Posts Tagged ‘Gap’

Tomorrow’s The Big Night

December 5, 2017

And I wish I had not seen the video of my dress rehearsal, but there it is.

I don’t like how I look and it is uncomfortable to watch.

My shit.

I know that.

I have a different sense of how I look and I felt, ugh, just not pretty or attractive or engaging.

Oh.

I know that isn’t true, it’s just a feeling, a way to not acknowledge the work I have done to be where I am, but it’s there.

So, hey, negative self-esteem, nice to see you too.

Although, let’s be fucking honest here, no one should shoot video from below a woman’s face, fuck people, who doesn’t know this in the age of selfies?

I was like, oh look, double chin.

And I’m wearing a fucking flannel and messy pigtails.

I could cry.

I’m vain and I feel like I look heavy and it just wasn’t what I wanted to see on my phone before heading in to see my clients.

That is a request from the producers of the show to share my video montage that they made on social media.

But.

Hey.

Anything for a good cause.

And it is.

I don’t have to be the most attractive thing on the fucking planet, or in town, and there’s no way I’m going to be any of those things anyway.

But.

I can be myself, messy, flawed, thick.

It’s who I am.

I am no svelte lady, I get to walk around in this body and keep getting to be grateful for it.

Sigh.

I’m going to get up early.

I’m going to shower.

I’ll do some nice make up and put on a pretty dress and I will not give a fuck what the negative talk is in my head about how I look on video.

It’s just how I look and the damn thing will be done and I will move on with the rest of my life.

Really.

I loved the experience of hearing my friend’s talk and how beautifully he talked about our experience and the hug we exchanged and I’ll remember that, not how I looked fat in my pink flannel Gap shirt that I now want to burn and never wear again.

Gah.

I guess I have some more body image work to do.

Sigh.

I know I’m being a baby, I know I am.

There’s nothing wrong with me.

I just don’t like how I look on video.

I would hazard that there aren’t a lot of folks outside of movie stars that do like how they look on video, it’s weird to see oneself in a different light.

And I am grateful I get to do this and I’ve practiced a lot and I think I have a good talk.

It certainly elicits emotions.

I think that’s the most important thing, that I share my soul a little bit, that I’m vulnerable that I am honest.

That is my beauty.

That is where I shine.

And frankly I wasn’t shining on the video.

Oh.

It’s not bad, it’s just not what I want to portray.

I don’t like it when I know I’m being video taped either, I feel awkward.

It’s the same when I’m having a photo taken.

I can take a great fucking selfie, I know my angles, but fuck someone else taking my photo and the results make me want to gag.

I felt the same way when I did the photo shoot to get the head shot for the event, fat and unattractive.

Old news, old story, just another old way to beat myself up for not being what everyone else in this society wants to be.

I am heavier than I want to be, thanks grad school and practicum, I don’t get to work out as much as I used to and I haven’t bicycle commuted in a couple of years, sitting on my ass reading and writing papers has put a few pounds on me.

But not that much!

So.

I know it’s my head and it’s a way to try to self-sabotage something that will bring me joy to do.

I don’t want to ruin the damn thing before I even get on stage.

Fuck the cameras.

Fuck the image bullshit.

Show up.

Put on my best dress.

Put on some lipstick.

And shine.

I know I can shine.

I know it when it comes over me and suddenly words are just falling out of my mouth and I am moving in this marvelous sea of love and it feels extraordinary.

That’s what I want.

That’s how I am.

And I need to shake this shit off now.

I do not want to be in fucking tears the day of the show.

I look like shit when I cry, thanks getting old, my eyes can’t hide tears very well.

Plus.

I have fucking therapy in the morning.

I warned my therapist that I did not want to be crying in my next session when I left her office last week, I don’t want to have cry face.

I’ll bring my make up bag just in case.

Ugh.

I am being a baby.

I knew I wasn’t going to like the video before I even saw it.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

I will not compare and despair.

I will fucking not.

I am just fucking fine the way I am and  I will change again next week.

Change is always happening.

Few more grey hairs on my head.

More laugh wrinkles around my eyes.

I don’t know that people are going to remember how I looked, what I hope is that they remember how they feel after I have shared.

That is what is important.

The message.

Not the medium.

The medium is vain.

I wish to carry the message and that’s all.

That’s it.

Just be my authentic self and let that bring happiness.

That’s all that matters.

In the end, really, that’s the most important thing.

Share my joy.

Not my vanity.

And.

Just.

Be.

 

My beautiful self.

You Look Good!

August 20, 2017

He said to me after giving me a great big hug, “where you been, I’ve missed you?”

Interning, working, getting ready for school, prepping for Burning Man.

Oh the list of stuff.

“You like?” I said, and stepped back to let him admire my look, “I therapized today, so I was dressing for the occasion.”

“I love,” he said, then continued, “you were what?”

I told him I had clients today, I had group supervision, I wanted to dress the part, the therapist part that is, I want to look like a professional.

“You look good! It’s totally working for you,” he finished, “glad you made it tonight.”

And so was I.

And I was happy that I made an impression.

Maybe it’s just me, but I really want to give an air of being a professional, I want to be respected  and I want to set a tone for my clients, I’m not super serious and I’m not uptight, I am warm and friendly and empathetic, but I also want to send a clear message.

I am an authority and I am going to dress like one.

On the other hand.

Holy fucking shit.

Some of the people who work with me are not as concerned with their appearance.

Or their body smells.

Fuck my mother.

It was a shock today to walk into my office and be overwhelmed and I mean, overwhelmed, with the smell of rotting socks and foul shoes.

The intern before me had done a session with his client in his socks.

Granted.

I sort of understand, it was a child client, I will happily get down on the floor with a child, I will, getting on a child’s level is crucial, I would and have done sessions sitting on the floor with a kid.

I have never taken off my shoes for a session with a kid, but hey, sure I could, if I felt that it was of service to the session.

But.

Fuck.

Not if my feet smell like bad molding cheese.

God damn.

I am not over exaggerating, even if I have a tendency toward the dramatic, I am not being dramatic, it was bad.

So bad that an hour later when my group supervisor and the rest of the interns coming in for our 2p.m. session, noticed it, complained and opened the windows wider.

I shared with one of the interns about why it smelled that way and that the room also had not been vacated on time, the therapist had gone over with his client.

I was livid.

I had the room assigned to me and I had a consult waiting in the hallway.

I understand that I am working in a community mental health facility, but fuck, people, professionalism.

PLEASE.

There is something therapeutic about what I am modeling for my clients by showing up on time, by presenting a clean persona, by having a nice outfit on.

I don’t have to be dressed to the nines, but I present nicely.

I mean, I am a professional nanny during the day, I run around with a four-year old and a seven-year old and I am constantly juggling a baby–which is great, I joke often that I am emitting baby smell which has to be a therapeutic smell if there ever was one–who sometimes burps up milk or mashed carrot on me.

But.

I have back up clothes at work.

I have nanny shoes.

I have therapy shoes.

I bring in my nice clothes, I change, I put on my therapy shoes, I tidy my hair, I make sure that there’s no burp residue on me, I refresh my lipstick before I hop on my scooter and zip to my internship after my day job has ended.

I pull it together.

Ugh.

I am done ranting.

I guess I have just been taken by surprise a few times by the lackadaisical attitude of some of the interns.

I take what I am doing so fucking seriously, I want to be good.

I mean.

Really good.

I am proud of what I have accomplished and it feels good to give it acknowledgement.

I had hot pink hair when I started my Masters of Psychology program.

I have a lot of tattoos.

A lot.

And.

I dressed flamboyantly, glittery makeup, big flowers in my hair.

A little faux queen if you will.

Big hair.

Big personality.

And I love that about myself, that I can pull out a fabulous costume from my closet and do it up, but I remember quite distinctly when I began the process of interviewing for practicum that I wanted to present a bit more polished.

I went and got a good hair cut.

I went back to my natural color.

I hadn’t been my “natural” hair color in god only knows how many years.

Purple, magenta, green, blue, yellow, hot pink, cotton candy pink, rainbow sherbert, name a color I had it.

I stopped painting my nails super dark colors.

Oh.

I still do now and again, but I tend towards a neutral manicure now.

I toned down my clothes, I got some good clean, easy dresses from the Gap and a couple from Asos, that I could layer with a classic black cardigan.

I softened my makeup.

I almost never wear winged eyeliner anymore and I don’t wear glitter.

Well.

Maybe a tiny bit of sparkle, but it’s so subtle now, you might not notice it at all.

I stopped wearing flowers in my hair.

I still have them.

I will wear them at Burning Man.

I will have a wild hair parade everyday out there, I will wear flowers and ribbons and hats and fascinators and I will have fabulous makeup and flamboyant dresses.

I will wear fucking antlers on my head.

See if I won’t.

But.

Not when I have a session with a client.

I like this refined me.

It feels adult.

I like wearing heels and nice button down shirts and expensive jeans and soft, clean makeup, I still wear hoops, but not the super gigantic ones anymore.

Oh.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m an attractive woman and I have unique features and my hair is always going to be wild, but it’s just wild brown curls now not hot pink curls, and well, the tattoos, they will always be there and there will probably be another one or two add to the mix.

I am never not going to be noticeable.

But fuck me.

I will be professional.

And that’s my business.

I don’t have to judge how others do it, even though, shit, half this blog was all about judging mister stinky feet and the sloppy ass interns in t-shirts and dirty jeans, but I do get to process it out here.

So that when I interact with them.

I can be professional.

Because.

I am.

I am a psychotherapist.

And I will dress like it because it pleases me to do so.

So there.

Ha.

Unexpected Free Time

February 25, 2017

Not a lot.

But.

Oh my God.

More than enough.

I got a text this morning from the mom saying, hey you worked such a long day yesterday, come in an hour late and we’ll probably let you go an hour early.

Grandma visit.

At first I was annoyed.

I had plans!

Then I was flustered.

Shit.

I could have made plans.

I could have snuck in a yoga class this morning.

Then.

I got over myself.

Get grateful you boob!

You just got two hours knocked off your work day, be happy.

I did some extra writing.

I made a cafe au lait and read another two articles in my Couples Therapy reader–in fact, I’m only two articles away from being completely done with all my reading for the next weekend of classes.

I am super psyched for that.

I took it leisurely getting ready for work and I had a nice shower and really, my hair was on point today, I had a hella good hair day.

And when I got into work I found out that since the grandma was going to be leaving on Monday she wanted to spend extra time with the kiddos and take them on a special trip to the toy store.

Grandma, toy store, extra time with the kiddos=getting off not one hour early, but two!

“Happy Friday,” the mom said, “if you can just fold up the rest of the laundry and take these things up to the dry cleaners, you can go early, I don’t think we’ll be back from the toy store before you would be leaving anyhow, you don’t need to futz around here and twiddle your thumbs.”

“Really?” I asked.

I mean.

Yes, please and thank you, but also really, I haven’t had this much leeway in my job in some time and I realize that although I loved the family I was working for a lot, those boys, oh those sweet boys, I was under a great deal more stress to constantly be doing something.

I had to put up a lot of boundaries around taking breaks and having down time, or time to eat my food.

Not so at this job.

They are just the bees knees.

And the mom and I had a very sweet talk today about the whole process and how happy they are to have me.

I mean.

Really happy.

And I am really happy to have them.

It feels like such a good fit.

Granted I know the honey moon period will pass, issues arise, conflicts happen, but over all, wow, wow, wow, just such a great job for me.

The gaggle of baby, mama, brother, sister, and grandma headed off to pillage the toy store and I happily futzed about the house making sure everything was in order and tidy and putting away the laundry.  I did a double, triple check on things, then headed out to Noe Valley to drop off some dry cleaning for them, and killing two birds with one stone, I also dropped off some mending I needed done on my two favorite cardigans.

Then I asked for direction.

Where to next?

I had a thought about running downtown to go shop at Gap, but realized that wasn’t necessary, I didn’t have to put myself through going downtown to use the coupon that I had.

In fact, right before starting to write this blog, I just went online and applied it at the online store, basically saving $70 on my order.

I got the same dress I am currently wearing, one of the causal interview dressed I bought, in a different color (mom made a really outstanding point to me today as the baby had a huge whoopsie down the back of her shirt, pants, and yes, all over the floor, that I should have a back up set of clothes for having at the house in case such a thing happens, hence another dress like the one I’ve got on) and a racer back maxi that I was thinking, oh, yes, Paris in Spring, with a pair of sandals.

So.

Instead of going downtown into the madness, I just took the roads up and over Twin Peaks and headed to the Inner Sunset.

A quick run to the bank.

Then.

A manicure.

It was really nice to do that.

Just sit back, read a trashy magazine and get my nails done.

Such a little pleasure.

Then I took myself out for some carnitas, because, carnitas, hello.

Afterward a nice cafe au lait, decaf thank you, and I made sure it was decaf, and some fellowship with a friend from the neighborhood before doing the deal.

It was good to catch up and it’s nice to know people in my neighborhood.

I am officially a Sunset person I think, it’s been three and a half years of living out here now, I think I can call myself a part of the Sunset for sure.

After getting right with God I hopped on the scooter and made the executive decision to do my grocery shopping for the weekend.

It may rain tomorrow, already put the cover on my scooter, and I just figured, get it out-of-the-way.

And like that.

I did.

I also paid rent today for March and signed up for two yoga classes this weekend.

Fuck.

It feels good to be on top of things.

Plus.

I touched base with my supervisor at my internship and we set up a time for me to come in and fill out all the paperwork and talk about next steps.

I’ll be doing that in March, after my next weekend of classes.

So, although, yes, I do have a full weekend, it’s not so full since I got some errands done unexpectedly and let myself skip out on needlessly going downtown to make myself crazy in the shopping district.

No thanks.

I’ll take a nice mellow night in and yoga in the morning instead.

I’ve got a meet up with a lady to do some reading and then my dentist appointment at 4p.m.

Fingers crossed.

It’s been awhile, but happy to be addressing it.

Then a small dinner party in Noe Valley with some ladies in my cohort and a T.A. from the summer session of classes at the beginning of the school year.

Feels like a nice way to start the weekend.

I’m ready.

Happy Friday!

March To Your Own

January 29, 2017

Fucking drummer.

I mean.

I tried.

I so tried.

I went downtown.

I went to Banana Republic, Macy’s, three fucking floors of Macy’s, Nordstrom’s and finally Gap.

I was looking for interview clothes.

My fucking god.

What a pain in my ass.

I am not a great clothes shopper.

It does not matter what my size, I have always had a challenging time finding clothes that fit.

I have had the issue when I was much heavier and when I was thinner.

I am a little heavier than I want to be right now and that’s also something that I have been letting go of.

I am older and it takes more work to hold it off.

And I’m not riding my bike five times a week.

I’ve put on a size in the last year.

There was a time when I was like I will never ever be heavier than am now, I won’t go back the other way, but God has different plans and I have to keep saying, “you’re enough, you are ok, this is the body that God has given you today.”

I also am on my period.

So, yeah, um perhaps not the best time to shop.

Bloated and hormonal.

Bwahahahahaha.

No wonder I wanted to kill myself.

Well, ok, perhaps I exaggerate a little, but I was not happy with what I was finding and how I was feeling and I knew I could get away with something in my wardrobe if push came to shove, but I really wanted to try to get somethings that would work for interviews and also that I could wear to work.

And yes, I did find them, at the Gap, as I mentioned earlier.

I got two long-sleeved cotton dresses.

Super simple, long drop back, slightly higher in the front hem than the back, classic, elegant, easy, and I can pair them both with cardigans and look super polished and not over dressed.

I say over dressed as I have been wondering what the hell does one wear to a “casual interview.”

Fuck.

I just googled “casual interview,” I should have done that yesterday!

I had no clue that this is actually a thing.

And.

Yes.

Whew.

I succeeded in my shopping mission, my two dresses fit the bill.

I’m going to wear the soft cashmere grey cotton dress and a black cardigan with black leggings and the new shoes I found.

Yes.

I did find new shoes, but it took a minute.

I went to Macy’s and Nordstrom’s, they often carry my size, but I couldn’t find a thing, I mean, really nada, I got a bit frustrated and I was going to give up and just say fuck it, I’ll wear my nanny clogs, they’re not exactly fashion forward, but they’re not Converse and they’ll do in a pinch.

Then as I was heading back to my scooter.

John motherfucking Fluevog to the rescue.

I had eschewed going in when I had parked by the store on Grant Street.

I mean, I love Fluevog’s, I have two other pairs and they are fucking gorgeous shoes.

But.

They are super funky and eclectic.

Hmmm.

Hey.

Aren’t I super funky and eclectic?

Um.

Yeah.

So.

I popped into the store.

I looked around a bit but wasn’t seeing what I wanted and then the guy behind the counter came out and was super chill and funny and relaxed and asked me what I was looking for and we walked around and chatted and I told him what I had from them, but that I wanted a flat shoe not a heel.

And holy shit.

Thank God for asking for help and receiving it.

“I actually want to show you these shoes, they’re men’s but they’re super unisex and I think that they’ll do the trick, I’ve had a couple of women buy them now and they all really loved them.

He showed me the shoes.

Oooh.

Yes.

Yes, come to mama.

They are a pinked grey wing tip brogue with a two-inch hot neon blue platform sole.

They are so fucking fabulous it’s hard to stand it.

I tried them on.

They fit perfect.

And they are super unisex and hip and cool and just funky enough to make my outfit not so plain Jane, grey dress, black leggings, black cardigan, they elevated my outfit and also made it me, made it mine, I was so happy.

They are the Sid.

They rock.

It was extraordinary how just letting myself be my own person suddenly helped me find what I needed.

I am not average.

I am not.

And that is so ok.

It really is.

I get to embrace that and I’m so happy that I found an awesome pair of shoes and a nice couple of dresses, I got the same dress in grey and also in black, I’ll wear one of the other to my interviews.

I’ll either pair the dress, depending on which color I decide to wear, with the Sid or I’ll wear one of my other pair of Fluevog’s, probably the red and white polka dots, the black dress is simple enough that I can wear an extravagant shoe, and though it’s a heel, it’s not a super high heel.

The other pair I have might work, although the heel is a bit high, four-inch Cuban wood stack heel.

Anyway.

I am rambling.

I found my interview clothes.

Heh.

I am wearing the grey dress right now, actually.

I stripped out of my clothes, tried on the dress and the shoes as soon as I walked in the door and was mighty, mighty pleased.

It looks fucking great all together.

Clean, simple, elegant dress, cool, funky, eccentric shoes, perfectly me.

Now that the shopping is done for a while I can get on the school work tomorrow.

I’m going to knock out my Trauma paper, do my taxes, cook some food for the week and go get a manicure tomorrow.

And yoga.

I’m a weekend yoga warrior right now.

It’s not enough, I’m realizing I will have to either up my exercise or figure out my food and dial it down a bit.

Or maybe.

Just accept that this is where I am right now and that I can be fierce and sexy and fun and funky and eccentric and as long as I’m not eating the sugar and the flour, that I am ok.

I really am.

And I have fabulous shoes.

I mean.

Please.

Life is great.

Who the fuck am I to complain?

I got a god damn interview Thursday!

This is amazing.

This is excellent.

Things are good.

All the things.

All of them.

New fabulous shoes most certainly included.

Seriously.

Wasn’t I Just Here?

December 4, 2016

Doing just this?

I mean.

Man.

The day went by so fast.

It’s 10 p.m. and I’m just getting settled in for the night.

I did not do any school work today.

As predicted I had a lot of other things to attend to.

And attend to them I did.

Yoga.

Which kicked my ass.

I have a sore shoulder that I think may actually be a repetitive stress injury from.

Wait for it.

Blogging.

I know.

Right?

I suspected one day when I realized that it was just my left shoulder and that it was a certain spot and oh shit, I am not sitting at my kitchen table straight on, always at a bit of an angle and I bet that is what it is.

I mean.

It is the only explanation.

So.

Over the last few weeks I have tried writing my blog in a different position and now my right shoulder hurts.

Ugh.

But it’s not the same kind of strain and I remember when I strained my right shoulder how long it took to heal, like forever, and I suppose I’m just going to have to deal with a sore shoulder.

The yoga is hard, but I’m not stressing it, I feel like I’m keeping it flexible and when it’s too hard I relax the pose.

I’m not able to do the depth of poses on my left side that I can do on my right, which bums me out a little, but hey, as my teacher said today, “be happy you got here, getting out of bed and to the class is the hardest thing you’re going to do today.”

I reminded myself of that.

“That was the hardest thing you’re going to do all day,” I told myself with a laugh and hopped into the shower.

I had a lovely breakfast and I have to say, a lovely hair day.

It’s so nice to not have lice.

So, so, so nice.

I had big, huge, full, wild, curly hair today.

It was awesome.

I laughed at myself a little too, really, you were going to cut this all off?

No.

I like it too much.

It stays.

After breakfast I zoomed up to the Inner Sunset and joined the birthday cake party at Tart to Tart.

It was just the most lovely time.

I am so grateful to be a part of this community, and the small little slice that I had today was just the best, to sit with women, wise women, experienced in love and laughter and joy and sorrow, survivors every one of them, and be counted and seen and appreciated.

Such a pleasure.

Such a gift.

I ended up staying for an hour longer than I was going to and it was the best.

No regrets at all.

After that.

Manicure.

Pedicure.

Eyebrow waxing.

Because there ain’t going to be no other time to do it in the near future.

Although I fucked up my manicure and will need to get it re-done.

I was aiming for a color that would go well with my dress for the wedding I’m going to next Saturday, but it’s a flat color and needs to be spot on to look tight and it got mucky and now looks like trash.

Must to re-do.

When?

Fuck if I know, I might just remove the polish myself and go with a clear coat that I can do without too much hassle.

Anyway.

I digress.

After that a very late lunch at La Fonda Mexican and then the decision.

Go into the throngs here, or go into the throngs there?

Shopping that is.

I needed to get a pair of shoes for the wedding to go with the dress I’m wearing, and I did find a pair and I’m very happy with them.

And.

I got all the other things I needed to get, plus a coat!

That was a happy surprise.

So.

The right decision to take the left turn was warranted.

I was debating going to the Nordstrom Rack over by 10th and Bryant or going downtown.

10th and Bryant has its upside, closed in parking, I know the store, I’d feel pretty comfortable, but it’s  Nordstrom Rack, not the real deal, and it’s always a crap shoot if I can find what I want, sometimes I do score and I’m happy but when I for sure need to make sure I get the right thing for my wardrobe I head downtown.

I was nervous about the crowds, but actually dealt with it really well and I got caught up in the energy of it.

Plus.

I was shopping at the end of the day around dinner time, since I had a late lunch I didn’t get down town until nearly 4:30 p.m.

I went to the Nordstrom Rack down town too, I mean, I sort of had to, it is the best place for me to buy jeans and I needed a new pair.

Plus, on the off-chance that I could find a pair of shoes I wanted to start where they would be the cheapest.

No go on the shoes.

But.

Yes.

One new black bra.

One new pair of jeans.

And one lightweight sweater I can wear in San Francisco and will layer up nicely in Wisconsin.

And!

One new coat.

A leather and wool motorcycle jacket that was extraordinarily marked down, like I got it for $74 and it was originally over $300, and though not quite heavy enough for Wisconsin winter, was roomy enough to let me layer a sweatshirt underneath and its fabulous and, well, um, heh, very cool.

I felt super sexy in it and sort of loved that I found it.

Totally surprised and quite pleased.

Then off to the real Nordstrom’s, which I don’t like shopping in since it’s so freaking huge and in the mall and the mall is huge and overwhelming and too many people, but I dashed in, looked around and found.

Nada.

So.

I knew I had to go to Macy’s.

And.

Yes.

I found my shoes there!

I have been looking at shoes on-line and had a good idea that I would find what I wanted through Nine West, but I wanted to be able to try them on and Macy’s sells Nine West and Nine West runs to a 12.

I wear an 11.5.

Sigh.

You know what they say.

Big feet.

Big shoes.

Depending on the brand I either go up or I if I  need to, I go down.

The twelves I tried on were too big and the elevens were perfect.

I got the sweetest pair of dark royal blue kitten heels.

They are going to go so freaking well with my dress.

I cannot wait.

Plus, they are super cute kitten heels and I can see wearing them with a lot of things.

Not that I’d be nannying in them.

But you know.

A date.

Or going out with girlfriends.

Then out of Macy’s.

I got in and out in less than twenty minutes.

Freaking miracle.

And I actually had enough time to pop into Gap which was eerily quiet and rummage alone through the sales racks.

Scored another sweater, a slip dress and a, ha, pink flannel shirt.

Because.

Wisconsin in winter screams for flannel.

Just saying.

Happy I found what I wanted and also that I was able to get in and out without too much hassle.

I love having a scooter.

Especially for finding parking.

And for zipping over the hills and zooming through the traffic.

I made my 7 p.m. commitment without a minute to spare.

A great share.

Great shares from the floor.

Hugs and check ins and then back here to home sweet home.

A late dinner.

Unpacking my goodies.

Chatting with my best friend in Wisconsin about my upcoming trip and some hot tea.

A good day.

And tomorrow.

Well.

It’s not here yet.

But yes.

There will be homework.

I had my reprieve.

It’s time to hit the books.

Or the laptop as the case may be.

I have papers to write.

I do.

I do.

Good night my friends.

It was a good day.

And I am so very aware of what a lucky girl I am.

Seriously.

Luckiest girl in the world.

 

 

 

Retail Therapy

January 25, 2015

I got me some.

And now, like a good therapy session, I am all tuckered out from the effort of being present and in my body.

A body that I still don’t always see that well and when I am thinking it’s a fat body, it’s time to stop the shopping.

Size eleven is not fat.

In case you were wondering.

“Why aren’t I a size ten?” My brain started questioning my blue jean choices, and when I go there I can go there quick.

I did pretty well before the blue jeans began to be too much and I had to call it a day.

I actually may have found a pair but I was too tired and starting to second guess myself.  I need to enlist a girl friend to go jean shopping.  I am not good on my own.  In fact, it was suggested to me that I either go future clothes shopping with a friend or enlist a salesperson.

That, helping customers fit into their clothes, is apparently one of their jobs.

Who knew.

I started off the shopping with a bang and a special treat for me.

I went to Chanel on Maiden Lane and bought my signature scent–Egoiste–I have not had it for the last month, having run out around my birthday.

I had some expectation that I might get perfume as a gift from someone, but uh, that didn’t happen.

And like the flowers I eventually bought myself, I bought myself perfume today.

I don’t have to wait for a partner to treat me well, not that my ex didn’t treat me well, he absolutely did, but there were things that I didn’t get myself for a moment when I had expectations around the holidays.

Expectation.

Leads to resentment.

Oh my yes.

And I can expect idiotic things too, I realize this all the time.

Like, oh, this is rich, I should be going to graduate school to get a literature degree or a Masters in Creative Writing.

Despite the fact that all the programs that I have applied to turned me down.

I still have this antiquated idea that I am supposed to be doing this thing where I write, make gang loads of money, and I don’t know do something with the English Literature degree I got as an undergraduate.

As though the benefits of studying have to pay off monetarily.

As if it wasn’t enough that it was through studying TS Eliot and Shakespeare, and yes, Tolkien, that I rediscovered God and went from being an atheist/agnostic, to believing in God.

Something that was very helpful to me when I got sober.

And continues to be helpful to me.

But no, I got that degree with the intention of becoming a writer.

Oh.

Wait.

I am a writer.

But, it doesn’t look like how I think it should look.

Neither do those jeans, but hey, you’re not fat either.

Aside.

Even after nearly five years of maintaining an over 80 pound weight loss, I still gravitate to the plus size clothes section and got excited when I walked into H & M and saw that they now have a plus size section.

Hey lady.

Snap out of it.

I am not a size 26 anymore.

I am a size 11.

Which is not the size 10 I eventually got down to, but wasn’t able to really sustain without restricting more than I should considering my energy levels, body type, and the amount of bicycling I do.

End aside.

I shared these thoughts around graduate school today with someone before heading out into the wilds of San Francisco shopping (which were wild, I had no idea that there was going to be a protest downtown or that the streets were torn up with construction projects).

I told her that I was beating myself up for applying to program that had nothing to do with my writing or my literature degree and that I was still holding out on the idea that I would be making it as a writer.

Famous.

Rich.

Worldly.

As though I am not already.

Famous in my own mind.

Rich in love.

Worldly in my travels and experiences.

The perspective is just different.

She laughed at me when it all finally came out, and pointed out to me how important words are to a therapist, the words behind the words, the language that is being spoken, the things that people say when they aren’t actually saying anything, how important that communication is and understanding of language are to a good therapist.

Well duh.

I had not seen it that way and I was astounded by how spot on she was.

Of course!

My gift for language will be used and used better than any of the silly fatuous fantasy I have of what it means to be a writer.

She also pointed out that I am not actually great at being isolated and that perhaps I don’t want to have a career that is so focused on being alone without distractions.

Another great point.

And then, the ringer, how much I can be of service.

She told me things that I don’t see often in myself because I have this idea of who I am that does not always match up to who I am.

I’m getting better at it.

I am.

And I was able to leave Tart to Tart with a smile on my face and be ready to tackle the shopping.

Which I did with gleeful abandon until I was done.

I actually did really well.

Two pairs of shoes, one pair of black leggings, new earrings, new makeup, new hair clips, a new skirt, a new sweater, a new bra, a tank top, a baseball jersey, and a new jean jacket.

Plus the perfume.

In total I shopped and bought at nine different stores and went into at least another six or seven others.

I went to Chanel, Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Nordstrom Rack, H & M, Urban Outfitters, the Westfield Mall, Zara, Banana Republic, Gap, Anthropology, Claire’s, and Beauty Lands.

No wonder I am tuckered out.

I don’t do this very often and next time I do have to go with a girlfriend for some body perspective, but I can give myself a pat on the back for doing the deal and taking care of myself.

Even if I didn’t find the perfect jeans.

I still found what I need.

The metaphor for my life.

I may not get what I want.

But what I am given is always.

ALWAYS.

Beyond my wildest dreams.

 


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