Posts Tagged ‘God’s plan’

Is It Thursday Yet?

June 29, 2016

Fuck.

I’m ready.

I packed my bag this morning for New Orleans.

The only fly in the ointment?

The weather.

Damn it.

It’s rain and thunderstorms the entire three days I am there.

However.

The temperature is also 90 during the day and low 70s at night.

So, um, I don’t really care that it’s going to be raining.

I can carry an umbrella.

I may not ride the bicycle the Air BnB provides for it’s roomers, but I can walk or get around via a car, I’ve got Lyft and Uber on my phone, they are helpful little things.

I don’t have to figure out the buses or the city mass transit.

I’ll just call for a car and go where I need to go.

And I bet there’s something really romantic about New Orleans in the rain, especially warm rain.

When it rains here it’s cold and miserable.

I don’t believe that I have ever experience 90 degree heat and rain in San Francisco.

I would probably think the world was coming to a close, shit, when it gets over 75 degrees in the city, it’s a freaky heat wave to me.

I have this vision of Susan Sarandon in Bull Durham, yeah, I know it’s not set in Louisiana, but there is a Southern flavor to it, and I am reminded of Sarandon’s character walking home in the rain with a giant parasol umbrella.

Southern Gothic romantic.

So.

Yeah.

I’m packed.

I had a bit of extra time this morning, I was going to go to yoga, in fact, I had set the alarm to get up early so that I could, but I had the worst headache last night, bordering on migraine, in fact had a lover gotten a hold of me I would literally have begged off with a headache.

Not something I have ever done.

I have never said no to sex because I have had a headache.

Anyway.

It was pretty rotten and I crawled into bed early and when the alarm went off, I was like, nope, back to sleep.

I figured I could get in another two hours before I should get up and that’s exactly what I did.

I might have actually gotten ten hours of sleep last night.

Which was fantastic.

I definitely needed it and I think I was fighting off a little something.

That was what compelled me to stay in bed more than anything, yeah, I wanted to go to yoga and it would have felt great and I am not going to be able to make it in to the studio until after my trip, but.

I staved off whatever sick I was feeling.

And today was 100% all the way.

The sleep was sexy and needed and wonderful.

And now I am ready to go.

Except.

Well.

I have two more days of work to get through.

I don’t typically pack so early, normally I pack day of or the night before.

So I have thrown my own internal travel time clock off a little bit.

I would catch myself thinking, more than once, that I was leaving tomorrow and get all excited, then realize, wait, shit, no, I have two more days before I travel.

Hmm.

I am actually wondering if I should repack considering what the weather is going to be like.

I packed three sundresses.

I really want to wear sundresses.

But.

If it’s not sunny, I mean be more comfortable in a pair of jeans.

Then again, I keep telling myself, 90 degree heat regardless of the sun being out.

90 degree temperatures calls for less clothing than I am used to, I just keep thinking cold, San Francisco rain.

Three sundresses, one crinoline, one pair of wedge sandals, and my swimsuit.

I may not swim either.

Then again, that could be fun, a swim in the rain.

Who knows.

Things never go as I plan.

I thought I might be seeing someone tonight and the things never fell together and then I was supposed to meet with my person and that got cancelled and then instead of being in the Castro I am suddenly in the Inner Richmond sitting in a church basement I rarely frequent.

But it was good.

And I saw my people.

And I felt great leaving knowing I done what I needed to do to take care of myself and my recovery.

I had a moment when I was like, fuck it, I’m just going to go home.

Except.

What was I going to do?

Oh.

I know what I was going to do, watch a bunch of Orange is the New Black and beat myself up for not doing the deal and then feel guilty because I didn’t do the yoga too.

I should not do that.

And I argued a little with myself.

But the smart feet won out and when the time came to make the turn to my house or to God’s house.

Well.

It was pretty easy to choose.

And voila.

Head on straight, happy in my self, home sound and safe, happy I took the right turn instead of the left and now I can watch some OITNB without any quilt, thank you very much.

Plus.

It keeps me connected.

I wasn’t drifting, but I was feeling some isolation in my program and consistently doing the deal since the past semester of grad school ended has helped tremendously with that.

Granted I already have grad school stuff on the mind and I actually just now checked my courses from the past year and yes, all A’s.

YES.

ALL A’s.

Granted a bunch of my classes were pass/fail, that’s the nature of some of the courses, (I passed them all, should you be wondering) but the one with grades, A’s, which means, though I have not gotten my last paper back from Psychodynamic’s, I must have gotten a solid A on it.

And my Family Ethics and Law Course.

The one with the big, gnarly take home final, I got an A.

Sweet.

That feels really good.

Not a bad day at all.

Not necessarily the day I planned.

But.

So it goes.

My best days are always better than my best laid plans.

Always.

Balance

January 28, 2016

I didn’t have it this morning.

I recognized that pretty much after telling God to fuck off in my morning prayers.

God can take it.

God’s a good bitch like that.

I was mad.

I have been annoyed and I didn’t even realize it until I was kneeling next to my freshly made bed, with my freshly shaved and showered self, my wild mane of curly “bronde” hair and my attitude, which, was yes, bigger than my hair.

I was hearing my Applied Spirituality professor’s voice in my head.

And it just popped out.

“Fuck you.”

Then.

I felt the fear and it was a surprise, I mean, I didn’t honestly realize that I was this afraid of this class, that I am holding on this tightly to my routine.

I wrote some inventory after I finished my breakfast.

God.

It really works.

Amazing.

How it works.

Once again it boils down to a fear of not having enough time and also that if I monkey with something that has worked so well for me for the last 11 years that I may not have the next 11 years.

Which is just bullshit and distracting and I can’t tell what’s going to happen in the next 11 days, let alone years.

Fuck.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next 11 minutes.

Things.

They could switch on a dime.

The thing is I am able to roll with it.

But mess with my morning routine and I get a bit fractious.

Suggest that you want me to implement on a daily basis something that requires a half hour more of my day and I am all up in arms.

All up in that shit.

So I wrote it down and got it off my chest and made a phone call and told on myself and then got to focus on being of service where I was off to next.

Work.

And I did.

I did a good job at work, I had fun with the boys, I got to go outside and be in the sun.

Oh, delicious sunshine, how I have missed you.

I took the boys out to the grand re-opening of Dolores Park.

It was something else.

And I’m not talking about the flood of Millenials with their sacks of burritos and sandwiches from Rhea and the hipsters with their micro-brewed six packs, the bike messengers with their Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Or the floods of pot smoke.

Jesus.

I suppose the park was officially christened with weed when it gets right down to it.

No, what I’m talking about is the park.

The glorious, full tilt boogie that is Dolores Park at its delirious best.

The grass was green, the sun shone benevolently, it’s a week day and the opening of the park, but it wasn’t obscenely packed.

It will be.

It looks so nice.

I am so grateful I got to be around to see it re-open.

The renovation has been a long one, and it reminded me of the first time I saw the park and dreams I would have of it, flying, I remember a flying dream I had about Dolores Park back in 2001 before I moved here to the city I had visited–the park made an impression.

I got to review the last 13 1/2 years that I have lived in San Francisco.

“Where are you from?” The driver asked me yesterday.

I internally sighed, not interested in having this conversation, but I’ll play along.

To a point.

“Here,” I said bluntly.

“Oh, well, you know, your name,” the driver tried.

I decided I would help a little, but I wasn’t going to go into the whole saga, the moving from here to there, the growing up in Wisconsin, the no I don’t speak Spanish conversation.

“I was born in San Jose,” I said.

I had a sudden realization of not having to be wrapped up in my own story.

It’s just a story after all.

The only reason it’s special is because it’s mine.

All stories ares special, I just know the details to mine rather well, it’s familiar you could say.

What is not familiar is this feeling of balance and serenity that has come from doing so much work and also from being able to acknowledge and recognize my feelings a lot faster.

The faster I notice that I am out of whack.

The faster I can get back on the beam.

I am a sensitive lady.

I used to think that I had a really high threshold for pain and that this was something to be proud of.

Not so much.

I don’t need to suffer.

The more I allow my feelings, the less I suffer, and that less I actually attach true meaning to them.

Feelings are valid, but feelings aren’t facts.

Plus feelings are super transient.

They come and go.

And I can hold more than one at a time.

That was a revelation when I realized it was ok to be happy when I was sad.

That it wasn’t all so black and white.

Lovely little shades of grey, nuances of emotions.

I have a palette.

I also have a memory and I realized that I was probably also a little extra sensitive when I got teary reading some inspirational quote on my Facecrack feed.

I went back and re-read it to get the full gist and a tear actually did fall.

Oh.

Fuck.

I’m getting my period.

I haven’t ovulated yet, but it’s getting ready.

Which would also explain the super sensitive nose I had yesterday.

My sense of smell goes through the roof when I am close to my period.

I think my body is busy sniffing out a male with some juice to get busy with, that’s the instinctual thing I think, pheromones and what have you.

I may be 43, but the body is still not done with that part.

Yet.

I figure I am almost close to that chapter ending too, but who knows.

Not here to think about that.

Grateful for self-awareness and self-acceptance.

And.

Spiritual solutions.

To my.

Applied Spirituality class.

I get to remind myself.

God’s plan is better than mine.

Just get out the way, Martines.

God wants better for you than you want for yourself.

Drop the rock.

And open your arms to the flowers being held out to you instead.

I like flowers.

 

That Didn’t Last Long

February 9, 2015

Tinder me no Tinder.

This thing sucks ass.

Not for me.

Less than twenty-four hours of using the app and I am burnt out on it.

I have not been obsessively using it, I just don’t care for it.

It manages to suck me right into my phone, which no way man, not on my day off, I have things to do, books to read, walks to take, women to sit with in my kitchen and be present for.

I have food to cook and things to write.

And I just don’t like it.

Partially because it just seems so patently surface.

“I don’t like it,” I told him today on the phone, “I want it off my phone, but I haven’t figured out how to get rid of it yet.”

I have turned off the notifications and I haven’t used it in a few hours and I am going to get it off my phone.

Online dating seems one thing, this random roulette of photographs and profiles apparently works for someone out there, I know lots of folks are using it, but it turns out, not really news to me, I am a little more old-fashioned.

But not too old-fashioned.

I managed to knock another one off my list of ten.

And I replaced one of the guys on the list with a more viable option, if I suspected I was not going to want to go out with the gentleman from last night because he’s a heavy smoker, he should never have gone onto the list.

It was a cheat so I could cross it off without having to do the actual work.

And it is work, let me tell you, asking someone out without hiding behind the screen of my phone, rather actually using my phone.

Not sending a text.

But actually calling a live human being.

Who’s voicemail, of course, I got.

And I flubbed it so bad.

Oh my god.

It’s funny, it was funny when I was doing it, it was the most artless, graceless, idiotic, could be made into a bad dating comedy movie script, of an ask.

In fact.

Ugh.

I called him an asshole.

I meant, I am the asshole, because I can’t quite cleanly articulate what I am saying.

Shocker.

I haven’t gotten a response.

Oh lordy.

But you know, I tried.

And he’s actually a friend, someone I have known for years and off again, on again, wondered about whether we might have some chemistry–it seems we do, but sometimes that’s hard to tell.

My picker appears broken, so I could be wrong.

He also has a sense of humor, so I’m sure he will actually find it funny that I called him an asshole.  I also said I was practicing and in the spirit of taking suggestions I was asking him out to coffee, not as friends, but to see if there was a click there.

Then I laughed maniacally.

Dating.

So much fun.

I have decided that I am going to let the OkStupid profile stand, although I am not a huge fan of it, I prefer it leaps and bounds over Tinder.

And I am going to continue to knock of the names on the list.

One by one.

Each day.

That is my goal anyway, one name a day.

One phone call or one message.

Of the ten on the list the guy I called today is the only one who I actually have a phone number for.

The other guys I’m going to have to message on Facebook or ask out in person.

One of them I will see tomorrow and I have been trying for the last couple of weeks to get up the gumption, but I believe I was still clearing out all the stuff from my previous relationship and I was stymied whenever I got close to saying anything.

But I am sick of the fantasy.

I am a dreamer, but I want reality.

I’m going to kill the fantasy with the guy I usually see on Mondays.

I don’t think there’s interest on his part, but I have to get it, him out of my head and out-of-the-way.

I am not obsessively thinking about him, but he’s there and every Monday for a little while now, I have thought, I really should ask him out for a cup of coffee.

He’s not on a Facecrack as far as I can tell.

Two of his close mutual friends are and I have done enough Facecrack stalking to ascertain that he probably does not have an account.

This is a good thing.

That is one thing on my ideals list, someone who can be present for me and I for them and not interfacing via social media.

It’s too one-sided.

I want to be with someone who wants to be with me, not my profile picture.

Anyway.

That’s the plan.

Ask one guy out a day.

Get dates set up.

One a week, just like I was trying to do before I got into the relationship with my ex.

It worked then.

And as I have learned so much about myself and dating and romantic relationships and breakups and being human through that experience, I can only have faith that it has made me a better woman to date.

I have grown toward my ideal.

Beyond grateful for that.

I have so much more clarity around what I want it is refreshing and I know that God will do for me what I cannot do for myself, that God’s plan is so much better than my plan.

I mean really.

It is.

I don’t want to be alone, though I isolate at the drop of hat, so I’m fellowshipping and seeing ladies.

I got a ticket to Basement Jaxx to dance, I’m not going to wait for someone to take me.

Although not a single person I know is now going.

Which is ok.

I can still go and dance and if it gets weird being there on my own.

Well.

I leave.

Novel idea that.

And who knows.

Maybe in the work of doing this, in the changing and growing I will, without even meaning to, stumble into the exact place I am supposed to be.

That’s what I suspect.

And I’ll be ready for it when it happens.

Because I am not sucked into Tinder.

But present to be in the gift of the moment.

With whomever God wants me to be with.

I suspect he’s dreamy.

I am.


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