Posts Tagged ‘in-law’

Summer

June 6, 2018

Or so it seems when I am on social media.

Not that San Francisco is exactly its normal summer beast of fog and cold wind, though, true, it’s been quite windy, it’s just not really warm.

Although I did catch a bit of sun this past weekend, I’ve been thinking a lot about how it’s “summer vacation.”

It doesn’t quite feel like that.

I mean.

I got up, went to therapy, worked a full day at work, then saw clients at my internship.

It does not scream summer vacation.

I keep getting this cute, well-meaning messages about enjoy all the time you have now that you’re not in school!

Sure.

And I can’t complain, there is a feeling of easing into this moment of not having to write a paper or get something signed or run around to this supervisor or that, but I still have things to do.

Tomorrow I will get my fingerprints taken with LiveScan and then I am one step closer to turning in my application to the BBS.

I’m really happy to have the process moving along.

The faster I can get that number the faster I will start seeing clients at my paid internship.

 

That too, the paid internship, is going to have some working parts that I have to figure out.

My supervisor has not had a supervisee before, or an intern, I’ll be her first.

So I need to do some due diligence and find out the things that I need and the things that she needs to do.

I have a membership to CAMFT, the California Association of Marriage Family Therapist, so that means I get to call them and ask questions when I need help and this definitely falls under their bailiwick.

I get insurance with CAMFT as I’m still technically a student.

Which is really nice.

And I get to use their legal team too.

Not that I think I need their legal team for finding out what the necessities are for being a paid intern.

I just need to contact them and ask some questions.

Of course.

That has not so much been on my mind.

I’ve been trying to reconnect with the phone counselor who left me a message from the SF Tenant’s Union and not having any luck.

I may just end up going into the office for another quick drop in to ask a few follow-up questions.

Tomorrow I’m planning on getting my LiveScan fingerprints done at a place on Mission Street and if it goes quickly I am thinking I will pop over to the Tenant’s Union afterward, they are open until 7p.m.

I just want a little more direction on what next actions to take.

It feels better for me to be taking action rather than just sitting on my hands.

I am still looking at places, but I think that until I have a touch more clarity I am not going to move real fast on anything.

I know it’s important to keep doing actions though, as I don’t know which action will result in me finding a new place to live.

I, as I have said before, am casting a wide net.

I don’t feel as pressured to find a place as I did when I first got the news since I found out that the 90 day verbal notice is not legal, but then again, as I expressed to my therapist today, processed the shit out of this situation let me tell you, I also don’t like living somewhere I’m not wanted.

And I feel somehow small in this space now.

It’s gone from being a little cozy and sweet, to being cramped and cave like.

Maybe it’s that need for summer, for sun, for light, that makes me feel this way.

But I want something bigger, more expansive, something that will support me in this next phase of my life as I work on my PhD degree and accrue the rest of my MFT hours for licensure.

I want abundance.

I keep writing about what my next place will look like, I try to see it in my head, I don’t always, but I do have a really good sense of what I want.

Of course.

What I really want is my own place.

But that’s a pricey thing in the city unless I go with a studio or, as I just did, I continue to apply to the Below Market housing through DAHLIA, which requires that new buildings in the city rent a certain number of units below the market value of the apartment.

Tonight I applied for a lottery for 33 Tehama.

I’m not really interested in that neighborhood all that much, to tell the truth, but fuck,  a 1 bedroom in the brand new building at below market is renting for $1303-$1450.

I can fucking afford that.

I’m basically paying $1352 right now for my studio.

Few more bucks for a one bedroom in a brand new building with views of the Bay Bridge and a spa and bocce court, yes please, I’ll take it right now.

My dream is to have my own place, but yeah, unless I win the lottery, and I would love to win this one, or the Yerba Buena Dream House Raffle, which I did buy a ticket for when I got my tax return, living alone may be out of the question.

Unless I get a studio in the Tenderloin and that is just not appealing.

I would be in the thick of a notorious neighborhood with a lot of open drug use and dealing.

I can only imagine how long it would take for someone to break into my car after I parked to go home.

Two minutes.

So studio’s like that are out.

I’m open to studios out here and I have checked out a few, but nothing that compares to what I have.

I’m open though.

And I really do believe that things are going to work out for me and the new place I move into will be amazing.

I really do believe that.

So, yeah, summer.

It’s here but not here.

I’m sure it will feel like it soon though.

Three weeks from today I will be flying into New York City baby!

I cannot wait.

I am so very ready for my summer vacation.

So ready.

 

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Still Scared

June 3, 2018

But breathing through it.

Crying too.

Sharing about it.

Letting it go.

Reminding myself that it’s not about me, but that, yes, oh yes, I do have rights.

And quite a lot more of them then I had even realized.

I got up early today, I showered, I prayed and read and wrote and drank my coffee and applied for a Grad Plus Student Loan, since the financial aid I was approved of for my PhD program is shy $3,000.

I got approved.

I don’t know how much that will mean, the school will package the loan for me, but I do know that it will be enough.

I feel quite sure of that.

So with my breath stuck somewhere high up in my chest, I left this morning to go to the San Francisco Tenant’s Union on Capp Street.

I got there five minutes before they were open and there were already four other people in line.

However!

Thanks to being proactive, I actually got to go first, since I had filled out the paperwork online, paid the membership fee, printed everything off and handed it over to the counselor.

“I’ll see you first,” he said and asked me what I needed to know.

I told him about my situation and I got back some straight quick answers.

The notice to leave the in-law is in fact, as I suspected, not legal.

It has to be in writing and it has to be for just cause, like I haven’t been paying rent, or I have trashed the place, or I’m doing something illegal.

No meth lab here.

Just me and my notebooks quietly coexisting next to the garage.

I explained that I didn’t have a signed lease.

“Doesn’t matter, she still has to give you a written notice, she still has to have just cause, and the reasons she’s given are not legally binding,” he continued.

I was relieved and also panicked.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Nothing, you stay put, you pay your next month’s rent,” he continued, “you don’t have to move out, just keep paying your rent and lay low.”

Ugh.

That sounds horrible, but doable.

I just hate the idea of living somewhere that I am not wanted.

And I realize that’s also a sort of victim attitude or perhaps a martyr attitude.

Neither of which are very sexy in my opinion.

I asked about relocation money and he said I wasn’t to that stage yet, but that I could get there.

I said what if she raised the rent?

He said, and my jaw dropped, “you have rent control, there is only so much she can raise it, has she raised it since you moved in?”

I said yes, told him the amount, and he said, “that’s too much, here’s the percentage that she’s allowed to raise it, you could sue for back overpaid rent retroactive three years.”

Holy shit.

I had no idea about that.

I chatted with my best friend about it, I’m a bit stupid with math, I’ll write you a Shakespearean sonnet in ten minutes, but maths, bah, numerological dyslexia strikes again, and asked what the raise would have been and figured out that it was raised $30 too high.

I mean it’s not a ton over, but I could reasonably say that another raise in rent is out of the question with that knowledge.

What I basically was told was you don’t have to move, you don’t need to move, make her do the work and get everything in writing.

It feels really big and scary and unpleasant.

I suspect though, that it will be a couple of uncomfortable conversations.

She’s not going to hurt me, she’s not going to change the locks on the house, I really actually can’t see that happening.

It will be uncomfortable conversations, and though I’m not happy about that, I can have them and knowing what my rights are really feels good.

Especially just knowing that I have more time to find a place.

I still intend on moving out, it doesn’t seem like this is a good home for me, it’s been what I needed for this phase of my development, but it is time to move on.

I think what the counselor gave me, though, is time.

Time to find the right situation, time to make sure that I am not desperately clawing at unreasonable housing situations, rent that I can’t afford, or room mates that I’m not really compatible with.

I sense that having the awareness that I don’t actually have to more out in 90 days will help me be more expansive.

I hope anyway.

I am still scared and uncomfortable and the crap its stirring up is big, but I am also a capable adult able to have conversations and find solutions.

I can take this to a mediator if necessary.

Though I suspect that it won’t need to go that far.

I think a buy out is reasonable, especially in this market.

This market is crazy, it still stuns me at times, but I have lived here for almost sixteen years, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

This is home, not necessarily this little in-law, but San Francisco.

So tonight I will practice invisioning what I want.

I will imagine a big room, hard wood floors, living in a house where I probably have roommates, but I also have access to an entire house, I imagine space and sunlight.

Laundry.

Parking.

It can happen.

I know it.

I just do.

I know it’s out there and I’m ready to embrace the next thing.

I really am.

I can be scared and I can still do this.

“Men of faith have courage.”

Courage is not the absence of fear.

It is walking through the fear, it is doing the actions needed despite the fear.

I am brave.

I will walk through this.

Into the bright sunight of a brand new home.

I just will.

First Day

June 1, 2018

No tears.

Since Saturday and the bomb drop.

I also took a few actions today that helped with that.

I became a member of the San Francisco Tenant’s Union.

$35 for a year-long membership.

I think it will come quite in handy.

I plan on getting up early and going to do drop in counseling regarding my landlady asking me to move out 90 days from tomorrow on Saturday.

I also placed a phone call with the Union, of course I did not get a live person, but as a member I was allowed to place a call and get a call back, which I think is very cool.  The Union will not take phone calls from non-members.

I left a succinct message regarding the situation, that I was planning on coming in on Saturday, that I had done a good bit of reading of the handbook and that I wanted to know if there was anything that my counselor would need when I came in.

I quickly asserted that I had no lease, that the landlady had given me a verbal notice to quit the in-law, and that I had been living here for five years paying rent on a monthly basis, $1200 a month plus utilities for the first three years and $1250 plus utilities for the last two.

I didn’t get a call back today and from the information on the message I may not get a call back before I head in on Saturday.

But.

It felt good to take a small action.

I also put it in my God box.

I wrote a note, I said some prayers, I asked God to take care of it and show me where I’m supposed to live next.

I also did my morning readings and prayer and that always, I mean always helps.

Especially when one of the readings was talking about principles before personalities and I realized how applicable that was to my situation.

I don’t like my landlady’s personality and I have found myself wanting to ruminate about that when it really has nothing to do with my situation, who she is as a person is none of my business.

How she treats me as a tenant is and I am not in agreement with what she asked of me to do.

I am in fear, I won’t lie, that it’s going to get uncomfortable to live here if I find out that I have rights that are due me and when I request for them to be honored I suspect that there will be push back.

But.

Until that happens I am trying pretty damn hard to stay out of that crazy making in my head.

I have already decided that she will tell me I’m not allowed to use the washer and dryer in the garage and that she’s going to want me to get anything I have in storage in her garage out.

My bicycle, my Burning Man bins, my tents.

I also suspect she will ask me to park my scooter on the street instead of next to the house.

But.

Again.

Those things haven’t happened and are not happening right now.

They may.

And if they do I will handle them at that time, worrying about what happens in the future doesn’t actually prepare me for what’s going to happen and so often my experience has been that much of what I’m afraid of doesn’t come to pass.

Thus attempting to stay present and stay in the moment where there really is nothing wrong.

My rent is paid for this upcoming month and I have time to find out what my options are and I have time to look for a new place to live.

Because no matter what comes of the Tenant Union drop in counseling, moving is on the table, on my plate, is going to happen.

It just is a matter of how it happens and when and if I get any sort of compensation to more.

Even if I find out I don’t have to move and I suspect that may very well be an option, I just feel like the landlady will make it hell to live here and I’m not much interested in that.

I feel like the best case scenario is I get some money to help facilitate the move and I am able to make a jump to a bigger and better place.

I have been seriously considering the option of getting a three bedroom house in the Outer Sunset.

I have been doing some Craigslist research and there are some very doable options out here.

I have seen a few other homes that might work in the Richmond neighborhood and one or two elsewhere, one in the SOMA which is a no go, I don’t want to have to worry about street parking and a few in Portola, one in Glenn Park, some in the Outer Mission/Excelsior.

But the Outer Sunset seems to have the biggest amount of choices and I am really liking the idea of having a house.

Granted I don’t have the furnishings for a house, but I believe they will come.

If I can get another couple of folks together I could easily snag a place that’s big, sunny, has parking, maybe even a garage, washer and dryer on site and/or hookups for them.

A few places also have fireplaces and yards.

I mean.

That sounds fucking terrific to me.

Two of the houses I really liked also have Master bedrooms with their own baths.

I could be the Master tenant, pay a little more, have a big room, my own bathroom and then full access to the rest of the house.

It’s beginning to sound more and more feasible to me.

And exciting.

I’m not exactly looking forward to the uncomfortable conversations I feel are  going to occur, but then again, I am feeling very positive that I am heading into a much better housing situation than I currently have.

And for that.

Well.

I am fucking grateful as hell.

90 Days

May 28, 2018

A lot can happen in 90 days.

This is what I tell myself.

A lot can actually happen in a few hours, in a few minutes, in an unexpected conversation with ones landlady.

Oh my God.

I have been asked to move.

I don’t know exactly what to do yet, or whom to share this information with.

I will admit I had an impulse to post up all over social media, but I restrained myself.

I think I was in shock.

I still am a bit, truth be told.

Yesterday though, I was definitely in shock, disbelief, horror, I was freaked out, I cried in supervision when I had to do my check in, I probably should not have been riding my scooter, but in a way it might have been the best thing since I had to focus fiercely on the road for a half hour.

I rode my scooter into supervision yesterday because of the huge Carnival festival that happens in the Mission every year Memorial Day weekend.

It’s a gigantic party and it’s a huge, huge, huge parade.

Where my internship is located at was a designated area of the Mission that was to be part of the route and there was no parking anywhere to be had, I knew this ahead of time and planned on taking my scooter.

I had no idea I would be riding to my group supervision with the information I had just gotten.

I had been actually excited to go to supervision, see the therapists who have watched me over this past year as I have grown comfortable with becoming a therapist and seeing clients there, and share with them the achievement of having graduated.

All that, however, was eclipsed by the bombshell my landlady dropped on me.

She told me she wanted me to move out.

That she had been planning on talking to me about it for a few weeks, but didn’t want to “spoil” my graduation weekend and stress me out.

Thanks.

You stressed me out anyway.

I find it really interesting that I had decided to pay my rent a week and a half early for next month too, I usually do pay early, by at least a few days, but something compelled me to do it earlier than usual and I believe I may have sensed something in the air.

A few weeks ago my landlady had the property inspected as she was planning on doing a re-financing of the house, “I’ll finally get that window in the studio,” is what I thought.

That, apparently was not what she thought.

Oh, there’s going to be a window, but it’s not for me.

She told me that she was originally going to give me thirty days, then I had paid rent for this upcoming month, like I said, I like to pay it in advance, and since it might take me a little while to find a place that she thought she’d give me 60, no, 90 days to move out.

That now that I was done with school, I got into a PhD program you rotten whore, oops, did I say that? She was happy to have “helped” support me through the Masters program by letting me live here.

Helped?

I have helped you lady pants, like, I pay the rent.

I pay utilities.

I am a model tenant.

I pay rent in advance.

I have ever since I moved in.

I take the trash out, I keep my studio clean, clean, clean.

I am sober, no partying down in my little den.

I don’t smoke.

I am a fucking full-time nanny who has a part-time internship and I, until recently, also attended grad school full time.

Meaning.

I’m not around all that fucking much.

Who could ask for a better fucking tenant?

Oh.

And I don’t have any pets and I don’t complain about the dog that you got a year ago that barks and whines and cries and then gets yelled at for barking and whining and crying.

I don’t know what is worse.

The barking or the yelling at the dog to stop barking.

Considering the year of great noise I should get a goddamn discount of the rent.

Ugh.

Anyway.

I took in what she was saying and let her do the talking, I was in shock and also trying really hard to smile and nod and not say anything to just listen, to absorb information.

I was also in my scooter jacket about to get on my scooter and go ride across town to my internship, I couldn’t process what was happening.

Which was probably a good thing, I didn’t get argumentative, I didn’t freak out on her.

I did find a silent, hot core of anger later, but more about that at another time.

She explained that she’d gotten her re-financement and was going to be doing a major remodel on her house, ripping out the kitchen and the bathroom in her unit, putting in a deck, building another in-law in the back yard, pulling out the kitchen in my unit and making it a one bedroom with a bath (and maybe a hot plate), and that she needed me to move out so that she could move into my unit while the remodel was being done on her unit.

I quietly congratulated her on the refinance and asked again about the move out date, September 1st, the 15th at the latest, she needed to know as soon as possible when I was going to move out so that she could get all of her contractors lined up and ready to go.

Oh.

Ok.

Glad to hear that you need me to hustle.

Good information.

I’m only deep diving into the most expensive city to live in for rentals in the United States with a dearth of options, where closets get rented as studios, and people curtain off living rooms for extra bedrooms, where adults live in dorms with shared bathrooms and communal spaces that are marketed towards tech kids in the FiDi and Mission districts.

Sure.

No problem.

Let me get right on that.

I decided to cry instead when I got to supervision.

Oh!

And hey, she also noted, you can pay your last months rent from your deposit if that helps you consolidate your cash to get into a new place.

Hmmm.

Thanks.

I think.

Don’t you owe me the deposit back with interest, isn’t that what you told me when I moved in, “I’ll be putting this in an account that will gather interest and I’ll give you the deposit plus the interest when you move out, just make sure you give me a 30 day notice.”

See.

This is where it gets tricky for me.

I never signed a lease.

I live in an illegal in-law unit.

It has a kitchen with a full size working gas range and a full size refrigerator, but no window and no ventilation.

I cook and open up the back door to ventilate.

I am also pretty damn certain that she didn’t pull permits to do the work on the in-law when it was remodeled, but I’m not 100% certain.

What I am certain of, however, is that in her nice, sweet, off-handed way she was manipulating me into thinking I was getting a deal and that she was being kind to me.

Oh, and you don’t have to pay for July’s rent either.

And while that’s a lovely offer, I think that you, madam, are not within your rights to push me out, at least not without a written notice, or some sort of compensation.

So.

I got myself onto the San Francisco Tenants Union webpage.

They have open drop in hours and I will be going to get myself some counseling to see what my rights are.

I may not have a signed contract, I may not have a lease, but I had a verbal agreement and over four and a half years of cashed checks with “June rent and utilities” written into the memo.

I have a paper trail.

And I know I have rights.

I just don’t know exactly what they are.

But I will.

And when I do.

Watch out.

I am mad and I am not going to be manipulated into rolling over.

I am going to move.

That is going to happen.

But I am going to do it in a way that advocates for my rights.

I am not going to get pushed out.

So.

Yeah.

If you hear of anything for rent in San Francisco.

Not Berkeley or Oakland or in the East Bay or over in Marin.

IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Do me a favor and let me know.

Thanks!

 

 

A Day Off

July 10, 2017

To remember.

Nothing striking or out of the ordinary.

But just a lovely day.

A sweet day.

A day when the fog actually lifted and I saw some sunshine, surprisingly late in the day too, it cleared off around 6:30p.m. and was clear all the way through to sunset.

Albeit chilly, it was such a welcome reprieve from the constant summer fog that I made up my mind right quick to get out into that sunshine and eat it up.

I deserved a sunshiny walk on the beach.

I did a lot today.

Laundry, grocery shopping, cooked two separate meals, both lunch and dinner so that I would have plenty of food prepped for the week and then some to toss in the freezer.

I made a sort of jambalaya, my own edited version, with shredded roast chicken, shrimp, Andouille sausage, pork, corn, black olives, onion, garlic, brown rice, crushed tomatoes.

Super yummy and I froze 3/4s of it.

I ate a big bowl for lunch, put a couple of containers in the fridge for meals and I also roasted a chicken for dinner–I happily ate salt and pepper roasted chicken with tarragon butter and brown rice that I seasoned with turmeric, Spike, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper–savory rice.

I love cooking and I love having a full fridge at the beginning of the week so I don’t have to squeeze in a shopping trip to the store when I am in the middle of a full tilt boogie schedule.

I also went to yoga and got my sweat on, super challenging class, I fell in one of the poses.

Splat!

On my belly and just laughed out loud.

So I feel, so what?

I tried the pose.

I am certain I will fall again, as long as I can laugh at myself, though, then I’m ok.

When I start taking myself to seriously then I know I am in trouble.

I met with a lady as well and did the deal and read and talked and fuck.

It was so good.

I called my person and had a good long check in.

I called a friend who’s going through a hard time and suffering a big loss.

I had a really nice and connected day.

I also took a car over to Cheap Pete’s and picked up my two prints that I brought back from Paris.

I am super happy with the way they turned out and I spent some time re-arranging the art on my walls to accommodate the new pieces.

I don’t have much space, but I think I arranged things well and I’m very pleased with the additions to my collection.

Very pleased.

I really do like my home.

It does feel like an extension of me, of my personality.

It is tiny, but it’s me and I am grateful for all the things I have and all the ways I get to express myself.

I also like that wherever I look there is something pretty to rest my eyes on.

This is my sanctuary and I adore it.

Sure.

I want more space.

But that will come when it comes.

I am experiencing this deepening of faith in places I never knew I needed to have deepened, seeing experiences and suddenly have the knowledge that though I did not know it at the time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Seeing what I needed to see.

And being seen.

Regardless of my ignorance.

I was seen.

And all the things that have led me here were all the experiences I need to have.

So being in this little in-law at the edge of the city, by the edge of the sea, for whatever length of time I am supposed to be is quite fine by me.

I am happy.

I am warm.

My home is sweet and I have precious memories of every foot of it that make me smile when I least expect it.

I have been smiling a lot recently.

I repeat.

I am very happy.

And yes.

Life is full.

But I had such a restful day.

Yes, I did do a lot, but I found all sorts of down time too.

I read a little bit from a novel, novel that, reading something that is not psychology related, a John Updike novel I had gotten last year for my birthday.

My birthday is in December.

Ahem.

I don’t have much down time for pleasure reading, and sometimes I feel that I shouldn’t even, but in the end it was too delicious to not.

I also read a few more letters in the book of Chopin’s Letters that were sweet and nostalgia inducing.

I love the old language used, laced with bits of French.

Lines that caught my attention I underlined and starred, the turn of a phrase that I found enchanting or a sentiment that I echoed and felt stir me.

“I kiss you heartily.  Remember me as I remember you.”

And this.

“I wrote it only to arouse a pleasurable emotion, such as greetings usually produce.”

How often have I written something just for the pleasurable emotion of the writing?

So often.

And.

“I press you to my lips and say goodbye till we meet.”

And.

“Give me a kiss, My Life.”

I love how he capitalized “My Life,” how important the person to whom he is writing becomes as I read the letter.

I sat in the sun on my back porch and read these letters and glowed.

Then.

Yes.

I decided it was time for a walk on the beach and it was as I had hoped.

Deserted.

The all day long fog and chilly breezy had deterred most of the city from even bothering with going out to the beach.

I saw one tourist family picnicking.

A father and son in wetsuits with boogie boards.

A couple walking a dog.

A paddle boarder out in the surf.

And me.

There was no one there.

Me, the sand, the ocean, God.

It was beautiful.

I walked the surf, rolled my jeans up, they are still a little damp hours later where a high tide splashed me, stuck my flip-flops in my basket bag and collected seashells.

Yes.

I did.

I collected shells.

Shush.

That’s the kind of girl I am.

I write poetry and collect sea shells and I am just fine with that.

I get to be many, many, many things.

And now that my well is replenished.

I will go back to being a nanny and a therapist.

The week is full.

But full in a good way.

Thank you Sunday for your gifts.

I feel that Monday and I shall be great friends just from the beautiful reprieve I had today and all the things I got to do to take care of myself.

Luckiest damn girl in the world.

Seriously.

That Was A Session

June 21, 2017

I’m a therapist.

It was so clear.

It was so obvious.

It was like getting whacked over the head.

You are a therapist.

I was in it with my client and although it was just a second session I could feel it happening, I could feel the alliance happening and who knows where it will go, but it’s a start.

I have clients.

Two this week.

Three next week.

And so it builds.

I was also a space cadet today.

I left my bag with my nanny shoes at work.

And when I realized I had already been on my way to the internship to see my client and I did not want to risk losing time to turn around and go back.

When I finished with the session I couldn’t remember if I had actually carried out the bag with me, having then left it on the sidewalk outside of my job.

Or.

If I had left it inside the house.

I called and text my boss but got no response.

Then I had a horrible vision of my bag, with my very expensive Dansko walking shoes, on the sidewalk and it getting scooped up by an entrepreneurial type in the neighborhood.

I debated going home, but I needed the piece of mind more than the extra few minutes I would have gotten at home.

So I zipped over to work and sure enough it was at the house, inside, thank God.

I thanked the dad, hopped back on my scooter and zoomed home.

It was a fast ride, the rush traffic having dissipated and in the end I was only home five minutes, maybe seven, past when I had predicted I’d be walking in.

It’s nice to be home.

I love my little studio.

Yes.

I would love to have more space.

I surely would.

However.

In this time in my life I am willing to be in a little space that holds me so well and is pretty and full of color and things to look upon that make me happy.

Speaking of which.

I expect to hear back soon from Cheap Pete’s.

The framing shop I took my two Paris prints to.

One a Marilyn Monroe by Phillip Hausman I got at the Jeu de Paume in Paris and the other a vintage Scandal sheet cover from a vendor at Clingancourt.

I am looking forward to adding them to my collection.

Although, truth be told, I don’t have much wall space left at all.

I have an idea to rearrange a few things and move around a couple of pieces and I think they will fit just fine.

And.

In other news.

I got my financial aid disbursement.

Hurrah!

So very happy.

I put half of it in savings immediately.

I will be using that money for my therapy costs as I move through my school program.

I will also be purchasing some new clothes for the doing of therapy.

I have a small wardrobe, but I realized that I need to expand a little, a few more pieces of professional clothing that I can interchange with my current wardrobe.

I was talking to my therapist this morning.

Yes.

The therapist has a therapist.

Duh.

Anyway.

Just that it’s nice having a change-up in my wardrobe and it helps me to be in the mindset.

Which is how I forgot my nanny shoes at work.

I took them off to put on my “therapist” shoes.

My new Fluevogs.

They are funky, but not too crazy and I do feel like someone else when I wear them.

It feels important to switch gears from nanny to therapist.

Even if the client would probably be completely happy with whatever I am wearing, well, perhaps, but really, it feels right for me.

It’s like pushing a reset button.

I carry myself different and I put on a different hat.

Or pair of shoes.

If the shoe fits.

Fucking wear that shit.

And I have totally lost my train of thought.

I am tired and just did a Facetime chat with a friend who’s been trying to catch up with me for a couple of weeks.

I am just starting to take clients, I can’t imagine how things are going to look when I’m back in school.

I probably won’t know what hit me.

But.

My god.

I am so grateful that I have started my internship now.

If I had to handle the training and the clients and the newness of it and juggle a full load of fall semester.

Um.

No.

Super grateful to have this time to get adjusted.

I also know that I won’t have to work as many hours.

Right now I’m working 40-41 hours a week as a nanny.

When school is in I’ll go back down to 35 and that will help.

Shit.

That’s five clients right there.

Add the three I have now and I could reasonably be doing the same amount of work that I am carrying now.

Of course.

It will be different.

I will also have to carry a full-time grad school load.

With all the reading and writing that entails.

Shh.

I tell myself.

Hush for now.

Don’t spoil the moment.

I had a good day.

I was a good nanny.

My charges loved on me, I got to hold the baby for a few hours while it slept, I made a dinner that the entire family raved about (pancetta spaghetti carbonara with julienned sugar snap peas, pan sautéed asparagus with shaved Parmigiano Reggiano, hearts of romaine salad with heirloom tomatoes, avocado, a soft-boiled wild hen egg and sprouted sunflower seeds), “Carmen, you are a REALLY good cook,” said the seven year old.

Thanks sugar.

I do love cooking for those I care about.

And.

I was a therapist.

A damned good one at that.

I think I have earned my cup of tea.

With that.

I call it a night.

Sleep well my friends.

Sleep well.

 

If You Could

January 6, 2016

See me now.

You would see how committed I am.

Fuck me.

The internet in my in-law sucks.

But.

Haha.

I found out there’s nothing wrong with it in the fucking hallway.

So.

Yes.

That is correct.

I am writing my blog in the hallway, the entryway to my house, basically I’m not in my fucking house, but the door is open.

It’s cold out here.

Fuck.

Not really how I want to be doing this, but at least I am online and I figure, well, I am a fast writer, I’ll have this done quick like and then go back in my house and not have internet some more.

I kind of am not cool with it.

But.

After the conversation with my housemate, this morning, I asked as I was trying to get online to look at my syllabus and start doing some homework for the class–she emphatically noted, “it’s must be your computer, because I’m getting online upstairs.”

It’s not my computer.

It’s apparently where my computer is.

Like in my house.

Or in the hallway.

Haha.

But I still needed to see what was on the syllabus.

Probably should have waited a little while though.

I wanted to throw up when I saw the reading.

Fuck me.

I really hope the reader is done tomorrow.

I want to be able to get them and not be reading this stuff online.

I need to underline and highlight, the stuff is not going to stick for me.

And if I have to jog out to the god damn hallway to get online I’m not going to be a very happy lady.

Ugh.

Maybe what I will do is go back inside and write this in word then come back out and get online and post.

It’s a pain, but at least I’ll be warm.

And the seating is more comfortable.

And I won’t have to listen to the noise coming from upstairs either, it’s distracting as all hell.

Ah.

It’s not the big things.

The big things.

They hurt, they’re hard, but I know how to deal with them, write it down, put it in the God box.

(pink bunny)

Let it go.

Surrender.

Maybe cry some.

Ok.

Shut up.

Cry a lot.

But hey, the feelings they pass faster that way, they do.

Call someone.

Make an inventory.

Call another someone.

Go do some service.

And the big stuff, I can navigate it.

The small shit, the little bump under the carpet, the daily grievances of life, sometimes that is the stuff that I cannot negotiate.

Like what is that sound?

It’s like a remote control car being driven around in a relentless circle.

It’s not the soundtrack to the movie, but it’s…

See.

I digress.

The little stuff can wallop the hell out of me.

I can’t fucking take it.

I’m freezing.

Back inside my little lair.

I like my little lair.

Even if the internet is not reciprocating with me, at least I am cozy.

And the sound track is so much better.

A little Al Green, “Let’s Stay Together.”

That’s more like it.

God damn I love some Reverend Green.

I remember dancing to it at the Angelic, once in a while getting spun around the front of the bar by this person or that, Charles, the bartender, who was not the best bartender but my God, he could lead a good partner dance.

For a moment, being twirled around in front of the band and throwing my head back and laughing.

I must have been a sight.

I still am a sight.

I am also having a heavy duty hair geographic itch.

Serious itch.

I have been reaching out about it to a few folks, looking for a new spot, I’ve been with my person for a long time but I have been encouraged to expand out towards other horizons.

I mean, it’s been heavily suggested and since I take suggestions, I need a new hairdresser.

Because.

I am thinking, yes, go all blonde.

Do it.

Blaze the shit out of my hair just once.

“Girl, it is getting big,” he said to me tonight after I checked in and let him know what was going on with me.

You know, some more crying, but good crying, relief crying.

Sometimes a girl has to get it out.

I’ve cried an awful lot lately, but I know how cathartic it is and how I have needed to let go and surrender.

And.

Oh.

I think I have!

I’ve done it!

I’ve let go!

Yippee!

Then.

Nope.

Ah fuck.

Feelings.

They just keep happening.

Ok.

So have them, make friends with them, the less I struggle, the more I surrender and I feel like I have finally laid it all down, put it all on the ground, said, hey you, feelings, you go on about your bad selves and I’ll just be laying here mushed out on the ground.

Contemplating Spring.

I’ll be watching the dogwood blossom and the blue sky ahead and maybe I’ll be breathing free and steady and full of love.

Nah.

Not maybe.

I will be.

I am now.

I feel lighter and looser and gladder, even though sad, in my person.

A loosening and letting go.

Love is a story that can’t be told.

Sing it Al.

The time is right.

It’s almost that time.

Though not quite, I still have a few days to go, but the revelations I have had this year around this anniversary, well, they are something.

(Oh, look at that, saving of my draft failed, yeah, I know, motherfucker, I can’t get internet in my hobbit hole today, or for the last five in a row, which yeah, fuck you, is not as relaxing as you think it would be.  If I wanted to be off the grid I would unplug on my own, thank you very much)

Am I going to have to write an inventory about my WiFi?

Bahahaha.

Oh.

I am a sick person.

Fuck.

At least I know it.

Back out to the hallway with you.

Where I am metaphorically, so often, in the hallway, in the dark, looking for the next door to open.

Free.

Though.

Free to move about.

Free to love.

Free to let go.

Free to move forward.

Because.

The best thing I can do is give you your love

 

PS.

The acoustic’s in the hallway are fantastic for singing.

 

A Different Kind Of White Out

September 9, 2013

I got the keys!

I got the keys!

I got the keys!

Well, not to the new place, that is still to happen.

But I got the keys to the garage and the garage leads to the door that leads to my in-law.

Yay!

I move in tomorrow, I will also get the real keys tomorrow, but I am more than happy to have access at all.

Tomorrow, for the first time in over a year I will be sleeping in my own space.

No room mates.

Just me.

No bed yet, either, or other house hold thingamabobs.  But whatever, that all will come.  They usually do, and always much faster than I expect them to.

Although if you have any spare pieces parts or bits, let me know, ‘kay.

I ain’t got nothing.

Not even a carrot peeler.

Note to self, add that to the list.

I really am starting from complete scratch having gotten rid of all the things I had household wise when I moved to Paris.  I told my friend when I wrote out the check for September rent, pro-rated to not include the first week when I was busy being in the dusty dust, that it meant I was getting better stuff.

I cleared out what does not work for me and will be replacing it with better things.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

The stuffs will happen.

In the mean time, my friend is lending me a great big blow up mattress and some bedding, a small dresser, a chaise lounge, and a small table.

It’s enough to get me started.

I have started with less before.

And I am going to have fun putting together my new space.  I am going to enjoy the hell out of it.  I am getting some plants, I like greenery, and well, I am getting all the things to make it my home.

Plus, although I have yet to touch base with her since my return, I do have some things in storage at a friend’s house out on San Jose Ave.  I don’t recall there being any furniture like things, but I will have all my photographs and postcards and paintings and pictures.  And my grandfather’s spice rack, which is going to look really good in my kitchen.

The kitchen looks great, brand new cabinets, a full size gas stove, a three-quarters size fridge with freezer.  Oh, add ice-cube trays to the list.

Shit, hang on, I really do need to get out the list and write this stuff down or I will forget it.  Not that I think I need to make ice any time soon, but you know, it’s nice to have when the city is experiencing an Indian Summer.

Not that I could tell as I rode my bicycle out to the 46th Avenue.

Where I am now to be found–46th between Irving and Judah–in the fog bank.

My glasses were misted over by the time I got to the house and I will be pocketing them for future foggy rides, better to be slightly blurry from not wearing the glasses than blind for riding in white out conditions.

At least this white out doesn’t taste bad and leave a coating of alkaline on your skin.

It did frizz the hell out of my hair though.

Ah, curly hair, how I love to hate to love you.

But as I stood waiting for the N-Judah to swoop me up and take me back to Cole Valley, I left the bike in the garage at the house, I don’t need to worry about moving that as well, I thought, I could really get used to this.

I like the smell.

It feels cozy.

I like wearing cozy clothes.

I sleep better in cooler weather and I like to sleep under blankets.

Ack.

Add to list.

Anyway.

I liked the shroud of fog.

I like the fuzzy lights of the train pulling through the dense cushion of mist.

It was pretty.

I like the pretty.

Oh snap.

I can go for a walk on the beach tomorrow at sunset.

How freaking cool is that?

And I got my first mail there.

I sent myself a post card from Burning Man.  I did not read it yet, but I propped it up in my bathroom.

Sigh.

My bathroom.

Nobody I have to share it with.

I can get up in the middle of the night and use it and not put on my pajamas.

Nothing says good times like a naked potty run.

Seriously.

There will be runs to the coffee shop, Trouble Coffee is a block away and Java Beach is two blocks away.  There will be meanders to Mollusk Surf Shop, I will eventually learn how to surf, damn it.  There will be dining at Thai Cottage.  Holy shit, that was the bomb tonight.

Surprise take out dinner around my friends kitchen table with her boyfriend and daughter.  Best Thai food I have had in ages.  Super awesome brown rice with yellow curry and tofu for me and they had the red pumpkin curry with tofu, plus an amazing mango salad.

Yum.

And cheap.

New favorite and I have only had it once.

But I foresee many a visit in my future.

Oh, yeah, a Thai Cottage picnic on the beach at sunset with iced coffee from Java Beach.

I remember about 8 and a half years ago I got this urge to go out to the beach a lot.

I was discovering a connection to a power greater than myself.

Stand in the ocean and try to make the waves stop.

See how immense the world is.

How small I am, insignificant, really.

I went every day for a week, over and over and over.

I walked in the surf barefoot and the cuffs of my jeans were soaked and salty and I was loath to wash away the smell.  I organized a beach bonfire one weekend and all my new friends came out to show their support, we stood next to each other smelling the clean sweet scent of the sea and the warm crackle of burning wood singed with marshmallows and dropped cinnamon graham crackers.

It seems that all along the siren song of the ocean has been calling me back.

Your wayward daughter returns, my love.

I shall see you soon.

And like mermaids we shall call each to each, I shall wear my trousers rolled, and eat a peach (well, probably a nectarine, I like them better) as I walk upon the shore.

I do believe, however, that they, the mermaids will sing to me.

I can hear them even now.

And that I will not drown.

Rather I shall rise from the surf a kind of Venus.

With punk rock hair and the laughing mouth of a glad hearted girl.

 

 


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