Posts Tagged ‘girl friends’

It’s Been A Day

August 17, 2016

One in which I spent too much damn time in my head.

However.

I called in the cavalry.

I amend that.

I texted in the cavalry.

I also got myself out to a little hoe down of my fellows in Sonoma and got right with God and then made some phone calls from there.

I can fall off the beam easily and have really black and white thinking.

At one point today I was ready to call it complete quits at my job.

Not because there’s something screamingly bad with my job, rather, there’s something off in me, something where my ability to speak up for myself and my needs gets lost in the shuffle and the next thing you know I’m doing a job that is not compatible with my needs and I’m a wreck.

I have to communicate.

Ugh.

No fun.

Except.

Maybe it can be, maybe I am here having this experience because I need to learn, again, how to do this thing called life, how to reconcile conflict and draw up some boundaries that are good for me and empower me.

I deserve the job I want and I can probably have it here and now as soon as I can draw upon the resources that are available to me.

My friends.

Who bolster me all the time.

I don’t see myself very well and sometimes I forget that I am a valuable asset, that I am smart and capable and worthy of my hire.

I have had this come up before.

How many times have I gotten to suss this out, many.

However, I am feeling a lot more stable in my need to articulate what I need and to ask for the compensation due the nature of the accommodating that I do for my family.

See.

I’m happy to accommodate.

But what I have discovered is that I need to be compensated, to continue being flexible and rolling with the punches and what have you, I need to get properly taken care of and I have lost my ability to speak up for what works best for me.

There is no malicious intent with my employers, god am I aware of that.

The malicious intent is within me, those things that I grew up with, the danger, and it was very real, of asking for what I needed.

I knew better than to ask for what I wanted, those things never got met and as for what I needed, I didn’t know, my needs were overwhelmed with the needs of my family.

There have been plenty of times in the past where I was asked what I wanted and I couldn’t tell you to save my life, it was so much easier for me to just ask what you wanted and roll the fuck over.

I didn’t even realize what I was doing and I did a lot of shoving down of unpalatable things to keep the balance going and to save myself from being annihilated.

That sounds extreme, but you get beaten for asking for what you need or asserting your needs, for a little while and get back to me on your stance then.

That shit stays with you.

I have done work.

I will continue to do work.

This is part of my work.

Recovery is integral and an absolute necessity.

School has been amazing.

Friends.

Oh my darling, dear, sweet, loving friends who advocate for me when I am not always so inwardly supported, have been instrumental in this.

Finding the support to take the actions that to me and my personality feel absolutely mind blowing and devastating to do has been crucial.

All the walking through the fear.

I have taken in so much love and support, especially this past week, to know that I can take the next steps to ask for what I need at the job.

And.

The best part?

I will be taken care of.

I always am.

I get to fuck it up.

I get to make a mess, I’m messy, it might be messy, I might fall on my face.

That will be ok.

Part of the process.

Part of living.

Learning and bearing witness, gently, when I can to my own process.

Really when I think about it after all the trauma, drama, and agonizing shit that happened to me it’s a fucking miracle that I am who I am, that I have what I have, that I have gotten to break out and make something of this life, that I didn’t roll over and die.

I am alive.

I am fucking resilient.

I am a living fucking testimony that you can get out and you can get better and that life is exquisite and amazing, astounding in it’s joys and astonishments.

The fawn that I startled out of the bushes today on the edge of the rental property.

The red tail hawk in the sky shrieking for its dinner.

The quails chasing through the underbrush.

The sun, warm on my face, I again turn toward the nut brown skin that is in me and glow with fire and heat.

The black berry brambles tumbling down the hill full of fruit.

The sun through the trees as it sinks golden and full with possibility as I climb Sonoma Mountain Road.

The boys, both of whom have found ways to further endear themselves to me as though sensing that tremulous moment when I was offered a job today, the mom having gotten my number through a friend at school, desperate to hire me and get the ball rolling.

Except.

I don’t want to work 50-60 hours a week and go to grad school.

No way.

No how.

In reality.

I already work that much.

My job fluctuates during the summer between 35-45 and since I started school between 28-35 hours a week.

Through in my recovery and that’s easily another 15-20 hours of my time.

I can’t even imagine trying to work more than that and go to school.

I knew that and gently thanked the woman to whom I was speaking and said thank you so much, but I can’t do the job you require.

She begged me to keep her in mind and I will, but not for me.  I also suggested an agency that she could go to.

There’s plenty of jobs out there should I fall flat asking for what I need or my needs are unable to get met at my current position.

It doesn’t mean that my needs won’t get met.

They will.

I just have to speak up for them.

And.

Big.

Deep.

Breath.

I will.

 

 

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G Is For Gestalt

August 12, 2016

God.

Gratitude.

Garden walks on break from class.

Golden sunlight on my skin.

Gecko like, I bask on a large rock in between ethics and a hard place.

Goodness unfolds around me as my friends gather and collate experiences and togetherness and discern when it is time for another cup of tea or a shoulder to lean against.

Great hawks soar in the sky, occasionally calling out in hearty shrieks to startle the voles and rabbits from their burrows.

Gathered I a fallen feather in the garden and caught it up in my hands, symbol of my flight.

Growth galore.

Greeting my darling French friend with bisous (kiss, kiss, kisses).

Garnet apples in a bowl.

Gravity of my feet in the shoes walking up the hill, rooted foot by foot to the earth.

Godspeed I whisper in my heart letting go again and again.

Getting to go to graduate school.

Gravitas of tears on my face and then the whistle stop blow of blood and joy bubbles in my heart and I leap forward again like a spotted fawn startled by the wind in the grass.

Glowing with love.

Growing up, growing out, growing softer.

Gardenias, garden roses, trellises of the grapes in the arbor, little tender shoots sending their heart toward the heaving blue sky above.

Grappling with all the pain and hurt and sorrow only to softly surrender, let go and let God.

Goldenrod in the grass and the dry heads of white sage fragrant and crumbled in my hand.

Goodness.

Glory.

Goodbyes not yet spoken, but echoing in my heart of things that do not serve, let them move forward and through and wave to them as they float off to the horizon.

Gerber daisies in the field.

Giant oaks spreading their tortured limbs gnarled and weathered against the tumultuous sky.

Gold, the color of her hair in the sunlight, rippling long and soft down her back as she stands pressed against the sky arms above her head stretching into the infinite abyss of love.

Guarded no longer, free to wander, go, get the heck out of Dodge.

Gilded with love and light and laughter.

Guided forward with tender hands and soft gestures of encouragement.

Graced.

Gratified.

Gentle we go.

Granted safe harbor into the night of fallen stars and midnight skies the coolness of the air as the sun sets and Orion wheels above me through the heavens.

Guarantor for all that is sacred.

Goose bumped with anticipation.

Gratuitous, those things that no longer serve.

Geese fly across pages of poetry and invite me into the circle of knowledge and secrets.

Gorgeous I am, with love, light, levity and great big belly laughs.

Goodnight dear friend.

Good rest.

Godspeed, I wish for you, and so tender into that sweet night.

Go, I.

 

 

 

You Smell Like A

August 9, 2016

Field of flowers.

Blush.

Thank you.

That is always the hope.

I have such a nose for needing to smell the good things, the lovely things, the dry grass, the smell of the oak trees, the bark dry, the lichen tight on the tree its own kind of scent, the curl of leaves, the soft sage and smoke smell of one of my class mates.

I’ve begun to study Gestalt.

And there is something there.

I get it.

It is very here and now.

In this moment.

And in this moment is God.

God is not in the past and God is not in the future.

God is right here, right now, in this place, in the words tumbling from my fingers onto the keyboard, the sound of music in my head phones, it is the two stars I saw falling from the sky while I was in the hot tub.

A stillness that I was in, a space, looking up and out and there, the flash on the sky.

And the creamy smoke of the Milky Way a pale smudge on the midnight blue depths above me.

I was chatting with one of my cohort and explaining the smell that she gave off.

We had to do an exercise in class in which we broke down sense by sense what we were seeing, tasting, touching, hearing, smelling.

She smelled earthy and mineral, like clean cool water, she also smelled herbaceous and of what I first thought was lavender, but was not, rather it was lingonberries, mulberries, and the smell was not so much of the berries, but of the leaves themselves, and underneath that I could smell clay and lime ash.

It was subtle and soft and powdery.

One of my classmates smelled like honeyed turmeric and ginger and saffron.

One of my classmates was blue.

But not blue in mood, just blue in color.

Not a sad blue either, rather a cerulean blue, a Dutch Boy blue, a Van Dyke Blue.

It was really an interesting experience.

My friend replied that I smelled like a field of flowers.

Success!

I wish to always smell good.

There is something divine and comforting about smells.

Wood smoke.

Hot cotton sheets, or line dried cotton sheets hot with sunshine and summer breeze and grass and clover.

Oh.

God.

The smell of clover can be so rich and intoxicating.

There is small bright, heady patch of clover that is in the Golden Gate Park smells like French music sounds to me in my head, my thoughts have smells and colors and love.

I feel loved.

I am also listening to a Spotify playlist that my friend put together for me and I feel loved and thought of and bright with that kind of joy that is bubbles in sunflower fields.

I have a bit of an imagination.

Thank you God for this experience.

I feel a lot more settled, a lot more connected, and a lot more myself.

Familiarity has not bred contempt, but rather a kind of closeness that can be unbearable until I just collapse and accept it and let it all in.

We are so lonely in this part of town

The sweep of the music, the golden spires of notes, the spheres sing and the stars fall over the fields of dry grass the deer pass through the shadows of the trees from the moonlight cadence and I dance here, in my bed a slow shifting of love and acceptance and ease.

Thank you my friend.

Thank you for loving me.

I love you too.

Very much.

I may not be able to put together the best mixed tape ever, but I can put down some of the words and the feelings and the colors.

The images and sensations that I get to have.

So many.

Memories and love and tenderness and hot days and summer, grass, apple trees, the wind in the lilacs, the heady bowed over blooms of peonies on the edge of the border of lawn between houses.

A revelation.

Instead of a fence to keep you out.

Instead of a wall that you have to climb.

Or one that I have to knock down.

Perhaps all I need is a field of flowers to keep my safe.

Just a little border there between you and me, a sweet, soft, petal, a musical of blossoms blowing over the grass, the apples like paper sails of hope and dreams and the reverence of of sunshine on my soul.

Clots of dandelion seeds.

Wishes on the air.

The organ grinder and the ferris wheel splayed against the spread of heavens and the carnival swings into gear and the smell of hot cotton candy and the soft powder of sawdust and popcorn.

Summer.

Cut grass.

All the memories all the evocations.

The witchery and the bright eye turned to the coin in the sky.

Money that cannot be spent except in reverence to the moment unfolding.

Always.

All the time.

Sunshine.

Burn it the sunshine.

These coins I carry in my pocket, pennies and coppers and two bits of silver that are just slices and slivers of time that I cannot spend but with you.

Bright notes bell on the guitar string.

Somewhere between my heart and my head I settle into a place and soften, let go, and give you all the pain.

Because I don’t have to carry it alone.

I never did.

My mistake.

I lay it now down in that field of flowers.

A crushing outline of my body in the tall grass wrought with wildflowers.

Alive.

To get up and walk away and hold my hand out to you over the carcasses of flowers adorned to my body.

I am here.

You are there.

And in this field.

We are everywhere.

All stars.

All love.

All bound for this moment.

This here.

This now.

Love.

Love.

I have paid my dues.

Take my hand and let’s run breathless toward that bright horizon always pushing toward the moment up the road, to that crest.

There.

Just there.

Just here.

Just Now.

Just.

And always.

And.

Forever.

Love.

I Don’t Read Your Blog

August 8, 2016

“I want to know you through getting to know you, I want to have first experiences with you.”

I was so utterly and honestly compelled to write about this that I can’t even explain how important that is to me.

This is something I hear too much.

“Oh, I know, I read your blog.”

Well.

You don’t know.

I mean.

You do.

There’s a lot I put out here, there’s a lot of me, there’s this now, this experience of sitting in a tiny cabin with two other women in my school cohort.

Oh.

And tiny aside.

The triple is not a bigger room.

It’s the same size as the other rooms except it has a bunk bed in addition to the regular size bed.

Basically they shoved two beds into the space of one and called it a triple.

I was dismayed when I first saw the room and felt a bit claustrophobic and how the fuck am I going to handle this and where am I going to go to have some privacy?

And.

Fuck.

Like that.

Intimacy.

Into me you see.

I don’t want you to see me, I want you to see a perfectly crafted me, the woman who gets up two and half hours before she has to go anywhere so that I eat breakfast and pray and read and have my morning me time.

But.

Also the woman who paints her face and does her hair and sticks glitter everywhere.

I mean.

That perfumed lady is special and  is me.

But she’s not all me and I don’t want you to see me without the glitz and the glam, to see me in old faded yoga pants and a sleep shirt that has pink skulls and flowers on it.

I don’t sleep in pajamas, I sleep in the nude, so a week of being in a cabin room and having to wear pajamas to bed.

Oh my god.

Dying.

Yet.

I know, in a big way, in a small way, in all ways that it is important for me to let people in, to let myself be seen, warts and all, saggy upper arms and all, sans the glitter, or the lipgloss, with my hair messy and my heart out on my sleeve.

Literally and figuratively.

And there’s not a lot my room mates aren’t going to see of me in the next few days.

Eight to be exact.

Seven nights.

Eight days.

All of me just hanging out.

So to hear that my dear friend wants to actually experience me, to get to know me, to love me, in person, up front in real rather than behind the scenes, or the screen, person to person.

Of course.

I’m not exactly present at the moment, typing away on my little laptop, digesting my day, letting go, moving forward, not knowing exactly what this next week is going to be like, or the next few weeks for that matter.

I’ll be living out of suitcases and bags and traveling with work and you now, that thing in the desert.

Don’t put nothing in unless you feel it.”

Yes.

Nina Simone.

Break it down baby.

I feel like dancing.

I feel like being in a club.

I feel like round back chairs and oval wood tables.

I feel like smokey hazy air and warm breath and sultry nights and slow dancing.

Fantasy.

But a nice fantasy to have in my heart.

My little burning heart all lit up with vulnerability and lights, carnival lights the fairground, the tilt-a-whirl, the up and down of the carousel horse, the golden bridle a shine of paint faded from sticky cotton candy hands and the brass ring.

Right there.

It is all so right there for me right now.

I can’t touch it.

But it is all right there.

Just there.

I am not exactly on the other side of the window, not exactly a wallflower on the wall, but not quite there, not quite on the dance floor yet.

I can feel it in my body, this urge to break out in dance, to move to surrender to that urge to just go.

To go where?

I don’t quite know yet.

Perhaps it’s a metaphor, a place that’s not a place, a coming back around to.

The deer, a doe,  head up and alert in the shadow of the tree.

The fawn a tender outline against the bright light flittering though the green and brown edges leaves of the old growth oak trees.

An outline of senses and thoughts and emotions.

A swirl of thought and love.

I am glad my friend doesn’t read my blog.

I am also glad that you do.

I miss you too my friend.

When the press of the stars is heavy in the sky, heaving with the sentient knowledge of god and the abundant nature of the celestial, the movement of the spheres a song that I catch faint and gossamer in the shell of my ear.

Poetry cut from the green hearts of apples.

The robin on the wire in the garden.

The moon a sail, a sloop, a causeway of honey on the midnight blue cast of the horizon.

And I here.

In this little bed.

In this little room.

I think of you.

Starlight pressed in my bosom.

Isn’t it a pity, isn’t a shame, how we break each other’s hearts and cause each other pain.  How we take each other’s love, isn’t it a pity.”

The time is not my time.

The heart, though it longs, is just a reverent watcher.

The mind, rabid burns with a morbid chastity that I cannot witness.

The applicable beauty that surrounds both.

To bring them both together, to not bring my mind to heel, to not break my heart, except to break it open, to feel more love.

To give back to go forth.

To be naked before you.

I am not so good at that.

But.

Tonight.

I will try.

In this small moment.

I won’t explain myself.

I won’t say how much I want to cry.

I won’t say how much I want to laugh.

I want to cradle you in my bosom and bright your life my words.

Love.

Love.

Full.

Replete.

“The beauty that surrounds us and we don’t see it, isn’t it a pity.”

Please.

Hold my hand.

Walk the woods with me.

And see.

How beautiful.

So very beautiful.

You are to me.

 

 

 

 

And School Starts

August 7, 2016

Now.

Go!

Fuck.

I can’t believe I am heading off to my eight day school retreat for my second year of my grad program tomorrow.

Holy shit.

I’m a second year student.

How the hell did that happen so fast?

I’m packed and ready for it.

Although not quite as prepared as I would like to be.

One of my texts still hasn’t shown up.

There is really nothing I can do about it, surrender to the imperfect start and let myself off the hook.  At least the book is on order.  A classmate of mine admitted that she hadn’t ordered it yet, another classmate of mine said, yup, I got it, but I haven’t cracked it yet.

So I’m not alone.

Not that I ever am, but I can pull myself down pretty quick if I think I’m not doing it right or perfect, whatever the fuck that looks like, and ruin a day with my grievous mind.

I broke down a lot today.

It was not a perfect looking day.

But I got through it despite stupid thoughts, overwhelming feelings, and lots of tears.

I mean loads.

I have no idea why.

General anxiety.

Trying to figure it out.

Figure it out is not a slogan and is certainly not a solution.

My best ideas usually end up in trouble, to tell you the truth.

To tell myself the truth.

Once in a while I do have some good judgement, a little modicum of calm, a notion to do something, to go opposite my critical head and reach for some solution, some outside myself answer.

I got up and went to yoga.

I did not want to.

I mean.

Really not want to, my least favorite teacher was subbing for my favorite teacher and he’s a tough cookie, he does some really hard core yoga, I have only taken his class one other time and it left me flustered, in tears, and frustrated.

Which is exactly where I got today.

In tears on the mat, trying to do what seem to be super easy poses, but just wrecked trying to get into them or hold them or move gracefully.

Everything felt old and cranky and crunchy.

Seriously.

The noises my knees make are sometimes ghastly.

I was miserable and when I have a hard time, I try harder, I cry more, I shout in my head, I fall over, I say fuck.

“Oh no, someone said fuck in the yoga studio,” my instructor laughed, “fuck that”

The class chuckled.

I’m glad to be here for comic relief.

After ward he chatted with me and I told him the truth.

“I hate your class,” I said, point blank, “it is by far the hardest class and I don’t know what I’m doing and I feel everything so much harder, it’s just impossible.”

“You hate my class,” he said, “really?”

“I just hate that I can’t seem to do any of it, it’s the hardest class of all the classes I have had and I just feel wrecked and always in pain and always on the verge of falling over.”

Fuck.

I’m in tears reliving it.

I was so whacked out.

But I realized in the doing that I hadn’t had a thought for pretty much the entire 75 minutes that was anxious or living in the future or dwelling anywhere than in the specific pose I was trying so hard to hit.

Nada.

Quiet head.

I know enough to be grateful for that.

A beautiful respite from me, my own worse enemy, I mean really, I wouldn’t even call myself a “frenemy” at this point, I am just plain mean to myself.

It’s all perfectionism and it’s about getting greater humility and letting go of the idea that what you think of me is important, or for that matter, any of my fucking business.

I mean.

I hope you like me, tilts head, smiles coyly.

NOPE.

Not my business how you feel about me, think about me, or on the other hand, it’s not even my business how I think about myself either.

It’s a lie.

I am good enough, sweet enough, kind enough, I am smart enough, I show up, I try.

“I have that voice too,” my teacher told me today, looking right in my eyes, “I am a perfectionist too and you have no idea how far you have come in such a short time and how much further you’re going to be able to take this.”

“You’re beating yourself up, you try harder than anyone we’ve seen at the studio in recent time, you’re doing great, you really are.”

He told me some stories and shared some experiences and I was humbled.

That’s some perspective.

And a good change for me to hear and take in and also almost, but not quite, sign up for his class tomorrow.

Except.

I have to go to school.

“You get to go to school,” my person reminded me as I was crying over my utter lack of control over my life, total and completely powerless.

“You get to go to school, you get to be of service, you get to go to grad school, this is amazing!” She said, bright and shiny and full of humor about my tears and how good it was to see me letting go of perfectionism and just showing up and being vulnerable.

This is amazing.

I am in graduate school.

I am getting my Masters in Psychology.

I get to be a student.

I get to get out of the city for a little while too.

The fog and the cold have been pretty overwhelming and the the grey and the no sun a little wearing.

I’ll be in Petaluma tomorrow by 3p.m. and that’s not in the fog belt at all.

I packed summer clothes in my suitcase.

I get to see some wonderful friends from my cohort and I get to eat really nice food and be outside in the sun.

And.

I packed my yoga mat and my yoga clothes and I’m going to keep practicing.

I’ll be showing up to the mat if not the studio.

I have come to realize that this practice is important for me to cultivate.

Being in my body is important.

I am too much in my head.

It’s a dangerous neighborhood and I go there to frequently.

Ready to head out of that dark alley and into the sunlight of the spirit.

Or.

At least of Petaluma.

Ha.

I’ll be out of town for eight days, but not out of touch.

Call.

Text.

Send me a smoke signal.

I’ll respond in kind.

In between classes.

And reading.

And homework.

Oh.

And yoga.

Because.

Yoga.

 

 

I Got You

August 5, 2016

Really.

Nicer words couldn’t be said.

I got some sweet messages from playa friends today regarding my cry for help and a friend will be loaning me his tent come Saturday.

This makes better sense than the following: getting a tent from friend who told me he could help me last night, why?

Said person has never been to Burning Man and does not know the amount of havoc dust can wreak on something.  As much as I appreciated the offer, even while it was being made I was thinking, I may well go with something else I don’t want to destroy my friends stuff.

That being said.

The offer made to me today to help is from a long time burner, who has more than one tent and already told me what he’s got is hella dusty.

Great.

So I’ll get a little taste of playa before I even get to playa.

Haha.

But it really was such a sweet message to get and to know that I have friends who are willing and happy to help out.

And you know, I would do the same.

I’m helping out where I can.

Today I was at BMHQ (Burning Man Head Quarters) and I helped the Media team for a few hours and got caught up with friends and had one of the team members run down my shifts for on playa.

Basically exactly what I did before when I was a fluffer, and since I’m an “early riser” or how did she say it, “a morning person” bwahahahaha, that anyone thinks I’m a morning person is amazing I am so not a morning person.

However.

I get up and I get shit done and I don’t stay up all night long with extracurriculars anymore and I am much more of a morning person than I used to be, like I get up before noon.

Often times, many hours before noon.

And yes.

I do get my shit done.

I have no problems taking the early shifts at Mecca for fluffing.

Happy as fuck to help out.

Happy to see friends today and catch up and happy to have my tent idiocy addressed.

“Oh!  I know exactly what you ordered,” a friend said, “you got the white one, not the green one!”

“Yes!” I replied.

“Which makes total sense, because it’s white and will deflect sunlight, but the green one is the one with the attached floor,” she finished.

Yup.

Exactly.

Ugh.

But.

Oh hey there, my friend suggested that despite having recycled the box and the receipt, that I could still return it to Amazon.

I just e-mailed Amazon, wrote a little comment about why I don’t want the tent and asked to return it, they’re going to review my request and I’ll see shortly if I can send it back.

Fingers crossed.

I also, in the way of being open to all things that might cost me less money to get to Burning Man, updated my ride request on the ride share board.

That being said.

I am still planning on the car rental.

I don’t want to rent a car, I’d so much rather get a ride or you know, magically get a car from a friend who has a spare.

Like anyone in San Francisco has a spare car I can take to Burning Man.

Bwahahahaaha.

Um.

Yeah.

I’m going to continue to look, but I know that getting out is the big deal, that getting back on time for school is what’s important.

Holy shit.

School!

Like in three days.

Fuck me.

I’m getting excited, albeit a bit nervous.

I haven’t received my school book that I need for one of the classes yet, but if I don’t get it before the retreat starts I’m sure I can borrow from a friend while there.

I much rather have my own copy, that’s for damn sure, so fingers crossed it will get delivered by Saturday.

I leave Sunday, the retreat starts at 4p.m.

Classes start the next day.

The calendar looks a little wonky, but I have faith it will all be exactly how it is supposed to be.

In the mean time.

I just keep doing the next action in front of me.

Get ready for work tomorrow.

There’s a lot to do.

Despite the family being out of town it will be a busy day.

The mom has requested that I make up a bunch of food for the family to have while I am away at the retreat.

So tomorrow morning I’ll go into work and receive a very large InstaCart delivery from Whole Foods and make the following:

Broccoli Soup.

Beef Stew.

Beef Stroganoff.

And.

Turkey and black bean chili.

It’s going to be a busy day of cooking for me.

I’m going in at 10 a.m. and hopefully the delivery will get there pronto so I can start the process.

I’m planning on meeting a lady for coffee and reading at 6:30p.m.

I don’t think it will take a full eight hour day to do the cooking.

But I’m going to play it safe.

Then I will do the deal at my spot at 8p.m. and after that Saturday will be one more day of yoga, meeting my person, getting the tent gear from my friend who’s coming into the city from Santa Cruz, and getting reading for my retreat, plus a speaking engagement on Saturday night and somewhere in there, yes ma’am and sir, I’m going to try and sneak in a mani/pedi.

I’m almost looking forward to school just to be slowed down in one spot for a week.

Plus.

Well.

Frankly.

I would love a break from the fog.

I haven’t seen the sun in days, it’s constantly bundle up time, cold, foggy, dreary, wet, damp, did I mention cold?

I wouldn’t mind some heat for a few days.

And I’m sure to get that in Petaluma.

Plus.

I will get to spend time with my friends from school.

It’s a busy, busy, busy month.

But a lovely one for all that.

Thanks again to my friends who reached out to help with Burning Man.

YOU’RE THE BEST!

Seriously.

And So It Begins

August 1, 2016

I just dropped a nice fat $200 on books.

I started ordering my text books for the fall semester.

Considering how much reading there is to do and that I will be going once again to that thing in the desert, it was time to whip out the debit card and get online.

I did not really want to.

I just paid rent.

But.

I figure if I can be adult and self-supporting to get my ass to Burning Man.

I certainly can begin ordering my text books.

Besides I really will have to do a bunch of reading before the event to be prepared for school.

Hell.

I’m going to have to do some reading this week before I head up to the retreat for school, which is next Sunday.

I cannot believe it’s already time for the retreat.

Argh.

But then again.

I can.

The time, it does go fast when you are busy and I have been keeping myself busy for sure, take the last couple of days, just getting the certification for my CPR and First Aid Adult/Child/Infant was a time consuming thing.

But I got it done and I don’t have to do it for a few more years.

It didn’t feel like I had any time off though, it felt very much like work.

I mean.

I don’t know anyone who would choose to do one of these courses for fun and relaxation.

Though.

They can be funny.

There is always that one dude who picks up the baby mannequin like it’s some toy and they get the surprise of their life when the face falls off of it.

Today one guy, who happens to work at a private elementary school, just picked up the baby mannequin by it’s feet and sort of swung it around.

The instructor was horrified and demanded he treat the doll like it was an actual baby.

Alien baby.

But sure.

All kidding aside, I am grateful that I took the course and have a refresher, it’s really good to know, and knock on wood, hopefully I won’t ever have to use it.

After I finished the course I headed over to Oakland for a friend’s housewarming party.

It was really sweet.

And I ran into all sorts of people, some folks who I don’t normally get to see aside from on facecrack or instagram.

Or at Burning Man.

I chatted with folks from Media Mecca, my home away from home, and it was really sweet and good and I felt like I was seeing family.

I like that I get to have this extended community of artists and creatives and hard ass working people who strive to be something, who are engaged with each other, who form this secret little society of folks that I somehow stumbled upon and now can’t imagine being without.

I realized how much I want to be out there anew when I was ordering my books.

I mean.

I don’t want distraction or school thoughts or work worries, I just want my Burning Man.

I will have them, anxiety is just a part of my life, exercise, yoga, the like, that helps, but I have a busy old mind and it will ruminate on anything it can get its hands on.

That being said, I will do as much reading for school as I can before I head up to the event.

It’s probably a good thing that I will be working for my family in Glenn Ellen for two weeks.

I will be forced to be in one spot and spend the evenings reading school material.

I get the impression that I won’t have as many papers to write before the fall semester begins from the classes being held at the retreat, but it does look like there is some pretty heavy reading load for the first weekend of classes and I won’t be in a spot to read at all that week before as that’s Burning Man.

All the thoughts and stuff and things.

Two of my classes don’t have syllabi up yet, so I don’t even know exactly what to expect for the first weekend.

I just can tell from the one class that is listed that there is going to be a lot.

Graduate school.

Second year.

Hard to believe.

But there it is.

Time just keeps moving on.

I ran into someone who got the same degree I’m working on five years ago.

I had no idea she was a psychotherapist and we chatted and caught up and it was really good to hear her experience and to know that I’m on the right track, for me.

I may not know exactly what it looks like and sometimes I feel a bit confused by the mechanics of the school system, but I do know that I am heading in the direction that seems to be that of private practice.

That’s my hope anyhow.

And she has a private practice and it was really good to hear that she was doing well and that she had a sustaining private practice just five years out from graduating from the program.

In fact, it sounded like she had a decent number of folks follow her from her interning to her own practice.

That would be amaze.

I know I get a head of myself.

It was just really nice to see this lovely over lap of friends and school and recovery and Burning Man and kids, oh I got to see some gorgeous little monkeys and get some great snuggles and hugs, and romp a bit with two of the brightest five and a half year old twin boys.

Oh the tow headed goodness, the smell of sweet baked boy warm and soft and snuggly, it’s like some sort of bread that sustains my heart, the real manna from heaven, the smell of golden boys warm from the sun.

Ah.

Yes.

And so it begins.

But it never really ends, it doesn’t slow down, it just speeds up and I know one day I will look back and wonder how fast it all happened.

So I must take a breath.

Pause.

Breathe.

Look around.

And be grateful for this rich, full, happy life I have.

Truly.

The luckiest girl in the world.

And possibly.

One of the busiest.

But.

In the best possible way.

Seriously.

You’re Super Smart

July 21, 2016

And hot!

I’d date you.

Aw!

Thanks darling, that means a lot.

I responded to a social media post about being out in the dating world as well and that was my response.

That’s really nice to know.

Even if I don’t always believe it.

Habit.

Not a great habit.

But.

Not as bad as the overly confident man on Tinder today who basically went from a semi-flirtatious message to a over heated, over bearing, pushy overtly sexual perverted exploration of my tattoos.

Dude.

Unmatch.

Ugh.

I haven’t had a lot of creeps, but every once in a while I get one and my instinct were right and I shouldn’t have swiped.

I did, he did, there was some messaging, but after a real good gut check.

Nope.

Unmatched and moving on.

Not that I really need to being pursuing a date for this weekend.

God damn I have a lot of stuff going on.

Friday night I may have a touch base date, like a hello in passing, which I am flattered by, he’s the gentleman I met last week at Public Works, he’s an Oakland guy and coming over the bridge for some Detroit house music, which if I wasn’t already engaged I would totally go check out.

But I do have plans and so instead of saying no, I said, hey, if you want, you will probably be a good fit with the friends I’m going to be hanging out with, swing by if you want.

That being said.

I don’t want to make Friday a rager.

Even if the night is looking like that right now.

I have a lot of stuff to do on Saturday.

There is the yoga.

Which I did today and I’m super glad I got up early and made the effort to exercise, I needed to stretch probably just as much as my body could have used the extra hour of sleep.

That being said, if I go out Friday night getting up for a 9 a.m. yoga class is challenging.

Plus.

Meeting my person at noon.

And.

Recording a podcast at 1:30p.m.

I want to make sure that I have good voice for that.

I’m a little nervous, but also excited.

I have been practicing a few of my pieces and the woman I’m recording with said she was just going to ask me a bunch of questions, so just be me.

God.

Who the hell knows what that is going to look like.

But.

Yes.

I am excited.

I also feel like I should be writing some poetry, I haven’t cut a poem in a while, but I have been consistent here with the blog and with my morning pages and as long as I continue here it doesn’t matter so much.

The woman expressed to me that I would also be able to plug anything I’m working on and she would be putting my blog address in the podcast.

I have no idea what to tell her.

I’m not here to advertise or get accolades.

Although those are nice.

It’s just a practice, a letting go, a surrender to the words and whatever my heart needs to process from the day.

Yes.

Miraculous things happen here.

But I can’t sell the magic, it just comes when I am wide open to it.

Sometimes I am so blown open, a dandelion fluff of seed pods blown high into the blue robin’s egg sky.

Sometimes I am closed down and sad, sad, sad, and things get over blown and I feel dramatic and snarky and I want to be mean and then.

When I am.

Fuck.

That sucks.

But.

It comes and goes and flows and I have no idea where it’s going and I have no project on the burner, I have not needs to process or things to promote.

Unless it’s me getting shit together for Burning Man.

Which.

By the way.

Where is my ticket?

I signed for it via the UPS site and it was supposed to be delivered today and no ticket.

Which also reflects my lack of ride, gear, and on and on.

I did, however, get a ride set up for the school retreat that is coming up for me in August.

I got an e-mail from a friend in the cohort asking if I wanted a ride, and yes!  Yes, please and thank you.

So grateful to not have to think about that.

One less thing on my plate of busy.

I also got another e-mail from another friend in the cohort regarding a room request, which was made today and I’m super happy for that.

I’m a little nervous, I had my own room last year.

Just happened, the person assigned to be my room mate pulled out of the program before the retreat and I got lucky.

It was nice to be alone and have a space to come back to, but I am also looking forward to sharing a room with not one, but two of my friends.

The request was for the triple room.

I got another message from a woman in the program also expressing how she missed me and how she was looking forward to seeing me at school.

It’s nice to be thought of.

It’s nice to be missed.

It’s nice to know that I have made some kind of impact on someone’s heart.

No matter how small.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Maya Angelou

Yup.

I heard this recently and it so resonated.

Looks are fleeting.

But when you touch someone’s heart, that stays.

I hope that I can be that person, the one who is kind and sweet and loving.

But usually the best I can do is be tolerant.

I do love.

And I love hard.

I do.

I do.

I’m an old school romantic.

It’s part of my blood and I don’t mind.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

Love.

God.

Same.

Same.

Sorry.

Not.

Sorry.

And ever more.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Up Past My Bed Time

July 16, 2016

But, oh, so don’t give a fuck.

The dancing.

It was so worth it.

Spectacular.

Although.

I have to say, the crowd, the kids, the young, entitled didn’t come for the music, but came for the see and be seen and don’t know who the dj is but I’m going to dance in front of him and make out with my friends even though he asked us to get off the stage, crowd, was not a crowd I’m much a fan of.

That being said.

I danced hard and long.

Three hours.

No.

Scratch that, three and a half hours.

Solid.

Didn’t really move, well, I moved, but I didn’t move much from the spot I was in most of the night.

I texted my people.

I said where I was at.

I stashed my purse and coat underneath the dj booth.

The benefit of getting to the show a little early is not just having a nice prime spot up front, but also, usually some decent access to a set of speakers or a turn table set up.

I hid my shit underneath the dj’s coffin and checked it once.

Sent back a couple of text messages, I’m up front, and left the phone in the purse and forget, well, I didn’t forget it, but I was pretty happy and at ease and with my friends and my school chums and also a sort of date, we both happened to be at the show and casually bumped into each other and he bought me a water and it was cute.

I haven’t been out in a while.

Some things change.

Some things stay the same.

My knees are older.

I can’t drop it like it’s hot.

Fuck.

I can’t drop it like it’s lukewarm anymore.

But I can still shake my hips and shimmy and have a great big happy smile on my face and get right with God.

God is music.

Didn’t you get the memo?

I got a right proper smile, a mouthed thank you, and the nod from the first dj after he finished his set.

The same one who was ignoring the trio of oddly self-fixated girls that were trying way too hard to be sexy and wound up looking too much like a promo ad for a cheap smelling sex lube.

I mean.

I’m sorry ladies.

Yes.

You have beautiful bodies, but there’s so much more to living than that, it’s fleeting, it’s never going to be what you want and then it’s gone and you haven’t grown your heart or your soul.

I actually felt sorry for them after I got over being in judgement.

I like who I am.

I love being sexy, don’t get me wrong, but I think I am sexy because I am comfortable with who I am and also, I have no actual grasp on what I look like.

I sort of get lost in my own head and forget who I am.

I am just this body, this heart, this amalgamation of parts walking around housing a soul that loves to be light and joyous.

I’m not always.

That’s not sustainable.

But, oh, when the music is good and I’m in it.

I’m really in it.

“I knew we would find you here!” One of my darling girlfriends said as they arrived to greet me with hugs and love and squeals of happy that we were all out on a Friday after an atrociously busy week.

All of us know exactly what a big deal it is at this point in our lives to carve out time to go and do what we did.

Dance at a club in San Francisco.

It’s no big deal.

And yet.

It’s a huge deal.

I’ve officially thrown my schedule way off whack just by getting home at 2 a.m.

I have things to do tomorrow, people to see, coffee to drink, doing the deal to get done.

And yoga?

I mean.

Not sure that I’ll be going to the 9 a.m. class which is usual Saturday morning deal.

But I do want to go.

Although not necessarily for the exercise, I got plenty of that, but to keep the momentum going and also because my work hours will switch back to 10a.m-6p.m. next week, meaning no more yoga before work.

I’ll probably get in one class in the evening and have to do classes again next weekend.

Tomorrow, should the coffee date not go great, and who knows, dude hasn’t confirmed that we’ll be meeting, I may just do an afternoon yoga class.

Then again.

My brain just might wake me up and say, get on with your day and don’t muck with your sleep schedule.

All in all.

Luxury problems.

Truly.

I am super grateful to have gotten through the week, ask for what I needed at work, spend some very sweet time with the boys, and thank God, make it through without getting any serious crazy.

Really, though it was a long week, it went by fast and I’m already looking toward next week and hey, lady, stay here.

Stay in this moment.

Feel your body.

My body, which could use a snack, I burned up some calories, I broke a good hard sweat.

A mind that needs to process the goop and the gack and the random thoughts of weirdness and throw them out here on the page so that I can retire with a clear head and sleep the sleep of the just.

And also.

Sleep the sleep of the person who has been told they can borrow a blow up mattress for the event, Burning Man, man, I’m always working that in somewhere, and also the nice rest of knowing that I do have a tent, and a good tent at that, lined up and a place to camp with friends.

The ride there is slowly working it’s way out.

We shall see what happens.

And my bicycle is being handled.

Really, it’s all coming together.

I just can’t quite see it yet, but as I told a friend earlier today in a message, once you make the decision to go and get the ticket, the rest just falls into place.

It always does.

It always has.

Good and dreamy and sweet.

Just like how I feel right now in my danced out skin.

Night all.

See you on the flip.

Whole Lot of Tired

July 14, 2016

So tired that I wondered earlier today.

Why the fuck did I buy tickets to that dj show?

But.

I knew that would happen, even when I was buying tickets to the show, whole lot of tired strikes when it does and usually brings up the, what the fuck where you thinking attitude when reviewing things to do later this weekend.

Fact is.

I want to go dancing.

Fact is.

I got invited, I invited some friends, I have three friends going, a possible Tinder connection also going and a whole lot of need to shake my ass and just wash the work week off my body.

I’m a whole lot of tired because I worked extra hours today and didn’t have much interaction with humans other than my employers.

Even less so today than I typically do.

I never got the fuck out of the house.

It just breaks my heart when it’s nice out and I am stuck inside all day long.

I have never had a nanny job like this and sometimes there are things that I don’t exactly disagree with, but they run contrary to my usual get up and go and get the heck outside.

Being outside is one of the huge perks of my job, being in the sun, walking around, stretching my legs, letting my head have space to meander free and clear.

I just didn’t get that today and I haven’t really all this week.

Summer camp scheduling and a strange sort of malaise that the youngest one has had all week have led to me being pretty much tied to the house.

I can’t say I hate it.

I have had moments of deep gratitude for the job, but I’m not used to being this cooped up and on top of that, working the extra hours today to help out on the dad’s birthday really blew me out of the water.

I think I’m going to squeeze in a yoga class tomorrow before work to get me out of the crazy in my head.

I need to exercise is probably the biggest thing.

Even though I am still sore from yesterday’s yoga class, today’s lack of genuine physical activity was uncomfortable.

And should it repeat through the remainder of the week I am really going to need the invigoration of getting my dance on by Friday.

Even if my brain protests.

I have committed to going and like I said, ticket bought.

I’ll be hitting up Public Works on Friday night for some dj action from the Desert Heart Collective.

Gonna get me some deep house and techno.

Yes please.

Ah.

Apparently I just needed a cup of tea and being in my own home to set me right.

That and a couple ibuprofen to ward off the impending headache from being indoors all day.

At least the back patio was in action today, I did sit outside and eat my lunch with the littlest guy al fresco.

Very cute.

So much cute.

Just not enough getting to the park.

At least tomorrow I know I will get outside for the Farmer’s Market.

Plus.

I am going to see the folks at the Farm tomorrow night and that’s always a nice treat.

I have a couple of ladies that I get to connect with, one, the friend that encouraged me to get after asking for the Burning Man ticket, and two, another friend who has gear it looks like I’m going to be able to use.

Reunion!

Book ending my day at work with yoga in the morning and doing the deal at night will make the day go by faster.

And the weekend is getting booked up.

I had a friend reach out today about doing coffee and pretty much had to book it for next weekend.

Although, I will probably have some free time in the eve on Saturday.

I am doing the deal Friday after work, then meeting a lady for tea and reading, then friends for dancing at Public Works.

Saturday I’ll be meeting my person and I have a coffee date at Tart to Tart at 1:15pm.

I’m not feeling the vibe in a big way, but I’m trying to practice.

I figure I’ll hit a late afternoon yoga class and go do the deal somewhere in the evening.

I may leave the night open for flexibility.

See what comes around.

Sunday I have a lady coming over, going to try to do yoga again, and then all the things I need to do to prep for a work week.

Cook, clean, laundry, and maybe something else.

I don’t know.

Tired thinking about it.

But.

Grateful for a full and happy life.

For being busy.

And I’m going to get a nice fat nights sleep and stretch it out in the morning.

I have a big, full, beautiful weekend.

Busy, but not too packed.

Full, but also open to being flexible.

I mean.

I could handle a date Saturday night.

Why not?

I’m supposed to be having fun!

Oh.

And I connected with my Burning Man family, the OG dad, and checked in with him about getting my playa bike.

I still haven’t nailed down a ride there and back, but I figure getting all my things together in one spot is going to be helpful.

I am wondering if I could send up the bike with the friend who offered me a ride.

Hmm.

Something to ponder.

And though I don’t know how I’m getting there and back, I do feel heavy magical feelings around it.

Something is stirring there, I can’t quite see it, but some pot of possibility is stewing.

Open to all suggestions and ideas.

I suppose that means I need to post to the board as well on the Burning Man website.

Another action I can take tomorrow.

It will all come together.

It somehow always does.

Even when I’m ready to fall apart.

With that.

I’m out.

Night all.

Hope some of you got some sunshine in today.

The skies looked so blue.

Impossibly high and bright and blue.

Love, hope, joy, the press of the King Palm tree’s giant fronds into the sky, the soft hand of a small boy’s in mine, the snuggling with stuffed cats, and the bright orange black of a monarch in the sky above.

Beauty in the small quiet moments.

Respite in between the fall of minutes.

The shift of blue to blue to blue.

Against blue.

A swath of love in the gentle wash of sky.

 

 

 


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