Posts Tagged ‘intuition’

Dot An “i”

April 9, 2018

Cross a “t.”

One more small bit of paperwork in the works.

I have had this gnawing feeling for weeks now that I was missing some paperwork for my school.

My God.

The amount of paperwork that is required to prove I have been doing the deal for the last three semesters is horrendous.

I have had four supervisors.

Two that I primarily work with.

Two that I accrued a couple of hours with.

Hours that no matter how small, matter quite a lot, little by little those hours are going to add up to me being licenced and every single fucking one of them is important.

So I have four separate pieces of paper with all their relevant information on them for the BBS.

And then I must have another set of papers, not the original signed ones, but facsimiles or copies thereof to show my school.

Plus.

Every hour.

EVERY SINGLE HOUR.

Has to be signed off by a supervisor.

I have had one main supervisor.

I will, in fact, be seeing him tomorrow.

And he’s the one that will be doing the majority of the signing.

I have had another, my group supervisor, who will also be needing to sign a fair amount of paperwork.

What I did not know is that there needed to be a Letter Of Agreement between my site supervisor and my school, CIIS, supervisor.

I had no clue.

No one ever told me.

It just slipped through the cracks.

So that nagging feeling of there’s something missing was not wrong, I just didn’t know what it was that I needed.

I found out yesterday and today when I got done with school I zoomed over to my internship and left the paperwork on my internship supervisor’s desk with a big fat note saying please sign this ASAP, and oh yeah, pre-date it.

Thankfully he got my email and I just now received a response and all is good.

I will still have to pick up the paperwork and take it to my other supervisor who is not affiliated with my organization, and have him sign it, then return all that paperwork to the school.

That will all happen next Monday.

Tomorrow I will just go meet with my supervisor and we will start my review.

I received it today while I was in class and it was something else to read while I was on my lunch break.

Carmen continues to demonstrate an amazing work ethic.

Aw.  Thanks man!

Carmen has done extremely well at Liberation Institute and is currently seeing about eight regular patients. She is on track to complete her hours for graduation.

I have completed them!!

I needed 225 to graduate and as of the last time I checked I have 244.

I actually have more hours than that, 385.75, but some of those hours while counting for the BBS requirements, do not count for CIIS’s graduation requirements.

The school’s requirements though, have been met!  I have enough hours, I will graduate.

Pending signing of a fuck load of paperwork, but my hours have been met!

Regarding supervision, Carmen attends every session on time, is eager and prepared to
speak about many patients, and appreciates the time together. She is a quick learner and
leans on her supervisor to help interpret difficult situations and seems increasingly
comfortable with handling her treatments.  Carmen is demonstrating an aptitude to manage the amount of psychic space and time that she allows her patients to consume and is making mature decisions.
Carmen is ending her last semester of practicum and seems ready for the next challenge.

You bet your ass I’m ready for the next challenge, bring on graduation.

I am also ready for a break, truth be told, but that will have to wait for a little while yet.

Carmen’s treatments have been diverse. She sees both men and women. She sees both
straight and gay patients. She has a culturally diverse practice. Carmen is able to manage
cultural diversity well.

That was nice to hear, I do see a great range of people and I am quite grateful that I can hold more than one type of client.

Carmen has met her goals for practicum. She shown that she can do intakes (consults),
get patients interested in a treatment, and retain them. She can build alliances. Her
patients come regularly and seem to enjoy their relationship with her. Carmen is able to
be herself in session, manage her anxiety, negotiate boundaries and the frame, and deal
with the rudiments of transference (i.e., idealization / devaluation).
Carmen enjoys her case work and is progressing beyond what is expected.

I am enjoying my work!

I really like my clients, and I feel like I am a good therapist.

Carmen shows an aptitude for intuiting transference and countertransference issues.

I am very proud of this.

It may not mean much to a lay person reading that, but I remember how confused I was just defining those terms when I first started my program.  I still need a lot of work around theory, but as my supervisor writes I will have years to work on theory and that my beginnings have aptitude.

That makes me happy to hear.

And then there was this:

Carmen has done extremely well in her practicum. She establishes a solid frame, sets
good boundaries, builds trusted alliances and is increasingly comfortable conducting
treatments with her patients. Carmen is an extremely hardworking and reliable therapist for her patients, listens well, empathizes and provides support. By listening to her countertransference, Carmen intuits patients’ motives and conflicts. She has the capacity to progress her treatments in deep and generative ways. Carmen’s patients are extremely lucky to have such a gifted and committed therapist.

That last sentence.

Oh wow.

That was so nice to read.

To be told by someone who I respect, and perhaps revere a touch, the man is a fucking genius, that I am a gifted therapist, that my clients are lucky to have me, my God, that just amazed me.

I am so, so, so grateful for this opportunity to get to be of service and to get to use what I know to help others, it means so much.

And it doesn’t hurt that I have a real career that I am investing myself in, a chance to become more and do more than I have done before.

To help others and also, truly, myself.

I am so blessed.

Luckiest girl in the world.

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Sometimes

July 26, 2017

I’m smiling and you may not know the reason, but I’m smiling and damn it feels good.

I am happy.

I had a great day.

Lots of scootering all over the city.

Lots of errands run.

Amazing what I can do when I’m not working.

Ha.

I mean, I did go to my internship and I saw two clients today.

One who is new and the other who is returning, in fact, my first client, which feels pretty damn good, getting to know this client and seeing how the therapy is working for the client is an amazing experience.

I am growing more and more and finding out more about how I am a therapist.

I model myself a little on my own therapist.

She was fucking fabulous today.

We had an amazing session.

I sat down and said one name.

I want to talk about _____________.

And we dove in.

There was so much there.

I gave a history of the relationship and why it is relevant to me today.

I talked about conflict resolution and how in my past I wasn’t allowed to have conflict.

Conflict was not rewarded with resolution.

It was generally smashed and violently so.

Conflict for me was dangerous and scary and so I just learned at a very, very young age to avoid it at all costs.

Thank you to my school program and working towards getting my Masters in Counseling Psychology, (one more year!) that, oh, what?! Relationships have conflict and that’s ok.

Shit.

Who the fuck knew?

So.

I had some conflict that I needed my therapist to weigh in on.

It was astounding to hear her perspective and when I was stuck she helped me figure out where I was stuck and what it was.

We got to the bottom of it.

I was so freaking happy.

I am still not excited for conflict and when it happened, the conflict I am alluding to, it was years ago but it has become very relevant in present time,  I did not know that resolution could happen, that repair could happen.

I am much better at it now then I used to be.

Some practice, some stepping up and being a woman and an adult.

I remember when I really stepped out of my comfort zone with a former employer and let her know how I felt about an interaction we had and how I was really hurt by it.

I am certain that my past employer had no idea how her words had landed, but man, they had landed so hard on such a tender part of me that I knew I had to address it.

It would mean changing patterns of behavior I had been using for years, survival skills if you will.

And I did.

It was hard.

Man, it was so fucking hard.

But.

It opened a door that I didn’t know was there and an opportunity to exit that work environment a few months later with a kind of grace and dignity that I would not have thought I could have done.

Except that I let the repair happen.

I had the conflict, I said this doesn’t sit well with me, this is how it felt when you said what you did and I want you to know I can’t be treated like this.

It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had.

Scary too.

So freaking scary.

I mean.

It was my job, my everything, and I loved my charges so very much I was devastated by the thought that I might lose my livelihood, one, and two, that I would alienate myself from the boys.

Those children meant so much to me it was excruciating to confront their mom.

Yet.

When I did, as I mentioned before, the conflict though hard was not as hard as I had thought it would be and it led to an unexpected resolution and repair of the relationship.

I mean, the last time I saw her we hugged and we both expressed how good it was to see the other person.

Oh there were lots of other things to work through, in that relationship before we got to that point, but the point is that I got to and I grew so much it astonished me.

There is always an edge to push always an experiencing for me to have.

For which I am grateful beyond words.

I have had so many life experiences that I can really be of service and value to my clients.

That is a huge gift and one that I don’t take lightly.

I have to say.

I really like therapy.

I like being a therapist.

I like being smart, I like using my brain, but more importantly I like making intuitive moves and letting things unfold in the field as my clients and I work together.

It is powerful.

It can be really hard too.

But for the most part.

Man.

I am happy getting to be a therapist.

I have so much to learn but that I am actively using the skills that I have learned over the past few years, in school, and the decades of experience I have had over the span of my life and the challenges met, my God, I have had some challenges and I have a lot to share.

And having the tools and language of therapy is a huge gift.

It’s like having done the readings and the trainings and the dyads and all the paper writing and all the books and articles and internet Ted Talks, the podcasts and the lectures that I have sat through, the work I have done on myself, the inventories and the taking suggestions and trying different things, my God, I can see how important all of it is.

And that none of it is wasted.

None!

My therapist has remarked a number of times to me how “alive” I am.

And I am.

I am happy.

I am free.

I am joyous.

I am of service.

I have purpose.

I am love.

I know.

That last one sounds full of myself.

But you know.

I think I am.

Or better.

That.

I am a conduit for love.

That feels more apt.

A channel.

And to know that I have been given that and that I get to grow more into that shape of love excites me.

Even when it feels overwhelming.

It is an amazing revelation.

And I am here.

Open to all of it.

Grateful.

And.

So relieved to no longer be in my own damn way.

It is extraordinary.

And now.

Please.

Pardon me.

I have some happy dance to do.

Sweet.

Sweet.

Sweetest.

Dreams.

See you on the flip.

 

Mystified

April 15, 2017

And over it.

I have had so many suggestions about dating.

“You have to ask for what you want,” a friend said.

Yes.

I fucking get that and when I do, I still don’t get what I want.

I’m not bitter, but befuddled.

I had a guy friend break down the whole “we should hang out sometime,” as a really weak way of asking a girl out and that it’s quite prevalent in the dating culture.

Well.

Good to know.

So.

When complaining, yes, I do complain, I am not a fucking saint, if I was I wouldn’t need y’all and I still need you, despite my weak protestations, to another friend, I was told, “you have to get clarification.”

Ask the person when do you want to hang out.

So.

I did.

And.

Well.

NOTHING.

I got the intuition, I know you’re interested, I can see it in your eyes, you’ve got some mojo I’ve got some mojo, let’s get together and have some fun.

He gave me his number.

He said, “call me,” in fact, he repeated it twice.

I said I would.

I, in fact did.

No response.

I started to second guess the whole thing in hindsight today, but then I rethought it again, it’s not my issue.

I got clarity.

That’s all.

I called.

I left a message, I said, “let’s nail down a time to have a coffee date,” and truth be told, I probably bumble fucked my way through it.

Not even a text back.

Dude.

Hahahaha.

I just wrote “dud,” before correcting it to dude, but maybe dud was not quite the Freudian slip I thought it was.

Dud.

Drawing a blank, dum dum bullet, faulty switch.

It’s you not me.

I insist.

I know you find me attractive, I’ve known since I first met you and when I saw you yesterday and we slipped right back into the easy, intellectual banter that I have come to hallmark our few conversations, I could feel it.

I gave you my phone.

You put your phone number in it.

Granted.

I had asked for a speaking engagement, it’s not like you were putting your phone number in my phone because we were going to get it on later that evening.

No.

I asked you to do service.

And you said yes.

And I said super.

And that was about it.

Until.

You caught up with me a little later and we conversed, and conversed, and conversed, until the room was empty and everyone was walking out the door.

That’s when you opened the door to the phone call and said, “we should really get together, hang out, talk, call me, really, call me.”

I replied “I would love to hang out.”

Now.

Maybe this is where I fucked it up.

Maybe, the friend who gave the advice about guys motives when they say “hang out” was not an ask for a date and I should have clarified immediately.

But.

I went from the gut, the feeling, the look in your eyes.

Because I’m gullible sometimes.

But.

I’m not stupid.

I also have a lot of experience now seeing when men are attracted to me and nothing happens and then years later I find out they were attracted to me and that I was right.

I’m right.

You’re attracted to me, you weren’t asking for a friend hang out, I know it.

Grr.

I don’t know which one of my guy friends to slap.

And then.

I think.

Ah, fuck it, I killed the fantasy, which in the end is always so super valuable.

He didn’t call back.

No response is a response and it’s about as good and obvious as a flat-out no.

And frankly.

I’m fucking proud of myself for sacking up and calling him.

I didn’t text.

I called.

I left a message.

It may have been awkward, but I did it.

I took action.

I remind myself, that the results are not mine and I have no regrets.

I wouldn’t change the sequence of events to “I wish I hadn’t bothered to call,” because I am so super glad that I did.

I mean.

Good for you, girlfriend, another one out-of-the-way between you and whomever is next.

I’m really ready for next.

I’m not actively searching, no, I’m just ready.

That’s all.

I’m happy about that, that I’m not looking, I’m not trying to get on some new dating app, although the brain flirts with it once in a while, no, I’m just ready, available.

I’m proud of myself.

I keep trying.

That says something.

Sure.

I experience frustration and sure, this is a thing, this thing I keep writing about, but believe that all is not for naught, that there is learning here, that I have to keep changing and growing and loving myself for who I am.

I really am not looking for a completion.

I complete myself and I won’t be complete until I die.

I am excited to keep growing and changing and loving and trying new stuff.

Life is fucking amazing and awesome and I’ve come so far and have so much further to go.

Yet.

I long for someone to walk along with, carrying a conversation with, have fun with, connect with.

It is natural to want to partner up, it doesn’t mean I know how to do it, or am upset with myself for being single nor am I in self-pity.

My life is good and my growth, astounding.

I just find myself a bit bewildered.

It is my growing edge.

The not knowing.

And also the ok with the not knowing.

I like to say I like surprises.

But that’s a fucking lie.

I do like anticipation.

But not surprises.

Perhaps this is God’s way of getting me ready for a surprise I will really cotton to.

Who knows.

I obviously don’t.

Getting down with the unknown.

Throwing my own dance party to a soundtrack that is in another language.

God’s time.

God’s will.

Not mine.

Sigh.

Ha.

Oh, resignation, look at you.

Or shall I say instead.

Surrender.

Over and over and over again.

Powerless over it all.

Fucking all of it.

Help me God.

Seriously.

Monday, We Meet Again

April 26, 2016

I was supposed to have a date tonight, but he cancelled.

Which is fine.

I have another date this weekend and I feel like it’s a good match, helps that he does not drink or smoke, helps a hell of a lot.

Plus we’ve had a few conversations and we facetimed today.

I look better on Face Time than I thought.

“Did you wear that lipgloss for the call?” He asked eyes all a sparkle.

Um, ha.

No.

I am just that kind of gal, I have at least six or seven lip glosses in my bag, if not one or two more, I like my lips you know, um, shiny.

Heh.

Or sparkly, depends on the outfit.

My hair was pretty on point too, which has been fun, rocking the blonde curly like nobody’s business.

I only had so much time this morning to chat before getting my Monday the hell on.

I got up did my morning routine, breakfast, writing, a few pages of reading for school, and then off to yoga, back to the house, laundry, shower, dress, make up, Face Time, and then off to work.

Monday, Monday, Monday.

And that much closer to the next big move that I need to do for the school work thing.

I got another bit of homework done yesterday, actually, getting my Applied Spirituality posting up and doing the two responses needed for the class.

Now it’s a big push of reading of the week.

I plan on getting up early tomorrow and getting in an extra hour of reading.

I had some thoughts about getting to yoga, but I just did three days in a row, and I think a break for a day is not a bad idea.

Although.

I am very happy to report that I can feel myself getting better at things, and stronger, and feeling more and more in my body, which I am really enjoying.

My arms are getting cut, not that you can tell, but, man,  I can.

My core is also getting a lot tighter and leaner and though I am uncertain if I have lost any weight, which was not the goal of taking the classes, but I feel lighter, and that’s just nice.

Yeah.

So this week will be work, work out, work it, homework.

Then I can have some fun on Saturday.

“Work on your paper tonight!” My suitor for Saturday quipped, “so you don’t have to be worried about it on the weekend.”

I laughed.

Um.

No.

I have already done so much work today that once I am done with this blog I am going to watch the final episode of this season’s House of Cards and chill the fuck out.

“Nope,” I replied, “I’ve already done a lot of work today and I’ve got a plan, don’t worry, I’ll be present and accountable for the date.”

Which is true.

It’s one that I am looking forward to.

Unlike yesterday’s meet up, this feels pretty right on.

It’s looking like a hike around Sutro Baths and then maybe a little picnic action down at the beach.

“I want to see your freckles in the sunshine,” he said to me.

Blushing.

I forget I have freckles, but one of my photos on the dating app is of me either at Burning Man and when I get sun on my face, I get freckles.

I have a few now, but not that many.

However.

I don’t believe he’ll be disappointed.

And if he is.

Well.

Next.

I’m actually getting into this dating thing.

It seems to be gathering it’s own steam, I’ve been pretty solidly going on dates, some bad, oh so bad, some good, one great, for the last month and a half.

I mean I’ve had a date once, if not twice a week for the last six weeks or so.

Not bad.

I’m also seeing that it is really a huge numbers game.

As a friend texted me, “you’ve inspired me to go back to Tinder, but my God, all the ‘nopes’ so many.”

Seriously.

I almost never hit a match.

I’ve nixed hundreds of guys.

If I see you like small batch whiskey, nope.

Pictures of you and kids, nope.

Although I have a date with a divorced dad for this Saturday, his kid wasn’t in the profile, which I find reassuring, I don’t want to see kids on a dating sex aimed at hooking up, it’s just, I don’t know, unseemly.

Cigarette in your mouth.

Nope.

You and another woman?

Nope.

Likes red wine? Nope.  Likes going to wineries? Nope.  Attending school of hard knocks, no and no thank you.  Photo of your cute dog instead of yourself?  NOPE.

Blurry photo, no photo, old photo, no, not going there, nope.

Fish lips?

REALLY?

I thought only girls made the pouty lip thing in photos, but I have seen more than a few profiles with the big pouty mouth thing happening and it’s a bit unattractive.

No face shot, just a body photo?

Nope.

There sure are a lot of them.

The “nopes.”

However, just from using it enough, not obsessively, thanks, but enough, I have managed to match with about 50 guys.

Some of them became “nopes” after a few messages.

A couple of them I unmatched after some thought and realizing that I probably don’t want to go down that road.

And of the fifty of them, or so, I have had six dates.

One that was scary and creepy and ended with me blocking him on all social media and my phone.

Two that were just sort of not a match in real life and no chemistry.

One that was uncomfortable.

One that was good and we had some fun.

And one that was fucking amazing and we had a great time.

The last one we’ve texted a few times since and were supposed to hang out this past weekend but he got really sick, who knows, maybe something will happen further but I’m not too concerned, if it does, awesome.

The chemistry was great fun.

I’m hoping that Saturday’s date will be lucky number 7.

I have a good feeling about it and I think I’ll be trusting my gut on this one.

Until then.

The work, the working out, the homework, the doing the deal work.

You know.

Life.

Living.

Grateful for my full, abundant, happy, exuberant life.

It’s pretty damn good.

Seriously.

I am wanting for nothing.

I have so very much.

Luckiest girl in the world.

 

Second Wind

December 13, 2015

And I have no idea where it came from.

Maybe the adrenalin of riding my scooter through the Mission and over the hills towards the Outer Sunset on a Saturday night.

Oh.

Yeah.

With the left over drunken idiots of what used to actually be a cool San Francisco treat.

Santa Con.

Look drunk hipster santa with drunk elf in fishnets, get the fuck out of the way, I just came from Psychoanalytic class and I am not interested in either your psycho-sexual dramas or your apparent desire to play out the Death Drive in jumping out into the street looking for your Uber, Lyft, taxi or other vehicle of conveyance.

Get ye the fuck back to the North Pole or wherever the fuck in the Marina you came from.

Please.

And.

Thank you.

It could be that I just had a second wind because I had to take the time to run to the grocery store, I slightly miscalculated my food for the week, no biggie, but without something to toss in my oatmeal in the morning, apple, etc, I was going to be a very sad lady.

So.

I dashed in and out of the SafeWay in the Castro, which was happily devoid of trashed Santa’s and drunk elves, although definitely equipped with a plethora of cranky trolls working the registers.

I got what I needed and jumped back on the scooter and actually made it inside my house by 9p.m.

I have no idea how the hell that happened.

I left class at 8p.m.

Happy to make such a quick trip and feeling adrenalin from the mad grocery dash and the defensive driving back home, I used it and threw in a load of laundry, packed my lunch for tomorrow, balanced my check book, opened and hung up a few Christmas cards and threw myself in the shower.

I am still jacked up.

I didn’t have any coffee past 10:30 a.m.

Although I could have used one and I thought about it.

Nope.

This is pure herbal tea and adrenalin.

I suppose I am just getting the end of the semester, almost there, keep pushing through, last day of classes is tomorrow, shot of energy.

I do hope that it wears off before I crawl into bed.

The last two nights I did not sleep well.

And I thought after Friday’s full day of classes and little sleep I would totally have gotten some.

But I was up.

I had a bit on my mind.

Blocking someone’s number out of my phone and the ramifications of how and when to set some boundaries really came up for me.

I didn’t really write about it last night as I was caught up in the spell of Christmas magic, but yeah, I have had some uncomfortable interactions with a person and through my own fault, I fully concede I let them step all over my boundaries, a situation that I could have rectified by choosing to not engage with the person, well.

It blew up.

Not, I suppose as bad as it could.

But for a minute there with the text messages coming in rapid fire and the tone and quantity of them.

I got a little spooked.

I have a history of having dealt with some trauma around a romantic relationship that turned sour and the man who I had dated and lived with for five years, after a rough break up, started to stalk me.

That continued for two years.

I will not say this person was stalking me.

I just felt that old fear come up.

And I realized that I was the person who invited it into my home.

I was mad at myself.

But then.

After the awareness.

Fast acceptance.

I don’t believe I have moved so fast from awareness of a defect of character to acceptance.

It rolled right through me.

I forgave myself and realized that I had failed to listen to my gut in regards to the person a long time ago and that listening to my gut is important.

I have been listening.

I hear rumblings, but don’t know what they are associated with and then I start to have feelings and those feelings I ignore.

So.

No more ignoring.

And then some action.

I did some inventory.

I erased the messages.

Actually I was busy erasing them as they came in.

I probably erased ten or twelve of them in rapid succession, then I realized I needed to call in the troops and I got on the phone and talked with someone, checked in, got my suggestions.

Got off the phone.

Deleted more messages that had come in during the conversation.

Then gave myself a big pause.

Took a big breath.

Prayed.

And organized my self.

Picked up my phone.

Scripted a very simple text.

Word for word what had been suggested to me.

Sent it out.

Blocked the contact in my phone.

I had already taken the person off my facecrack friends list earlier in the day.

Perhaps an early warning sign that something was on the horizon.

I will likely see this person next week.

We swim in the same waters, so to speak.

And I am ok with that.

I don’t believe there will be face to face confrontation, in fact, had the person called, I would have taken it, but the mass texting was too freaky and after one very pointed, passive aggressive, manipulative text, I had no inclination to speak with the person on the phone.

That option went right out the window.

I learned some powerful things and I acknowledged deep in myself that I knew this was coming.

Which may have been why I let it go as long as it did.

Not healthy.

Not for me, not for the other person.

However, I am not, will not, beat myself up for the experience.

In my own limited way, I was trying to be of service.

And the other person, well, I believe, too, was trying to do the best that could be done.

That’s what I believe.

That at the bottom of it all.

We are good people.

Communication sometimes goes astray.

And sometimes I need to have space from a person.

That is ok.

I get to be grateful for the time and the growth experience.

And I hope to rest well soon.

One more day of classes, and I found out my day will end a little early, 3:30p.m. instead of 4p.m., a nice gift for the last day of classes.

Almost there.

One final presentation project and two papers to go.

And.

Like that.

My first semester of graduate school.

I am utterly amazed.

And still unfortunately.

Wide awake.

Oh well.

So it goes.

At least I have a Christmas tree to keep me warm and bright.

And dreams of Paris soon to come.

Did you think I forgot?

Ha.

Stella!

June 8, 2015

No I’m not watching a Street Car Named Desire.

No.

I’m not camping with Camp Stella at Burning Man.

Although I was definitely thinking about Stella and my adventures and misadventures with them my first year at Burning Man.

Yes.

I am thinking scooter.

That is a new Stella Scooter.

They have a few down at Scooter Centre and my friend who helped me deal with the paper work to recycle the “Vespa” has suggested I check them out.

I will say, my eye was caught by the Stella when I was in the Scooter Centre, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and crying in my motor oil to really appreciate the beauties in the corner of the shop.

One red.

One cream.

One electric blue.

I’m leaning toward the electric blue.

I’ve never been one for red cars, it seems to obvious, red, and I felt the same looking at the red scooter, but the electric blue, that was a color I could get behind.

Although I am taken with the regular Stella in avocado or in slate blue and cream, the shop does not have any of the original Stella’s left–the ones that shift.

The ones in the shop are automatic.

Brand new.

Luscious looking really.

The manufacturer, Genuine Scooters, is also offering a $500 rebate to celebrate the birthday of the scooter through the month of June.  Scooter Centre has them for $3499.  This, of course, doesn’t include, tax, registration, license fees, etc.

However, with the $500 off for the manufacturer, that would be covered.

My friend also suggested that I talk with his mechanic and another mechanic at the shop and discuss the Vespa PX 150 they have in the shop that needs an engine rebuild.

It would be slightly less and would be a real Vespa.

Italian like, instead of the Vietnam Bodega bike I had mistakenly purchased.

He said, “think about what you want, and don’t let me persuade you.”

Tough to do that, though, I’m a people pleaser and the Vespa 150 Px is hella cute.

However.

I am learning to really trust my gut and so, instead of saying yes or no, I just said, let me check them out.

I’m meeting my friend at The Scooter Centre next Saturday and I will go for a test ride on the Stella and I will also check out the Vespa Px 150.

I have a suspicion that I will be going with the Stella.

I wrote a little note this morning and stuck in my God box and said, please show me the way and help me make the decision, and most of all, since I didn’t trust my gut last time (or better yet, I chose to ignore it, I remember too distinctly how uncomfortable I was when my friend went and deposited the check for $300 immediately to the Wells Fargo atm on Haight Street), please help me listen to it this time.

I went about my morning.

I had my breakfast, I did some laundry, I had some nice coffee, I started doing my morning pages, and when I was finishing them up I wrote a list of affirmations, ones that I always do and a few that get added in until they happen and I can take them off my list.

Like.

Go see my grandmother in Chula Vista.

Or.

I am a world traveler, I am going to Atlanta for the Worlds Convention.

And.

I am going to Burning Man.

Check, check, and check.

Some of the writing I do is pretty basic, “I am sober and abstinent,” “I am lovable, and worthy of love,” and how is it that I didn’t see myself becoming a therapist sooner?!

Some of them are a little more complicated.

“I am financially successful and solvent.”

Then I wrote, without thought, completely unbidden, “I own a brand new Stella Scooter.”

I almost laughed out loud.

There’s your answer lady.

Which I think I knew the minute I saw the bright shiny scooters in the shop–sparkling, NEW, warrantied, shiny–not persnickety and demanding consistent upkeep and maintenance.

I am already high maintenance enough, I really don’t have time for the things I own to be so, I mean, I don’t even have any clothes that are dry clean only, I’m all about the quick and the basic.

When my friend told me that the Stella Automatic came with a two-year warranty, anything that goes wrong would be fixed at no extra charge, I felt my gut and my gut said, that’s what you want, that’s the deal.

Then, he added, but there’s this really pretty white Vespa px 150 that you could get the engine rebuilt and…

Well.

I can see when someone wants something for me, he’s got great experience and fondness, nay, down right love for the Vespa and he wants me to have the same experience riding that he has enjoyed.

I get that.

What I also get, is that I’m not about to be a slow down girl, school’s going to start in three months and I am going to be busy.

I won’t want to spend extra time on maintenance.

I’m going to want something that is a push button.

I.e.

Push the button and it starts.

Turn the throttle and it rolls.

I want something new.

In fact.

Just writing that really cemented it for me.

Aside from my bicycle, I have never bought a new vehicle.

No new cars ever.

I have always had used and the idea of having something new and completely unused by anyone, all mine, to love and to have, to ride around on, really puts a smile on my face.

A scooter is cheaper than a car and I can finance it through the Scooter Centre.

Apparently they don’t typically do that, but because of my circumstances and the respect I garnered by recycling the “Vespa” rather than trying to fix it up and sell it to another sucker, I have some folks willing to go the extra mile for me.

I’m sure that I will go new.

Stella has an awful lot of good meaning for me.

And when things feel right, I can usually tell.

This feels right.

I will still wait the week, no decisions need be made today.

I will go down, take a test ride, and confirm what the gut says.

I just realized too that fear of financial insecurity has been removed around this, I had constant fear about what repairs would be on the “Vespa” that fear is nowhere when I search myself.

That is clue enough.

STELLA!

The Good News

April 4, 2015

I’m using my new laptop!

Man, she is sexy, sexy, sexy.

The bad news, I don’t know how the hell to access my files from my other computer.

They supposedly transferred, but I can’t find anything.  My iPhone is linked up via the Cloud, but not my old MacBook.

Although, according to the diagnostics when I tried to do the transfer again, it’s all here, somewhere on the new MacBook.

Ugh.

I was really hoping that this would be a nice smooth transfer.

I would turn it on and poof.

All things my way.

I really wanted to be mad, I mean, fuck me, I paid $1200 for this new gadget, let’s have it working like a pro.

I can say this much, it feels good, I think I am going to be typing faster on this machine than on my other one, I don’t have to hit the keys quite as hard to have a successful key strike.

My fingers feel like they are sort of floating over the keys.

That is lovely.

So too was opening my box of Mac last night when I got home from my evening out.

Aside, screw you Good Friday, you totally threw a monkey wrench in my evening, I had plans, and they didn’t include mulling around Church and Market for an hour after work only to find out that it is a church holiday.

I would have known that last week, but I didn’t go to my usually spot as I was at the doctor’s office.

ARGH.

Then to come home and see that my computer had finally transferred everything, but that it hadn’t, well, I was just a tiny bit miffed.

Miffed I tell you.

In tears of frustration.

Annoyed.

Still am.

But, as some one as told me before, white girl problems.

Starbucks doesn’t carry my favorite tea anymore.

White Girl Problems.

My hair dresser’s new assistant lost my appointment and I had to re-book.

White Girl Problems.

My new laptop isn’t working the way I think it should.

White Girl Problems.

I live in San Francisco and can’t get a date to save my life.

White Girl Problems.

Maybe I should re-title my blog.

Ah.

Friday.

At least it’s Friday.

End of the week and I know that everything is going to be just fine.

I mean, I may have to take my new laptop down to the Genius Bar tomorrow and see where my mysterious files are hiding.

Hell, I probably don’t even have to go to the Genius Bar, I paid for 3 years of Applecare, I can just make a phone call tomorrow and get some help, I’m sure it’s something I can be directed to do over the phone.  No need to go downtown if I can avoid it.

Mostly I want my photographs, over 10,000 to be assessable to me as well as my iTunes, I mean I have a lot of music on my old computer, plus some other applications that I like to use like Word for Mac.  I don’t care for the iWork’s that are all ready a part of my package.

This is a tidy little thing, I have to say.

I am loving how this feels to type on.

It reminds me of when I splurge and buy myself Clair Fontaine notebooks, the creamy texture of the paper, the way the ink flows from my pen onto the paper.

I suspect that if I walk away and give things a little time to suss themselves out, they will.

I may need fresh eyes to see what the issue is.

Or that there really is no issue.

Or that my vintage, antique, old as the hills laptop has some quirky thing going on with it.

Who knows.

If I lose all the things on my old laptop I’m also not too worried, I have it all backed up on Crash Plan.

I just had a thought, who is this woman?

It’s nice to be a part of the technology age.

Sometimes I find it a challenge, I over think things and make them too complicated, when they are spelled out right in front of my face, but that’s just who I am.

That I get to live in San Francisco, still, I know so many people who have moved and become Oaklandish, good on you, get your house, cheap rent, Lake Merrit Farmer’s Market on.  I’m not jealous, I’m not, though I miss faces that I used to see on the daily in the hood; that I get to live in San Francisco, is such a deal for me.

It’s my home.

I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

I don’t want to live anywhere else.

I want to keep riding my bicycle, or my scooter, through the park and see the full moon rise over my left shoulder as I head down to the sea.

Tonight an owl flew across my path.

My first owl.

For the superstitious an owl crossing your path means that someone you know is going to die.

However, an owl is also a symbol of intuition and wisdom.

Trust my gut.

I did feel wonder when I saw it.

And I did feel a touch spooked.

The white underbelly, the pip squeak of its cry as it was hunting.

It was a Great Horned and it was not hooting to hoot, but screaming to scare its prey.

There is a difference.

Like the noise a hawk makes to startle its dinner.

It was an amazing thing to see, regardless of the superstitious nelly girl on her bicycle who’s first thought is, who do I know that’s going to die?

Because that’s where my brain goes.

However, I like the idea of trusting my intuition better.

I listen pretty well to my gut.

Things are changing and I have had a struggle or two, internally, with opening up my weekends so that I have more time, more time in my neighborhood and more time at night, to socialize, to move about to change my routine.

But I find that I am yearning for the old scene, even when it didn’t fulfill and was such a hassle for me to get around to.

Realizing this was helpful and I checked in with my person around it today when I was at the park with the boys.

And the best thing, the knowing that I can have the feelings and not act on them.

So maybe tomorrow I need to do some nice things for me, I was thinking I could explore the Haight a little, go play some pinball at Free Gold Watch after doing my deal in the morning at 7th and Irving and my coffee and reading afterward at Tart To Tart.

Or perhaps a bus ride out to the Legion of Honor and as stroll through the exhibit–The Brooklyn Museum Costume Collection is there and I like me some fashion.  I could even do a double dip and head over to the DeYoung afterward, it’s been awhile since I have roamed around the galleries there too.

Oh.

The bad news.

I forgot.

Because like “white girl problems.”

I don’t have any bad news.

Just new things to work on and learn from.

And with that I bid you adieu.

Signing off from my fabulous new MacBook Air.

xoxo

Whistling in the Dark

February 1, 2015

That was the thought I had when I suddenly food myself crying into a bowl of beans.

Nice beans, mind you.

Slow cooked pinto beans with onions and garlic and chicken breast, carrots, turmeric, sweet corn, simmered down tender and paired with some organic brown rice and the smallest, most perfect Haas avocado I have ever seen.

Adorable.

So cute I almost could not cut it up to eat it.

But I did.

And then I watered it with my tears.

I saw my ex today on his motorcycle.

In fact, I did something rather inane, or so I thought as soon as I did it, I waved in traffic from my scooter.

I then blushed with mortification as I killed my scooter.

Then flooded my scooter.

Then killed it again.

Yeah.

That was me, on the side of the turn by Great Highway and the gas station, praying and trying to breathe and not sprain an ankle getting the thing started again whilst all the traffic in the Western world streamed by after a day of sunshine, high 60s temperatures, and beach action.

No fog today, despite the horns blaring melancholic last night around midnight.

“What are you doing up?”  The message, almost indignant, read, this morning when I checked my phone.

I was up late last night, slight insomnia, trolling the internet for hotels and bed and breakfast’s and AirBnb’s and the like for Atlanta, then I just had a hard time going to sleep.

Social fucking media time stamps.

Yes.

I was up late.

I heard those fog horns, but they were not to be heard today, today was all about that California sunshine.

And the joy I had taken in riding my scooter earlier today up to Tart to Tart to make my usual Saturday appointment to get right with God and do some reading about humility, oh, humility, we meet again; all that joy was gone.

I was miserable.

On the side of the road with two half gallons of unsweetened vanilla almond milk and bottle fizzy water in my messenger bag, trying to start my scooter and just get home.

I didn’t realize I was sad.

I didn’t realize that I was missing my ex-boyfriend.

Then I did.

And cue waterworks, adding that finishing touch of salt to my meal.

Tears are so tasty with avocado.

Ugh.

I knew the sad had to come out and I was a little taken aback, I really thought I was done with the grieving of the relationship and ready to move the fuck on.

MOVING ON.

It’s a huge bulletin board in my brain.

Let’s go, lady.

MOVE ON.

As though there isn’t merit in acknowledging that for a little while I had a passionate relationship with someone who meant something to me.

Yeah.

We needed to break up.

That was the right thing to do, the relationship was not working for either one of us, but to deny the experiences that did work is not fair either.

There was something there and it was delirious fun for a little while.

Then it wasn’t.

Then it was uncomfortable.

Then it was out right painful.

And, well, my pain tolerance is nowhere near as high as it used to be.

Anyway, I belabor the point, which is that I am allowed to have sadness for the passing relationship.

Thankfully I also have some smarts and intuition that I have worked hard on developing and I knew, knew deep in my heart and body, that I was done with the scooter for the day.  I was not going to ride her up to Noe Valley for my evening commitment.

Do not pass go.

Do not collect $200.

Do not ride up and over 17th street and kill yourself to make a point.

Get on the MUNI and let yourself be carried where you need to go.

This also allowed me time to check in with a dear friend and just let it out and then see how she was doing and commiserate on the wonkiness that happens with our emotions and brains and thank God for girl friends and perspective.

The actual ride on MUNI was quick and the transfers easy, and I was to my destination much faster, and quite safer, than if I had taken my scooter and did something silly.

The fact was I was not in a place to be riding around the city at night with my heart on my sleeve.

That’s a way for me to really cause some havoc.

When emotional do not operate moving machinery.

Especially not touchy, vintage, 50 year old scooters that need a little babying.

“Do you still have your Vespa?” A dear friend asked me last night.

“I do!”

We talked and it turns out he just got a vintage, BRG (British Racing Green) 150, 2 stroke Stella.

We’re going out next Sunday.

And he’s going to help me adjust the idle so that it’s not so jumpy and I feel like I just need a little someone by my side for a few minutes and I will work out all the kinks.

And if the kinks don’t get worked out, well, I sell her, I’m not super mechanically inclined and I love how sweet she is and how sexy and cute, but I also don’t want to be constantly killing it and stalling out in traffic.

Tonight I am just going to give myself gentle props for having the soundness of mind to know that it wasn’t safe to ride it out at night and that I don’t have to be a hero about it.

I had some feelings.

They reminded me of what a great experience I had dating my ex, even when it went south it was a fantastic learning curve for me.

I learned so much about myself, and I learned that I get to continue to speak up for myself, to be myself, to step further into my personality and really embrace all that is me.

The sweet, the sad, the joyful, the glitter, the me of it all.

With no reservations and with complete faith that I am right exactly where I am supposed to be.

Even when I stall out on the side of the road.

I am still being perfectly held.

Cared for.

Loved.

My scooter always starts up again.

So shall I.

Wide Awake

November 1, 2014

I knew I was going into dangerous territory and I did it anyway.

I had an energy drink.

I cannot recall the last time I had one, granted it was sugar-free, I am still rocking that no sugar thing, but it was highly caffeinated.

More so than I have been in some time and I should be in bed, should be sleeping, should be making out, should be doing something.

However, I have been dropped off and left to my own devices.

Which is fine.

Strange.

Not exactly how I thought tonight would end, but not uncomfortable, just curious.

Things don’t have to go the way I think they should or might for them to be exactly perfect.

Tonight was exactly perfect.

Meaning everything happened for a reason.

Everything didn’t happen for a reason.

There was some awkwardness tonight on the date, and it could have been any number of reasons, being out in a large group of people, it’s Halloween, we are seeing each other for the third time in one week, expectations, who knows.

There was a lack of connection, a wall went up, and I wondered, what did I do wrong?

Then I realized, what ever is happening, or again, not quite happening, almost, but the reservation, the distraction, it wasn’t something I was doing, it was just what it was.

Life.

Dating.

Humanity.

It was quiet.

It was restrained.

There was a space, and better, better described, there was a space between, although, again, the drawing in, that weakening at times.

I actually wished we were alone to just keep being around one another.

I felt awkward and I realize that a lot of that had to do with the venue, a big dance party with a lot of people is challenging, and we are new at being around one another.

I also recognized something tonight that I was already doing without realizing it, not taking action around dating in general, more than one person, I was told to get out there with a bunch of guys.

Not mess around so much, but date more than one person.

It’s been a one person week.

And maybe that’s too much focus on one man.

Although I cannot fathom kissing anyone else.

Riding home tonight there was a lot of silence.

I didn’t feel uncomfortable with it, curious, but not so much so that I felt I needed to plumb some psychological depths, not my place, not my desire.

Quiet time, a quiet moment, can be just as loud as a brisk conversation, much can be said.

I felt finally drawn in as we drifted down Lincoln Ave, hand in hand, my head on his shoulder, watching the sky flash by, the tree tops, the bottoms of the clouds glazed with light from the street lamps, a scrap of cloud, the moon smothered behind low clouds dropping into the horizon.

There is a magnetism I feel with this man, and also a push a way, a step back, a pausing that I was standing still for, waiting to see what would happen.

I want more.

I need more time.

Time to sit.

Time to hold hands.

I already know I want to sleep with him, that I don’t feel is the question, it’s the space between.

The languor in my skin and the tightening of muscles in my arms, the electric pull, where there are no thoughts or doubts, just connection.

And if there is not space for that, then there shouldn’t be space for anything further.

I should pause.

Let the room breathe, let myself breathe, move easy, thick, honey slow, open up, see what is unfolding, make no judgements or myself, my process, of the learning that is happening.

“You go on dates to learn,” he told me. “Not about him, but about you.”

What have I learned?

That this thing is hard.

That being drawn to someone is real and illusive all at the same time.

Raw and intimate.

And then distant and distracted.

I cannot know another’s thoughts or desires and I am learning what mine are.

I want to be wanted.

I can see that.

I want to be beautiful and desired.

What woman does not?

I want to be with a partner.

I don’t want to write that.

It feels like a jinx.

But that’s what I went into the bathroom to pray for, direction, guidance, how to show up for him and be of service to the situation.

I wasn’t sure I even needed to pee when I went to the bathroom, but I felt confused and needed to just take a moment and breathe and sit quietly and ask for direction.

How do I show up and be myself and not push for something more than is available?

How do I bring without taking or expecting.

I surrender.

I had a wonderful date.

It really was good.

Don’t let me fool you into thinking that I didn’t have an awesome time.

It was just different from I expected and that’s ok.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I danced.

I laughed.

I had some wonderful food and saw friends that I don’t get to see very often.

I held hands and kissed a man I am deeply attracted to.

There was more silence than I expected, but that doesn’t mean things weren’t communicated.

Things were.

I understand.

And there is nowhere to go, no conclusion to have, no outcome to be forced.

I spent time with someone I like, at the end of the day, at the end of the song when there is just the final note fading off, a reverberation of feeling, my head on his shoulder, holding hands, driving down Lincoln Avenue with the wash of deep indigo sky and the ragged black of eucalyptus trees swaying in the air blowing by.

There was intimacy.

Touch.

Contact.

And that is rare.

Uncommon.

Fine.

I don’t need to ask for more than that.

Even when I wanted more kisses at the end of the night.

There is something to be said for leaving wanting more.

And I have a feeling.

More will be revealed.

It usually is.

 

Inexplicably Crazy

January 18, 2014

So I took some contrary action.

Might have had something to do with my little monkey who I watched today having the teething of monstrosity.

I felt so bad for the bug, it sucks.

The only good thing about teething, well aside from getting teeth to eat tasty food with, is that the pain is forgotten.

I don’t remember teething, do you?

I woke up a little cuckoo, truth be told.

I knew I was going to be free after five p.m. and I did not have any plans and I was dreading that unscheduled time.

I made a slight plan and did my best to adhere to that.

And I got outside.

I did lots of walking through the Mission today and went over to Capp and 23rd to hang out with some folks for a bit.

Realizing that I don’t really belong in the Mission anymore.

Not that to say I don’t really love being there, but it feels like too much, too much commerce, too much traffic, too many people trying to get someplace fast, fast, fast.

I just wanted to slow down.

Sometimes when I am odds with myself and my day I have a hard time deciding what to do anyway.

I hate to admit this as well, I don’t like riding my bicycle out late at night.

Especially on Fridays and Saturdays.

Actually, I don’t like riding my bicycle any time after 5p.m. on Friday, everybody is out getting their crazy on and it feels frenzied.

I actually stopped short of hitting a pedestrian today who was so absorbed in his little smart phone that he walked right off the curb and right into me.

I was going slow and had the premonition he might make that exact move, so I stopped and gentle patted him on his shoulder as I slid past on my bike.

“Be careful when you cross over the street without looking,” I said and patted him softly.

Which is great.

Because there have been times when I wanted to hit pedestrians for doing just what this guy did.

I think that by the time Friday rolls around I am exhausted from all the defensive bicycle riding that I do.

I am hyper vigilant on my bicycle, despite the increase in bicycle commuters, there seems to be more accidents happening, more people getting hit, more anger on the roads.

And perhaps it is just the Sunset, and I suspect that it really is, the amount of crazy driving when folks are looking for parking spots on Irving is just nuts.

It feels like I am in some sort of arcade game.

Except that I am not.

There is no do over here.

When I left work I still had no direction as to where I wanted to go but I knew I wanted out of the Mission and damn quick, the traffic had already begun to pick up and I whipped down Noe from 19th, hitting 18th, weaving around double parked cars and over to 17th and then to Church Street.

I hit the Pan Handle.

Debated going grocery shopping.

Had no desire to stop at Whole Paycheck.

Debated going to 7th and Irving.

But I already did that today, my brain whinged.

Yeah, and it sort of sucked, so maybe you should go again.

And I knew that I probably should.

I can’t remember the last time I double dipped in one day, but my brain really did feel on fucking fuego.

So, I steeled myself for a stop and instead of turning onto 7th Street when I was riding down Irving, I found myself blowing through the light and winging my way on down the road.

What the fuck are you doing?

I yelled at myself.

Stop.

I have had a couple of moments like that today.

Earlier on my ride into work I had a moment of not wanting to ride through the Pan Handle on the bike path, I would just be taking Oak Street all the way to the Wiggle, thank you very much.

But my head was absolutely screaming at me.

TAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHEBIKEPATHTAKETHE….

I don’t recall every being that loud about taking the path.

I normally do zip on down the road and say, fuck you motherfucker, it’s not commute time, give me the full lane.

But I wasn’t feeling it.

I got spooked.

I took the bike path.

Same thing tonight.

I just knew I wasn’t supposed to ride my bike down Irving Street on a Friday at five o’clock.

I just knew.

I tried to blow it off, that little voice in my head, not the lying one, but the one that when I have a clear channel and have been doing the work, and believe you me, I have been doing the fucking work, I hear and am guided by well.

GETOFFYOURBIKE!

NOW.

O-fucking-k.

Chill.

I abruptly signalled a stop and swung my leg over the saddle, getting off and popping my bicycle up on the sidewalk.

I turned around and walked back to 7th and Irving.

I locked it up in its customary spot and headed out to Crepevine to grab some dinner.

I made a phone call and drank a big glass of water and got some food.

Man.

I don’t know what was going on, but I could not ignore it.

We will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us.

I guess so.

Something was telling me to slow down.

I don’t have much planned for the weekend but I think I will take the MUNI tomorrow.

The nice thing is that I don’t have to rationalize what happen, I got home safe and sound and though I am home on a Friday night, I am happy to be here, with the smell of bonfires drifting in from the beach.

Maybe I should do that tomorrow.

Go down to the beach in the evening and have a little fire by the shore.

I do feel that a date for me is in the offing.

I wrote about that this morning.

Go to the DeYoung, see the Dieborken exhibit.

Or maybe over to the Conservatory of Flowers.

The Butterfly Exhibit has been extended through March.

Maybe a soak in a hot tub.

Something.

Nothing I need worry about right now.

No worries at all.

Especially since my bike is safely locked up in the garage and the voice in my head has mellowed out with the dinner and the quiet sitting of an hour in a room with bad flourescent lighting.

Crazy like a fox.

Yes I am.

But at least I fucking know it.

I also know what the solution is for it.

Thank God.


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