Posts Tagged ‘figure it out is not a slogan’

Radio Silence

December 20, 2017

Not how I had planned to spend my day.

My employers gave me a brand new Iphone 8 yesterday for my birthday.

At one point I tried to set it up but I had many other things on my plate and figured I would just do it today.

However.

That didn’t work.

The dad helped me out, took the sim card from my old phone and put it into my new phone and then headed off to work.

I actually have no idea what he did.

Just that he did something.

Then I swapped over all the information, got the new phone charged up and started and then.

Nothing.

Nada.

Didn’t work.

At all.

I was bummed.

As it turns out, the mom did some research, I had to have the number off the box the phone came in, um, yeah, left that at home, to activate the account with my phone company.

So.

As soon as I came home I logged onto my account plugged in the numbers, did all the things, and nothing.

Ugh again.

The sim card from my old phone was not doing the deal.

I got through to an online chat with my phone company and I was told I have to take the phone into Sprint store and get a new sim card, the card from my old phone is obsolete.

Of course it is.

It was from an Iphone 5C.

I mean what a relic, an antique really.

I thought about taking the sim cared out of the phone and putting it back in my old phone, but first I have no clue, nor the little tool the dad used, and second I deactivated the phone.

Sprint has that all tied up.

I just need to get the new one activated.

So.

Ugh.

No phone for a little bit more.

Not the worst thing in the world.

I do have a chat on my computer that is working and I was able to make contact via that, although I had no access to any messages that came in while I was away, my laptop was powered down, I just had the old stream of messages.

Sigh.

Oh well.

It’s not a tragedy.

And considering how much I processed in therapy and cried, maybe it was God’s way of saying, take a break, get re-centered, focus on taking care of what needs to be done at work.

I am, however, bummed, I will be going in early tomorrow at work, I won’t have time to go to a Sprint store and deal with it.

I am hoping that the mom will let me out sometime during the day to hop to a store and buy a new sim card and get the new phone fully activated.

It could be a fun little adventure to even do with one of my charges, the oldest boy is all things technology and phones, I could see him having fun in a store full of gadgets.

Fingers crossed.

Otherwise I’ll be doing it after I get off work at six pm.

No thank you.

I don’t like being out of touch.

I had a client cancel and wasn’t able to respond until I got home.

I know I missed text messages.

I may have missed phone calls.

The client who cancelled had even requested a phone session, of course, nothing I could do with that one.

I didn’t lose the hour though.

I did progress notes and I talked with the head of my agency and got some ideas about internship stuff and continuing education and what that looks like.

I also did an hour of client advocacy.

And I picked up my trainee evaluation from my supervisor there.

Which was all high marks.

Very happy to be able to send that out.

I found out I don’t actually have to drop it off to the school, I can just send it in the mail, I am loath to go anywhere near campus for a while, I need a break.

Speaking of, the kids had their last day at school today.

Winter break has officially begun.

I will be working longer days for a bit, earlier start at work while the kids are out of school.

But getting to have next Friday off is such a nice bonus.

I was supposed to go in and see my new chiropractor tomorrow, but the mom was desperate for help and asked me to come in at 8:15a.m.

I will be going in and making pancakes for the monkeys.

It’s a long day.

I rescheduled the chiropractor for next Friday at noon and I’ll just have to keep doing the little stretches she suggested.

I do feel a bit out of whack.

I had to carry the baby a bit today in the carrier and he was having a hard time, a bit sick and fussy and there was a lot of screaming, which so rarely happens with the baby that it can be hard to hold.

But.

Hold it I did.

And when he finally fell asleep I just sat on a chair in the bedroom and closed my eyes and drifted.

No phone distractions.

Only warm, heavy, soft baby, breathing against my heart.

I cried a bit.

I processed some stuff.

I thought too much.

Then told myself to stop thinking.

Figure it out is not a slogan.

Then I just drifted in and out of quiet mediation until the baby woke up.

It was quite nice in the end.

The day went by fast and I had plenty on my hands, the baby, both the older kids, the cleaning ladies, cooking dinner, trying to figure out my phone, giving up on trying to figure out my phone, getting to my internship, and seeing the one client who didn’t cancel.

I wasn’t home until 9p.m. then on the chat line for a while, I had to remind myself to eat dinner and drink some water.

And I should pretty much go right to bed now.

But.

A cup of tea.

Just to unwind.

Just to pause and re-center.

It wasn’t a bad day, just different.

Just quiet.

Nothing wrong with quiet.

The Not A Date

May 29, 2017

Date.

I mean.

Fuck.

I thought it was a date.

But.

In the end it just seemed to be hanging out as friends.

Note to self.

Clarify.

44 fucking years old and still learning how to communicate.

Ah well.

I had a nice time going to the Summer of Love exhibit and my friend was a good friend, just not the experience I thought I was having.

I didn’t have expectations about it, in fact, when he’d asked me out I was surprised, but I had said yes, trying to keep my word, promising that I would date, I would try.

I am tired of trying.

I am tired of dating.

I don’t want to do it.

And yet.

Here I am trying.

Frustrated pacing the walls of my head, the walls of my room, and just trying each moment to be as honest and upfront as I can.

I can’t have what I want.

I get what I need.

Isn’t that the trope?

Learning, always this learning, this experiencing and I’m not mad or curious or, what resigned, resigned isn’t the right word either.

Acceptance tastes like it.

Humility, most likely that, a tasty snack, a tidbit of humility, mmmm, here, wait, have another helping.

I made my friend feel bad, well, take that back, I’m not that powerful, I can’t claim to be responsible for anyone’s feelings, but I was surprised at the laissez-faire approach to us hanging out together, which clued me into it not being a date.

I expected to be picked up at noon.

I was picked up at 1:45p.m.

UGH.

I have a life, I have things to do, I am important, don’t you know who I am, I don’t want to go on this date.

Oh.

Hahahahhaahahahahahaha.

Joke’s on you lady.

It’s not a date.

My brain.

Oh how it likes to tell me some stories.

I have another “date” tomorrow, but let me tell you, I bet it’s just to have coffee and go do the deal.

It’s not a date either.

Clarity.

I have to ask for clarity.

I have to know that I am beautiful and worthy, that my time is valuable, that I am worth making the attempt for.

I fucking deserve to be courted.

I mean.

That’s what I believe, but maybe that’s a fallacy too, an expectation that I am to be pursued in a certain way by a certain type of man, it just doesn’t seem, after many years of trying to figure this out, ahhaha, ugh, I have not done it any favors, my romantic state or lack there of.

I am still just bumble fucking along.

I get to change.

That’s the only thing I can do.

I can change.

Or not.

I mean.

What is wrong with my life?

Do I need to be in a romantic relationship?

Throat strangles with sadness writing last line, note to self, write about that tomorrow morning.

Fuck.

I wrote a lot this morning.

Eight pages?

Yes.

Eight.

Just wrote and wrote and wrote.

Had a nice breakfast, drank some good coffee, wrote, and waited for the date not date to show up.

And the thing that happened is that I got work done that I needed to do.

So.

A gift, the tardiness of another, my powerlessness over others and their actions held true.

What can I do, how can I use my time and not be mad, not be pissed at my friend who was just taking care of stuff that he had to do.

I set up my voicemail for my internship.

I activated my e-mail account.

I set up my phone line.

I read through the employee hand book.

I discovered I have to also pay to get liability insurance, another unknown out-of-pocket school cost, which makes sense, but was a cost I wasn’t expecting.

Anyway.

I’ll be getting a little bit of money back from the financial aid I applied for, most of it goes to paying for my practicum supervisor, but I’ll get a smidgen that will help with my out-of-pocket therapy costs and this insurance and whatever else comes up.

I still have secrets thoughts and desires about getting out-of-town sometime during the three weeks my family I nanny for will be traveling.

I have a $480 ticket voucher and if I hold steady with my expenditures I might be able to pull off a short vacation, four or five days, somewhere the airlines fly.

I had been thinking San Juan Puerto Rico as a friend does a lot of business there, but I’m not sure I can make Puerto Rico work, maybe.

I don’t know.

I do know I have to use the voucher by October.

I also don’t know when I will get the opportunity outside the three weeks in July.

I guess that’s what bothered me the most.

Having set time aside to go on a date, ok, not a date, I wanted it to go my way, on my schedule, so that I could do all the other things I was going to do, like I totally fucking skipped yoga to get ready.

Note to self.

Don’t do that.

Gratefully.

Tomorrow is a holiday and I’m not working and I will go to yoga in the morning and then to lunch with my person and dump my stupid emotional juju ass baggage about dating and being stupid and annoyed with myself and get it off my chest and then go on another date not date for coffee and laugh at myself.

LOUDLY.

Because I am funny and my little plans and designs get nowhere.

Show up, be of service, stop thinking about myself.

And life will be just fine.

It already is.

I have fucking luxury problems.

Dating is a total luxury problem, I am alive, sober, housed, clothed, fed.

In other words, totally fucking taken care of.

So what?

I have problems in areas I used to never have.

I am lucky.

I am graced.

I am happy, motherfucking free, and joyous.

Most of the time.

And when I am sad or in self-pity or whatever it is, I’m more important than you and your agenda and needs, I see that I am not in humility and gratitude and I can change.

I can awaken.

I can say.

How may I serve, how may I help.

And take the motherfucking focus off myself.

That usually does the trick.

So me and my luxury problems are going to have a nice fucking day tomorrow going to yoga, getting to go to lunch with one of my most loved humans in the entire world, coffee with a friend, a gathering of fellows, some get right with God, and that’s my day.

Or not.

I can’t make plans to save my life.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

I certainly don’t.

Obviously.

 

Carmen

March 5, 2017

That is an unusual name.

My driver said to me before dropping me off.

“Yes,” I replied, “I am lucky to have it.”

I am too.

I love my name and there are days I feel like I live up to it and there are days when it takes on its own persona, its own life and I’m a little like, hey, who the hell are you?

Sort of like my blog.

I am not all here, no, I’m not.

There are things I don’t write about and there are things I do write about.

Which is just how it is.

I have learned over the years of writing to keep the focus on me and I have a strong tendency to want to wrap up whatever I’m writing with something pithy, with some solution, with some sort of aha moment.

I had a sort of aha moment today where I just wanted to scoop my brain out of my head and throw it out into the rain.

I was struggling in yoga.

I just wasn’t feeling it, it was a substitute teacher and she had a different way of doing things, and different isn’t bad, though my head may try to tell me that it is, it’s just different, that’s all, and I can struggle getting someone else’s routine down.

I wasn’t doing a lot of compare and despair but I was a little and I felt sort of janky and jangly and out of my element and as I was lying in the final pose, corpse pose, yeah, that was definitely me after class today, dead, but alive, my brain hadn’t rested much, churning out the good time music and the chaos, I began to obsess about how I wasn’t doing enough yoga and that I had to figure out how to do more yoga.

All this while doing yoga.

BRAIN.

Please.

Can you stop.

Please.

You’re killing me smalls.

Seriously.

At least I was able to find the humor in it.

It was funny and so typical of what my head does, I had to laugh.

Especially when I shared it later today with my person.

We met at Tart to Tart, did some reading, I got a good check in, some suggestions and felt a lot better about my kookoo brain than I had before I walked in.

Then I met with another lady and felt better after that.

And I ended up skipping on getting my nails done and just headed home on the train.

Which was nice, facilitated having a phone call with a dear friend of mine that I have been out of touch with.

Which led to making plans to see said friend.

Super grateful for that.

And a slow day here at the house thereafter.

I did a tiny bit of grocery shopping at the co-op and did some preliminary scouting work on my mid-term paper that I have to write tomorrow for my Couples Therapy class.

But.

I was just not in a mood or place to do any homework.

I now what I have to do tomorrow and I’m going to get it done, but today, I just couldn’t muster the energy to do it.

My friend and I had talked about how lonely school can be and how hard it is to balance full-time work with full time school and full time recovery.

And it is.

It is a lot.

And I miss my friend.

And I miss socializing.

So when we talked I could see my calendar in my head and I double checked, and yes, there, a day where we can meet and hang out and catch up.

I also let myself off the hook to do anything super productive today, just to let myself have a chill day, especially after the trauma of going to the dentist last Saturday.

So.

I bought myself some flowers at the store and I did some art.

Just messed around with my colored pencils for a while, but it was nice, listening to jazz, John Coltrane, listening to the rain all outside, listening to the scratch of the pencil on the paper.

Soothing.

And when the time was time I ordered a car and headed out to 1100 Divisadero and hung out with an hour in a room with some fellows.

Then.

Yes.

I did it.

I fellowshipped.

I was uncomfortable, I always am at the beginning of it, then I got into it and I felt more connected and it was nice, I don’t always know how to act in social gatherings and I can still be really awkward, but I am working it out and better awkward with friends, burgeoning friends, than cozy and alone.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being alone.

But I can get alone too often.

And I need to be social, I am a social creature, I am a human with needs for connection.

I can just get in my way sometimes and get too caught up in trying to figure out when I can get to do more yoga.

Which is me trying to figure it out, trying to manipulate, trying to control and manage my life, which I have proven over and over and over to myself that I am not the best management team for myself.

Yet.

I still try.

My brain is a pushy little beast.

I have some great respect for that tenacity, but sometimes the tenaciousness of it is wearing.

And like I said, when I’m doing yoga while trying to figure out how to do more yoga I know that it is too meta for me and not in a good way.

I am in my will and when I’m there, well, I’m watching the horror show.

I got to practice changing the channel today and it was pretty damn good.

Reality.

It really is the best show in town.

Seriously.

 

Holy Shit

October 29, 2016

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.

And I was going to go to yoga in the morning.

But.

Um.

My blog had sex instead.

ER.

Hahahaha.

I mean I did.

Heh.

Just going to put that right out there on the front page.

With a lover who is a friend and well, hey, sometimes a girl needs a friend with benefits, it’s been a hell of a week.

I really will go to yoga again, I will, but I’m up late and don’t feel like not having a full nights sleep.

It seems nuts to actually get up earlier on the weekend to go to yoga then to just let myself sleep.

There was so much that happened this week and though I can’t speak to it all, an emotional toll was had.

Enough said.

Sometimes circumspection is the best thing.

Restraint of tongue and pen.

And blog.

I may actually go out tomorrow night.

What?!

There is a slight possibility that I may have a friend that can get me into Ghost Ship.

The last time I checked it was an $80 ticket.

And that was a few weeks ago, I’m sure that tier has sold out.

My friend was like, it’s late, but maybe.

I don’t really have plans otherwise.

I was invited to a party in Oakland.

But.

Um the bridge.

And BART.

And Halloween crazy in the city.

I’m not so sure about that.

I would rather stay on this side of the bridge.

Although if I had a ride over, I would go.

It’ll be a lot of folks I know and some faces I haven’t seen in a while since so many people I know got pushed out of the city to the East Bay.

That being said, I get a pass to Ghost Ship, I will be hitting that.

The Orb.

Dj Dan.

The Mutaytor.

Plus, I know some of the folks from Mutaytor.

It would be fun to see them at a show again.

The last time I saw them perform was Burning Man, years ago.

I actually danced on top of the stage scaffolding too, now that I recall.

Ha.

That was also the night I fought, and won, but that’s another blog, in Thunder Dome.

That must have been five years ago now.

They are a great group and I had a blast dancing.

And it’s been a hot second since I have gone dancing.

So yeah.

And despite not having a costume I’m sure I could whip one up pretty quick.

Two things fast come to mind, one I could be a pin-up girl, albeit one in Converse, although I love wearing my black suede peep toe Mary Jane’s that are 4 inches, I mean love those shoes, they are not the greatest for dancing.

I can actually wear them out for a long time, since they are a platform, but that’s just walking around or kicking it.

Actual dancing I’d rather do in my Converse.

I could go as a modern-day Frida Kahlo.

I was thinking that would actually be really easy to pull off.

I would wear my Big Mac painter bibs in navy stripe, which literally do have paint all over them, they’re vintage and the color is so close to International Orange, that I like to tell myself that they were bibs worn by one of the guys painting the bridge.

Then all I would have to do is braid up my hair, tie it up top my head and wear a bunch of flowers in my hair.

Pencil in my eyebrows and voila!

If I go, I think that would be what I do, especially since the bibs are super oversized and comfy as fuck and I could dance my ass off and there are big pockets and I could keep all my stuff on me–cash, id, lip gloss, phone, and not have to carry a bag or wallet or purse.

I could just lock every thing up in my scooter.

Pin up my braids, stick the flowers in my hair and done.

Yeah.

I am definitely down for Ghost Ship if my friend can get me a pass in.

Yup.

I just checked, the only tier of tickets left for tomorrow night is $85.

And since this lady just paid rent, I don’t think so.

That’s like groceries for a week.

But, yeah, if it’s free, I’m down.

Especially since the three acts I really would want to see are all playing the same stage–The Mutaytor first at 11:30, then The Orb, then Dj Dan.

Although by the time Dj Dan gets on I may call it quits, that’s a late ass night for me.

Anyway.

This is all complete speculation at this time.

I may just end up seeing my person, doing the deal at the place, and doing a bunch of reading for school.

I managed to get in some before work today and that made me happy.

Even a little is progress, even just a few minutes, nice digestible chunks of information.

No expectations about anything, anyone, or any plans.

I’m just going to let go and really let God plan out my weekend.

Whenever I make plans God laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs.

“Well you’re not as standoffish, I mean you still are, a little,” my lover said tonight, “I saw you, though, you didn’t bolt, you stayed and stuck around and talked to folks.”

“I’m trying,” I said.

“I know it’s not easy for you, this stuff is not your forte,” he added.

It used to be, but I um, had libations to lube the way.

I don’t have social lubricant like that any longer and though I can get down at a party or a group thing, my go to is lone wolf style.

But that makes for a lonely wolf.

“That’s the thing too, stop trying,” he added.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said and laughed, and then added, “how do I do that?”

“Relax, stop looking, and just see what happens,” he ended.

He’s right, most everybody is.

Let go.

Surrender.

Stop trying.

Have fun.

“Oh, and really, do you want to be in a relationship right now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “do you have the time?  I mean, maybe just wait until you’re done with your program.”

Wait another year and a half?

Fuck that.

Then I thought.

Whatever.

I really can’t figure it out, since figure it out is me trying to fix me and there’s no need to fix me because I ain’t broken, I give up.

Surrender.

That is where it’s at.

Now and always.

Seriously.

No expections.

Equals.

No resentments.

And I’m always down for that kind of party.

Always.

 

 

Can’t Figure It Out

October 25, 2016

Because there is nothing to figure out.

I know I have written about this before.

I just struck me hard today when I was doing some reading for school.

Yeah.

I know.

Take a break.

However.

I really wanted to get caught up on the reading that I didn’t have fully done from this past weekend; I have a couple of whopper big papers due the next round of classes and I want to have the reading done and organized in my head.

I got up early today.

Earlier than the last three days, four days, I’m a little lost as far as what day it is, they are all bleeding together.

All I know is that Friday will be an amazing thing to get to.

Next Saturday will be my first day off in two weeks.

Two weeks.

My employers asked me if I had a good weekend.

Sure.

I went to school for 29 hours after working a full week of work and then turned around to do a nine-hour shift today.

And it was a short shift.

It usually goes 9.5 hours on Mondays.

I had a great weekend!

Bwahahahaha.

No.

Really.

It was actually a lot of work, but it was so good to see some of the people in my cohort, I just have made some extraordinary friends there.

I have, I have.

And though I didn’t want to be at work, Mondays are my longest day, they are also, in some ways my most relaxed.

I only have one charge.

Her parents are gone the entire day.

And.

She naps.

Heavenly baby naps.

So I actually did do homework.

I wasn’t going to bring my Psychopathology books with me.

I really wasn’t.

I was going to give myself some down time.

But then I thought, you’ll be pissed when you get a fat baby nap and you don’t have some homework to kick through, it’ll feel like wasted time.

You know me.

I hate wasting time.

I need to learn how to though, I do know that.

Anyway.

I had a sweet, lovely morning with her, we danced, we read books, we went for a walk around the block on her little push tricycle.

It was adorable.

Then I put her down for naps, had lunch, made some tea and got into the reading.

I kicked through two chapters of Psychoanalytic Case Formulation.

Don’t be jealous.

Hella sexy read.

Then.

I started reading my Psychodynamic Psychiatry in Clinical Practice book.

I know.

I know you want to read them.

It’s ok.

You can borrow them when I’m done.

Heh.

I was struck as I sat on the couch fiddling around with my hair how I have changed so much and grown so much and then I was thinking about a condition that we were studying in class over the weekend.

Trichotillomania.

Huh.

Obsessive hair pulling.

Some people can’t stop pulling out their eyebrows or eyelashes.

Some can’t stop pulling out their hair.

I used to be a hair twirler.

I did not know that until my mom told me, years ago, that when I was little I would obsessively twist my hair until I gave myself bald spots.

I just about burst into tears.

I still do it on occasion.

And it’s a self-soothing response to stress.

It’s also extraordinarily indicative of trauma in the client’s history.

All the things I used to do to deal with the pain of being me.

Pulling out my hair.

Stopped that.

I don’t actually remember when I stopped, but I did.

I also know that during a very stressful point in my sobriety and recovery I was working with someone who pointed out to me that I was twirling my hair and he hadn’t seen me do that before and wondered out loud what that was about.

I didn’t know at the time, but I found it comforting and I will do it once in a while now.

I have noticed that I do it when I am reading for class.

I also notice a few other habits that I didn’t use to correlate to anything at all.

Like.

Oh.

Fuck, this is embarrassing, but whatever.

In the interest of science, er, I mean, my blog.

I used to exhibit pretty bad excoriation.

Excoriation (skin-picking) disorder.

I know.

REALLY SEXY.

I’ll stop soon.

I promise.

Maybe.

It has faded, but it was a slow fade.

I started with my mom doing it to me, she’d pick at my acne when I started going through adolescence, then I picked it up, I am surprised I don’t have acne scars.

I used to have pretty bad acne too.

Still get it on the odd day, but it’s pretty much gone, worked its way out of my system by the time I had two years of sobriety.

I had a horrible habit around it.

I would pick at my fingers too, bite my nails, peel off the cuticle around my nails, oh so many hang nails.

Also.

Yes.

A trauma survivor response.

So much fucking trauma.

And that’s when the reading hit home.

And made my chest tight and also, shit, fuck, motherfucker, holy mother of god, I finally figured it out.

Well.

Hahaha.

I figured out why I am always trying to figure it out.

I have had an inkling of it.

But it all just fell into my lap.

I was reading about trauma, shocker, I am going to be reading a lot about trauma and I need to remind myself that I also get to do a lot of sweet self-care for myself and although I recognize my resilience and it is extraordinary, there are still ways for me to be gentle.

I mean I have had some big time information come into my life regarding my family and family of origin in the last few weeks.

I have seen it ripple out into the world in odd and interesting ways.

Some sweet, some strange, some uncomfortable.

All sorts of information and wilding things falling out of the wood work.

Amazing.

Then.

As I sat reading, twirling my hair, scratching at the back of my neck, why is it so itchy?

I had a huge aha moment.

Oh my god.

The reading is re-traumatizing me.

Great.

Which is to be expected.

It’s just stirring stuff up from the bottom of the pot.

It’s all good though, I realized what was happening because I had read about the ways in which trauma can manifest itself psychodynamically.

Oh.

And all the other ways I have coped in the past popped into my head and that I have stopped doing them.

I stopped!

Do you have any clue how amazing that is?

I do.

I put down cocaine, alcohol, cigarettes, sugar, all forms of processed flour.

I no longer have stage four cystic acne, I don’t pull my hair out, and I don’t pick at my cuticles, I stopped biting my nails years ago and I have to say it is a small and beautiful gift to myself that I go and get them done.

I am proud of my nails.

My hair.

And of course, I have moments, trembling with the need to change and soothe and self-sabotage when I want to cut it all the fuck off.

I know that I won’t.

But it pops up.

All the things that pop up.

The last one, the one that I have been saving, since I figure I lost most of my readership a while back as this is not a sexy, sexy blog, is that “figuring it out” is a psychodynamic symptom of a child that has suffered severe trauma or sexual abuse.

Check.

Not to be tongue in cheek, but to move this along, I realized that I kept having this recurring pattern, all my life I have been trying to figure it out.

Breaking my own heart trying to figure it out, even when I was told again and again, “figure it out is not a slogan,” or good luck with that, or that there was no “figuring it out” to drop that.

That I have been standing banging my head on a wall for years and years trying to figure it out.

Because if I can figure out what is wrong with me, I can fix me.

I can fix what ever it is in me that didn’t know how to stop what was happening to me, that if I figure it out the same thing won’t happen to me again, I won’t get hurt, I have figured out what is wrong with me, why I destroyed so much and then I can get on with the getting on of life and be ok and like.

I don’t know, have a boyfriend or something.

Except.

That I didn’t do anything wrong.

I don’t have to fix something that I didn’t break.

It wasn’t broken because of me.

How can a four-year old be accountable to that?

Childlike, I blamed myself for my grandmother’s divorce, my mothers separation and subsequent divorce from my father, that I was the reason I was being abused.

I was the whistleblower.

But.

It was still my fault.

I brought the house of cards tumbling down.

Like all abused children I believed that there was something wrong with me, and in this believing I persevered with a hope, that if I could figure it out I could change it and the abuse would stop.

A four-year old cannot be held to that.

A four-year old doesn’t know how to cross the street without holding an adults hand.

“Come on baby, we’re running away from home, momma’s mean,” I said to my two-year old sister, taking her by the hand and walking out the door.

We walked around the block.

I had been told to never cross the street without holding an adults hand.

That’s how my mom found me, walking around in circles.

That is how I found me.

In this circular pattern of thinking for so fucking long.

I can’t fix me.

I was never broken.

I didn’t cause it, I can’t cure it, I can’t change it.

I can just accept it.

Which is not approval, by the way.

It was just what happened.

I can, however, be of service and take it in stride and let it go.

I can let my heart fill up with love.

I can say it stops here.

And something new grows forward.

Something amazing.

Me.

More and more fully myself.

I am so excited.

Seriously.

I know this seems implausible.

But I am relieved.

It finally landed.

I finally got it.

I can stop trying to figure it out.

The relief.

Well.

The relief is huge.

And I am blessed.

Graced.

Grateful.

And loved.

So very.

Very.

Loved.

 

Holy Shit

August 21, 2016

I’m packed.

I sort of want to throw up in my mouth.

It’s just stuff and things.

I told myself as I looked over the stack.

Three bins, one cooler, one tent, one camp chair, blankets, bedding, pillows.

It doesn’t sound like much.

But it makes enough of a stack that I am a little concerned about my playa ride share.

He’s got a VW Cabriolet.

He’s also picking up food for some of his camp mates plus whatever gear he has and of course water.

I keep envisioning the car already full and there’s no room for my stuff and I’ll have to leave something behind and what the fuck would that be since I have everything I need and want in those bins, clothes, crinolines, boots, tent stakes, work gloves, hammer, lantern, extra batteries, tights galore, bunny slippers, a leopard print coat for night time gamboling.

I need it all.

And I am also still on the look out for a person to bring it all back as well.

I have co-ordinated with the people who are gifting me the airplane ride home, pinch me, it’s still so surreal, and I’ll be meeting them at their camp on Wednesday of the event at noon.

So I’ll need to be all packed down and tidied up by eleven, giving me an hour to get across to them.

It shouldn’t be terribly difficult.

I’ll be camping at 5:40 and Guild with Anonymous Village.

More specifically I’ll be staying with the ladies of the Wolf Pack.

All my things will be staying there to be transported, by whom TBA, including my playa ride, which I will be loaning to a friend who’s going up with her fiancee–it’s his first burn and he doesn’t have a playa ride.

I got some lovely and sweet news today.

My ride will arrive on playa one week from today.

And.

The front fork has been fixed, my tires pumped up, pedals greased, chain greased, and, holy moly talk about service, my bicycle light batteries recharged.

I was just astounded.

Thank you Thumper!!

I have been so blessed with gifts this Burning Man and I haven’t even gotten out there yet, but it does feel like a miraculous thing, this getting out there.

I know I don’t have to worry about my stuff.

It’s all just stuff and things anyhow.

Yet.

I would be upset if it didn’t come home or it was mishandled, but ultimately as long as I get back safe and sound it doesn’t matter about the rest of it.

Sort of.

I would miss my hats and boots and utility belt, my new shoulder harness, my hair flowers and my make up box.

I would miss all my funny knee socks and silly tights.

But ultimately.

I would be ok if somethings went missing.

I repeat.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Ride to the event.

Early Arrival pass.

Fluffing shifts with Media Mecca.

Dusty Family reunion.

Ride home in a Cessna!

I got the low down on that too.

Aside from the meeting the crew, pilot and one other passenger, and getting to the camp by Wednesday noon.

I’ll meet them at their camp which is 7:30 and A at noon with me, myself, and I and one small carry on bag.

They will take me to the airport, load us up and the we fly to Reno, one hour pit stop for refueling and then back into the air, final destination San Carlos airport.

I didn’t even know there’s an airport in San Carlos.

A little secret.

I didn’t even know where the fuck San Carlos was until I googled it.

Heh.

I can BART and MUNI back to my place.

It’ll take about two hours via public transport.

Possibly more.

I may opt for a car.

Not sure yet and I certainly don’t need to figure it out right now.

The plane will be picking up someone in San Carlos and turning right back around.

They could be back in Black Rock City before I even get home!

I am still in shock that I am packed.

Heh.

I still have to re-pack to go back to Glenn Ellen on Monday.

I have been unpacking and repacking my rolling suitcase a lot for the last couple of weeks.

One more go and then I can put it back in the close for a little while.

Such a good little suitcase, it’s been a lot of places-Paris for six months, Rome for a weekend, London for a weekend, New York for two different weekends, Florida twice to see the moms, Anchorage, Alaska, Minneapolis, Madison a couple of times I think, LA, Chicago.

The little suit case that could.

And so many other short little jaunts here and there.

I’m wondering when it’s going to lose the back wheel, it’s starting to wobble a bit, and that will be the end of her, but until then I’ll be hauling it back out for the last week of work before I go to Burning Man.

All the packing.

Whew.

But.

I really am pretty much done.

Today I got the last few things I needed for playa and a couple of household things that I have needed and went around the Haight to peruse the vintage shops and the Burning Man supply stops and you know what I bought?

Post card stamps.

Heh.

I really don’t need anything and though I tried on a bunch of stuff, there really wasn’t a thing that I wanted.

Oh, I had ideas, but they were all thwarted and I realized as I was wandering the foggy street that it was really nice to know I’m prepared and prepped and my food is waiting patiently in my fridge all nice and frozen and really, all I have to do is the next action in front of me.

And it will all happen.

Right on time.

Like it always does.

OH!

The one thing do I need to do, note to self, PRINT OF MY EARLY ARRIVAL PASS.

There.

I will remember that now.

Thanks.

And.

Good night.

xo

 

 

Home Again

February 3, 2016

Home again.

Jiggedy jig.

Damn.

That was a fast, full day.

I don’t quite know how it is already 10:15 p.m. and I just got in a little while ago.

Feels like I just started.

Some days are like that, full, busy, no time to stop and think and ponder.

I just got up and did the day.

Which was fueled by 9 1/2 hours of sleep.

I do not usually sleep that much, but last night I had a whopper of a head ache.

Not a migraine, no, but a serious headache.

Actually, I can’t remember the last time I had a migraine, used to get them all the damn time, stress induced, primarily.

Horrid things.

I may have had one some time in this past year, but I don’t recall.

Anyway.

I was surprised to have the head ache last night, especially after I took some ibuprofen when I got home and it was still around.

I went to bed an hour earlier than I would have on the normal and slept the entire time.

Well.

I got up once to use the bathroom, when Nature calls, I have to answer that phone.

I slept all the way until my alarm went off.

I gave myself permission to stay put and to ease up on myself.

“Well, that’s what happens when we are processing a lot of emotional stuff,” she said to me on Saturday when I expressed that I had been sleeping more than usual.

Not a ton more.

But anywhere from a half hour to a full hour more some nights.

I’m not questioning it, it’s just what it is, and if I need to be sleeping more and can, since I am pretty caught up with my homework, then I am more than ok with it.

I haven’t heard back from my Applied Spirituality class as to whether or not my proposal is going to fly with the professor.

If I am a go for the proposal I am planning on hitting Flax before work either Thursday or Friday.

Get in an artist date before work, get some coloring books, pick up some more colored pencils, get some stickers.

I am also contemplating making Valentines Day cards for my cohort at school.

I think that would be a fun and sweet project to do.

Who doesn’t like getting a Valentine’s Day card?

The oldest boy has been working on his for days now with his folks.

He gets so excited about the wording and the exact message that must be expressed, I have seen him take a half hour to do one card.

They are pretty labor intensive.

I remember the first time I made Valentine’s Day cards for school mates.

4th grade.

Mrs. Begen’s class.

To this day, she might be my favorite teacher.

She was the woman who taught me the difference between they’re, their, and there.

She also helped me figure out desert versus dessert.

She had a reading program and that was where I realized I was such a good reader.

I read more books than anyone else in the class and every time I hit a certain mark or number for having read a book I got to pick up a free book from the library.

That’s how I discovered Anne of Green Gables.

Pivotal literature for me as a girl.

Mrs. Begen had us take a whole day and we decorated a paper sack with cut out shapes and hearts.

I remember how impressed she was with my little paper bag.

I had made a caterpillar from a bunch of little hearts all cut out and stuck to each other, antennae with little hearts on the ends and little, tiny, heart feet at the bottom.

I loved art class in school until I discovered I wasn’t as good as I thought.

I wish I had allowed myself the joy of art class a little longer.

I did actually go back to it as a senior in high school and I took an art class in undergraduate when I was trying to figure out if I wanted to pursue photography as a medium and possible career.

That didn’t happen.

And that art class was one of the hardest classes I ever took as an undergraduate.

I also remember that my first assignment I got a C- and I was infuriated.

I don’t know how I did it, although I remember spending a lot of time on all the projects thereafter, but I managed to get an A in the class.

It was an experience.

I digress.

Paul Ripp!

That’s where I was going.

My first little classroom boy crush.

Paul Ripp.

Tall, white, hazel/gold eyes, brown shaggy hair, big smile.

I was pretty crushed out and he was the recipient of my first secret admirer Valentines Day card.

I suspect that Tammy told him it was me.

He was always sweet to me but not available.

It wasn’t until high school, sophomore year, that I did another secret admirer Valentines Day.

This time it was carnations.

Red ones.

To Henry Hall.

Later I found out Henry knew it was me.

Of course he did.

We actually became good friends, still are, although I don’t have a lot of contact with him and there’s good reasons for that, unrequited love fantasies die hard, but they do die.

Thank God.

Henry kept a letter I had snuck into his locker the next year, junior year, of school, in the fall, wherein I declared I was in love with him.

I saw it once in his wallet, he pulled it out and showed it to me.

Years later, drunk, at The Angelic Brewing Company.

He told me he was in love with me too.

Although that wording was never bantered back about, having been said in an apparent black out.

We were toasted that night, I do remember that.

I also remember that it was the beginning of the end for the five year relationship I was in.

I knew that I never felt the kinds of feelings for my partner that I felt for Henry and it was wrong to deny it and despite believing, knowing, really, that we would never get together, I also knew I had to leave my ex.

I did a few weeks later and that is another story for another blog another time.

Valentines Day.

Hearts and love and candy and wildly inappropriate expectations about needing other people to fulfill my love needs.

I saw a card the other day and I laughed out loud when I read it.

“Buy your own damn flowers.”

I had just done that.

A good reminder.

Be my own damn Valentine.

I got the dress!

That’s for sure.

Anyway.

It was a day.

And now.

The day is done.

I am grateful for it all.

All the experiences, heart aches, adventures, Valentines, the kisses, the missed opportunities, the ill timed, star crossed love, it all smacks of God and when I move through I move closer to what I am supposed to be and whom I am supposed to be with.

I don’t need to figure it out.

Figure it out is not a slogan.

I just need to take care of myself.

Do my recovery.

And the rest will follow.

Valentine or no Valentine.

God’s got me covered.

I’m Sexy

March 6, 2015

I’m not stupid.

I know I’m sexy.

I said this out loud to a group of fellows and outed myself as a self-confessed fraud.

Half the time I walk around wanting to embrace every sexy curve of my body and the other half I’m like, I’m too sexy, too over the top, too much, I have to tone it down.

I know there’s a balance and I want to be everything that I have been given, but I struggle with it, I am still wondering, what the fuck do I do, what do I have to do to get asked on a date.

I got another soft turn down.

Which, FYI, dude, too much explanation.

I don’t care what your reasons are.

Who cares?

I don’t.

In fact, I respect the “no response” response.

It’s a no.

When you say I want to take you out for dinner and then you don’t ever get back to the woman, she, I sort of figured out there’s not that much interest there.

I had forgotten, pretty much, when I got a long-winded text yesterday about how the person is this that and the other, dude, I repeat, I don’t care.

I don’t need the explanation.

I suppose when it comes right down to it, I don’t ever need an explanation.

I am getting exactly what I am supposed to be working on every day and when I get caught up in why aren’t I dating more, I’m focusing on the external.

I’m doing the compare and despair.

But.

There really is a very curious woman inside me wondering what I could be doing different.

I’m not looking to self-improve.

I have tons of self-acceptance.

I love myself.

I take good care of myself.

I’m pretty damn good company.

So like, what the fuck God, can you break a girl off?

I’m confused and I don’t care for confusion.

I don’t know what actions to take any longer.

Stay online.

Quit online.

Ask a guy out.

Not ask a guy out.

It’s all too much.

I’m tired of the struggle.

It’s a pain in the ass.

I suppose it’s just my brain looking for something to obsess on aside from my taxes, whether or not I am going to get a return after the identity confirmation thing (which apparently takes six weeks to process? What is that? I’m me, I swear), and graduate school.

I have not heard yet whether or not I am in.

And that pisses me off.

Come on.

I got things to do and plans to make and well, geez you guys said it would be less than a week, so does that mean I didn’t get in?

Yeah.

I’d rather obsess about why I’m single than that one.

If I don’t get into the program I’m not sure where to turn my attention next.

I know that rejection is God’s protection, I know that hands down, so Mister Text me long unnecessary texts, it’s cool, we weren’t a great match anyhow, I’m not upset by the rejection.

Not at all, not one bit.

I am a little frustrated with God and I yelled at him, for lack of a better gender I don’t really think God is a man, it’s just short hand for the higher power I work with—I grew up with a patriarchal idea of God as the Father, so what ever, it works—as I was riding my bicycle home through the park.

“What do you want me to do?!”

I might have been that crazy person you see on the bus, but I was on my bike.

Sometimes, most times, I pray out loud, they are just conversations with God and usually they are little prayers of gratitude.

Thank you God for not having me drink today.

Thank you God for not having me use today.

Thank you God for this beautiful body you have given me to walk around in.

Thank you God for not having me smoke yet today.

Thank you God for not having me be homeless yet today.

Thank you for the trees in the park, the smell of clover in Kezar Triangle as I ride to work, for the smell of blooming jasmine, for magnolia blossoms, for the full moon in the sky, for the honking of geese two days in a row as I ride my bicycle up Lincoln Avenue to work, thank you for my awesome, amazing, wonderful life.

Thank you.

I mean I do that all day long.

But tonight, grateful though I am, I did have some words with God.

What the fuck?

What do you want me to do?

I’ve been working my ass off, what else should I be doing?

I’m tired of figuring it out, you figure it out, what can I do to best be of service to the man you want me to be with?

How do I move toward that man?

Give me some signs!

Ugh.

I mean, really, it’s fucking laughable.

It’s just life and there’s nothing wrong.

I just realized that I really liked having a boyfriend.

It was fun.

Until it wasn’t.

And I want to try it again.

I have a full and wonderful life.

Being in a relationship is not going to make my life better; it’s just going to make my life different.

Change.

I know it’s always happening.

But sometimes it just seems like it’s not at all.

And I’m stuck again in this space of being in the hallway, and damn it man, sometimes that hall way is fucking long.

Anyway.

I do have a great weekend coming up.

Plans to go to the East Bay and see some lovely ladies and do some celebration of life and I don’t need to be coupled up for that to happen.

I will get dressed up though.

And be sexy for myself.

That’s the person, ultimately I have to seduce and love.

I’m sexy for me.

And I know it.

You Can Have Easy Does It

July 9, 2014

Or.

You can have easy does it, the hard way.

I have had a few friends admonish me, in sweet, loving ways, to go slow and ease back into work and to really let myself be ok with just hanging out at the house and be relaxed with the boys.

Of course I said, yes, I hear you.

And of course I will.

Then I get to work and all I want to do is leave.

The house where my primary nanny share is at is under construction, a big huge project that will be amazing once finished, but is no where near yet, in which the attic is being ripped out and replaced with a great big floor plan.

There are sky lights and a new dormer window and it’s going to be awesome, but right now it’s just awesome loud.

And despite the workers all being rather sweet and super affectionate with the boys, how could they not, they are the boys, it’s a hard juggling act at times.

One which would be a challenge without being hobbled by my ankle.

The front door is constantly opening and closing and today, I don’t know why, but my phone was ringing off the hook, I got more calls than I think I get in a week.

My texts were coming in fast and furious from a number of sources, three parental, thus from my three families, and a grouping of others that I was trying to schedule.

Friends checking in.

Just a cacophony of things happening.

A bed being delivered.

And two little boys.

I had to get them out of the house.

Had to.

Except.

WELL FUCK.

The double stroller got stuck between two parked vehicles in the garage and I could not get it out, I mean now way, no how.

Maybe if I had not the hobbled ankle I could have brought it up the back steps through the garage, out the back yard, up the steps to the kitchen and then through the house and out the front door and down the steps to the side-walk.

But uh.

No.

I found myself in tears trying to figure out how to manipulate the situation.

And there was no way around it.

None.

I did manage to get out.

I just had one of the boys walk and I had the other ride in the solo seated stroller that I could just barely squeeze out the garage door.

I was forced to slow down.

I was forced to not go too far.

There is only a certain distance two-year old legs can go before they are tired and need to stop.  We made many little pit stops on the way to the park in the Pan Handle–Kids Kingdom–had little snack breaks and sang songs and walked really, really, really slow.

We looked both ways when crossing the street, waving cars on by, as I still am not that perambulatory, although I noticed I feel better getting about today by a great deal more than I did yesterday.

I did have the thought, on the way back, when I was feeling the ankle’s presence a little more and starting to fret about how I was going to manage nap time at the noisy house (when I have the double stroller available I can have the boys nap out in it and figured that was what I was going to do with all the construction noise at the house–air compressors, nail guns, saws, hammering, you name it) that I was going to need to go into another career soon.

I recalled when I had returned from my hiatus at Absinthe where I waited tables oh, about nine years ago, and I was not fully recuperated, but had been cleared for work and upon return was in the galley folding linen napkins and caressing my still quite sore back and thinking, I just can’t do this any longer.

I just can’t.

It’s too hard on my body, I have been in the service industry for too long (age 13-33), and I did not want to be serving alcohol any longer, having gotten sober just a few months prior.

I started working there with 19 days sober.

At a restaurant called Absinthe of all things.

It was actually a really great job and I did well, I am a people person, and I was a great server and I did well in all aspects of the service industry when I was present to do my job.

But I was done.

That day in the lower kitchen folding the crisp, thick napkins, I was just done.

I remember praying hard and after my shift happened to see I had a message on my phone which I had not noticed prior to starting, but it must have been there.

It was a message for an interview with San Francisco Veterinary Specialists.

I had applied months back and never got a call back.

And then, that day, when I said, no more of this, I got the call.

I got the job too.

Though it in the end, turned out to not be the call for me.

But it got me out of the service industry and I have not gone back to it.

The thought was similar to that experience as I was walking up Cole Street to get to the house, navigate back through the construction, make the boys lunch, eat something myself, and figure out naps.

I am done with this?

Can I keep going on?

What am I doing with my life?

Ugh.

I can’t figure that out, not now, not ever, this is just what I am doing now and just do the next thing in front of you.

I took small little actions and got the boys lunch and myself lunch and made tea and kept them both up about a half hour past nap time.

Then I snuggled them into the double stroller and pushed it back and forth in place while they settled down and voila!

Nap time happened.

They slept through it all!

The sawing, hammering, air compressor noise, the up and down of the workers on the stairs, all of it.

The youngest slept his typical shorter nap, but it was still an hour and ten minutes and the oldest boy slept for three hours and fifteen minutes!

I made tea, elevated my ankle, returned texts and phone calls, talked to my mom who just had a knee replacement done this morning and forgot about trying to figure out a new career to move into.

I was just grateful to be at work.

Period.

I will take this feeling with me tomorrow and though I will try to make sure that I have access to the double stroller, I won’t try to force anything.

When change happens for me, it can be natural, organic, and right.

I don’t have to force a solution.

I don’t have to figure it out.

Figure it out is not a slogan that has ever worked for me.

Easy does it is.


%d bloggers like this: