Posts Tagged ‘Freud’

And That’s About Enough

September 24, 2018

Fuck.

It’s been a long damn day of study.

I’m all done in.

I could use another two hours of work, but I can’t do it.

I have written two different reaction responses to material.

I finished a book.

I read another dense chapter in another.

I watched one video of an hour and a half and launched into another four-hour documentary.

The level of discourse is deep and I appreciate all that I am learning and I’m tired.

Pooped.

Done.

I also am getting settled into my life, my home, my new space.

I got furniture assembled today and organized.

I hired someone from Task Rabbit to do the work and honestly, I’m so happy I did.

The woman was really kind and quick and it took her, a skilled person, she’s got great reviews, three hours to put together the furniture I ordered.

I did not have three hours to spare today.

I should probably not be blogging, but you know, the blogging saves my fucking ass.

I need to get all the cobwebs out and I need to process and this is where I do it.

Oh, I know, you’ve had to have noticed, I’m not blogging as much or as regularly as I have in the past, but I am doing it when I need to.

It feels like a need.

Just like writing in the morning feeds me and helps me to get ready for my day, the blogging helps me filter through everything that happened and helps me to not ruminate too much on what the day has brought.

It brought laundry.

My first trip to a laundry mat in years.

Sigh.

I’m not going to lie, its not optimal.

I wish I could use the laundry that is here at the house, but I don’t have access to the garage.

On one hand its fabulous, I don’t have to go through the garage to get to my place anymore.

“I am so jealous of your space!” The woman who came over exclaimed looking at my place.

I had to say, it did look pretty spectacular today, the sun was shining in the windows, my God it gets such beautiful light, today was my first time being in the space most of the day, so I got to really see how much light came in.

So much.

I was reluctant to leave today.

But I knew I had to.

I had to do laundry and I did it and yeah, it wasn’t super fun and I feel like the laundry mat rips you the fuck off with the cost of drying and dryers that don’t really dry, but it is what it is and I did study the entire time I was there, which set the stage for the writing that I did for my classes today.

I still have to do a response in one of my classes, I did two out of three today, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do more.

I had to shut down the video I was watching, which I have watched before for my Freudian Analysis class three years ago.  I remember being fascinated by it when I watched it then, now I’m just tired from it, it’s a bit dark and like I mentioned, four hours long.

That’s a long time to watch anything about psychoanalysis and I’m a psychotherapist, it’s material I do enjoy, but it’s a heavy-handed version of Freudian analysis and I just got a bit worn down by it.

Anyway.

I am happy to say that as my home becomes more and more realized, that I am resourcing myself by being in the space.

It is warm and sweet and inviting.

It is also pretty and fun and colorful and it smells good.

I like the good smells I do.

I can look anywhere in the space and I will find something beautiful to rest my eyes upon.

I really like it and I like how unconsciously I have found things that fit together in interesting and arresting ways.

I don’t set out to create these patterns, but they are there when I step back and look, colors that blend with each other, complimentary shapes and pleasing ways of things coming together.

I will, as I have mentioned, post pictures soon, but it’s not quite fully realized, I still have to get my dresser and it will get set up next week, yeah, I re-hired the woman who helped out today, especially since next Sunday I will be deep in a ten page paper.

I can’t spare the three hours of assembly the product says it will take to assemble.

I mean.

It’s hella cute and had I the spare time I would totally do it, I have the tools I have put together plenty of things before, but this is an active act of self-care to delegate this out.

I have to focus on that paper and I have some ideas percolating, so hopefully it won’t break me.

It’s going to be a big week as I end my time with Liberation Institute and say goodbye to some clients and to the group I have been working with the last year and a half.

I also have to get the rest of my things together for Grateful Heart.

Like now.

I’ll be sitting with a friend from school to design my website on Wednesday and I will be getting a phone number and setting up a Square Reader.

I need to research that too, find out how long it will take for me to get the reader, etc.

Jesus.

I just did it.

Now my brain is officially fried.

I just set up and ordered my Square reader.

I will get it sent to me in the mail and hopefully it will arrive, it should, by the time I have my first client who will be using a credit card.

This is happening.

I think I have done just about all that I can today.

I have to call it a day.

Or a night.

I’m cooked.

Time to make a cup of tea and wind down, get some sleep and leap into what is going to be one hell of a busy week.

Seriously.

All The Mother Fucking Things

August 22, 2016

I got it done.

I almost cannot believe it.

I finished the reading for my Gestalt class so I can write the paper tomorrow.

Brief aside, so early into the blog, but.

I know I’m on the right track when the last sentence of the book, involving an imaginary conversation that Fritz Perls is heaving with Freud (a dead Freud, seven years gone at that point) stirs me to tears.

I was moved.

And I am excited that I have found what I believe to be the therapy modality that I want to work with and also.

Heh.

All things Burning Man.

Gestalt and Burning Man.

Yup.

I have a desire to write my dissertation on a theory I have around Gestalt and the evolution of Burning Man, the here and nowness of things.  I am rather nascent in my explorations, but I do know that I am heading in the direction of what I want to do and I am so very happy to think about combining two different things into a project that could lead me to dissertation.

Anyway.

I get a head of myself.

Which is so not Gestalt, and so not Burning Man.

But is so easy for me to do.

In the moment, I am sitting in my pajamas, yes, before 8p.m. on a “school night” for me as I will be getting up early, early, early to drive to Sonoma for work in the morning.

I made the decision to stay here overnight and go up early so that I could wrap up any lose ends and take care of things for my imminent trip to the playa.

I cleaned the house, re-packed my clothes bin for the burn, I had a suspicion that I was not really well packed, that I may have over packed a little in fear and went through all my gear to make sure I really was going to use it or wear it.

I’ll only be out for four days and four nights.

Which means 8 outfits.

I paired down a little what I had and organized it better.

I was tempted to go back through all my bins, but when I did a mental inventory I knew that I was fine and really well set up for the event.

My camera has freshly charged batteries, I have my back up phone battery charger, I have all my tent, bedding, sleep, cook, cooler, and hair supplies.

Hello.

You know this girl is going to get her big, pink, flowered hair on.

Please.

Then I took care of business.

I paid rent early.

I don’t like to have that hanging over my head before going out there, and it feels good to be accountable.

I won’t have to worry about paying any bills when I get back, I can just ease back into my life with little thought–paid my DMV renewal on my scooter, early, but hey, the bill came in the mail, I don’t want my dusty brain to forget it when I get back, and organized my ticket, vehicle pass, and yes, I printed off my Early Arrival pass.

I have them all right here, right at my elbow, just waiting for my return on Friday night.

I’ll be leaving work by 6p.m. at the latest and returning the rental car to SFO, grabbing a car from the rental drop off to home, then my ride share will come and get me, it’s looking like 8:30 p.m. for the pick up.

We load up and drive out.

I confirmed with him via e-mail, updated him in regards to groceries and water–suggested that we not get water in SF, but rather pick it up at the SafeWay in Reno which is open 24 hours.  Less weight in the car, less gas to get us up over the Sierra’s.

He totally agreed.

I also went shopping for a few things to have at the house for when I get back.

And I’ve packed my suitcase, so recently unpacked, again for this week’s work in Glen Ellen.

All that I have left to do is dry the load of laundry in the dryer and write this blog.

Heck.

I even addressed all my Burning Man postcards and stamped them up.

I met with two ladies today and did the deal, too.

Which was super good and really grounding, they are such gifts, I am so lucky to get to work with them and share my experience, strength and hope.

My other lady did a phone check in and by the time all that was done I felt really ready for the next phase of my development.

An extraordinary thing that.

One which lead to me realizing that I had no real need to go out all willy nilly and secure further stuff and things for that thing in the desert.

That, I, in fact, had everything I needed and a little more (one white crinoline and one black crinoline), that there was no reason to stir my anxiety pot by driving around town in the VW Bug rental car.

Especially when I got the perfect parking spot in front of the house last night.

Why move it and cause myself stress to buy things I don’t really need, but think I might want.

Nah.

I got it.

I really am ready.

The few things I have left to get are just a couple of food stuffs that I want to wait until Reno to procure–some apples, one more container of unsweetened vanilla almond milk, and some carrots.

As for the rest of it.

It’s done.

I am so glad I didn’t leave the neighborhood, I am so glad I took time to re-pack and re-organize and also to realize that I really am done.

It’s done.

I’m ready.

The rest of the week is to show up kind and compassionate with sweetness, tolerance, and love to work.

To write a six page Gestalt paper and to do some reading for another of my classes.

Thank you Sunday.

For being, well, easy like Sunday morning.

Giggle.

It’s been fruitful, restful, and far less stressful than I thought it would be.

Hella grateful.

Seriously.

Ending With A Whimper

May 13, 2016

So not a bang.

However.

I did, between this morning and tonight, between yoga and a full day at work, get my notes organized, tabbed, and compiled, as well as finding all the things I want to reference for my big final paper for my Clinical Relationship class.

Suffice to say I am a bit zonked.

Up at 8 a.m.

Doing my morning routine, breakfast, coffee, writing, then starting to get my feet into the transference/countertransference pool, then yoga–which was really needed–and back here to the house, a quick shower, and yes!

I found a place to stay in Brooklyn!

Wait.

Fuck.

No I didn’t.

So bummed.

Cool loft in a warehouse in Bushwick, I had hopped on Air BnB to just peek at it before work and there it was!

I booked, made the request, plopped my credit card number down and waited to hear back.

I heard back later in the day and it was a let down.

The loft was only available three of the four nights I needed.

And I figured, well, I don’t want to be wandering around on my last day trying to negotiate one place to another, rather just say no thanks, and find something else.

Problem is that when I got home from work I was so beat down by the work day that I had barely any brain cells to rub together.

I looked a while on Air BnB but it just got to be too much and I decided that my main focus has to be organizing my big paper.

I got off the site and sorted out the rest of my readings and made loads of notes and probably have enough stuff to write a twenty page paper.

I just have to write it.

So tomorrow.

Another early start before work and no yoga, just the writing.

Getting as much done as possible, then work.

And work will not work me as much as it did today since I’m taking a half day to hit a doctors appointment, then back here to the house to finish up what ever I don’t write tomorrow morning.

Work really was full tilt boogie today.

In no particular order I went to the corner store and bought groceries, enough broccoli for three batches of my homemade soup, got milk for the boys for the next couple of days, boiled over a dozen eggs for the family to take to school; made the aforementioned soup, a quadruple batch by the recipe, actually; roasted a chicken, then later pulled all the meat that was remaining off the chicken for making chicken salad tomorrow for the boys lunches over the weekend; roasted radishes (yeah, you can do that, they’re pretty fucking tasty too) made sushi rice, cleaned up the house a bit, organized some of the boys stuff; and then took the two monkeys to the Farmer’s Market on Bartlett and 22nd where I juggled a full flat of strawberries, 5 pints of cherries, 1 container of cheese curds (CARMEN! CARMEN! CARMEN! Give me more cheese curds please, please, PLEASE!), smoked salmon for visiting pooh bahs, um, ha, I mean grandparents, basket of apricots, pint of mulberries, and one container garlic cheese dip.

Served dinner, did baths, did pajama time, did color time, did ALL the dishes, I mean, there was a lot of washing up, two gigantic bags of compost–I did so much food prep–took out recycling and tried to not think about the paper I have to write.

Tried.

It snuck in a few times, but most of the day I was too busy to breathe let alone think about transference, counter transference, Freud, Lessem, McWilliams, Kohut, Kahn, Stolorow, or any of the other characters who have had possession of my brain.

Let me tell you all about it.

Nah.

I’ll bore you to sleep.

I watched the six year old do classic splitting and projecting around the mom as he experienced separation anxiety in regards to the imminent grand parent visit, and tried to feed the anxious dog as many scraps as I could sneak.

I love my job though and it’s a good family I work for, grandparents just mean more work and I seem to forget that.

Then again.

This was my first time having a paper due on a Friday rather than at the end of the weekend and it has thrown me off my stride a little.

I was laughing to myself.

Full time work after this year of school is going to feel like a vacation.

I joked with a friend that I’ll be flying across the country to New York to take a nap.

Although.

I did have a moment in yoga today.

A revery slipped in.

A Queens of Harlem sort of thought.

And Harlem is not somewhere I had thought about staying.

But it has a nice flavor to it when I say it.

And I was thinking too, hmm, I might need a tattoo while I’m in New York.

But.

First.

A place to stay.

I took out some money from my savings today too, made the transfer so I wouldn’t have to worry about the travel costs and told myself that I would let myself stay somewhere nice.

It don’t have to be fancy.

But nice.

I thought about some hipster hotel I had heard of until I saw the hipster price–$300 a night.

Fuck that.

But I can find a good place and I know it will happen.

Now that I have my notes and books organized I feel like tomorrow it will be just to show up to the page and the words will flow.

They always do.

I’m going to take a few more minutes tonight to poke around Air BnB.

But rest.

That’s where it’s really at for me right now.

A cup of tea, a little snack, a tiny bit of video to unwind.

Then sleep.

I have done a full days work.

Good work.

Strong work.

I have earned this rest.

It will be had.

Nighty night y’all.

May your dreams be full of Freudian slips.

Heh.

She Keeps Us Civilized

January 22, 2016

The mom said to her guests as they thanked me at the end of my shift this evening.

Well.

I try.

Sometimes though, the five year old is just going to stand on his head and fart on his friend and giggle wildly.

Fortunately the parents were outside in the back yard enjoying daiquiris.

I was inside with four boys: 5 3/4; 51/2; 4; and 3 1/2.

I add the halves and the quarters.

They are very fierce about their age and the hierarchy of who sits where in accordance to what age.

They were lined up left to right, oldest to youngest, along with two stuffed huskies, one stuffed cat, and one very, very loved teddy bear.

Four cups of milk in sippy cups and four graham crackers.

And.

Pengu.

Man.

There is nothing funnier to this age group than Pengu.

Nothing.

There is just something about the claymation little penguin that tickles the funny bone.

I find it endearing and cute and about the only video I can stand watching with the boys.

It’s a special night when the boys get videos, when I’m there we don’t watch videos.

I have been told by the boys that they do watch a lot of videos 0n the weekend.

I know they do and that’s not my business.

I am in no position to criticize or judge any one and their parental style.

I have in the past and it did not serve me well.

Glass houses and stones and what all.

The boys had a play date and I made pizzas.

I had to laugh at one point.

I don’t eat sugar or flour and here I am rolling out pizza dough–spinach and mushroom, pepperoni, plain cheese, and cheese and mushroom–and navigating around open containers of sugar and booze.

Not my normal.

Even at work.

But no matter.

I did my deal and took care of the boys and was grateful for my own lovely little abstinent meal and my extra time to get done laundry and pick up all the different sets of train tracks that had gotten pulled out to entertain the boys.

Three separate sets.

I pondered my psychology reading and was happy to use some theory on the boys.

I mean.

Come on.

I’m in the heart of family.

And I’m going to be a therapist.

Gold mine.

It’s like doing field work all the time.

I mean I got an A+ in Psychodynamics using a scene at the dentist office where one of the boys had a temper tantrum and I was able to apply Freud and Melanie Klein theory to what was happening.

I am a very lucky girl.

I am also a very lucky girl to have done some work today before work.

That’s the funny thing about work.

I work before it and I work after it.

Sometimes the work I do outside of work is more work.

But I digress.

I did some reading.

I checked over a couple of my syllabi.

Specifically I read the entire seven pages for Applied Spirituality.

,

I was resentful, wildly so, the first time I read it.

Hey, don’t you know who I am?

Don’t you know what I do?

I am special.

I already apply spirituality to my life.

Don’t tell me what to do.

Which.

When I took some time to reflect.

Was a rather unspiritual stance to take.

After doing some inventory on it and discussing it with another person at length I realized that I was, once again, being inflexible about my schedule.

I have a certain way of doing things and a certain time and don’t bother me while I am.

And.

Don’t even try to get me to do anything else.

It’s a matter of life and death.

Motherfucker.

Ah.

Yeah.

So, you can see, not so spiritual at that.

I recognize the fear behind the thoughts, I’ve been doing it this way for years, and I’m doing just fine, and I’m going to hold onto this way of doing things and you can pry my practice from my cold, dead, but still fucking spiritual, hands.

I laugh at myself.

I had a small epiphany–the poetry epiphany–and decided to not change up my practice so much, as deepen it.

I’ll grab some new spiritual readers, I will change out my daily readers, I’m still going to use conference approved literature, there is a really good reason I stick close to the original message of recovery.

It works.

But there’s more than one daily reader, so I will try another.

And I went for it this morning.

I wrote a full sonnet after writing my regular morning pages and doing my gratitude list.

I’m using a notebook that I bought at the museum store at the Centre Pompidou in Paris.

I’m calling the series.

“Love Letters To God.”

I debated posting the first sonnet here, but I am not sure how I am going to incorporate them yet for the class, and since that is the reason, the impetus to do the writing, I’m going to wait until after my professor gets back to me regarding my proposal.

That may not be for at least a week.

I got word today that my professor was under the impression that classes started this upcoming weekend, he has not officially posted the syllabus and sent out an apologetic e-mail this afternoon giving some suggestions and saying basically, just wait for a week and I’ll be ready for you.

I find this extraordinarily unprofessional considering this is a graduate school program and I am paying graduate school tuition out the fucking ass.

But this is not the first time that something wonky has occurred–readers not ready, etc.

And frankly, I don’t bear a grudge.

It’s just humanity happening in front of my eyes.

I can get fussy about it or I can be grateful for an extra week reprieve from the start of another round of grad school work.

It will all work out.

And.

I have no complaints.

I mean.

I wrote a delicious sonnet.

It made me happy to write.

Happier to read.

The next thing to explore is to see if I can link a sound byte to my blog or if I should do some sort of podcast on Youtube.

Which I know nothing about, but I do feel quite compelled to have some voice recordings out there.

It feels like the next thing to do in this evolution of being an artist.

Yup.

Me the artist.

How lovely that is to claim.

I am a poet.

I am a writer.

I am an artist.

Hell yeah.

Bring on the spirituality.

Bitches.

Flotsam And Jetsam

January 19, 2016

I don’t have an idea about what I am going to write.

Just a bunch of disjointed things floating around my head.

I have a flat tire on my bike, which is annoying and I am super lucky I made it back to the house before it went all the way.

I thought it was soft this morning, pumped it up, broke the pin on the valve and sort of went the whole ride wondering if it was going to go.

Then promptly forgot about it as I had an early day at work and the minute, I mean the second I brought my bike over from my descending place–I usually land a few minutes early and stretch (this did not happen, I did not realize, only in hindsight, that my tire’s low inflation point probably spelled out a slower ride in, I was a little surprised to see I didn’t have as much time as normal to get into work mode)–it was go time.

But I also was surprised by an old friend driving past in his car who stopped and chit chatted me for a few minutes.

I could feel the boys watching and as soon as I wheeled my bike over and opened the garage I could hear them banging on the windows and doors and chanting my name.

Now.

That’s the way to come to work.

Can you imagine?

Going into work and all your co-workers are banging on the doors and walls because they are so excited to see you?

It’s rather amusing.

As were some ridiculously cute bon mots from the boys today.

“Carmen, do you know what’s always in season?”  In response to a question asking for berries that are out of season.  “Ice cream,” the five year old said and wrapped his arms around me.

I got lots of I love you’s and I missed you’s and loads of hugs and snuggles.

I read them a lot of stories this morning and then we went out and did the park and also Crepehouse for lunch.

Today was a holiday at school so I was there much earlier then normal.

I’ll be going in at 9:30a.m. tomorrow and working until 6p.m.

I did 10a.m.-6p.m. today.

Extra hours on the week and some extra cash in the pocket.

I’ll probably grab a car in tomorrow, it’s supposed to rain as well, so it wouldn’t have been the most optimum day for a bicycle ride in anyway, but it is annoying to deal with the tire.

It’ll work it’s way out.

The day is long, but it did go by quick, for which I am grateful.

Glad that I can help the family by coming in early, but I do like my routine, although having just come from a school weekend I am used to getting up a little earlier than normal.

Anyhow.

It is what it is.

It’s a full week too.

Lots of work, doing the deal, meeting up with ladies, old and new, and then getting a new hair do this weekend.

Although last night my hair looked so good I almost thought about canceling the appointment.

Almost.

I haven’t had my hair done in a bit and it will be fun.

Things feel like they need shaking up for me and a hair geographic usually does the deal.

I also inevitably get asked out on a date.

Jesus.

Why the hell haven’t I done my hair sooner?

Heh.

Ah.

Dating.

Okstupid is still a disappointment.

I do wonder why I keep the profile up.

I don’t have any other profiles anywhere so I suppose that’s why.

But it is inevitably disappointing when ever I check it out.

I got lots of sweet comments yesterday on the new tattoo on my social media spots and that was some nice ego massage, but no dates arose from it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Freud, psychoanalytic theory and my own patterns.

I was told a few weeks ago by my person that I get to continue to be powerless and also that I get to stop romanticizing what I can’t have.

The old unrequited love trope.

Been there.

Done that.

But it continues to resurface.

When I look at the last two men I had romantic dates with they were both coming out of divorces with two girls.

And the guy prior to that.

Another recent divorcee with a kid.

I wonder sometimes if I am not trying, in some desperate way, to rectify the past, to somehow make wrong that right (oh holy shit is that a Freudian slip!), er, make right that wrong, of my parents relationship.

“Believe someone when they tell you who they are,” I was told.

“I’m just coming through a divorce and we have a kid and I still live at the house,” bachelor number one.

“I’m not available for dating, I’m not over my ex-wife,” bachelor number two.

“You are magic!  But I should tell you I’m in the process of getting a divorce and my wife and I haven’t told the girls yet,” bachelor number three.

Ugh.

Martines.

The repetition compulsion, according to Freud, the insanity, according to people I trust and who tell me like it is, it to continue like this–repeating the same thing expecting different results.

Now.

Granted.

All of these men are good men.

And one of them became an extraordinary friend.

I have no complaints about these experiences.

I have, in fact, prayed and practice forgiveness of self all over the damn place.

But as a friend spoke with me tonight and reminded me, gently, this is about me.

Funny thing too, we weren’t exactly talking about dating, but it was about relationships.

So.

This is about learning, even if it feels like something I keep having to learn, about letting go, surrendering, and trying something new.

I have been trying to get back out there.

Even with school.

Even with my heart still on my sleeve.

Even with my head in the clouds about how to do any of it.

With kindness and compassion for myself.

I watch people all over the place date and commit and do the deal and I think, hey,  I can do that too.

So.

I may fall down.

And it may only be practice.

And.

Ugh.

As much as I want to say something else.

Here goes.

I’m single and available for dating.

And.

I’m taking suggestions.

Double ugh.

Haha.

They will probably be the same ones I have already tried.

But fuck it.

I only I have this one life.

And it’s too sexy to waste.

You Are A Self Made

November 22, 2015

Intellectual.

That may be the best compliment I have gotten all week.

Especially as it came from a dear friend.

A French friend.

A Parisian friend, there are no better for telling one that, I felt so flattered and seen and a little in awe of what she said.

“If you had been brought up a different way, I think you would be a psychoanaylist, in fact, it soothes me that you somehow made it here, to this now” she continued as we were gathering up our books and papers, notebooks and pens, departing class to hurry home to get settled down and do it all over again in the morning.

I have already, like a good little school girl, packed my lunch for tomorrow.

And perhaps like an adult.

I made sure there was plenty of coffee in my back up Mason jar.

Last day of class for the second to last weekend of the semester.

By the time class reconvenes next month I will actually be registered for the next semester.

Crazy.

How is it happening so fast?

I don’t know, but I am glad it does.

The above compliment was not the only compliment I received today at school from a classmate, earlier in the day two of my cohort in our role play for Therapeutic Communication (we did triads as opposed to the dyads yesterday–consisting of therapist, client, and observer) told me I had a really great voice.  Something akin to late night smooth jazz or love station request lines.

The smooth sounds of night love with Carmen coming right into your ear this evening.  Call the hotline for any request, Freudian or otherwise.

It was a good day at school.

I felt really connected.

I was really present.

I was on top of the material, it was helpful that I read most of it, and I got so much from my Psych(e)analytics class I just about burst with it.

I have said before that it is my favorite class, despite the horror of talking with my professor on the phone for 45 minutes this past week to discuss the paper I wrote on Mourning and Melancholia using sonnets.

Heh.

That was bound to be uncomfortable anyway, but I did get a lot out of it and every time, every single time I am in the class I learn something I make a leap, I find a connection, or see something, my brain gets lit up.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me!” The professor shouted at me.

It was a fierce admonition, but also a compliment, she could see that I understood and I turned the theory right back on her (I have no idea what I said in hindsight, but I remember how it felt to say it)  and I was happily startled by her response.

I am getting the material and utilizing it in real time in the class room.

It just makes sense.

Who knew I was so Freudian.

“Are you thinking about going into psychoanalysis?” My friend leaned over and asked after I was out of the hot seat with professor, “you would be really good at it.”

I believe she is right.

And that makes me happy.

In fact, how my friend saw me makes me happy.

It was a new way to think of myself, a new way of seeing myself, and I was flattered to be called a “self-made intellectual.”

I find it similar to the idea of what Frederick Douglas said about the “self-made man.”

Self-made men […] are the men who owe little or nothing to birth, relationship, friendly surroundings; to wealth inherited or to early approved means of education; who are what they are, without the aid of any of the favoring conditions by which other men usually rise in the world and achieve great results.

I do not know that I have ever resonated so purely with an idea.

I felt honored to be seen like this, acknowledged, and deeply respected for my abilities.

I stood comparing (but not despairing, no not at all) at the reflection of my chic Parisian friend and in the window glass of the classroom.

She tall, thin, elegant, Roman nose, royale profile, bright brow, dressed in the simplest clothes, but chic, and clean and savvy.

I next to her was a bright clown, my hair pulled back in a mass of curls beneath a hot pink bandana, my pink star tattoos peeping out of my sweater collar, my bright safety orange pants a sweep of color next to her dark plaid slacks and soft grey cashmere sweater, the ameythst ring on her finger the only flash of color and therefor more alluring for being there, just there, perched on her finger like a small flower of violet knowing.

I felt for a moment like a clown.

Then.

I really looked again and saw myself.

Colorful.

Bright.

Brilliant.

Both in my mind and in my dress in my heart and in how hard I love.

And that is why I get Freud.

He is all about the love.

Yes love.

Most folks think Freud and think sex, and yes, there is the sexually charged eroticism and the titiliating sexually categorized stages–oral, anal, phallic.  And lest anyone forget, Oedipal, but the argument of Freudian theory is that it’s all about the love.

Just like I am.

All about the love.

I got excited.

I get excited in this class.

Maybe it’s the professor.

She is a hoot.

And she is hella smart and funny and kooky.

Maybe I see a bit of myself in her.

Who knows.

I don’t have to analyze it.

Suffice to say I was over the moon to realize that my friend is right.

I should go into psychoanalysis.

This is thrilling and scary all at the same time.

I am not sure what the next step is, the not knowing is always a bit unnerving; however, I can see that there is a path here for me to follow.

And as my friend so astutely noted, had I had the benefits of growing up differently, I may have made it to this point a lot faster, but regardless, I made it to this point, the guiding force behind the intellect I have been gifted with, and it is a gift, has led me here, to this fork in the road.

I am nervous to see where it goes and also accepting of and approving of this turn in my path.

Not what I was expecting from a school focused on ‘warm and fuzzy.’

Nope.

I just happened to fall into the radical Freud camp.

Ha.

How the hell did that happen?

That is a rhetorical question.

One I am happy to leave unanswered and rather to rest happily in this new bit of self-knowledge.

Now might be the time to start talking to an advisor!

Well.

Maybe I’ll wait until I hand in my final paper for the class, I do have a few things to write before the end of the semester after all.

Ha.

 

 

All The Deliverables

November 21, 2015

All the things

All the god damn time.

All the homework.

All the reading.

All the ibuprofen I took when I got home from classes today.

I got all my things situated when I got home.

Get the mail, grab the package in the hall, unpack from the day, then repack it all back up so that I can have it and be out the door when I need to be.

This morning was my first time riding the scooter to school.

It was great.

And not so great.

Great was–it started, it ran smoothly, it was a nice ride in.

I even split lanes a few times.

Although not with that vigor and vim that I saw a lot of fellow motorcyclists and scooterist doing.

I was a bit more cautious.

I will likely be for a little more time to come.

It’s just the way I run.

And I am fine with that.

In fact, I didn’t think I was going to split lanes at all and then, there I was doing it without much thought.

Except when I wasn’t and a few cycles zip past me.

The confidence will grow.

I found parking.

It was not the parking I wanted, that was actually taken, much to my surprise.  Although later in the day it was free and I could have moved my scooter but I was just around the corner on Minna Street and I didn’t feel uncomfortable parked there.

Granted I had to move the scooter a few times as it’s two hour parking on that strip of Minna, but it’s not metered and I had breaks and the building abuts Minna Street, so it only took a few minutes when I had to do it.

I won’t have to on the weekends proper.

Just on Fridays.

Tomorrow I will have my pick of the parking and not worry about it at all.

And now I know that on Fridays I may, if I don’t secure the parking that I want, have to do a little moving around of the ride.

No big deal.

The big deal was actually coming home on the scooter.

Not the traffic or the cold–the new motorcycle jacket works like a charm and is a super wind break, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised.

No.

What I was concerned about was the fog.

It rolled in big time and the visibility was hard.

I had to lift the visor on my helmet as it became too fogged up to see.

That was uncomfortable.

It is one thing to ride through fog on my bicycle with my glasses off, another to ride down Lincoln Avenue at 35/40 mph with fog smudging it all up.

I rode slow and resolved that for the future if the fog is bad I can take the park, which has a lot less traffic.

Granted the speed limit is ten miles an hour slower, but as they say, better safe than sorry.

My other thought when I was riding is don’t they make anti-fog helmets?

I wonder.

I bet they do.

Something to research.

Do they make them in glitter?

Yes.

Glitter is a color, what’s your issue?

So the scooter ride in went off without a hitch and I loved having my basket liner to carry all my food in and my books and notebooks and readers and coffee.  It all fit and a light sweatshirt, as I didn’t want to wear my motorcycle jacket in class or carry it around for that matter–what was great was getting to the kitchen at school, taking out my food from the basket liner and sticking my motorcycle jacket in the liner and setting it on the shelf.

Perfect.

So self-contained.

It was lovely.

And school was lovely too.

Good to see friends.

Good to catch up.

Good to get back into the feeling that I am not the only one fumbling around with time management or skills sets in therapeutic communication.

I am not the only one in the adventure.

There are others in the same boat and the common peril we all face–another god damn final paper to write–is a balm to my soul.

The final paper projects were handed out today and as I looked at the deliverables I wanted to vomit and in fact, my head got super full, so full with the last lecture of the day on Freud and transference, that when the professor laid out the final paper project I just about cried.

Well.

No.

That isn’t true.

But I wasn’t happy.

“You don’t look happy,” my professor said when she saw the face I made after she announced that there would be another paper due for the class.

I have no poker face.

I pasted some semblance of a societally acceptable pleasant mask on my face and hollered on the inside.

NO MORE FUCKING PAPERS!

Damn it.

Ugh.

Except, well, it wouldn’t be graduate school would it, it wouldn’t be getting a Masters in Psychology, it would be something else and I know that I am worth doing the work and that ultimately, the work will get done.

I have some how showed up for every class.

On time.

Not missed a one.

Even the weekend when I got sick and ran a fever and was out of my mind with exhaustion.

I have shown up.

I have turned all my papers in on time and I am doing pretty damn good.

I got an A- on the Pschoanalytics paper that I went out on such a huge limb for and I was happy with it.

I have gotten A’s and one B.

The one B was for formatting and should I choose, which I probably will, I can write an additional paper to self-correct that only B on my class roster.

I am not going to think about it yet, since there are so many other things to think about.

Between now and Paris.

I leave on the 20th and I refuse to go to Paris and have to write a paper for school there–although it is an option, my last paper deadline is for December 22nd.

But I can imagine no hell greater than having to write a paper while I am on Christmas vacation in Paris.

Maybe it’s somebody’s dream.

But it’s not mine.

Thank you very much.

So between today and when I leave for Paris I have to write–two papers for Human Development, plus give a presentation on an outside research project of my own developing (I have chosen teaching infants and toddlers how to use sign language as a skill that parents can develop to help negotiate communication with their children prior to the child’s vocal cords being developed in an effort to ease parental frustration and encourage another form of language skill in children); one final paper for Psychoanalysis, and two papers with transcriptions of therapy sessions for Therapeutic Communications class.

In toto: five papers and one class presentation with hand out.

In between now and December 20th.

Thank fucking God I have Thanksgiving weekend.

Four days.

I will be entrenched in my homework and I am going to do as much as possible to have what I can done by the beginning weekend of December.

If I negotiate the homework and readings well I can have three of the papers done by the first weekend in December.

Plus the final project presentation for Human Development.

Which will leave two papers to do before Paris.

One which could be optional should I choose to pass on the extra credit opportunity.

It’s a lot.

But.

It can be done.

I have faith in myself.

And much gratitude for a four day weekend next week.

As well as an awesome little scooter to get me where I need to go to get done with what I need to get done.

All the deliverables.

All the time.

All the things.

They just keep happening.

 

I Got Poked Today

November 18, 2015

I got poked a week ago.

That sounds weird doesn’t it?

Poking.

What the fuck is that?

Thanks Facecrack for “Like” and “poke.”

Where would my life be without the ubiquitous thumbs up sign on my life.

And the poke.

I mostly ignore.

In fact, that’s what happened with this guy.

I got poked a week ago.

It’s like a soft feel out.

Hey, there, girl, I’m thinking about you, but either I don’t have the balls to reach out directly, or I’m curious to see if maybe you’re interested, by, say, poking me back?

And what did I do?

I took the bait.

I poked back.

And then I forgot it.

Until I got the message saying, hey gorgeous, long time, I’m in town, let’s hang out, I’d love to see you.

And.

BTW.

I’m single.

Well.

Hello.

It’s been a few years since I have spoken to this particular gentleman and suffice to say since there are folks who know folks who know folks, I’m going to keep this on the very vague.

But the BTW I’m single bit.

Well.

Turns out I was sleeping with the guy who was not available to be slept with.

And how I found that out?

She messaged me.

On Facebook.

The day before I was leaving for Burning Man?

No.

Ha!

The day I was leaving for Burning Man.

This was right after moving back from Paris, so three burns ago.

Yes.

And I had tried to talk the gentleman in question into coming with.

It would be so much fun.

It wouldn’t have, in hindsight, I worked 23 or 24 days out on playa that year.

I think I might have had two days off?

I digress.

So.

I find out said gentleman, is not in fact quite as gentlemanly as he could have been.

And wow.

I mean.

WOW.

Did I get a message in the inbox.

I was so startled by the message at first, I did not quite get it.

I was confused.

I didn’t recognize the name.

I didn’t know exactly what was going on.

I had to read it again.

More than once.

I was at work and I was nannying, so I was distracted.

And, yes, I was getting ready to leave with the family that I was nannying for to go to Burning Man for three weeks so I didn’t understand why this woman was messaging me on Facecrack about throwing all her boyfriends shit out into the street and how I better let him know that he should call her.

Huh?

Oh.

Oh.

OH FUCK.

I might have slapped myself on the forehead.

And minutes before l was to leave as I was straightening up a few things in the kitchen and the mom was grabbing to go coffees from a cafe and the dad was doing the last-minute cross check and the baby was bouncing around the kitchen, he called.

I recall being a little terse.

I got an excuse for why he never called me back and then.

And then.

And then.

The bomb.

“I asked you not to blog about it.”

Um, excuse me?

I didn’t.

Well.

Ok.

I did.

I did indeed write about having had sex with someone.

But.

I didn’t write his name.

I was so incredibly vague that the most anyone could have gotten out of it was that I had slept with a man.

I mean.

Vague.

Vague as fuck.

But.

Apparently said girlfriend was smart and I won’t go into how she figured it out.

But she figured it out.

Then.

I told him that she had reached out to me.

Silence.

Fumbling words I listened to but did not register.

And I do recall saying, “I thought you were single.”

His response?

“You didn’t know I was in a relationship?”

Um.

No.

Because you never told me.

And yes.

I had asked.

Anyway.

I got poked today.

And I responded back to the poke.

“You get whatever you write about in your blog,” my friend teased me, “new mattress, scooter, trip to Paris for Christmas.”

(Dear blog, I want to get married, and be kissed on top of the ferris wheel at Place de la Concorde, and go on a honeymoon to Venice, and get all As in graduate school, and never have to be a nanny again, unless I’m taking care of my own children.  Dear blog, I would also like to be very securely well off financially so that I don’t have to worry about retirement, student loans, groceries, or health insurance.  Oh, I would also like a Jeep Wrangler, preferably in black, but I will take dark midnight blue and a Bambi Airstream trailer.  Dear blog, I also want to go to Hawaii, I’ve never been and I’m part Polynesian I would like to see where I came from.  Dear blog.  I want to get laid but I want it to be romantic, see, I want my cake and eat it too and icing and fondant, and chocolate sprinkles, and cherries on top, multiple kinds, because why not, and maybe crushed up Almond Joy bars because you know, I want what I want.)

And here it was.

Sex.

Sex on a stick.

Sex.

Poke, poke, poke.

I mean.

I am not stupid.

This was not a let’s go on a date and see if we have chemistry, we obviously had chemistry, but there was this thing, a girl friend, unbeknownst to me, and um, yeah, so you, my friend, good sir, revealed to me exactly who you are and what you are interested in.

Sex.

And.

You know what?

Great.

Sex is smashing.

Sex is awesome.

Yes.

I want sex.

Damn it.

But.

I do not want to be used and I don’t want to have to even think that there might be another woman out there who I am cheating on her boyfriend, husband, lover, with.

That’s called a living amends.

Not sleeping with a married man or a coupled man.

The imperious urge did rear its head.

It happens.

I entertained the thought.

Then you know what I did?

I paused.

I didn’t respond.

I wrote instead.

I read my reader for my Psych(e)analytic class.

There it was, in black and white, The Repetition Compulsion.

Oh fuck my mother.

Did that ring way too close to the truth.

I was looking down the street at a pothole I have fallen into before wondering how close I could get to the edge without falling in.

I walked away from the street.

I crossed to the other side.

I hid in a bush.

I stalled.

I went to work.

I debated.

What do I really want?

Oh.

Like I don’t know.

I do.

I know what I want.

Dear blog.

I want love.

And sex.

Both of them.

It exists.

I know it does.

I don’t have to sacrifice one for the other and I don’t have to worry about one or the other and fuck, hello, I’m in graduate school, when do I have the time to get laid anyhow and he wasn’t that great in bed anyhow.

Note to self.

Ahem.

I get wound up sometimes.

Ha.

I got home.

I had a long conversation with my Psych(e)analytic professor about the paper I wrote and I have to admit, I cried a little on the phone tears mostly, I got to see some characteristics of myself and work with them and her, my professor, that I didn’t like seeing and make some insights that I got from doing the paper clear to her.

I got an A.

Not sure I got a hard A.

I did drop the ball on one half of a salient point that she wanted the paper to make.

So out of three things she was looking for I had 2.5.

That being said, she also said in her 30 years of teaching she had never received a paper quite like mine.

That was nice to hear.

And the timing with the poke, really.

Hahahaha.

How FREUDIAN can you get?

It all aligned.

I can answer the message.

I can repeat the same silly cycle that I have done all my life.

Or.

I can let love in through the front door and be patient while it makes itself at home.

I don’t have to rush it right off to my bedroom.

I can invite it in for a cup or tea.

Or at least a Coke Zero.

And let it take its time.

Time.

I have in abundance.

Love.

There too.

On the threshold.

Standing in the sunshine.

Perhaps I’ll sit patient on the Davenport and feel the plaid patchwork rough under the palms of my hands.

While love takes off his hat and scarf.

Hang them there.

There’s a hook by the door.

Love.

Stay awhile.

Make yourself at home.

I’m not going anywhere.

Hello Friday

October 17, 2015

Is it Monday already?

I have a lot to do this weekend.

And.

That is lovely and as it should be.

But.

Sometimes it already feels like Monday is here and I haven’t gotten to have any weekend because it is so jammed and packed and full.

I will give myself time tomorrow though.

I have it scheduled.

Sometimes that it what I have to do.

I also have lots of people I am scheduled to meet and be with.

Also as it should be.

People I haven’t seen in a while and some I have seen more recently.

One lady who cancelled tonight, though, gave me a modicum of movement in my schedule and I found myself getting out to a spot that is a familiar and safe place for me, where, like the anti-Cheers, everybody knows my name.

“You have a following,” he told me at Burning Man while we were sitting with another friend at First Camp chilling and gossiping and smack talking.

I was giving him a hand massage.

I was astonished to hear him say that.

I do not.

I protested.

But I have been around awhile and I know a lot of folks.

I run into people all the time and it’s really nice and it helps keep me sane.

Hell, I even ran into some one last night at the Franz Ferdinand show in Oakland.

I was sitting on a flight of stairs catching up with ma poulette from my school cohort.

Look ma!

I’m making friends at school.

Which is really nice.

I wish I had more time for friends at school, like hanging outside of school, but I don’t and making the time to go to the show last night in Oakland, a train ride, after work, a longer show than I was expecting, a long delay in the BART station, not having a ride waiting like I was expecting, Uber not navigating to me in a timely manner, the driver called three times to verify where I was.

Seriously?

I said the last time when he called, “I am in the exact same spot, exact same spot, and I am at Second and Market.  I am literally standing underneath the sign that says “SECOND” street.”

He found me.

But man it took awhile.

I got in late.

I had a cup of tea, I unwound, I posted up the blog from the day before yesterday that I wasn’t able to get to yesterday morning.

There was something wrong with the server and I couldn’t access the blog at all for a day.

It was frustrating.

I couldn’t tell if it was the website itself, WordPress, or if it was my network, because I couldn’t get on Facebook either.

Not that I needed to be on Facecrack, but that I always Twitter my post and my Twitter is linked to Facebook.

If I can’t access my blog sometimes I have actually gone into it the back door via the link on Facebook and made edits to posts there.  It’s a bit of a hassle, but it works.

No such luck the other night.

It happens more frequently than I would like and a few times I have been concerned about getting access to syllabi and my school e-mails, etc, but usually I can recognize that as needless anxiety.

“What if I can’t send my Dubitzky paper on Sunday!”  My brain roared at me when I was trying to get my blog online.

Hey brain.

CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

First off all, you have to write the paper.

That paper and a Therapeutic Communications paper and a lot of reading, but don’t worry, I’ll get it done.

Or I won’t.

But being in anxiety about whether or not the internet will be online before I have even written the paper to send it in is just useless masturbatory fear brain reminding me that I have a disease, it resides in my brain, and my thinking is not always so even keel.

Besides.

Should I ever really need to get online and it’s not working here at the house, I just stroll down the street a couple of blocks and use the internet at Java Beach Cafe.

It’s open late and I have done work there before.

So.

Nothing to be anxious about.

Oh.

I know.

There is always something that will try to take me out of the moment, like jumping ahead to it’s already Monday and where did the weekend go?

I, ironically, am actually getting up earlier on my day off than I did today for work.

Granted.

My job didn’t start until 1 p.m.

I worked until 8 p.m.

Actually I got done a tiny bit before that which was awesome, as I got to hop on my bike and make it to Our Lady of SafeWay right at 8pm.

I saw my peeps.

I got right with God.

And that is also why I’ll be up early tomorrow.

A shower.

My morning routine.

That thing at the place over there.

Then a meeting with my person at Tart To Tart.

And another meeting with another woman.

And maybe lunch and nails.

And then back here for a phone check in.

Then.

I am taking the night.

Some time down by the beach.

A nice meal.

Some reconnecting.

The lady I am supposed to see at noon on Sunday cancelled, so I could even sleep in on Sunday.

Though it’s doubtful I will.

I will get up.

Make coffee.

Smile in gratitude at my life.

Sit down at this very table.

Write.

Do the deal.

And meet with someone else.

There is always some one to meet with and another chapter to write and to read.

There is always another story to tell.

I like to tell stories.

You might have noticed that.

In fact.

Hmm.

I might just go work on a story now.

My ten sonnets.

(I am finished writing them, they now need to be polished like pretty little glowing moonstones)

I want to have them wrapped up and done before I launch into my Dubitzy Psychoanalytic paper on Freud.

I am feeling inspired.

Listening to The Orb–Moon Building 2703 has set the tone.

Time to get poetic up in here.

Excuse me.

I have to go get my sonnet on.

Yeah.

I know.

Whatevs.

And Now It’s Time

October 12, 2015

For a little night music.

Since it’s Sunday.

That would be jazz.

Colman Hawkins.

Chet Baker.

Soothing.

Sexy.

Satiating.

Mostly soothing and easy for me to palate since my brain has been on fire with my Human Development paper and final project proposal.

I sent them both off tonight.

Minutes ago in fact.

Well.

The reflection paper, the second of five that the class requires (ok, ok, that I require, the class only requires four, I can opt out of one, but since I only got a B on the first paper–I got docked for formatting issues–who the hell asks a student to write in 1.5 paragraphs instead of 2.0–I will be writing all five.  I can get extra credit for writing the fifth which will bring my grade up to where I want it) I sent off about 45 minutes ago.

It took me a little longer to write then I thought it would.

But.

I got it done in under three hours.

My brain hurts though.

My ass too.

From sitting in a hard chair for hours.

I also sat in this chair to do my morning pages and to meet with two different ladies back to back before I got started on the paper.

Plus, I sat a while organizing my notes and notebooks and my gigantic ass text-book and the reader and well, my tush is half asleep.

Hopefully this blog will be quick and I will get my butt out of this chair soon.

Ah.

Getting old.

Thanks for the reminder body.

I was actually surprised to find myself finishing up the proposal for the final project tonight.

I was going to put it off until tomorrow night.

But.

I did not want to sit down to a cold proposal tomorrow night, I figure I may be too tired, I’m going into work early and both the boys have the day off from school for the holiday, so I’ll have my hands full.

And.

I am meeting my person after work to do some reading and do the deal.

So.

I started making some notes and gathering my information and looking about the internet and I ended up writing out my proposal and sending it off as well.

Today’s reflection paper was on issues in human development–nach, that’s the title of the course–around racism, micro-aggression in families, sexual fluidity, same-sex parenting, parenting styles, and effects of violence and media on children.

Yeah.

Like that.

Except it was seven pages (at 1.5 fucking paragraph line spacing, so it felt like ten pages) and 2,953 words.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Now I go vomit in my bathroom.

My proposal for my final project presentation is on using sign language with babies to help parents communicate before verbal skills have developed.  It will be mainly a theoretical research project, but there will be color from my own personal experience, plus a video on signing, and a hand out with 20 common signs, some of which I plan on teaching the class.

I am still rather shocked that I got the proposal done and sent off.

Relieved too.

I need to focus on my other classes a little bit.

And.

Start the reading for the next weekend of classes.

Ugh.

The Human Development class has three chapters of reading in the text-book and six articles in the reader.

I don’t know what I need to read for my other classes at all.

I don’t know when the papers are due either.

Although I have a vague inkling that I must have my Dubitzky paper on Freud before the next weekend of classes and my Therapeutic Communication class always has a paper due right before class too.

That’s two papers.

Plus the paper for my T-Group.

That one isn’t due until November 17th, but there is a lot.

A LOT.

Of reading I have to do for it.

Ah.

Finding balance.

Oh!

Excellent.

I just got a response back from my Human Development professor.

She received my second reflection paper.

The professor also has a policy that the student is responsible for making sure she, the professor, gets the paper.  If I don’t hear back within 24 hours or so of sending out the paper I need to check in with her to ascertain whether or not she has gotten it.

I suppose this negates the possibility of that old saw.

What do you mean you didn’t get my paper?

I sent it!

Computers!

I feel like I do a little too much housekeeping for this particular class and too much grunt work.

But.

So it goes.

The price of admission.

OH!

Hey!

This is nice, check it out.

How delightful!  I am looking forward to your presentation Carmen.  Go for it!   

I just received another e-mail from the professor.

She likes my project proposal!

Sweet.

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

I will have to make a trip to the library, in fact, I may just buy the book online, the one by Dr. Joseph Garcia, called Toddler Talk, if I can find a cheap copy of it on Amazon and of course, do the presentation, but I have some space to work on it and I figure that I will be doing a bit of that work after this next weekend of classes, which is not until the 23rd of the month.

I have twelve days to get done another two papers and read another load of words.

And life.

There’s always that basic maintaining that has to be taken care of.

Self-care.

I was good to myself today.

I slept in.

Not a lot, but I didn’t use an alarm, probably the only day this week that I didn’t, and I bought myself flowers–a sort of incentive to get my paper writing done.  I also did some grocery shopping and I cooked food for the day and for the week.

Dinner and lunch was brown rice with tarragon chicken and mushrooms.

Food for the work week is homemade “fried” rice with turkey bacon, chicken, mushrooms, peas, carrots, and sweet corn.

I also finally caught up on my spending plan and wrote out my expenditures for September and made a plan for October.

I knew I was procrastinating on writing the paper when I started playing catch up with my spending plan.

I mean, hello.

I would rather work on a spending budget for the month then write this paper.

But.

It’s done too, October, and where all my money is allotted.

Clothing allowance excepting.

I spent that all yesterday.

Heh.

Life it moves a pace.

Oh!

And I wrote another sonnet.

That’s eight done.

I should have the full ten by Tuesday after which point I will take the roughs from my notebook and put them into my laptop and edit them and send off the bunch to my collaborator.

I wasn’t busy today.

Hahahaha.

Not at all.

Breathing a sigh of relief.

Drinking hot cinnamon spice tea.

Soft jazz on the stereo.

Winding down for the day.

Time to rest up for the week.

It’s a big one.

But at least I have one last paper over my head to worry about.

Good night all.

Sweet dreams.

 


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