I’m Not Dead Yet

I’m still here.

Still hanging on by the skin of my teeth.

It’s been a tough, long few weeks, so much school work.

So much.

I really even shouldn’t be here.

But.

I am and there’s that and I don’t have much capacity to do much more homework today, so I’m letting myself off the hook and enjoying blogging because I like blogging and it’s hella nice to not think about homework.

I think about it all day long.

ALL DAY.

I know it’s just part of the territory.

I thought a bit about the trials and tribulations of graduate school, of getting my PhD, of how long it takes and how much work it is.

I thought.

Why the fuck am I doing this?

And.

I can’t stop now.

I mean.

I know why I’m doing this and everyone I talk to is onboard with what I’m working on, it’s just, well, fuck, it’s so much work.

I wondered yesterday what it would be to just, just, work a full time job.

How novel would that be?

Pretty fucking novel.

I am not there yet.

And it feels like it’s a little further away than I would like, but I know at some point I will get there.

I will finish my PhD.

I will just be a therapist.

I will not nanny any longer.

The nannying is sweet and challenging right now.

The big kids really miss me and it’s been hard on them, this transition of not seeing as much of me as they used to.

I miss them too.

I had a huge cuddle session with the oldest boy today when he got home from school, he’s nine and just a pie.

I love all of them in all their different ways.

Each one I love the best.

Each one is my favorite.

Each one is special.

And I’m also so ready to not be nannying any more.

I don’t want to be cleaning someone’s house in my down time, or getting another’s dry cleaning or taking out someone else’s trash or folding some one else’s laundry.

I just want to do that for myself.

Sometimes I don’t really mind, it’s a bit meditative to sweep the floor or wash the dishes, or put away laundry.

Most times I don’t mind at all.

But I am ready to transition out.

It’s been thirteen years.

It’s time for something new.

I don’t know when it’s going to be and I had some high hopes that it would be by my birthday in December.

I will fly out to Paris on December 17th and a big part of me was hoping I would be able to fly off to France being done with the family.

I’m not so sure now.

Yes.

I did start with a new client this week.

And I had a client move, two other clients transition to twice a month, and another tell me they are moving next month.

Ugh.

I need to go in the opposite way and bring in more clients.

Add to that a lot of cancellations this week and the next and I am questioning whether I will have enough set aside to make that leap in December and then go off on a ten day vacation.

I know it will all work out and I know the nannying will end in due time.

I realized this week that I may just have to hold that end date gently and if I have to work a little longer as a nanny it’s ok.

I also recognize that I cannot predict when I get clients.

It has been slowly building and I am sure it will continue to build.

I have been handing out business cards and talking to people and I’m sure I can take some other actions too, but I truly don’t know what actions lead to what results.

That being said.

I did take some actions to make sure that I am taking care of myself.

Yesterday I got a massage for the first time in two years.

There’s a small place up the road from me on Balboa Street and it’s spare and bare bones, but the table was heated and it was women’s day and I got $5 off and the massage only cost $50!

I tipped $10 and was quite happy with my one hour Shiatsu massage.

I want to do that about once a month.

I hold a lot of trauma in my private practice and I don’t want to carry around other people’s trauma, I have enough of my own thanks, I don’t need to hold vicarious trauma along with it.

So massages are good and so is exercise.

And.

Finally.

Finally.

I pulled the trigger and signed up for the local yoga studio Purusha

They are running an unlimited monthly student special for $90.

That’s a pretty fucking good deal for San Francisco studios.

I had a really nice conversation with the woman at the front desk and talked about being a therapist and a PhD student and the need to get the anxiety out of my body.

And.

That I haven’t done yoga in like a year and a half and that I feel super rusty and nervous.

I found a good class to ease back into and I start tomorrow.

I have mornings off from nannying on Wednesdays and Fridays, so I figure two days a week to start, really aiming for three to four once I’m back into the flow.

I also tell myself, don’t try to figure out your calendar quite yet.

Just show up each day you can.

So tomorrow I will get up early instead of sleeping in and go to yoga before I have supervision.

Then homework and clients in the evening.

I have had anxiety about getting something else to fit in my schedule, but I realized yesterday as I was getting the massage, the only way to maintain what I am doing is to do really extensive self-care and exercising has not been a priority.

I feel like it is now.

And all I have to do is get up, put on my yoga clothes and show up.

Showing up is 3/4s of the battle anyway.

Keep showing up for my homework.

Keep showing up for my clients.

Keep showing up for my cohort.

Keep showing up for my nanny family.

But most importantly.

Keep showing up for myself with as much love and kindness as I can muster.

I’m pretty sure I can do that.

Last Night’s Blog

Site Down*

My WordPress site has been down all day.

I don’t know exactly why, but I can’t post a new blog and I’m a little frustrated with it.

They upgrade and change things far more frequently than I like but since it’s a free hosting service, I suppose I’ll let them off.

I mean.

I could pay for a domain and I could upgrade to a “better” blog within the site too, but the fact is I’m fine not paying for anything at the moment.

I just had a big calming talk with my financial insecurity fear and myself.

I wrote a check for my health insurance payment and I start therapy tomorrow.

And I am seeing my money dwindle fast.

It felt a little scary.

Hey, rent is due soon too.

But.

I have enough.

I am enough, I have enough, God didn’t bring me this far to drop me on my ass, and I will be taken care of.

The money is there, I told myself.

And yes, the therapy is not something I wish I was paying for at the moment, but I need to do it for school and I need to do it for myself and well, I tell myself, I am worth the money.

So off to therapy I will go tomorrow and I will live one week at a time and one week at a time I will let go of a little money to get me further along on the path that leads to my goal.

Today I fantasized what it would look like if I won the lottery.

Not a big whopping lottery, but you know, say 4 million.

The amount of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts raffle.

Which is also known as the San Francisco Dream House raffle.

The proceeds benefit the arts community, specifically the Yerba Buena Center that is downtown across from the MOMA.

I have always loved their space and every year I see that raffle come up for the dream house and I find myself fantasizing about what it would look like if I won.

You either get your choice of a house, the one on raffle is up in Twin Peaks, or you get the cash prize.

This year it is $4 million.

What I would do with $4 million.

Pay off my student loans and pay for the PhD track through my school.

Buy a house.

Yes, I would, I don’t want the one up in Twin Peaks and I could still buy a house and have money left over, pay off the student loans, get more schooling.

I wouldn’t quit school.

But I would sure as shit quit work.

I’d just go to school and go to yoga and I would buy myself a new cello, go to the Luthier on Divisadero Street that the San Francisco Symphony goes to, and I would take lessons.

I would buy myself a brand new Jeep Wrangler Sport in Midnight Blue.

I might get a trailer for Burning Man.

I would probably get a trailer for Burning Man, who am I kidding, I would definitely do that.

I wouldn’t bat an eye at going to therapy once a week, heck I might go twice for a little while just to see how that feels.

I would travel.

Natch.

Venice, Barcelona, Madrid, Mallorca, Greece, Ibiza, Hawaii.

Paris, of course.

Did I mention I would pay off my student loans?

Yeah.

It’s fun to daydream a little bit.

And I did have to give myself a gentle little pep talk when I was writing out my health insurance payment for the next three months, remember, you get money from your employers, you’ll be ok, for health insurance, remember you’re going to work this weekend to help them out, you’ll make extra money this week.

I’ll be ok.

I am going to be working and schooling a lot for the next few weeks.

But.

One wonderful thing I discovered.

I was wrong about when the kids are on Spring Break!

I thought it was this week and it’s not.

In fact, it’s not for another two weeks and the family is going to be out-of-town for a long weekend, so April 10^th and 11^th, the Monday and Tuesday after my next weekend of classes, I will have off.

Which is good as I’m looking at working three weeks in a row straight.

I am going to need a couple of days off.

I was so grateful to find that information out today.

It took such a big amount of stress off my shoulders.

Plus, I had thought I wasn’t going to have any down time this week to finish up my school reading, if the kids are off on Spring Break I have to be engaged, I can’t just pick up one of my therapy books and read.

But.

They are not on break and I will have breaks all this week at the house for quiet and reading.

I didn’t today, but I wasn’t expecting to, so when I found out I will have the next weeks to do homework during the day while the kids are at school and I’m on my lunch break, well, that’s huge for me.

There was reprieve in my body today and in my being and I appreciated so much having it.

And I got to have some good baby snuggles today and the biggest smiles, he’s starting to smile and it’s just so good.

Warm baby snuggles, sunshine forecast for the next week and a half, long lunch breaks I can read homework during, autonomy at work, my health insurance is paid and I start therapy tomorrow.

It’s all good.

And.

The money will be there when I need it.

It alwasy is.

Seriously.

 

*This post was written on Monday, March 27th.

Nerves And Rain

Great combination.

I am so not looking forward to starting the new job tomorrow.

I mean.

I am.

It’s going to be great, I really like the family, the contract looks great, I’m happy to be of service and I know I will be needed, and well, being needed is nice.

But.

Ugh.

The commute is not going to be pretty.

It’s about six miles away.

Oh.

I know, I need to shut up, but it’s six miles up and down a lot of hills and I can’t quite figure out the best route.

I have mapped it a number of times and I have also gone to the house once, it’s just a bit locationally challenged.

The most direct route is going to take me up and over the middle of some really big hills and it’s supposed to rain.

For the next two fucking weeks.

I don’t know when that shit happened.

I’ve been randomly paying attention to the upcoming weather in preparation and yes, there was rain in the forecast a few times, one day on Monday and then it switched, to Tuesday.

The last time I checked, Tuesday, some rain, but the rest of the week sunny, cold, yes, but no rain.

Then this morning.

I looked.

And.

Fuck me.

Rain.

Two weeks solid not a single day with a break.

I am chilled just thinking about it and I am not over this stupid cold.

I know that dancing and going out last night pushed it a little bit, but I just wanted to be out in the world.

I skipped yoga today, took it really easy, went and did the deal for an hour and did some grocery shopping.

One load of laundry and some house cleaning.

I didn’t make it a big day.

Of course, I also did not get a full nights sleep.

Which truth be told, I’m not horribly upset about.

It will help me fall asleep tonight.

I’m back to working 9a.m.-5p.m.

At least that’s my start hours for this week.

I’ll be flexible with the family, but it does appear that I will go back to working a more typical work week.

What’s nice about that as well is that it will mesh nicely with my school schedule.

When I’m in classes I start at 9 a.m. and end at 8p.m.

So at least the two will sync up a lot better than the last three semester’s have for me when I was working 1 p.m. to 8 p.m.

Morning is going to come sooner and I will be going to bed much, much earlier than I have in some time.

I’m good with this.

I know it will take a little getting used to, but I think, it will be nice to have a more regular schedule.

Shit.

Ha.

It sounds like it started raining right now.

Fuck.

It’s raining.

It was clear an hour ago, I mean, no clouds.

Ugh.

I have done a few things.

I have my lunch and dinner packed, I’ve got coffee ready, I’ve got my nanny shoes in my basket liner bag (I have a pair of Mary Jane clogs that I call my nanny shoes, that I typically leave at the home of my employers so that I can have clean shoes in their house) I have a plan of action.

I set my alarm a little earlier than I will typically.

I am going to ride in the rain.

The one thing I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do, but it seems like that’s what’s on the table.

I could order a car.

I suppose.

Public transportation is out of the question.

According to maps it will take a half hour for me to get from here to there on my scooter.

Add in some rain and morning rush commute and I’m giving myself 45 minutes.

I doubt very much that it will take that long, but I would so much rather give myself the padding of a few extra minutes than to be late.

Especially on my first day.

Gah.

Maybe I bite it on the financial end and take cars this week.

MUNI will get me there, but it will take anywhere from an hour and a half to an hour 45 on the trains.

I am just so not willing to let go three hours of my day to commuting.

No.

I’m really on the fence.

Cold and wet and slippery riding.

Or.

Dry and safe and cozy, but expensive over the course of the week.

Grr.

I could afford it.

I just have other things I would rather spend my money on.

Then again, being safe is nice.

It really is.

Maybe I take a car to work and bite it on the train coming home.

I have a little bit of padding between work and doing the deal.

That’s the other thing that I am trying to figure out, even though I know that figuring it out might drive me bats and I would much prefer to not go bats my first week on the new job.

Where I’m going to do the deal and how am I going to fit yoga into the schedule.

I have tomorrow figured out.

If there wasn’t the rain I’d be smashing.

Work 9-5.

Do the deal 6-7.

Hit yoga 7:45-9pm.

Blog.

Fall out.

Repeat Tuesday and Wednesday.

Thursday I meet with my person at 5:15pm. and do the deal at 6:30p.m.

Which negates yoga.

Friday there’s not a class that fits no matter how much I would want to.

But.

I can keep my regular classes on the weekends.

So foreseeable, except when I am in class, I could get to the studio pretty conscientiously with the job.

Bollocks.

This is me trying to figure it out.

And really what I know is that this is me trying to manage my life so that I feel safe.

I’m scared.

It’s a new job.

My old job had its issues, but at least I knew what they were.

And I really do believe that the new job is a better fit, I do.

I’m just nervous.

Not knowing makes me nervous.

Change is good, I know this change is good, I’m just scared because I can’t see what it will look like and I want to be emotionally safe.

And I question myself riding my scooter when it’s raining and I’m nervous about my first day on the job.

Perhaps I shall just take a car.

Give myself the extra time in the morning and bring an umbrella and take the train home.

These are luxury problems, I remind myself.

My old go to is to say I don’t have the money, no, no, no.

But I will get a financial aid disbursement this month from school and I will be ok.

And this new job will be a few more hours and a little more money and I’m going to be doing my taxes early like I do.

I’m going to be fine.

I can afford a car.

I will take a car in the morning if it looks bad.

If it doesn’t, I will ride.

And whatever the weather, I’m going to be fine.

Hey!

I’m starting a new, awesome, good job tomorrow, I like the family, a lot, and there’s going to be a brand new baby.

Like literally, brand new.

This experience is a gift.

I know it.

I will get through the fear and the butterflies and just show up and be myself.

I’m always good enough.

Always.

I will be good enough tomorrow.

I swear it.

That Uncomfortable Feeling

When a stranger walks into your house.

I was like what the fuck?

Is there actually someone coming into my room?

Ah.

The housemate has a guest.

Apparently a nosey guest.

Not exactly how I wanted to find out.

None the less, pretty much the cap on a long strange day.

I got up early to go to work early to let in the housekeeper, the family is away, but there was still plenty on the list for me to do.

Granted.

It’s a lot easier to get shit done when the family is away.

It’s just hella odd.

I realized as I was changing the bedding in the boys rooms, that I have never done house work for a family when they weren’t there.

Either they were there and I was nannying.

Or they were not there, as in vacationing or out of town and I was not there.

It’s a different dynamic and sometimes I find myself taking it for granted and sometimes, well, it’s just fucking weird.

Today it felt weird.

Then again.

Everything feels a little helter skelter right now.

There is a lot happening.

Mostly in my brain.

My brain is a hotbed of activity right now, it won’t turn off.

I also had odd pockets of time today, that did not help, then again, I suppose they did not hinder either.

I found myself having coffee “on the clock” at Ritual while the laundry was working there was not really anything for me to do until it was finished, so I grabbed a coffee at the cafe and worked on my spending plan for August.

Meaning.

I worked on not being in financial insecurity.

I mean.

There’s fear.

There’s always fear.

And I always walk through it.

Sometimes gracefully, sometimes haltingly and stumbling along like a fucking idiot.

But.

I have never been dropped.

And I won’t now.

And I have the money to do that thing in the desert, even though it’s cost a lot more than I have ever spent on it.

I keep telling myself.

I get to go.

I get to go.

I get to go.

And I get to go a little early so I will actually have four and a half days on playa.

Things are falling together as well.

They are.

I have my tent, my camp chair, I got my old quilt from a girlfriend who had it for a while and whom I haven’t seen in so long, it’s rather stupid.

I have my tent.

I am going to give it a shot at getting set up either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Maybe Thursday.

Oh.

Fuck.

I’m nattering on.

I’m nervous about a lunch date I have tomorrow.

I literally had the thought today that I don’t have the right shoes.

Who is this person?

Fuck.

This guy has seen me around.

For a long time.

Like eleven and a half fucking years, the man knows I wear Converse.

Ack.

My brain, on fire.

Put it out.

I don’t have the right clothes either, fyi, that’s already been decided.

Thanks for sharing brain, really.

I have no idea where we’re going for lunch, but I live in the Outer Sunset, it’s not like we going to some fine dining gig on a Tuesday at noon.

Not that I think we’re going to Mickey D’s either.

I have been on a few dates with said gentleman, a few years ago, before I moved to Paris, and the odds are actually not that unusual that he would take me to a nice place.

He’s got good taste.

Chez Spencer before it burned down.

Flour and Water.

Which he was a little abashed to bring me to when he found out I don’t eat flour (or sugar).

I joked it wasn’t like he took me to Vodka and Cocaine.

Heh.

Oh.

Yes.

Also, La Ciccia, which was fantastic.

Plum in Oakland.

Anyway.

So it may be a fancier place, but it doesn’t matter.

I mean.

My brain will try to make it like it does matter.

But really.

All I’m thinking about is.

What will go with the cute sandals I got in New Orleans?

And.

Will he kiss me?

Or is this just a let’s catch up and see how the other person is doing?

But um, Facecrack says he’s single and I’m single and we’ve kissed before and.

Jesus fuck.

I am blushing.

That can stop.

I’ll probably get up and go to yoga so I can calm the fuck down.

Expectations lead to resentment.

I have no expectations.

Yes, some nerves, but really, that’s just that good old mind fuck that says I’m not enough and don’t have the right hair, I mean, um, it’s pink, heh, or the right shoes, I do love my Converse, or the right clothes, I have scads of cute dresses, I just have this idiotic idea that I have to look a certain way for a certain type of guy.

I have too many tattoos.

Actually I have just enough.

Well.

I could use another, who am I fooling?

Really in the end, there is nothing wrong.

I’m excited.

I want to look pretty.

And it will be good to catch up.

I am curious to see what his intentions are though.

I won’t lie.

But regardless, I can comport myself with some decorum.

Unless I’m laughing, then all decorum bets off.

Or.

Well.

I’m just not going to pursue that line of thought.

All the other dates I thought might coalesce this week have not confirmed.

I’m going where the water is warm.

Or.

At least interested.

Or.

Just letting me know there’s a date.

The date got confirmed.

That’s a start.

I’m going to have fun.

I am going to dress how I like to dress.

For me.

Wear my hair the way I like it.

Sing my song of myself.

It’s a good song.

Sexy like.

I get to go on a date.

Fun.

This is fun!

Duh.

I get to do this.

Nerves or not.

I’ll look cute and have an adventure.

Promise to tell  you all about it.

Well.

Maybe.

Heh.

Side Bar

Do your spending plan, Martines!

Aha.

I realized today that while I was worrying, needlessly, there is no need to worry, because it all works out in the end and I have the ticket, I’ll be buying it this week and I have the time off from work, that I don’t also need to worry about money.

It’s stupid.

When I think about how I went to Burning Man my first time, well, yeesh, I have so much more for me than I did then.

First, I’m employed.

I was on disability at the time.

Nothing says good times like getting diagnosed with PTSD, clinical anxiety and clinical depression and then being told I was classic ACA and here’s some meds and whew boy howdy, you should be in therapy, and yeah, we think, maybe take some time off from work and like practice not wanting to kill yourself.

That was a shock.

I mean.

I was so overwhelmed at that point in my recovery, I had no idea that I had so much going on, but once I had been sober about a year and a half, or there about, it all sort of floated up to the surface.

I’m forever grateful it did.

I have done so much work.

So much.

And I have no regrets, not about my past or my present or my future for that matter.

So to worry now seems like a waste of my time.

As I told a woman I’m working with, hey if you got to obsess, obsess about Burning Man.

I mean.

I got over the anxiety really quick when I realized that it always comes together, it always falls into place, I never quite know how, I just keep taking some actions and things happen.

I also bought a parasol today.

So at least that’s out of the way.

Ha.

I also spent a lot of time looking at tents on line and thinking, you know, maybe this is the year I actually dial in a good tent for myself.

I have borrowed tents, I have stayed in trailers for work, I have had crappy used tents that I bought at side walk sale on Valencia street before it was the Valencia Street it is now.

What would it be like if I got something decent?

And buy my own air mattress.

Actually, I had an air mattress but loaned it to a friend one of the years I was working and staying in a trailer and she killed it out on the playa.

That’s what the playa does.

It destroys your stuff.

Which is why I also am loathe to ask for a loaner tent from friends.

I have plenty of friends who camp, but there is just no way to get the dust off your stuff once the dust has hit.

It doesn’t come off.

I looked at bell tents.

I looked at teepees.

I glanced briefly at a yurt.

Briefly.

No yurt for me.

So.

After too much time and nattering around I realized that what I really needed to do was look at what I had in terms of cash money coming in and going out.

I won’t get paid time off for the week and I won’t get paid to be there.

I am buying the ticket.

I am going to have to help out someone with gas.

I have to do all my food and water.

These are typical things that most folks need to get.

I just haven’t done it in a while.

I sat down, after a fairly lovely day, truly, yoga in the morning, coffee with a friend, a nice breakfast, some writing, getting to see another friend, being gifted some lovely over bought produce.

You got to love a friend who over buys at the farmer’s market then tells you to come over because he got you plums.

Hello.

Yes please.

I paid a visit and left laden with much loveliness.

I made the best little salad for lunch: fresh baby mozzarella, the tiniest sweetest plum tomatoes, fresh basil, and a warm soft boiled egg, some sea salt, olive oil, splash apple cider vinegar, ooh, it was good.

Then plums and strawberries for desert.

Such a spoiled princess.

I told that to my friend’s husband last night at the party, that as much as San Francisco has changed and as much as I grieve the loss of art and creativity and edginess, I do so love the food here.

Fresh, organic, local, every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine.

I am so wildly grateful for that, it’s such a good place to live for food.

I also did food prep for the week, a little run up to Other Avenues, the co-op I’m a member at in my neighborhood, picked up brown rice, eggs, oatmeal, an onion and some other odds and ends, ooh, yes, a parasol.

I saw it, knew it was the one and bought it.

Came home and whipped up an Italian stew with brown rice–sauteed an onion with some ground turkey, added lots of fresh basil, a large zucchini chopped up with some brown mushrooms, a bit of white corn and sun dried tomato and then some more crushed tomato and garlic on top of that.

Delicious.

And then I went back to online stalking of tents.

Then, finally did my spending plan.

Which I had put off doing until the last minute because I also wanted a distraction from my date that I had for dinner tonight.

Said date going quite well, thank you very much.

Wink.

Wink.

Nudge.

Nudge.

So it was good to have a distraction and also to see that I could probably spend the money to get a decent tent set up and maybe not hound my friends for gear.

Maybe.

I’m going to see what happens with the ticket, my expenses and such and if I can offset the cost of the ticket I think I shall.

But it’s late, and tomorrow’s Monday.

And yeah.

Like that.

Bye bye weekend.

It was fun.

See you soon.

 

Scheduling

Jesus.

I looked over the next few weeks on the work calendar and just about threw up.

First day of school?

What?

No.

NOOOOOOO.

I’m still on summer break.

And yet.

There it was the first weekend of school on the books.

The mom was working on the boys school schedule, which reminded me, need to ask off for September 1st, must to go see Mike Doughty with my peoples.

I don’t have to have the whole day off, but I do need to be done with work by 6p.m.

“Mike Doughty, from Soul Coughing?!” The dad asked.

“Yup, he’s doing a Living Room tour and for one day will be in San Francisco and I managed to get tickets from myself and some friends,” I replied.

“He’s great!” The dad said, “wow, you might even get to meet him and talk.”

Yeah.

I would like that.

Amongst other things, heh.

But.

In the request for the day to be an “early” day for me, when the boys are in school I don’t start until 1p.m. and the boys will be starting school that week, so it made me realize that I also needed to tell the parents that I will be in school that Friday too.

It’s happening fast.

The summer has been fun, but I’m not ready to think yet, quite, about school.

I had a moment of mild panic, really, mild when I look at it, that I wouldn’t have enough money in my savings to buy books before the financial aid disbursement happens.

Fact is.

I haven’t received my awards letter for the fall semester.

I have no clue what I am getting in the way of aid.

I got what I needed last year, but I also made less money that year.

I made more money, almost double, at least on the books, for the this past year and I am hoping, hoping, hoping, that I will get the financial aid I need to pay for the next year of school.

I still have a scholarship disbursement, but I will have to cover the other $20,0o0 for the year after the scholarship is applied.

The cost of the program is about $30,000 per year.

And, um, yeah, I live in San Francisco, like you know, the most expensive fucking place to live in the U.S.

Then.

I snuffed the thought.

Fuck that.

I will be taken care of.

If I don’t get the financial aid the money will come from somewhere else.

I didn’t get straight A’s for my first year of graduate school to be dropped on my second year ass.

I worked hard.

Hella hard.

Now.

I want to be able to play the rest of the summer and not be concerned about finances and school and books and stuff.

It will all come when it’s supposed to.

“Do you have any more travel plans for the summer,” my friend asked me last night after I told him about my adventures in New Orleans.

I don’t know.

There is still a very tender part of me that wants so to go to Burning Man, that I can’t quite picture not going, but I have no idea what that would look like anyhow.

Where would I get a ticket, who would I camp with, how would I get there?

I would go.

I want to go.

I could go early.

It’s so obscured right now in my head, I can’t see it and it might be the first time I haven’t, hmm, you know, that’s not true, I didn’t know how I was going to go when I was in Paris, and yet I went, I can’t always see how it plays out, but somehow or other I have always ended up on playa.

One of my ladies that I work with doing the deal got a ticket and got off from work.

The glee and excitement in her voice, she’s a virgin burner, when she left me the message on the phone was almost unbearable to hear.

I do believe, though, that I am not going to be heart broken with whatever happens that week.

I’ll be ok, the plans, God’s plans, are always better than mine.

I can’t manipulate Burning Man into happening.

If it were to happen, it’s got to be simple and clean and easy, the best things are the simplest.

If it were complicated it wouldn’t work, it never does.

If it’s meant to be, I can’t fuck it up.

If it’s not, I can’t manipulate it into happening.

Just like I realized today when I wanted to bring up that first weekend of school, not just from the standpoint of hey, employers, I’m going to be in class Friday the 2nd of September, but oh yeah, um, remember when you said we would revisit my employment for the fall when the boys are in their next year of school.

What about that?

But I didn’t.

I realized that I don’t need to.

I am being taken care of.

“You write down everything you do for them and present them with it when your contract is up and point out the things that you do that are part of your contract and also what you do that is not on the contract, and let them see it, you don’t even need to ask for a raise, or mention money, you just present your list to them,” a friend told me the other day when we were talking about self-employment and what that looks like moving forward with contracts and negotiations.

September will also mark 2 years for me with the family.

Not that I will be gunning for a raise, but that I want to know if they will be needing me for the next school year.

I can’t see that they won’t, I do so much for them as a whole, not just the boys, but the whole family, the household in its entirety.

But I know that if they don’t want me moving forward.

Well.

Someone else will.

I’m taken care of.

I always have been.

I always will.

As long as I keep in fit spiritual condition.

I’ll be just fine.

More than fine.

Better than fine.

Happy.

Fucking joyous.

And.

Free.

Free.

Free.

Bring Me The Money

Or at least the secret password and internal knowledge needed to figure out BMI.

My friend alerted me years ago that he had listed me as the lyricist and vocals for While You Were Sleeping, an album he put together using my poem as a framework and inspiration point for the album.

I never did anything with that knowledge.

Well.

I started a BMI account.

But I never registered anything with it.

I have no idea how to do it and I have sort of let it lapse.

However.

I keep getting e-mails from BMI and most of the time I just think, oh there’s that again, maybe I should do something about it.

Then.

I never do.

But as the days wind down and the nights get shorter and chillier, I am thinking, hmm, what if there’s a few dollars there, I could use that money to go to Paris.

I also recognized that I wasn’t investigating it because the likelihood is that there is no there there.

I mean.

It’s sometimes a nice little fantasy, that somewhere, unbeknownst to me, just when I really could use it, say in a few weeks when I fly to Paris, there’s a few grand just lying around.

Granted.

I got my grand.

And I used it.

Have you seen my scooter?

Damn she is cute.

Still parked in front of my house, haven’t gotten the permit paperwork forms from my boss yet, but they are in the works and I will get them and when I do.

Watch out!

Money comes in and money goes out.

I also paid my phone bill today.

And that’s nice.

Because that’s it.

The only thing I owed money on.

Well.

Aside from my student loans, but we won’t go there for a few years yet, ‘k?

I believe in happiness and abundance and prosperity and God will give me exactly the right amount of money to enjoy in Paris.

It would be nice to be properly registered on BMI, however, and to that end I did reach out to my friend who is the musician.

And.

Yeah.

I should get a hold of the gentleman because in a google search I just came across an Andreas Saag remix of the piece.

Nothing of my vocals, but those words.

Well.

Those are words are wrote and if there’s a remix being sold I should think that I should be getting a smidgen of the proceeds from the sales.

I was also thinking, in a less capitalistic, I better get mine sort of thing, that I would like to record again with Sunshine Jones, and perhaps record the sonnet sequence that I wrote.

Thoughts.

Random and parsed out while I type.

I am spending too much time trying to flip around websites and seeing what is out there.

I don’t know much about many things.

I am distracted with thoughts of Paris, thoughts of dating, hormones.

“You should go on a date,” my friend said to me tonight.

Um yeah.

In what time?

I will say, I am pleased with the amount of reading I succeeded in getting through this morning before work, though.

I have a big paper I have to write next weekend and all the reading is done.

Now to winnow and sort and figure out what is going to go where.

Plus.

Um, yeah.

The other three classes I’m in.

I have to do the reading for those classes too.

So up a little early, again tomorrow, and reading some more.

I just have to keep up the momentum.

And perhaps I can squeeze in a movie date on Saturday.

That would be nice.

Although the movie I wanted to see, Rock the Kasbah, doesn’t seem to be playing anywhere.

Which is a shame.

I do quite adore Bill Murray.

There’s nothing out there that seems appealing either, other than the double feature at the Castro, but it’s big time commitment: Apocalypse Now and The Thin Red Line.

I mean.

Brilliant.

But will I be completely burnt out after sitting in the Castro Theater for four hours?

Too bad it’s not the movie that was on the marquee tonight as I pushed my bicycle up Castro Street towards Market.

Dazed and Confused.

Dude.

That’s like the perfect date movie.

Seriously.

But.

Not to happen.

It’s only running tonight.

I love the Castro Theater.

I’m not going to worry about Saturday.

It will take care of itself.

And if I’m to see a movie, then it will happen.

There’s other things for me to do.

Like read and write papers.

Bwahahaha.

Ugh.

There’s work to keep me busy and doing the deal and meeting folks and just life.

Which when I woke this morning, letting myself get an extra half hour, but still getting up earlier than I needed to so that I could read, I rolled up out of bed to greet the beautiful clear blue skies, high and blustery with wind.

The sun was out.

The day was bright.

My scooter parked in front of the house.

My bicycle, my steady and faithful steed, taking me to work.

The gratitude filing me up as I pedaled up Lincoln Avenue.

The hawks circling over head, lifted my eyes to the sky and I smiled.

Deep in my body, happy in my soul.

“Happy is my principle today,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

Perhaps just to hear myself say “happy.”

And I rode.

Knowing that I had a good job to go to.

That I still can afford to live in San Francisco.

That I am sober.

That I am healthy.

That I have amazing friends.

I have community.

I have a beautiful home.

I have a scooter.

I have a Macbook Air and an Iphone.

I have so much.

I have a trip to Paris.

I have love and abundance beyond my wildest dreams.

So if I don’t get some royalties from BMI.

Whatever.

I’m still going to investigate though.

Seems the adult, next right thing to do.

And whatever happens.

I’m ok with it.

Because there is nothing at all wrong in my world.

Not one damn thing.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Nightmare

On 46th Avenue.

I woke up this morning from a nightmare.

I don’t have them much any more and it wasn’t the worst nightmare I have ever had, in fact, it so pales in comparison to the night terrors that I had just prior to getting sober that I hesitate to even call it a nightmare.

It was a bad dream, however.

And though I can laugh at the absurdity of it when I shared it with a friend earlier today, I can also recognize that my stress level and my anxiety about having enough time are making themselves known in my subconsciousness.

I dreamt I was back at The Angelic.

That is, I dreamt that I was back running the Angelic.

The Angelic Brewing Company that is.

A now defunct micro-brewery that I helped manage for six years from the time I was 22 years old to the time I was 29.

Yes.

I know, that looks like seven years, but it was six years, perhaps 6.25.

I digress.

The point is, that it was a stressful job and there was a period of four years when I was not only running the Angelic, I was also in school full-time and I was training in Shaolin Kempo Karate at a dojo on State Street.

Said dojo being conveniently located between campus and the brewery.

I spent a lot of time in downtown Madison between those three places.

And I worked hard.

I am good at working hard, if you haven’t noticed.

I ran a successful business.

Was my job title the most prestigious?

Nope.

Floor manager does not have a prestigious ring to it, like say, General Manager, Kitchen Manager, Bar Manager, Head Brewer, etc.

Shit.

Sometimes it felt like the bar back was getting a better job title than I.

However, I had a lot of responsibility for the establishment and I worked full time hours when I was not in school and about 32-35 hours a week when I was in class.

Similar to what I am doing now.

The only difference being is that I drank to cope then.

And I certainly do not have that option now.

Not that I even want that option.

I used up all my drink tickets from the holiday party.

And yours.

And yours.

And hers over there.

And definitely his.

He’s holding out, there’s some I stole from his back pocket.

Needless to say,  I was managing my drinking or I might not have been able to manage the brewery as well as I did.

I would go through periods, then, when I had stress dreams about work.

i would dream I had forgotten to set the alarm or I left the safe unlocked, or I had miscounted a till, or somehow, while I was busy in the back, some bartender or cocktail waitress had left for home, after the bar had closed for the night, accidentally leaving the door wide open and somehow all sorts of people wandered in and I had to get them all out and no one would listen and the cops were on the way.

And.

You get the point.

This morning I woke up having dreamt that the General Manager had booked a band (the brewery was also a default nightclub and very popular bar during the evening hours–day time hours it functioned mostly as a mirco brewery with a semi-decent pub fare menu–burgers, fries, nachos, homemade soups, etc) that was too expensive to pay out.

I dreamed I was in the office counting out tills (the queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey, the king was in the counting house counting all his money) and I noticed that people were coming into the bar.

We didn’t have video monitors or cameras at the brewery, so that’s a made up thing in my brain, but it was very real in the dream and l looked in aghast at the doors to the establishment swinging back and forth as more and more people were coming in for the show and no one was paying.

Fuck.

Where are my bouncers?

I need to put someone on the door and start collecting money.

There won’t be enough money to pay the piper.

But there was.

And I paid the piper yesterday.

My scooter is parked in front of my house, locked thank you–I got a disc lock–safe and sound and fully paid for.

But I could see my financial insecurity coming out in the dream.

As well as my time management issues.

I’m not going to have enough time, I hustled about the office at work, finding the contract for the band and gasping at what the GM had agreed to pay and furthermore.

What the fuck was Metallica doing playing at the Angelic?

That’s when I woke up.

Part of me laughed.

And part of me sighed.

It’s been a while since I have had a stress dream and I know that ultimately, I do all my own stressing.

I tell myself that I am not going to have enough time.

That the things I need to do are going to take up too much time.

Like picking up my scooter today.

Which I successfully did and it got it’s plates put on it and a tidy little basket and rack on the back.

One, said basket, that I have already used today, I went grocery shopping!

Oh how lovely was that?

To not wear my messenger bag over my shoulder and haul a big sack of groceries on my back.

There’s still going to be some bike riding for a bit until I get the parking permit at work, but soon, my bicycle will be getting a lot less action.

I intimated to myself that I wasn’t going to have enough time.

Time to get the scooter.

Time to meet with the ladies.

Time to hear a big inventory.

Time to grocery shop.

Time to do that Therapeutic Communications transcription that was due today.

(I just sent it out an hour and a half ago)

Time to do anything.

Of course, but fret.

And have anxiety.

But the thing is.

All the things got done.

And it wasn’t a nightmare.

And time just sort of folded and here I am sitting at my table, writing my blog having sent in a big transcription project and read a long tiresome chapter in preparation for a paper I’m going to have to write next weekend, and I met the ladies, and I got a ride in on my scooter along the Great Highway at sunset to get groceries.

There’s no need to hold onto any anxiety.

All the stuff.

It got done.

And.

I have a lovely new scooter.

Yay!

Life.

She is grand.

Yes.

Not a nightmare at all.

But a truly sweet dream.

Plenty of which, I shall have tonight.

May you as well.

Sweet dreams.

Good night.

(don’t let the bed bugs bite!)

I Raise You One Sick Day

For ten vacation days and….

Actually.

I got six sick days.

And.

Clarification that I did not have the last time I negotiated with the family I work for.

I get the sick days, six, to be actually sick.

Um.

I never get sick.

But I do have accidents.

And doctors appointments.

Which reminds me, note to self, my Healthy San Francisco expires this month and I either need to re-up or look at Medical or Obama Care.

I haven’t experience with either, but they are true health insurance from what I can gather and Healthy SF technically is not health insurance, although, really, it feels just like it.

Suffice to say, I am not going to be covered either way here in a matter of days and it’s time to get aboard that boat now.

“Girl, you have some loose boundaries around your money,” my person said to me tonight with a fierce look in his blue eyes.

I know!

I know.

I really do.

But I am learning and also, to give myself some credit, all this stuff is really new for me.

Despite having been a nanny on my own, sans agency, for a long time, it still takes time for me to figure out everything I need and to than go forward and ask for it as an independent contractor.

That’s what I am in a sense.

I am self-employed, but I have contracts.

I have learned that having a contact brings clarity.

So.

Last night when I realized that I needed some more clarity I took it upon myself to reach out to the family and discuss the next step in our figuring out how to best move forward.

I got great clarity and I am grateful.

I did not get a raise.

But.

I got a raise.

It just doesn’t look exactly how I expected it to look.

I am not getting an hourly increase.

But.

I am sustaining my current benefits despite working less.

35 hours a week when I am not in school.

28 hours a week when I am in school.

With some flexibility to add or subtract.

Like next week the boys have off for Columbus Day.

They actually have Columbus Day and the day after off.

Who the hell gets Columbus Day off?

I don’t remember this as a kid, but the school is a private school and it seems that they have a lot more holidays than I ever remember having.

Anyway.

Next Monday I will work 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. as well as Tuesday.

This is a big shift for me since school started for me and the boys relatively at the same time and I have been working 1 p.m. to 8 p.m. for the family.

I go in at 1 p.m. clean up the breakfast stuff, unload the dishwasher, tidy up, do the boys laundry, recycle, compost, trash, prep snacks, meal plan with the mom, go grocery shopping and marketing, mail stuff, pick up stuff, run errands, make dinner.

Then the boys come home at 3 p.m. and we have our afternoon together, then dinner, baths, then bed time when the parents take over.

Although both mom and dad work out of the office at home, so there is much interaction with the parents.

It took me a little while to get used to that, I’ve typically worked for families that were working away from home, but there’s been enough exception to that rule that when it presented with this family I was not completely unprepared for what that entailed.

But I can handle the shifting hours and it does make it possible to see my person again next week who I normally would not have been able to do.

God it was good to see him.

Those twinkling eyes.

Those wise words.

The shared experience.

And a person that I am genuinely myself with, no masks, no hiding, even when I want to hide, I can’t and I am grateful for his love and guidance and I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last year and a half without him.

I digress in gratitude.

Which for digression is not a bad thing.

We talked about the process of asking for clarity, of what it was like for me to ask for the raise, what it has been like being aware of what I need, also the acknowledgement of how I am moving forward completely above-board and all my tax stuff is transparent and how grateful I am for that.

Frankly, it’s a relief.

I still have fear of getting audited for years that I worked under the table as a nanny.

Be that as it may, I needed to do it that way to get by.

I couldn’t have lived in San Francisco had I not.

I have no regrets about it.

But I do have a choice now to stay in the clear and what with school and financial aid, it just feels right.

Needless to say.

It’s called being an adult.

It’s taken me awhile to grow up and grow towards my financial ideal.

I am still short.

But.

I have come so far.

When I think about the lack of guidance I had in money matters growing up, how lacking my family of origin experience was in regards to financial knowledge, despite watching my mother and step-father have hair pulling, knock down, drag out fights, with tables that got flipped over in the dining room, over the monthly budget, I never learned how to handle my finances.

I’ve learned most of what I know in this last decade.

I really have grown up.

There’s still plenty of growth.

But.

I will acknowledge the growth that has happened now.

I accepted the package the family proposed.

I stay at my current hourly.

But.

I get all the perks that I had before when I was working full-time.

I.e.

I still get the same vacation days!

Which is awesome.

As in I get Thanksgiving and the day after Thanksgiving off.

Hello four-day weekend!

I also get the 23rd-25th of December off for Christmas.

Five day weekend!

Hell.

I could actually make some travel plans.

Plus.

I accrue my vacation days the same way, which means, I get the same ten I got last year and I still get the six sick days, which I now know to actually use when I get sick or need time off for doctors appointments, etc.

I’m getting full-time benefits without working full-time.

This is a really nice perk.

And.

We will follow-up with a review at the end of the year where the family has agreed to look at giving a raise at that time and negotiating moving forward from there.

I think it’s a win.

I certainly learned a lot about myself and my process and I am very proud of myself for the work I did.

Albeit I could have done without the unnecessary drama I brought on myself through anxiety and miscommunication about my vacation days and sick days.

Growth.

There’s always more to do.

But I have to acknowledge the work I did too.

That’s a part of it all as well.

Grateful for the experience.

Even when it was painful.

They say pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.

I can second that opinion.

And raise my sick days to that notion.

Plus a couple of long delicious weekends in the not so distant future.

Winning.

Almost

But.

Not quite.

Bah.

I could not get it together to ask for my raise today.

The balking is fucking killing me.

I know it.

All my friends know it.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

There.

Now that’s out of my system.

It doesn’t even matter at this point if I get the raise, I just need to ask.

That’s it.

ASK.

Martines.

Get it.

It’s not that big a deal and the relief I will get from just doing the foot work, opening up my mouth and saying the words, is going to be worth more than the monetary gains.

Then again.

I could also practice some compassion for myself, I don’t like asking for things I need, never have, probably never will.

But.

If I don’t ask I won’t get what I need and I do need to bring in some more money and I am worth the ask.

Hell.

I’m worth more than I am going to ask for, but that’s another story.

I did, however, ask for a review, a yearly review to be arranged between myself and the parents by the end of the week.

I should get a review.

I also need to get something in writing and that has to be discussed.

My contract expired and I am just going a long on a wing and a verbal agreement, a vague one at that.

No good.

I know better.

To give myself a little credit the parents were not readily available to my yesterday or today.

I wanted to talk with both of them and typically both of them are at home in the office working everyday, but that has not been the case either day and it has just felt way too much to just address one parent without the other.

So.

I opened my mouth, just like I did last night, right as I was leaving and said I would like the review for the year to be worked out for the end of the week.

I need to sit down with them and do the ask, I can’t just spring it on the mom in line at Trader Joes.

I can’t.

I did a little foot work and for that I am grateful.

Little bites.

Just a little bit at a time.

Not enough to leave a bruise, but a sharp little nip of teeth to remind me that I am better when I am focused on what is in front of me and distracted by the money.

I have been distracted by my finances for too long.

I just don’t want to think about it anymore.

I suspect that won’t ever be the case.

But.

I don’t have to fret.

I don’t have to be in anxiety.

I suppose it’s just old habit, old hat, old ways of being, the pretending that by worrying about something I am manifesting some sort of control over it.

I don’t have control over anything.

I don’t have control over what you think of me.

(I hope you like me!)

Nope.

No control.

I wish you would make me feel better.

Oh.

You can’t do that either.

Well.

Fuck.

I guess I’m here again, same old song, another day.

I was almost there, almost to self-forgiveness land, but I got a little waylaid and realized after a quick check in with a friend, that I am still actually quite mad at myself.

Would I leave if I don’t get the raise?

I could.

Not that I wouldn’t make it.

I would make it.

Just.

The thing is I don’t want to just make it.

Can you save me?

Come on and save me.

If you could save me.

From.

The rest of the freaks.

That suspect they could never love anyone.

I am sick of just making it.

I am tired of working hard to work harder.

I am being melancholic.

Yes.

Guess who got her period this morning.

Relief.

I knew that lady was about to visit and i know that I am just a touch sensitive, emotionally, and physically, out damn spot, and tired too, of the self-imposed misery of the anxiety.

I don’t want to think about finding other work either.

But.

There are other options.

Hell.

I was offered a place a substantial rent drop of where I am living now.

I turned it down.

I had my reasons.

Ask me in person if you really want to know.

There are 100 and 1 choices to be made.

There are many paths to wander down.

Come on and save me.

Why don’t you save me.

If you could save me.

From ranks of the freaks.

That suspect they could never love anyone.

Except the freaks who could never love anyone.

Let your hair down.

Shake it out.

Let the day go.

She is not all that.

She is just a day.

It is alright little lady, you do the best you can and sometimes sitting in a dim room with the heat and flash of the Castro strobing it’s lights outside the second story window is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

If I have done nothing other than sit for an hour in an uncomfortable chair and resonate with what the person in front of me is saying then it is a good day.

A god damn good day.

I remind myself.

As I look around at what I have.

I have so much.

Do you see me?

I have so much.

So much.

Love.

Kindness.

Joy.

Light.

I don’t have to be maudlin, I’m just human.

I’m just a little spiritual being having a very human experience.

Bless you little heart for being a tender thing.

I am afraid of rejection.

I am afraid that at the end of the day.

(At the end of the bar at the end of the night, another night at the end of the bar)

I am not enough.

That I am not lovable.

That I am not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.

Not a good enough nanny, student, lover, human.

Not a good enough woman.

(Still such a little girl)

Forgive yourself sweet heart.

You’re doing just fine.

You are perfect.

Imperfectly.

Perfectly.

Perfect.