Posts Tagged ‘internet’

Boarding

May 12, 2017

Not that I will be boarding soon, I have about an hour and thirty minutes before my plane starts to board.

But.

I am in the boarding area to London.

Where I will have an hour layover and then.

Yes.

Paris.

I will arrive in Paris tomorrow at 5:15p.m.

About 24 hours from right now.

Of course, Paris is 12 hours ahead and the time traveling is not actually 24 hours.

There is some time travel happening.

In a manner of speaking.

My flight to London is 11 hours 45 minutes.

Yawn.

That’s a long time.

I hopefully will take a very big nap.

I am nervous about my ankle, it’s hard to travel with a sprain, the air pressure in the cabin, having it lower than it should be, I should have it elevated as much as I can, but that’s not going to happen.

I am also sitting in the boarding area early hoping to chat with the flight crew.

I want to see if I can switch seats.

I’m in the middle.

I have done a long flight in the middle before, but not with a bad ankle.

I am going to see if they have anything in first class, smile real big and bat my eyes.

Although, I’m not one to really use feminine wiles to get my way, a smile, and a please and a thank you generally go far.

I use my manners more than anything else.

I doubt it will happen, but I will ask.

Can’t hurt to ask.

And.

I will ask for getting on early so that I don’t have to hobble on with every one else.

I definitely needed extra time to get through security.

I kept my shoes on and my ankle brace on and the security did a pat down and a chemical swipe of my shoes.

It was rather funny, but I wasn’t in a hurry and I was glad that they let me keep my shoes on.

I have my ankle wrapped pretty well and my plain Jane sensible walking shoes on.

I do hope that I will be able to do the museums and to be able to get to some spots that I want to.

Fuck.

At this moment I have completely changed my thoughts and plans regarding my flight, I am sitting in the boarding area next to a very loud woman who is reciting a great deal of evangelical text at great volume.

Listen lady.

It’s too late to save me.

I’ve already saved myself.

Take your proselytizing and go elsewhere.

PS.

I can’t hear you anymore now that I put on my oversized Head Candy noise cancelling headphones.

All I can here is the playlist my French friend put together for me.

“Pour Carmen.”

Merci bein mon amie, je t’aime trop la musique.

I also have been doing the internet fall into a hole looking at all the fun stuff that is happening in Paris this upcoming weekend and week.

I almost got into to the pop up sauna that is at the Moulin Rouge, but it was fully booked.

Oh well.

There are plenty of things to do.

I have been popping around the Time Out Paris magazine.

It’s fun to pursue all the things.

I don’t actually have any agenda anymore.

I can’t do Paris the way that I have done in previous years, at a full tilt boogie.

Nope.

I will be going slow.

I will be soaking in the City of Lights.

I shall be walking slow.

Moving slow.

Seeing it all.

Taking it in.

I’ll still go to plenty of museums, how can I not, but I will be pretty strategic about it, I don’t think I will do the Louvre, I mean, I may, but only a few certain parts, I will have to pick maybe one wing and then one floor instead of trying to do two of the wings, it’s just miles of walking and I don’t have miles of walking in me.

I figure I will find my spot and sit and stare at some art and get my fill.

Fuck.

I don’t know what I am going to do.

I am just going.

I mean I really do have to toss out all the ideas I had about what I would be up to.

I have to scale way back.

But.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing for me.

A little restraint.

That can be a good thing.

I know I will have an amazing time and I know I will have adventures.

I will meet people, I will see old friends.

In fact, I have a date to go to Rue Madame with a friend on Sunday and catch up with him and some fellows and then off to stroll, hobble, around Les Jardins de Luxembourg.

That’s the Luxembourg Gardens, if you didn’t figure that out.

I will definitely be sitting still more than I have in the past and I am thinking I may use the buses a lot more than when I lived there, the stairs up and down the Metro are going to be hard.

I can’t dash.

So, maybe staying street level most the time.

And going places where I can really get a lot of bang for my buck, like the city center, the Marais, etc.

Ah.

It’s all good.

I’m ok.

I get to go, my ankle wasn’t so badly sprained that I can’t get out of bed.

I mean, had it been as severe as the one I sustained three years ago I would have been fucked.

I probably would have cancelled the trip.

So.

I am grateful, super grateful, for that and I will not bitch or complain.

I shall take the experience as it has been given to me with a great big smile and a very sincere Merci bien.

Trop merci.

Merci beaucoup.

Ooh.

The flight crew is coming in.

Got to jet.

Er.

Hobble off.

Into the sunset.

See you in Paris!

Trop bisoux pour toi.

xxxxxx

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This Is The End

May 9, 2017

Goodbye my friend.

Well.

Perhaps not quite yet.

But.

Oh my heart.

I am going to have to stop with my blog.

Or at least this iteration of it.

I met with my supervisor for my practicum, my off site supervisor, who is deeply analytic, and who is so spooky smart it amazes me.

I also realize in the writing of that, I too am smart.

I get so much from our interactions because I too, am intelligent and it is a pleasure to be met and held and supported in that academic nature, and also just in the humanness of curiosity and the journey of being human.

I just docked my hour on Track My Hours.

I have done 21 of 3,000.

Only 2,979 to go.

Heh.

As I get closer to taking clients I will begin to shut down my blog.

I have suspected that this might need to happen and after my discussion with my supervisor today I am pretty sure that this is going to happen.

My heart hurt when I shared with him how long I have been writing this and what pleasure I find in it, but I also know that to be in service to my clients I need to drop the blog.

I need to be more anonymous on the web.

I have recently changed all my Facebook stuff to be über private and today I turned my Instagram profile to private.

I am also going to clean out my Facebook friends.

I would go do that right now, except that I want to write and not get sucked into the social media hole.

My supervisor said he uses Facebook twice a year.

TWICE.

I love that.

I also like that my friends who are off Facebook seem to be happier and more centered in their lives and irony, spending more time with their friends.

I was, in fact, quite absent from Facebook this past weekend, so, so, so much to do.

I will miss writing the blog and the responses I have gotten from it.

But.

I won’t stop writing.

I will just find a different iteration of.

I will keep blogging, but the nature of the blogging is going to be different and written with the task in mind of writing or an audience that may very well include my clients.

I love how my supervisor explained it, the perspective was not that I was going to be found out about something, but that the client needs to have the space to fantasize about who I am as a therapist.

Parent, partner, sister, friend.

That in the space held for the client I need to be whatever person they create so that they can find a different relationship then the one that they are having problems with.

I sound rather esoteric, but I understood deeply what he meant and he shared with me a very poignant example of a client with me.

I have to hold so many things and the frame is the most important.

And I was told clients would Google me and try to friend me and follow me on social media, that I might be stalked, or followed, that clients would try to find out information about me.

Now.

I am a fair open book in my blog but I can tell you that I have surprising responses to the things that I have written, more so than I can enumerate here.

People presume to know who I am.

And, they don’t.

Oh, a few have some more insights than others, but I am so many things and not all that I write about here is current day, I weave in personal history and narratives, I have themes that I return to again and again.

Those stories are precious to me and important and experiences I wouldn’t change for anything, but they are often stories.

There is me and there is the blog and they are the same.

But.

They are not one and the same.

The blog is her own character.

And I am going to be a therapist.

I need to protect myself, I will need to titrate how much social media I ingest and start to examine how I express myself in the online world.

I’m not sure about a hard stop with my blog.

But I know it can’t continue too much further.

I also will be starting my internship in two weeks and I am not going to have much time.

It may be that I have to sacrifice the  blog to that as much as to anything else.

I shall see.

I shall hold it and nurture these little blogs, my little fluffy fledgling birds of prose and see that they have a place to be saved and that I find another way to express creatively and in a manner that resonates with myself and my need to be an artist.

A poet.

An author.

I thought about that.

Maybe I find my outlet by writing a book.

Maybe I start a completely new blog.

Maybe I tailor sharply this one.

Even the name is personal.

I am Auntie Bubba.

But that name has a history, a story, an origin and that is from my family and I don’t know that I want my future clients to know that my family nickname is Bubba.

Um.

Hahahaha.

NO.

I have taken a few small actions today to start the de-escalation of social media.

I know I have an old LinkedIn account that needs to be cleaned up.

I will winnow out the Facebook friends and start really thinking about how to navigate the blog and what I will do instead.

What would happen if I put a hard stop to it when I go to Paris?

It feels sad but also, interesting.

What space might be created for something else.

Something new and surprising.

A new chapter.

A new work.

A new journey.

A new experience.

All the things.

You’re Killing Me

April 24, 2017

WordPress You’re Fucking Killing Me       *This blog written 4/23/17 while WordPress site was down.

 

I just want to write my heart out after having written 25 pages of academic writing over the last two days all I want to do is free associate my ass off and yet, again, you foil me.

My site is still inaccessible.

Sad face.

At least I found out the reason why, the site did an update to work out “some bugs” and that happened on, yes, of course, 4/20 (hmm, who was smoking the doper that day) when I was trying to post up my poetry post.

It’s the fucking 23rd and I still can’t write posts on the site.

It’s annoying and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

I was able to leave a comment on the WordPress Facebook page, amongst 100s of others that I was not able to access my blog and hopefully they will get it worked out tomorrow.

I mean.

I have a big ass week ahead of me.

I have just begun the work, or so it feels, the work is always happening.

I told myself, well, I wrote to myself this morning about the work and how it would get done and that I was going to be ok and I could write the damn paper, even though it feels like all I did yesterday was work on the paper, but that was the transcription.

I reasoned with myself as I sat and did my Morning Pages that whatever happened I was ok today and was going to be ok.

I quickly listed all the things I had already done that morning—yoga, abstinent, healthy, organic breakfast, washed my dishes, took a shower, made a latte, I had prayed and made my bed, I was writing my pages, I was ok.

Further.

I was going to meet with a ladybug today and do some reading with her at a café and I had a speaking engagement that I was going to do at 4p.m.

The paper was going to get done and I would be ok.

I go through the same emotional shit every time I write a paper, at least I recognize the pattern and I do the work anyway.

In fact.

Once I was into the paper writing, after another quick prayer and putting away my dishes (got to have a clean house to write a paper), it went so swimmingly that I was startled when my alarm went off letting me know I had to head out the door to the Church Street Café in the Castro at Church and Market.

Shit!

I am almost done!

But I was ok with that, I had maybe another page to write and I was well aware that I could do that when I got home, which, of course, I did.

I was super grateful to get out of the house and to sit in a café and not talk about school stuff, oh a little snuck in, but it wasn’t too bad.

The focus was on recovery and the conversation on the reading.

Grateful.

I got to go do the deal shortly thereafter and I got the nicest compliment after speaking from someone who has seen me from the very start, I mean day one.

“Is it just me, or have you dropped your defenses a bit more?” He asked while giving me a very big hug.

“Yes,” I smiled.

“It is lovely to see,” he smiled back and walked away.

I remember him telling me years ago how defended I was and I had absolutely no clue what the fuck he was talking about.

It has taken me a long time to soften, to sweeten, to let you in.

The walls they go up now and again, but for the most part, I see that I have relaxed my vigilance and I am much more vulnerable than I was, especially in the beginning of my recovery.

I still have so far to go, but I feel it, this easing of my defenses and it is a comfort, it has been “sometimes slowly” my entire recovery and in hindsight, fucking thank god.

I also realize my tolerance for pain is much lower, my threshold will not withstand the shenanigans I used to do to keep people at arms length.

Eventually my arms got tired and I dropped them.

Only to receive more love than I could have ever imagined.

It is lovely.

Lovely to have that experience, and then hop on my scooter come home and throw a chicken in the oven and let it roast up while I was finishing my paper.

14 pages.

I finished the one page that it needed to wrap it up, proofed it, edited it, made sure I had all the important stuff the teacher wanted for it, including the correct e-mail to send to the paper to.

And voila!

It’s off into the ether and I’m done with it.

So grateful.

Super fucking grateful.

I still have two more papers I have to do.

I have cued up the next thing I need to do, listen a second time to a two hour podcast on This American Life that I will be basing my Trauma paper on, on my phone, so I can listen to it at work (although not when the little guys are home from school, not appropriate listening for them by far) and I know, know very well, that I am in it for the next week and a half.

Next weekend I will have to finish two papers.

One I will write on Saturday and one I will write on Sunday.

And then it will be done.

One more big fucking push.

And tomorrow I start supervision.

I will basically have started summer school before the spring semester has finished.

Rolls eyes.

No break for me.

Well.

Ha.

Paris.

Oh, Paris, I cannot wait.

Yesterday I wore a pair of tights I bought in the Marais the last time I was there as an incentive to get me working on the paper.

Today I wore a dress I plan on strolling the streets in.

I also have loaded Paris weather on my phone and I have been checking that.

It’s getting warmer, 70s predicted for next week.

One paper closer.

I am getting there.

Two to go.

I can do this.

I can.

Paris.

I will see you soon.

Je t’aime trop.

 

Eleven Pages of Writing

April 24, 2017

Eleven Pages of Writing. *This blog post written 4/22/17 while WordPress site was down.

 

Eleven.

And I’m not done yet.

Of course, it was the biggest part of the paper that I dealt with, the brunt of the work, but the actual paper is not written yet.

The eleven pages was transcript.

Sigh.

I hate writing transcripts.

Super grateful that it is no longer a part of my career.

I did do it once as a part of my internship when I was in the newsroom at KQED as a radio news intern.

I had to transcribe a few times for my reporters, the interns definitely got the grunt work there, that’s for sure, I recall I had to transcribe a speech that Arnold Schwarzenegger gave to the state of California when he was the governor, it might have been the worst thing I have ever done for four hours.

And although this transcription was not so difficult, it was still challenging.

It’s a lot of stopping and starting a recording.

It took hours of work and I’m grateful I did it and now I will be able to write the paper.

But.

Not tonight.

I was afraid that this might happen.

Especially when I saw how long it was taking, it just takes forever, but I did do a lot of thinking while doing the transcribing and I did get a lot of ideas down and I also made notes in the margins about what I could have done differently.

So much of that.

What I could have done differently.

I was transcribing a half hour session of a Couples Therapy mock dyad I did last Sunday with a couple of friends who helped me by-play acting being in a relationship.

They did a great job.

Me.

Not so much.

That being said I did have a few moments of headway and I did do a few things, if not well, at least not flaming bad.

I also know that I am not expected to be a fantastic couples therapist after one semester of work.

It will take time and it will take practice and this was a practice, it was not “real” therapy, it was a practice session it was for me to learn.

And learn I did.

Which is the point and I’m happy about that.

I still have to write the official paper, but I have the transcript worked out, edited and cleaned up.

I have to include ten minutes of the transcript in my paper.

I could have just listened to it, the recording, and choose a ten minute chunk, but in listening to the entire thing and typing it up as I was listening I got to see what worked well, what didn’t work, what could have worked better, and I feel like I got a deeper understanding and a deeper learning.

I’ll be able to sit down and write the paper tomorrow and it should not take more than two hours to write.

I may even pop it out in an hour and a half.

I have looked over one of my books for the class, made some notes, and I have the transcript ready.

I’ll kick it out tomorrow.

I have a few more things going on tomorrow than I did today, but I should still have the space to do the work.

I don’t feel as anxious about doing it as I did earlier this week and I know that I just have to do the slow and steady wins the race deal in regards to all the homework that I have to get through before the last weekend of the semester.

I will probably spend a little time every day this up coming week on my two other big paper projects, this paper I worked on today will be done tomorrow.

I will finish it that was the plan.

Well.

The plan was to finish it today but I didn’t take into account how long the damn transcription would be.

I think I knew it was going to be a while, which was fueling some of my anxiety around the writing, in fact, when it comes right down to it, I bet the time I took to do the transcription will actually be less than the time that I take to write the formal paper.

Speaking of writing.

Day three.

THREE!

Of not having access to my Word press site.

I do not understand what is going on with it but I can’t access it to post blogs to.

Once again I am writing my blog on my Word application and then I’ll post up to my Facebook.

I am not excited about this, but I remind myself I need to blog and I need the time to decompress and shake all the homework out of my system so I can rest well tonight, sleep soundly, get up and do it all again tomorrow.

I did a few other things than homework today, yoga class, laundry, grocery shopping, made a pot roast with root vegetables, did the deal, but did not do the fellowship after.

I thought about it.

But.

I had eaten pot roast before heading out and I wasn’t hungry and I knew that it might be better if I came home, looked over the transcript one more time, flipped through my notes and then slept on the paper.

I’m staring at the reader for the class and thinking I will also flip through it before I give it a complete rest.

The blogging helps, it really does, I’m happy to be writing regardless of my blog site being down and I am ok with the wonky look of it when I post to Facebook.

I now have three blogs that will need to post.

I will post them to the site when it’s back up, even though I’ve put them on Facebook, that way the subscribers still get to see what I’ve been up to and the site holds my drafts and it’s nicer to have them all there than here on my computer.

I can access my drafts and I can read the blog, I just can’t post.

It’s the second time, third time, maybe, that it’s happened.

Hopefully the kinks will get worked out soon.

And with that.

I have to finish up so I can go finish up the rest of my prep work for the Couples Paper.

I’m almost there, even if it feels like I haven’t even started.

I’m almost there.

I am.

Damn it.

God Damn

April 18, 2017

That hurt.

I think I broke my toe.

I am not fucking pleased.

I was really hoping it would feel better and when I took off my sock.

Gah.

It don’t look good.

It’s swollen, blackish purple blue.

Grr.

I can walk on it, in fact, I walked on it all day, but it hurts in a few spots that don’t feel right.

I can flex the toe and I gently checked it out, but yeah, I think I may have fractured it.

I’ll be calling the advice nurse in the morning.

On my way to therapy.

Sigh.

I really don’t want to deal with this right now.

I suspect that there is little to nothing that can be done.

Take some ibuprofen and elevate it, I’ve currently got it up and I’ve a bag of frozen corn on my foot.

Damn it foot.

This is the foot I always hurt.

The one with the bad ankle.

The one that I broke before when I was a kid.

In fact.

One of the very same toes.

I broke three toes and part of the bones in my foot the summer between second and third grade.

I jumped off a piece of playground equipment, missed the pole I was leaping for and smashed down, bare foot, onto a cement anchor.

I don’t remember the pain, thank god really, I just know it was bad and it was a while before it was properly taken care of, I was probably in shock for a while, my babysitter kept insisting that I had just twisted an ankle.

Of course.

When my mom came to pick me up she took one look at my foot, went sheet white and scooped me up off the baby sitter’s couch and walked me over to the emergency care clinic across the street.

It was touch and go.

They had to reset my toes and inject pain killers into each one, I got at least three shots that I can remember, the needles so long and spooky, to this day I do not like getting shots.

Tattoos, no problem, though, truth be told, I don’t watch myself getting a tattoo, I’m just not that into it.

You know what.

Fuck trying to figure this out.

Time to make a phone call.

And now.

I’m on hold.

I figured I might as well call the advice nurse at Kaiser now instead of googling what a broken toe looks like and how to deal with it, because that’s what I did first and all I did was freak myself out.

I just checked it again and it does feel tender, and it’s definitely bruised and swollen, but it’s not obviously broken.

Maybe a fracture.

Maybe my imagination.

It just is something I do want to address.

I need to be on my feet and I need to take care of myself.

I don’t want to ignore it and it get worse.

I am hoping that the nurse says keep ice on it, elevate it, and keep an eye on it.

And miraculously the swelling will go away and I’ll be fine.

I checked a few decent sources on the web and I’m getting about all the same thing, ice, elevation, ibuprofen, and watch for swelling, bruising, and discoloration and if it doesn’t go away after a few days then maybe a trip to the doctor.

I mean.

It can’t be that fucking bad, I worked all day on it.

Granted I was aware of it on occasion.

And.

The oldest boy can be rambunctious with me and has a tendency to hop on my feet or steps on my toes.

I pulled him aside at the cafe and told him I really needed him to be careful around my feet today.

It wasn’t until we got back to the house in the late afternoon that I actually looked at it.

Yeesh.

That’s not pretty.

I also showed my charge who was super sympathetic and sweet with me and shared how he had bruised his knee badly on a recent field trip with school and how it hurt to walk and he patted my foot.

It was adorable.

I will say I was a bit surprised to see the amount of bruising.

Since, as I mentioned, I worked on it all day.

It’s not the big toe, which is good, I do know if it was the big toe I would have taken myself in to the urgent care.

It’s the one next to the baby toe.

It wasn’t something glamorous or fun, like when I was a kid and smashed my toe, it was a rousing game of tag and I was fleeing a pursuer.

Nope.

I just banged the damn thing on the foot of my bed while I was changing my sheets.

I’ve banged it before in the same spot, it’s a small area, my space is, well-appointed and everything just where it should be, but a tiny bit tight.

I recall clapping my hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

So.

Let’s just say I hit it much harder than I have in the past.

And this is definitely the first time that I have ever seen a bruise on my toe from stubbing it.

I really do not want to be dealing with this.

“All advice nurses are still assisting other members, please stay on the line.”

Yeah, yeah.

Hurry up.

Thy will not my will be done.

Note to self.

Nothing horrible is happening.

I can walk.

This is nowhere near the extraordinary bad sprain I suffered a few years ago.

It’s just a bit of a nuisance, really.

Small things can unloose me, but I think I’m going to be ok.

I’ll chat up the nurse, keep telling myself it’s fine and.

Nurse!

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

I don’t have to go in.

It’s not the big toe, and I didn’t break skin, and there’s not much to do unless it was an obvious break.

It was suggested I take it easy, not be on my feet too much (bwahahahahaha), ice and ibuprofen and if the swelling gets worse or the bruising spreads call back, but she didn’t think it was going to be necessary.

Thank God.

I’m not a hypochondriac, but I also tend to down play when I am sick or hurt and muster through.

Grateful I called and I can now say I did, I didn’t just rely on the interwebs to diagnose myself and I’m ok.

I really am.

Just a tiny bit slowed down.

Which in the end is not a bad thing at all.

Nope.

In fact.

It’s just what the doctor ordered.

Pun fucking intended.

Ha.

An Unexpected

March 29, 2017

And welcome.

Change to tomorrow’s schedule.

The mom has asked me to come in at 1 p.m. and stay a little late, dad is out-of-town for the next week with work, and I was happy to help out.

I want to be flexible with them and helpful and I know that the stress of being new mom with three-month old baby and a seven-year old and four-year old and without the dad around to help for the first time since baby was born is a big stress.

Big.

Plus going in late on a Wednesday is not a big deal for me since I have a late day on Wednesdays.

I do have a commitment in the evening, but it’s not until 8:30 p.m.

Which means that tomorrow.

Yes.

I can go to yoga on a week day.

First time this has happened since I started the new job on January 2nd.

I have been a weekend warrior with the yoga and have, dare I say it, missed the extra days I was able to go in before work at my prior job.

I don’t miss the late nights, I’m not particularly psyched to work that late, but to be flexible and help out and be able to go to a yoga class before work is a nice perk if I’m going to be working a later hour.

I’m not working extra hours, I’ll just be shifting them up so that I can be there with the older kiddos while mama takes care of getting the baby fed and asleep.

I’ll also help out the same way on Thursday.

I will go in at 1p.m. and work until 8p.m.

I will not, however, be doing yoga before work on Thursday.

Before work on Thursday will look like meeting with my advisor and turning in my paperwork to the registrars office.

I’m ready for that hoop to be jumped through.

I took another little leap today.

Actually.

Let’s be frank.

I took a huge leap today.

I had my first day back in therapy with my new therapist.

Hello therapy, it’s good to see you again.

“Oh good, lots of kleenex boxes,” I joked as I went into her office.

I was kidding and serious all at the same time.

The session was really good, we got to know each other and I committed to going back.

She asked if I was interviewing any other therapists and I said no, I had found what I wanted with her, I was honest that her location and availability was a big draw for me with my schedule at work, but also that I had felt a really nice connection with her when we had our phone interview last week.

And after a few minutes into our session I knew it was a good fit.

It really helps that she went through the same program that I am going through and I can see that she will be a huge asset and support as I navigate all the school stuff.

Plus.

I liked her.

And that means a lot.

And.

“You’re going to make a great therapist,” she told me at the end of the session.

And acknowledgement I was not at all expecting and it left me with a nice glow.

I know I am going to be a great therapist, but man, it’s nice to hear it out of a professional’s mouth.

Yes.

I did use the tissue box.

I also recognized and spoke to my anxiety.

Fear of carrying the additional burden of $120 more a week.

Nearly $500 a month in additional costs going out.

But I also know.

I know.

I can carry it.

I may have to shift some things around, probably won’t be putting any more into savings for a little while and I won’t be buying new clothes, but I can handle those things.

I can still pay rent, phone, groceries, utilities on what I make and be able to absorb the cost of the therapy.

My clothing allowance is about $250 a month and my savings is also about $250 a month.

I have some in savings for my travel plans and I have some in savings as a back up teeny tiny prudent reserve.

So if I just cancel out clothes and savings for a little while, trim down on eating out, which I don’t do that often anyhow, I’ll be fine, I can afford the therapy.

And.

Honestly.

I need to afford it.

I must have it documented that I am going and besides, I need it to keep going on this career path, I have to work out my own stuff, I have to reconcile it.

There is stuff there.

A lot of my work has been done and I have an extraordinary foundation from doing recovery work for the last twelve years and my therapist acknowledged that as well.

Which I found really affirming.

We talked about me thinking what my goals will be for the therapy beyond helping navigate the school process, interning, and getting my own hours met for my LMFT.

One thing we discussed was that she could help me with some anxiety strategies.

My anxiety has been pretty high since I started the program and some times I feel absolutely swamped by it.

I told her that I had been doing yoga and that was helping.

I am holding on tight to my two days a week and I am super happy that I will sneak in another class tomorrow morning.

Heck.

I’ll even be able to sleep in a little tomorrow.

It’s going to be a long couple of weeks, but I can get through it.

I read a ton today at work on my lunch break and I should be able to do that as well one more day this week, probably not tomorrow or Thursday since I’ll be coming in late, but Friday I will.

And I get to meet with a friend and do the deal and catch up over dinner afterward.

I haven’t seen him since my birthday, he’s just getting back from Puerto Rico and I am super excited to catch up with him.

I still might try to get to Puerto Rico in July.

There are so many plates spinning in the air I’m not going to try to predict it, but if I can, I will.

Oh life.

So much stuff.

So grateful for it all.

And a sleep in tomorrow followed by some anxiety reducing yoga.

Life is good.

All the things people.

All.

The.

Things.

Last Night’s Blog

March 29, 2017

Site Down*

My WordPress site has been down all day.

I don’t know exactly why, but I can’t post a new blog and I’m a little frustrated with it.

They upgrade and change things far more frequently than I like but since it’s a free hosting service, I suppose I’ll let them off.

I mean.

I could pay for a domain and I could upgrade to a “better” blog within the site too, but the fact is I’m fine not paying for anything at the moment.

I just had a big calming talk with my financial insecurity fear and myself.

I wrote a check for my health insurance payment and I start therapy tomorrow.

And I am seeing my money dwindle fast.

It felt a little scary.

Hey, rent is due soon too.

But.

I have enough.

I am enough, I have enough, God didn’t bring me this far to drop me on my ass, and I will be taken care of.

The money is there, I told myself.

And yes, the therapy is not something I wish I was paying for at the moment, but I need to do it for school and I need to do it for myself and well, I tell myself, I am worth the money.

So off to therapy I will go tomorrow and I will live one week at a time and one week at a time I will let go of a little money to get me further along on the path that leads to my goal.

Today I fantasized what it would look like if I won the lottery.

Not a big whopping lottery, but you know, say 4 million.

The amount of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts raffle.

Which is also known as the San Francisco Dream House raffle.

The proceeds benefit the arts community, specifically the Yerba Buena Center that is downtown across from the MOMA.

I have always loved their space and every year I see that raffle come up for the dream house and I find myself fantasizing about what it would look like if I won.

You either get your choice of a house, the one on raffle is up in Twin Peaks, or you get the cash prize.

This year it is $4 million.

What I would do with $4 million.

Pay off my student loans and pay for the PhD track through my school.

Buy a house.

Yes, I would, I don’t want the one up in Twin Peaks and I could still buy a house and have money left over, pay off the student loans, get more schooling.

I wouldn’t quit school.

But I would sure as shit quit work.

I’d just go to school and go to yoga and I would buy myself a new cello, go to the Luthier on Divisadero Street that the San Francisco Symphony goes to, and I would take lessons.

I would buy myself a brand new Jeep Wrangler Sport in Midnight Blue.

I might get a trailer for Burning Man.

I would probably get a trailer for Burning Man, who am I kidding, I would definitely do that.

I wouldn’t bat an eye at going to therapy once a week, heck I might go twice for a little while just to see how that feels.

I would travel.

Natch.

Venice, Barcelona, Madrid, Mallorca, Greece, Ibiza, Hawaii.

Paris, of course.

Did I mention I would pay off my student loans?

Yeah.

It’s fun to daydream a little bit.

And I did have to give myself a gentle little pep talk when I was writing out my health insurance payment for the next three months, remember, you get money from your employers, you’ll be ok, for health insurance, remember you’re going to work this weekend to help them out, you’ll make extra money this week.

I’ll be ok.

I am going to be working and schooling a lot for the next few weeks.

But.

One wonderful thing I discovered.

I was wrong about when the kids are on Spring Break!

I thought it was this week and it’s not.

In fact, it’s not for another two weeks and the family is going to be out-of-town for a long weekend, so April 10th and 11th, the Monday and Tuesday after my next weekend of classes, I will have off.

Which is good as I’m looking at working three weeks in a row straight.

I am going to need a couple of days off.

I was so grateful to find that information out today.

It took such a big amount of stress off my shoulders.

Plus, I had thought I wasn’t going to have any down time this week to finish up my school reading, if the kids are off on Spring Break I have to be engaged, I can’t just pick up one of my therapy books and read.

But.

They are not on break and I will have breaks all this week at the house for quiet and reading.

I didn’t today, but I wasn’t expecting to, so when I found out I will have the next weeks to do homework during the day while the kids are at school and I’m on my lunch break, well, that’s huge for me.

There was reprieve in my body today and in my being and I appreciated so much having it.

And I got to have some good baby snuggles today and the biggest smiles, he’s starting to smile and it’s just so good.

Warm baby snuggles, sunshine forecast for the next week and a half, long lunch breaks I can read homework during, autonomy at work, my health insurance is paid and I start therapy tomorrow.

It’s all good.

And.

The money will be there when I need it.

It alwasy is.

Seriously.

 

*This post was written on Monday, March 27th.

Sweet Heart

March 8, 2017

That’s what I was called today.

Not by a lover.

Nor a friend.

Not a cat call.

Not someone trying to get something from me.

Nope.

MY BOSS.

That was in response to a message I had sent.

For offereing to make dinner and sending the mom and dad fun pictures of the charges at the park on the slide.

“You’re such a sweetheart!”

I’ll take that.

It feels really quite nice to be in my job right now, it’s been just a touch over two months and I really feel a part of.

Sometimes that can be challenging as I am navigating waters I haven’t had much experience with, English as a second language for the kids, but I’m figuring it out and it’s been an adventure.

Most times I don’t have a problem when my family speaks in their mother tongue.

In fact, it’s kind of nice to not know what someone is saying.

Their language is not a romance language.

I know I’m being vague, but I have a signed confidentiality agreement and I feel like if I go into too many details it would not be cool.

I’ll leave it at I’m happy to be with them and I feel very appreciated.

Which just makes me want to do a better job.

I am grateful for them.

I have been grateful for every job that I have had, regardless of conflict or challenge, because they have led here and here is pretty fucking awesome.

I feel good.

I feel serene.

I feel easy in my skin.

I have my school work ready for this upcoming weekend of classes.

I was able to run some personal errands today at work, while running errands for the family, and I was able to grab some toiletries and household things I’ll need for over the weekend.

I was able to run to the grocery store after work before doing the deal and get some fruit and veggies and almond milk to have in the house to supplement the food I made over the weekend for class.

I even got to sneak in a visit with a friend who I have not seen in a little while who I have been trying to hang out with.

Totally serendipitous and partially because I had a cancellation tonight.

My person and I were supposed to meet, but he got the flu and I ended up having a tiny chunk of time that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

I connected with my friend, got to get my “I’m going to Paris in May,” dork on, and then when the clock was getting late, scoot on out the door, hop on my scooter and zoom zip across town.

And now I’m home.

Cozy.

Sipping hot tea and blogging.

Listening to St. Germaine and dreaming about my trip.

I am so excited to get to go again.

I am remiss that my friend, with whom I had planned the trip won’t be able to go, but hey, she’s got a great reason, she’s close to term with twins and can’t fly.

So.

Yeah.

She’ll be staying here.

I’m sad that I won’t get to experience Paris with her, but I’m cool on my own in Paris, I get along just fine.

And I will have friends there.

Because I have friends that live there and folks I know in the fellowship.

And a friend of mine will be visiting there with his mom.

He was supposed to come and visit me when I was living there but we missed each other.

I’ll get to be his tour guide for him and his mom for a few days, I think they overlap and are either going to London or Rome part of the time I’m in Paris.

I will be there ten days.

Ten days.

Dreamy sigh.

In May.

Another big dreamy sigh.

I’m so happy I’ll be going in spring, especially since the last two times I was there was during winter and it was cold.

And dark.

And grey.

I remember a dear friend of mine saying to me when I moved back how happy she was that I was back in San Francisco, in California, in the sun, that all the pictures I had taken in Paris when I lived there were lovely, but so grey and dark and depressing.

Paris is dark, grey, cold and depressing in the winter.

It is true.

Romantic, gothic, gorgeous.

But.

Cold, dark, and depressing for sure.

So to get to go in May, when the nights are shorter, the days are longer, and the weather is warmer.

Yes.

And more yes please.

Walks along the Seine.

Trips to the Jeu de Paume–the modern art photography museum.

Walks through the Tuilleries.

Walks in the Luxembourg Gardens.

Walks in Bois de Bologne.

Walks in the Marais.

Walks, and walks, and more walks.

And then.

Sitting in cafes.

Drinking cafe creme and people watching.

Then.

More walking.

The marches, the markets, the brocantes, the flea markets, the book stalls, the vintage clothes and jewelry.

Oh yes, that too.

And.

I have friends who are musicians.

I need to go to some nightclubs.

I didn’t do that too much when I lived there, although I did go to one big underground show that blew my lid off.

I knew the dj who was spinning and had no clue the venue was going to be so big and so packed.

It was amazing.

I also know a jazz saxophonist, a blues singer and a jazz singer.

I could get some late night jazz on in Paris.

Yes.

Oh, yes, I could.

I will also get myself a couple of things that I didn’t get to when I was there last.

I need another hat.

I want a market basket purse from either Marche des Rouge Enfants in the Marais or another canvas sack from Le Merle Moquer, my favorite bookstore in Paris.

And something small and whimsical from Fleux, a store in the Marais that has amazing household items, reminds me a tiny bit of Ikea, but super cool, chic, fun, unusual things.

I got my hot pink bunny Pylon bank there when I was living in Paris.

And.

When I was last there I scored a pickle jar lamp that has a miniature Eiffel Tower on the bottom of it.

It is just so quaint and sweet and I adore it.

I turn it on and it always makes me smile.

Ah.

So much to smile about.

Life.

Well.

Life is fucking good.

That’s what.

Seriously.

Life.

Is.

So.

Damn.

Good.

The Perfect Dress

February 24, 2017

Almost.

But not quite

So freaking close, but I was afraid to force the zipper.

Just in that one spot.

Ah well.

I’m not returning it though.

I don’t often buy clothes off Etsy pretty much because it’s hand-made often and you can’t tell, but I fell for the dress and it’s gorgeous and it fits perfectly, except I need like a 1/2 an inch in the back for the zipper, right below my bust line, pretty much the widest place except for my shoulders.

I’ll just have it taken out a tiny bit.

I’m otherwise quite happily pleased with it and had a sudden moment of realizing I was going to wear it to Paris.

It really screams Paris in Spring.

It’s a replica of a Marilyn Monroe polka dot sundress in light blue with four tiers of layered flounce and sassiness.

It’s gorgeous.

I found it while I was looking for hair accessories.

Aforementioned blog about celebrating my getting time off to go to Burning Man from work.

While bopping about in the retro vintage pin-up rockabilly accessories I came across it.

I was like.

Oh my.

Yes.

I want that and I want that bad.

And.

It must have been fated.

Because the shop has “taken a break.”

I was hunting around trying to find the link to the Etsy shop and finally landed it and the shop has closed!

There is one other seller on Etsy making the dress.

Exact same dress.

Exact same measurements, in fact, aside from a slightly different woman modeling the dress, it could be the exact same seller.

Except.

Holy shit.

THREE times the price.

I got the dress I ordered for $89.99 plus shipping and tax.

This dress.

Total was like $104.

The other site has it listed for $325 (I found a couple off Google in the upper $200s)

Yeah.

Um.

No.

It’s a great dress but not for three hundred dollars.

Quite happy I found the dress the way I did and now knowing what I know about the shop not even existing anymore I will definitely be keeping the dress and just getting it altered a tiny bit.

There would have been a time when I was devastated to not fit into the dress.

But seriously.

I have a lovely, capable, beautiful body.

So what I have a broader back, I am strong.

I was not happy the zipper didn’t get through that one sticky spot, damn it fits so well everywhere but there, but I wasn’t sad either.

That’s progress.

I ran into a fellow tonight after doing the deal with my person and having dinner at Crepevine on Church and Market, and he did a double take, “you’ve lost so much weight!”

I realized later that I hadn’t seen him since about 2009 when I was depressed, hiding in my room, binge reading Twilight, yes I said Twilight, fuck off, and binge eating bowls of popcorn, pints of ice-cream and sacks of donuts from the Jelly Donut on Van Ness and 24th Street.

It was bad, bad, bad, Bad News Bears, bad.

I was miserable.

I finally broke through the silence and reached out and got help and since that point I’ve never really looked back.

No.

My body is not all that and a loaf of sliced bread.

But then again, why would it be, I don’t eat bread.

Heh.

But it is mine.

Mine to care for, comfort, nourish, and attend to.

And that is a gift.

My body has taken a beating for me for a long time, physically and spiritually and mentally too.

It has never lived up to my high expectations, even when I was a super low weight, before I evened out and got less compulsive about my restrictions in my diet, even then, pounds lighter, I wasn’t happy, I wanted more, better, faster, thinner, etc, etc, ad nauseum.

Grateful today for the beautiful body God has given me to walk around in.

Grateful that I get to care for it and be perfect with it and not be bothered if the zipper doesn’t go all the way up.

It will.

Grateful too that although my first thought was, oh, I’ll lose some weight and it will fit in a few weeks, it was quickly supplanted by, fuck that, just get it tailored to fit you, it only needs a small adjustment, I don’t need to make myself crazy to fit into any piece of clothing.

I am not my pants size.

I cannot.

Will not.

Measure my life by my in-seam, bust size or waist line.

I am so much more than the sum of my whole.

And I am not stupid.

I am beautiful.

God please help me to see what you want me to see and to let go of what I can.

I can let go of this for sure.

Yes, yes I can.

Please and thank you.

Any one know a good tailor?

Seriously.

 

Why, Yes, That Is Correct

February 21, 2017

I am making chicken and rice soup with vegetables right now.

Yes.

At 9 p.m. at night with terrible and gusty winds.

Chicken soup is super homey and I felt in need of throwing together a pot.

Plus.

I had the time.

And.

It doesn’t take too much time.

I have it down to a science and since I roasted a chicken yesterday I figured I would whip up some soup when I got home and had dinner.

The soup will be done in less than a half hour.

I’ll freeze some and can the rest.

Lunch and dinner for the week.

Easy to just grab a Mason jar of chicken soup with rice and head out the door.

I normally would make the soup on the same night I roast the chicken, but I hung out with a friend yesterday in the afternoon and had coffee.

I am practicing reaching out to people and connecting when I feel lonely.

It was a perfect afternoon jaunt over to the Richmond side of the park, up to Balboa and 38th.

We went to La Promenade Cafe across the street from the Balboa Theater.

It’s a great neighborhood cafe with lots of tables and nooks and crannies and couches.

It was surprisingly packed yesterday with students and laptops, but also with gamers.

I didn’t even recognize most of what people were playing, but I felt happy to be in the midst of the energy and to see people connect with one another face to face.

Rather than Facebook to Facebook.

Speaking of ye olde social media.

I had someone send me a friend request yesterday who I had unfriended a few months back for good reason and at the suggestion of my person and I also blocked his phone number and deleted his number in my phone.

Space was made and taken.

I was surprised to get the request.

Then.

Not so surprised.

And.

Then.

Surprised that I considered accepting it.

But.

In the end.

Yes.

I deleted it.

There was a reason, there is a reason, and no contact is still the best thing for me with said gentleman.

That being said.

I was happy to have made the decision to do something, even such a small thing, as deleting the request, instead of hemming, hawing re-accepting and going back into the crazy.

Sometimes I turn down crazy town road and I see that great big pothole (man-hole) that I have fallen into before and I am so tempted.

I won’t fall in this time, just watch!

Sure Lucy.

How about I just don’t try to kick that ball today?

It felt really good to take contrary action and to not engage.

Healthy like.

Sane.

Different.

I like it.

Then today when I logged into all things interwebs and was checking through I noticed that although I had deleted the friend request it showed up that said person was following my public posts.

Hmm.

I’m not so sure I want that.

I haven’t ever really thought about my privacy on Facebook.

I don’t publish political stuff on my page, in fact, any time I am tagged in a political post I remove that tag and delete it on my timeline.

Don’t post shit to my page.

Please.

And thank you.

I don’t give a fuck if our political leanings are the same, I don’t want to think about politics when I’m on social media.

Anyway.

I logged into privacy settings and holy shit.

I might as well have let the whole world know what was going on or not going on with me.

Everything was set to public.

I cannot fathom how or when I did that.

Unless I just wasn’t paying attention.

So.

I made it all private.

I figure this is good timing for me anyway.

I’ll be starting practicum soon and I should make sure my social media stuff isn’t accessible to people whom I’m not friends with.

I don’t post racy pictures of myself.

I find that kind of tacky.

That’s just my judgement.

But.

My personal stuff is my personal stuff.

And.

I have been “found” by a few guys on Tinder when I was on Tinder.

I am not on it.

Haven’t been on it for a bit now.

I took it off my phone but once in a while I would notice that I was getting hits on Instagram that seemed to be coming from Tinder.

So I got the app again on my phone and checked it out.

Sure enough.

I had to delete my account through the app before I could actually be off it.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t have it on my phone.

It was still “live” out there in the world.

Creepy.

So.

Deleted that.

Buh bye.

I’m so not opposed to sex.

I love sex.

But.

I am opposed to that particular app and I realize that yes, I prefer some intimacy, emotional, intellectual, yes, even spiritual, before I want to drop my knickers.

Like if someone from my friends group on Facebook did want to ask me out on a date, I would be down.

But.

For someone to find me on Tinder, photostalk me through Instagram, find me on Facebook and then message me, um.

NOT INTERESTED.

That particular scenario has happened three times.

I don’t expect it will again.

Boundaries.

I need to have them.

I have had nebulous, porous, wobbly boundaries, and it just ends up biting me on the ass.

Every time.

Better boundaries make for better relationships.

This is what I am learning.

Good skill to have.

I am sure I’ll waffle again, but I’m getting better and better and the change feels good and I am not watching the horror show of my own dramatic script writing.

Nope.

I’m changing the channel and getting right into the what is right in front of me, moment.

Reality is so much better than fantasy.

Fantasy feels safer.

But in the end.

For me.

It’s isolation.

And for me to isolate is to die.

I’ll pass, thanks.

Here’s to living in the present.

The gift I’m given every day.

Grateful for that.

Seriously.

 


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