Posts Tagged ‘gifts of sobriety’

Grind It Out

October 11, 2016

Although I say that, it really wasn’t that bad, but I was afraid it was going to be a very long day.

Normally on Mondays, normal, fuck me, what the hell is “normal” in my life at the moment?

Ahem.

Over the last couple of weeks on Mondays, let me rephrase, I have been working with this second family of three–6 1/2 year old, 4 year old, and a very adorable 20 month old–I normally see the boys for a bout 10 minutes in the morning, then they are off to school and I have the baby all day.

Wednesday I have all three, but Mondays, I’m just supposed to have the one.

Except.

Fuck.

Today was a holiday.

No school.

I had all three to start and boy howdy is it different to run with that much energy that fast.

I kept up, but I have to say I was extraordinarily relieved when I got a text from one of the moms saying that the grandma was going to swing by and pick up the boys for some grandma time.

Thank you God.

I needed that break.

I got about an hour without the boys during the baby’s nap time and was not only able to kick out a couple pages, four, of writing, but also do about a 1/2 hour of reading for school.

Not nearly as much as I was planning, ah, how God does laugh when I make plans, but it was enough.

I felt like I was making some head way, and I read a little bit after work as well before going to do the deal and get right with God.

It was a good getting right too, so grateful to have seen some folks and heard some things and exchanged hugs with folks I haven’t seen in a little while.

I’m liking getting done with work at a more sane hour and getting out to meet my fellows at a more reasonable time.

I’m not certain what the hours will be at the new job, but I suspect that they will also be on the earlier side as well.

And of course, as the boys I take care of tomorrow are also off from school for the holiday–except in San Francisco, god bless you SF, it’s called Indigenous People’s Day–I’ll be going in early to help the family cover that school time.

I am actually working closer to 40 hours and that’s a bit more than I have expected to be doing this semester, but fuck it.

The ticket to Paris ate my prudent reserve, so it feels nice to be putting some, even if it’s only a little, back into my savings.

And.

I am also navigating a trip back to Wisconsin for Christmas.

I haven’t seen my best friend from back home in a couple of years and that really is too long.

A ticket there is not as expensive as Paris, but it ain’t cheap either, especially around the holidays, but man, I could use some down time and some play time–she has three rambunctious, awesome, fun, smart boys, and I adore her hubbie as well. ¬†All in all they are my favorite family and to be in Wisconsin with them and their boys at Christmas?

Well.

That would be a huge gift.

So pulling a few extra hours here and there is fine with me.

I’ll juggle it all.

I always manage to anyhow.

Despite what the crazy making brain tells me, things usually do work out just fine.

I have to take some action.

I have to have faith.

I have to let go of the results and show up.

That’s all.

Like it’s nothing.

But.

Really.

It’s everything.

And I’m super grateful, so grateful, that I have this solution thing.

I don’t have to focus on the “problem” the problem is always bullshit anyway, it’s like I have a pair of myopic glasses on that distort things and situations and blow them up really big.

The drama is usually just that, drama, not reality.

In the real, in the hear, in the now.

Well.

Shucks folks.

I’m fucking great.

Did I tell you that I just found out that I got my phone for free?

It turns out that my phone was a free promotional.

I had no idea.

I had thought that once I got my phone bill the new phone would be tacked onto the bill.

Nope.

It really was gratis, a promotional, a free fucking Iphone, for changing my plan.

And.

The best thing?

The bill was actually even cheaper than what the rep had told me it was going to be.

He basically knocked off $14 bucks a month and gave me a brand new phone.

Sure.

It’s a 5s and not the new 7, but who the fuck cares?

I certainly don’t, it does the deal and I’m super happy with it.

Life is good.

Busy, of course, but not impossible.

Hell.

I might even sneak in a date this week.

Yes!

I mean.

A girl needs to play a little you know?

Well.

This girl does anyway.

Heh.

Oh!

And hey!

Yes!!!

I just confirmed that I will be going to Wisconsin to see my friend.

I just need to figure out what is the last day I’m at work in my current job.

I should get that answer when I go into work tomorrow.

It feels good right now.

This life.

I am a very lucky girl.

I really am.

Happy.

Joyous.

And.

Motherfucking.

Free.

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Round One

May 7, 2016

Fight!

But.

Actually.

It wasn’t so bad.

Yeah.

I was tired today.

The first day back to the weekend of classes is always a little fraught with lack of sleep.

I went to bed at 11p.m.

I woke up at 6:30 a.m.

However.

Did I toss and turn and have to tell my brain, “hey, thanks for sharing, but can we just go to sleep now?”

So.

Maybe six hours?

Which is often what happens the night before my first day back, thoughts ranging from what am I going to wear, yeah, I know, shut up, I think about that, to who I am going to see–who I want to see, who I don’t want to see–what I am going to share or not share about in my therapy dyad.

Now.

That was different.

Maybe it’s because I am just in a nice place in my head, my heart, my body–doesn’t hurt to have the stars on one’s neck kissed in recent memory, and um, huh, heh, other things–perhaps it’s because I was ready and prepared for the weekend, the work, or what have you, the therapy dyad with my classmate went really quite well.

Relief.

We talked about my scooter, the childcare parking permit, not wanting to victimize myself or be woe is me about it, be an adult, also, that there is residual child hood lingering thought that since I lost it I should be punished, even though I had absolutely nothing to do with the thing falling off my bumper or that, heck, it could have been peeled off my scooter too, who knows.

Which led to talk about my bicycle.

Which, huh, led to tears.

And then we talked about Burning Man.

And though there weren’t tears, there was sadness ¬†there for the not going, for missing what would have been my tenth year there, in a row, at that.

How I get a certain, this is my own wording, ego satisfaction out of being that girl.

You know.

The one speed riding, fixed gear owning (not that I have ridden my bicycle in fixed for the last two and a half years since my knees really started to get blown out), tattooed, bad ass on a bicycle wheeling through the mean streets of San Francisco.

I mean.

Hella sexy, right, I’m over 40, 43 to be exact, 44 this year in December, and still riding a one speed, with my crazy hair flying out behind me.

“Oh, I totally knew it was you,” he said, pedaling quickly to catch up to me.

“How?” I asked, a little incredulous, I mean I shouted “on your left,” when I whipped past and it was dark, after 8 p.m. on a Tuesday night riding through a stretch of Golden Gate Park with little light.

“Come on, Carmen, the bike, the hair, the tattoos, there’s only one you,” he chuckled and caught his breath.

Hmmm.

Yeah.

So, I have this “bad ass” identity in my mind.

That coupled with the “I nanny at Burning Man,” and the picture, well, forgive me, it’s compelling, interesting, vivid.

Now.

Who am I?

Just some chick in a psychology program in grad school on a scooter.

Or so one might think.

I am so much more than that and it’s nice to let things, parts of me go, relinquish the idea that I am this one thing here or that one thing there.

I am so very much.

And as I was retelling the story and the tears arose, I also realized that I have used my bicycle as a means of escape.

Ever since I was a little girl on my tricycle.

I have this awesome photograph of me that my mom gave me years and years ago, right as I was leaving for San Francisco, in fact, I think she gave it to me as a going away present, although I may be mistaken about that.

Anyway.

I’m two.

Sitting on my trike.

Hands gripping the handlebars, little wide leg cord flares on, brown I think, a lamb skin brown coat with the little shearling collar, my hair in a little messy bun up on my head and well, this smile.

This smile that said, you can’t stop me and here I go and come on world, let me at you.

I was just raring to go.

And that is not to say that I’m not still raring to go.

But, it’s changing.

I’m changing.

“The only thing that will always be the same is that change will happen.”

Change happens whether or not I give it, my body permission to be something other than it is and well, my body is tender and sore and I could use a fucking back rub and a leg rub, and my knees don’t hurt today, but they ache, and yeah, you know what, fuck, it’s going to rain tomorrow.

No scooter tomorrow.

I already threw my cover over it.

I did ride in today, just barely making the window before it started to get wet out there.

And happily it was dry and the rain had stopped by the time I got out of class.

But it does not look like that for tomorrow.

MUNI or taking a car.

Just depends on whether they’re still doing work on the Cole Valley Tunnel, if they are, there will be buses running and it will take too long to ride the train, but if the city is not doing work I’ll catch the N-Judah in and take a car home.

There’s a little party for the cohort to celebrate finishing up our first year together after class tomorrow.

I am not super interested in going, I joked with a fellow student, I really would like to sleep, but I also know that despite having old knees, this lady likes to cut a rug.

So.

I’ll make an appearance and be grateful for that.

That is a change too.

Granted one I never saw coming.

She was bent over a crack pipe in the alley on Minna Street between 11th and 10th, I could smell the crack cooking and shuddered.

Thank God for change.

Thank God I got to change.

Thank God I’m not sitting on a piece of cardboard on Minna Street smoking crack.

Been there.

Done that.

My luxury problems are a gift.

My body a gift.

My home, this life, my experiences, my family, my friends, my job, all the things I get to do.

All the love I get to give.

And receive.

I do not regret this new change in my life, though I am allowed a moment to mourn it, I am not definable by those things–bicycle rider, tattooed dragon girl, Burning Man nanny–I am just discovering another layer or myself, my identity, my person.

As long as I love as hard as I can.

Show up to the best of my ability.

And.

Am my complete and honest self in the moment.

I will be ok.

No matter what change comes.

Good or bad.

It’s all God.

It’s all good.

It’s all.

Really.

Just.

Love.

Love.

 


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