in marketing and media to sell a certain kind of body to women and the constant reinforcing of the idea that women are not good enough, despite what they may believe, mystification, to sell products in a Westernized consumeristic culture.

Ahem.

Yeah.

I get ahead of myself.

“I’m going for my Master’s right now,” I said, “psychologist is not on my plate at the moment.”

“It will be, I can tell,” he said with complete assurance and conviction.

Grateful to hear that, even from a complete stranger on a rainy night giving me a ride home through the hilly streets of San Francisco.

The Universe has faith in me and for every small step I take.

Every moment I show up on time and prepared for class.

Every time I make myself vulnerable to the learning and having the humility to be teachable.

Well.

The Universe take a thousand steps towards me.

I am met.

I am held.

I am almost done with the weekend!

Now.

It’s tea time.

Excuse me while I unwind and get my last things done before my last day of classes for my second to last weekend of my first year of graduate school.

What am amazing journey it’s already been.

Luckiest girl in the world.

 

Soft And Sleepy

February 18, 2016

That would be me.

I was up late last night and that was lovely, it happens sometimes, I go to bed late, things happen, life moves forward, the moon rides the waves over Ocean Beach and the sand presses in between my toes and I carry these small particles of love and salt into the grey morning.

It was far later than I thought it would be when I got up and moving.

The very grey skies gave me the illusion that it was still early.

It was not.

I got up, did my routine, got on with my day.

Really.

It was superiorly mellow and chill.

I did the deal.

I did the writing.

I did the Applied Spirituality homework, but I didn’t really do any other school work, I wasn’t feeling it.

I was soft and sweet and slow today.

I even, wait for it.

NAPPED.

The rain.

The sound of rain outside my back door, the patter of it on the patio the splash of it against the window pane.

I drifted in and out and lay, like Ophelia, with my hands clasped over my chest, my Converse kicked to the floor, my head a soft halo of loose curls tumbling over a velveteen pillow, my skirt billowed out, the crinoline a heap of fluffy icing.

I have been dressing pretty for myself all week and that has been so much fun.

I went to ModCloth’s Fit Shop yesterday and I had an actual fitting session.

It was spectacular.

I don’t have a lot of time to shop, and even when I do, like I have time this week, I am often loath to spend free time wandering in and out of stores.

It exhausts me.

If I know what I want, then I’m good, but just browsing can really just be too much, unless I’m in some sweet little neighborhood or visiting a city or museum, then I’m all about the shopping.

I wanted to go into the Fit Shop after I got my last dress and it was just such a fail.

REALLY.

I mean.

I have a nice figure, my bust is not supposed to look so squished and small and weird.

I was happy to get down town, then, and have the help of the team at the Fit Shop–a brick and mortar downtown on Grant and I think Stockton.

Basically the shop is full of clothes and they keep one of each size they have from petite 0s to 4x.

I mean, really anybody could find a cute dress or outfit there.

For me it’s that I don’t have a great idea of what I look like.

I either think I am bigger than I am.

Or smaller.

I have been rather hit and miss with the sizing chart in the online store.

I got measured.

I got my size.

Then I wandered around the store with a clipboard and wrote down any dress or top or outfit that I wanted to try on.

I tried on ten or twelve things.

I was ecstatic to find a sweetheart of a dress that I would have never bought online and it was a great fit and super flattering.

I felt like spinning around the store.

I also got a sweet cropped red cardigan, a sky blue slip with lace trim, and the perfect tunic shirt dress, amazing fit and again, not anything I would have even looked twice at ordering online, in faded blue.

I spent half the money I was prepared to spend.

The only thing that was a tiny bit disappointing was not being able to walk out of the store with my goodies.

However.

They gave me a discount for coming in and also expressed shipped it at no extra cost.

So I have some lovely things to wear soon.

I am looking forward to it.

It really has been nice letting myself dress up and wear things that make me happy.

I also cleaned out my closet today.

If it doesn’t bring me joy when I hold it I’m going to toss it or sell it if I think I can at Crossroads.

I was able to clean out some stuff that I wasn’t wearing and was just old and then cull a few things out that I just never wear, doesn’t make me happy, or doesn’t quite fit.

I got rid of all the things and hopped the N-Judah to the Inner Sunset.

I mailed the return dress back to ModCloth–I’ll be using that credit now that I know what to look for!

Then I sold 3/4s of what I had to Cross Roads.

I treated myself out to lunch then donated the remainder of the clothing.

I thought briefly of trying to sell it, but it just wasn’t worth hauling around anymore and the rain was starting to come in.

I just slipped back on the train after lunch and came back down to the house.

I made a cup of tea and luxuriated in some non-graduate school reading.

Then.

The nap.

So lovely.

When I woke up I made some nice dinner and then headed up to see some fellows over at the Sunset Youth Services.

I got my God on real good and now I’m back here.

Oh!

And I renewed my FAFSA for next year’s graduate school.

A little crazy that.

But not nearly as anxiety producing and nerve wracking as it was the first time I filled it out.

Pleased I am.

Life is good.

I am good.

I am blessed.

The soft rain on my face, upturned to the wind and the caress, a kiss on my neck, the lovely air on the stars adorning me.

I am a star.

Just another gathering of God light in this Universe sweetly shining in my little space.

Down by the sea.

Happy.

And.

Content.

Tickets Please

January 31, 2015

I just bought my tickets to Atlanta, Georgia for July 1st-5th.

I leave SFO at 10:30 p.m. on the evening of the 1st, so I will work that last shift before heading out and not have to take an extra vacation day.

I will arrive in Georgia, land of peaches, the morning of the 2nd.

Oh.

My.

God.

I’m going to Atlanta.

Now all I need to do is find a place to stay.

I talked to another friend today who wants to go and we spoke about getting a bigger space for three instead of just two.

I found some things on AirBnB and I think I may have to confirm, but really, it would make better sense to have another person stay with, cut down on the cost of being there.

The plane ticket was $438.

The registration was $100.

I am figuring that housing will be about, fingers crossed less than $500 for the time I am there, I think it could go quite a bit lower, though.

I did find a few things on Airbnb that would be quite affordable for three people, one that caught my eye was $560 for three people for four nights.

That is a steal.

That would be slightly less than $200 for the time there if I split the cost of staying with two other people.

Hell I could even book it and say, who’s in?

My friends could say no and I know that I could find a few other friends who would be down for jumping in the boat.

It’s a bit out time wise, but I suspect that closer to the event, the more expensive things are going to be.

I also wonder about whether or not a lot of Atlanta knows what’s happening in July, but that  when they do, prices may go up and availability down.

I want to book a place as soon as I can.

Which means coordinating with my friends.

Or.

Just making the decision to reach out and take action and book a place and then invite the my two friends to join me.

I don’t have to make any decision tonight.

The main action was taken.

I bought the ticket.

I’m going to Atlanta!

Hot damn.

I get to wear summer dresses and sandals in July!

I know I live in California, but I live in San Francisco, it’s chilly, if not down right cold in July, I’m going to be thrilled to be somewhere hot, to walk outside at night, to be in humidity and warmth.

Oh deliciousness.

I suppose I might change my tune when my hair explodes from the humidity, but who knows.

“You got a lot of hair!” The homeless woman on Church Street said to me around a bite of scavenged burrito.

“I do,” I laughed and kept walking.

The hair it has been getting bigger.

And longer.

And by the time I get to Atlanta and have oh, about twenty minutes in the weather, it will be twice as big, I’ll be able to give Diana Ross in her prime a run for her money.

Let me just take another moment to fantasize about sundresses and sandals.

Ah.

That’s nice.

In fact, I will tell on myself, there’s a pair of sandals I promised myself I would buy when I bought the plane ticket, they’re on sale and I thought, you know, they’ll be perfect for Atlanta.

Hehe.

As though I don’t have other sandals.

I do.

But, I might want a pair for each day I’m there.

“Excuse me miss, we’ll have to check your bag, too many shoes to carry on the plane.”

Bahaha.

Oh.

I amuse myself.

I was thinking when I was riding my bicycle home from a successful end of the week, I actually snuck in a trip to Whole Foods and to the nail salon before going to my Friday night commitment after work, that I just had to put this recovery thing first and the rest would follow.

It’s something I always forget and when reminded, it is such a relief.

Who am I going to date next?

Becomes how may I be of service in this situation?

And suddenly.

I don’t care who I’m going to date next.

What am I going to do about financial aid for graduate school?

Becomes, who do I need to call and check in on?

And suddenly.

I don’t care about graduate school either.

I know this much, I have complete and utter faith that if I take the continual actions in front of me, focusing on what I can do and where I can take action, instead of thinking about it, the graduate school stuff will all fall in line.

If I get in, the money will show up.

If I don’t.

Then I try something else.

I’m young.

I’ve got time a head of me.

I could probably get two Master’s Degrees and a Doctorate before I die.

I’m going to be an old lady, it runs in the family, and I’m down with it.

So, yeah, focusing on what I can do, what action I can take today, just one or two, and it builds up.

It’s divine.

And so simple I forget that it’s often the smallest things that lead to the biggest revelations in my life.

I may troll around on AirBnb a little more tonight, but I have done the heavy lifting for the day.

Now it is the weekend.

Which always goes by so fast, and is quite loaded up with things to do and places to go.

And I want to get my taxes done, that is a priority.

Oh.

And perhaps I should breathe a little too.

Ha.

Just slow it down.

It is the weekend after all.

I don’t need to get too far a head of myself.

Relax.

Enjoy a little down time.

And.

Think about picking up another summer dress.

To go with all my sandals.

Giggle.

Why Is She Hugging

January 16, 2015

The working guy?

I could almost hear the thought bubble over the mom’s head as she pulled out to run errands this afternoon.

I had been sent out to BiRite to procure food to make dinner, the pizza party was a smashing success in case you were wondering, for the evening.

I love going to BiRite.

It’s just far enough away that I can stretch my legs, but not too far that I can’t do the trip in a decent amount of time.

I could even bicycle over there, I don’t know why I haven’t thought of that before now.

Most times, though, I am with one or two of the boys.

A double stroller in that store is a ticket to resentment and anger, so I don’t often do that.  Most times, I’m with the littlest guy and we make an early run before lunch and naps.

There was none of that this morning, waist deep in potty training and using the current favorite work, “NO!” at top vocal capacity, there was no going to the store.

There was no leaving the bathroom for a while.

I walked into twenty-minute tantrum this morning.

And so it goes.

Feelings they happen.

When I am having them, off, I think they are going to last forever.

“I just don’t want to feel anymore,” she said to me tonight on the phone.

Don’t I know it.

That’s why I spent over half of my life checking the fuck out.

I am a sensitive creature.

I don’t want to have feelings either.

Although they are the things that make life so very interesting.

I don’t care for them.

Unless they are ecstatic, euphoric, happy all the time, tinged with upbeat excitement, tingling anticipation, spiked with a little adrenalin and orgasmic in nature.

Then.

Bring them the fuck on.

I mean.

Hell yes.

But regular old feelings?

Pain, grief, sorrow, ambivalence, boredom, anxiety, worry, depression.

No thank you.

No, really, I’m not interested.

I’ll take serenity though, calmness, peacefulness, contentment, these are some feelings I’m down with too.

The thing is, I will always have a bundle of them.

The thing is, feelings are not facts.

The frustration of potty training and the anxiety of feeling and acknowledging his own unique self has made my little two and a half-year old a little wild.

What is happening?

I don’t like it!

Make it stop!

Give me Skittles!

Ugh.

The mom was a peach though and said, you run without him to BiRite and I’ll put him down for his nap before I have to head out.

Deal.

I grabbed the money, a cloth bag, and my phone and hit the road.

I got to make a few phone calls, check in with a few folks, get some perspective on my day.

I went to confirm a meeting for tonight and was cancelled on, she’s sick.

There’s some super bug going around, I keep avoiding it by the skin of my teeth.  I got the flu vaccination, so there’s that, but I suspect it’s also being a nanny, I’m pretty immune.

Knock on wood.

It’s been a hot second since I’ve been sick.

I’ll take a big pass on it.

Especially since I have a big weekend coming up.

I had made reservations at Samovar tea lounge for a celebration party but it was cancelled on me, so I’ll be heading for a nosh up to the Firewood Cafe in the Castro.

It’s pretty casual, but it’ll hold a bunch of folks and it looks like there’s anywhere from 8 to 11 people showing up.  We can grab a bunch of tables, get cozy and hang out.

I’ll be coming from Castro Tattoo where my friend Barnaby will be planting my 10th star on my neck.

Excited for that.

Excited too for the dancing after dinner and a meet up with some fellows in Noe Valley.

I’ve got some friends coming in from Berkeley, Castro Valley, and Alameda who I realize I haven’t seen all together like this since we were all hanging out at Burning Man.

There will likely be talk of Burning Man at the table.

I do that thing.

I don’t know if I will this year, but I want to.

I have to wait and find out about graduate school before making any solid plans for the event.

I would feel really weird, though, to not go.

This year would be year number 9 for me.

I may have to be in school, and if I get in, that’s going to have to take priority.

Then again, I could go pre-event.

I know enough folks to get into some sort of service position there to get an early arrival pass.

“Are you going to go this year?” My darling friend asked, she’ll be going back for her second time and has begun the preparing.

You may scoff, but really, I prepare for the damn thing year round at this point.

If I see something that makes sense for me to go to Burning Man with, I get that thing.  I have socks and tights that I rarely wear out, though I suppose I could, I do live in San Francisco, which though heavily gentrified in parts, is still a wild creative place.

I felt like I got to be that little bit of special flavor today as I walked around a group of tourists in front of Craftsman and Wolves on Valencia Street.

Oh look.

A local out shopping.

Yes.

Oh and what colorful tattoos.

Yes, now move, I have places to go and things to cook.

Today I made ginger chicken stir fry with celery and green onions, sushi rice, and prepped fruit.

I saw my friend as I was turning the corner and went up to sneak in a hug before getting my cook on.

The grin on his face was beaming.

We hugged.

He had just celebrated an anniversary the day before mine.

We both could have floated off the ground.

It was awesome.

The mom pulled out of the garage and gave me the strangest look.

I know a lot of folks.

I do.

Even some that happen to work on the house doing gardening and construction.

Or just down the block at the coffee shop or at the playground, the corner market, the bike shop, the hipster clothing store clerk, the check out gal at the farmers market, I know a lot of folks in the Mission.

And I try to hug as many of them as I can.

Not a bad way to break up the work day at all.

And tomorrow.

Is Friday.

Bring on the three-day weekend!

Yup.

I got Monday off.

First time I have ever been given Martin Luther King Jr. Day off.

Pretty stoked.

I’ll still have plenty to keep me occupied.

That’s for sure.

And maybe I’ll hug another working guy too.

I like working guys.

And I’m In

March 14, 2014

Yay.

The interwebs are now accessible to me in my own home.

First world problems.

I had started a blog in my MacWord application on my laptop, as I was not getting in, oh, my computer said I had access, the little doohickey at the top said I had all access, but no, I still couldn’t log into my OkStupid profile.

Just kidding.

It was a bit frustrating, then, bingo, I’m in.

Sigh.

It’s nice to be back home doing my writing, doing my blogging, doing that thing that straightens me out.

I have to do this because I realize that I need a daily reprieve from the idiocy of my thoughts, which last night launched into a litany of “you’re losing your looks and going to be alone forever”.

First off, head full of garbage, anyone who is in it with you solely for your looks is going to be really boring after oh, 30 minutes.  I don’t want someone who is in it only for how I look.

I offer a whole lot more than that.

And my looks, why, yes, they are going to fade and that’s not a bad thing, I could use a little softening, a little wearing down of the edge.

Anyway, what the blog does is help me get it out of my head and when I see it in a straight line, the thinking, the thought patterns, it helps me to break them down and see the fallacy of the thoughts.

I am not my thinking.

I am my actions.

I remind myself of this yet again and thank God that I have this outlet.

Even when no one is reading them.

My blog stats went way down again.

Why of course, it’s been sexy sexy weather in San Francisco, everyone is at the park making out.

It’s spring and it’s nice.

I saw a quartet of hipsters in the park today as I took my little girl Thursday to the playground at Alamo Square, and thought, how cute, one six-pack for four guys.

Hello.

Are you kidding me, where’s the rest?

One six-pack.

Four guys.

Does not compute.

At least for me.

They’re just normal dudes out sunning their well manicured facial hair on the hillsides of San Francisco with their Pacifico six-pack and casual air of nonchalant, what work ma?  We’re just hanging out waiting to inspire folks to buy our app.

Ah San Francisco.

You’re still home to a lot of weirdo’s, I see more than my fair share of them due to circumstances beyond my control, but they seem to be edging out further and further.

“Do you live out here?” She asked me at the cafe.

I nodded affirmatively, “46th between Judah and Irving, inlaw studio I rent from a friend.”

“I can’t afford to live anywhere else,” she said, “I’m afraid to move.”

Aren’t we all?

You got a place that has decent to tolerable rent, you are staying.

I know a lot of folks getting creative about their living situation and I just thank my lucky stars that I get to be here, now with internet, safe and sound, with the sea down the road and the city as my back drop.

I do sometimes think it would be nice to be somewhere that gets more sunshine, there’s not a lot of natural light in here, but it’s not bad and there is some and it’s not the dark little space I had when I was in Paris.

Last night I was waxing a bit nostalgic about my time in Paris, flipping through some photographs on my laptop before bed time, I ran out of reading material, I need to go to the library post-haste or to the book store, and with no internet I was browsing through the photos.

I suddenly forgot the cold, the dreary, the dark, and the wet and was romantically swept away into fantasy about when I move back.

And I might.

You never know.

But I will always, no matter what, keep a home in San Francisco.

I don’t foresee moving anytime soon, either, it was more than thought of, I could see doing some retirement time there, with a long stay visa, and no money worries.

That really is the only way I want to experience Paris again.

I mean, yeah, there’s a certain romance to the starving artist thing, but the reality of living on apples and packets of peanuts is not how I want to go again.

I can say I was a writer in Paris living on a shoe string, hopes, and dreams, and have a plethora of experience to back it up.

And now,  can see how I want to move forward into whatever incarnation of myself is next.

Frankly I would like to make some money.

I would like to not only have a scooter, but, yes, a car.

I want to take road trips–Utah, Wyoming, Montana, camping out under the stars, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, a drive up to Alaska–and one needs a car for that.

Preferably a Jeep Wrangler 4.0 Sport in Midnight Blue.

Just saying.

I am not dissatisfied with what I have at all.

I am just ready for the next move forward.

I see it all around me and despite my disdain of certain attitudes and lifestyles, I do want to partake of the abundance that is here.

I mean if the dudes in the park with their Pacifico can make it work, why the hell not I?

Then again, I have a purpose, and I know what that purpose is and I suspect that as long as I keep that close to my heart and deep in my routine, I won’t be dropped.

I shall always be taken care of.

I will always have wealth, prosperity, love.

Of self.

Of fellows.

This, my true blessing, internet or no, blog or no, money or no money, there’ s a reason for me, I have a purpose.

That’s why I blog.

Right there.

To remember that.

I have purpose.


%d bloggers like this: