Posts Tagged ‘Irvine Welsh’

Out Damn Spot

December 30, 2016

So.

I pretty much stayed in all day.

I did get out for a little while early this afternoon.

But for the most part.

All day inside.

I’m not the greatest at being sick, but I’m willing to call it uncle at this point.

I’m not real sure what’s going on, but I realize I have been sick now for ten days.

I know pretty much the day it started, either on my birthday or on the Monday just thereafter.

I recall not wanting at all to go out with the family and celebrate my birthday with them.

I was running a fever.

I got pretty chilled on my birthday and I know one of the people there mentioned that he wasn’t feeling well, I also know that despite it being my birthday I really didn’t have too much of a problem just coming home and chilling out the rest of the day.

I worked through the cold.

I got through the sads of saying goodbye to the boys.

I made it through a solitary Christmas.

I made plans to do things and get out.

But I have to say that every day this week it’s been harder and harder to get myself out, to do things, to go grocery shopping, to make the deal.

I almost didn’t go out last night to do the deal, but I had gotten a telephone call so I went, and it’s in the hood, up the street a block and a half.

I have something.

I find it annoying.

I dislike being sick.

It feels frivolous.

I know that’s not exactly a mind state that’s helpful to me when I get sick as I sort of shove it back and down.

I figured I was over the cold though, I really did, but it just has stayed and stayed and stayed.

A couple of times I have felt better, went to yoga, got out did a few things, but today after my early afternoon outing I realized when I was leaving on my scooter that I really needed to be at home today.

I had all sorts of ideas and none of them sounded good.

I had my camera with me.

The light was beautiful today.

It makes me a little sad that I missed all the pretty light.

Another indication of sickness, I cry easily when I am sick, leaky little tears, it’s like my heart is trying to send some message to my overwrought, over heated brain, you’re sick, see, you’re crying over nothing, you’re crying because you missed taking your camera out and catching all the pretty light.

But right now, that feels very honest.

I am sad.

I think that’s what does me in the most about being sick, the things that I don’t get to do, even just my normal routine has gotten warped and weird and yes, I do know to be grateful for this time off in between jobs, lucky me, I’m off and I’m ill.

Whoopee.

It may also explain why the massage was wonderful and horrible at the same time.

I needed to get my muscles worked out but I kept getting chilled.

I was probably running a fever.

Low grade fevers for me are hard to recognize, but I do know I’ve been extra chilled all week, I know it’s been cold, but I feel like I’ve been extra sensitive.

Ugh.

And it’s about the only time when I wish, really hard, and then I do know that I am sick, that someone would hold me.

It’s too easy to slide into self-pity when I’m sick and that’s an indication that I’m sick, self-pity.

Erg.

I’m not usually morose about being alone.

Gack.

Anyway.

Today, aside from the sick, was pretty damn nice.

I met with the mom whom I will begin work for on Monday.

We signed the contract, went over the background check, did the little stuff, crossed the t’s dotted the i’s.

I’ll be starting at 9 a.m. on Monday.

Mom may or may not be pregnant.

She’s due tomorrow.

She looked amazing, tired, but good, and we had just a great chat and both she and the oldest have also been sick, it’s going around.

 

Aside.

You know what’s the worst thing about crying while you blog?

Tear splatter on your glasses.

Just going to take a moment and deal with that.

End aside.

 

We talked for about an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes, philosophy, education, emotional rearing, her culture (the family is European and I won’t say much past that as I also signed a confidentiality agreement), the family dynamics and the addition of the new baby.

I feel really grateful to have gotten connected to them, we do seem a great fit, ideologies are similar if not quite the same, I’m sure there will be snags and hiccups and getting used to things, but I’m excited to start the job.

I also realized when I left that I should just go home.

Rest.

Kick this bug in the butt.

Let it out of my system.

It’s all tight in my chest, achy and surreal.

I’ve no cough and I keep thinking I’m going to have one, but I don’t.

And the pain is tightness, but not stabbing, it’s deal-able.

I’m dealing is what I’m saying.

And I’m super hydrated, tea, tea, tea and more tea, and I ate nice warming food today and just lounged about the house.

I finished reading Irvine Welsh’s The Bedroom Secrets of Master Chefs.

I watched a bunch of the OA.

Amazing show.

So sweet.

Just loved how they ended it, super powerful acting and storyline.

I won’t be a spoiler.

I just thought they did a superlative job.

I’ll probably go to bed early tonight and skip yoga and rest.

I’ve an appointment downtown at 1:30p.m.

That’s it.

And it’s to sit in a chair for a long time and flip through magazines while I get my hair done.

So.

I can handle this cold.

See.

I’m already feeling better, I pep talk myself quite well.

A little more tea and then tuck myself in for the evening.

Grateful, truly for the time off from work and for the opportunity to rest and heal so that when the next job begins I will be ready.

I will be.

I swear.

 

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I Can’t Quite Believe

December 23, 2016

That.

Tomorrow is my last day with the boys.

I only cried three times today.

Grateful for that.

I didn’t need to stuff my feelings.

It was a challenge.

I cried when I wasn’t expecting it.

I felt a bit blown out and a bit tired and a lot sad.

The boys also had great big screaming tantrums, so that was fun, albeit completely understandable.

The tantrums didn’t, of course, start until after we had gotten back to the house and I needed to get them ready for A Charlie Brown Christmas at the San Francisco Symphony.

I mean, really, sort of figured it would happen.

Just needed to have the monkeys fed and changed into their navy velvet blazers and bow ties by 1 p.m.

No biggie.

Except they were emotional too.

They know.

They know I’m going to be gone tomorrow.

That’s it.

No more nanny.

“Carmen, please visit us,” the older boy stopped, took my hand, tugged on it, as we rounded the corner from the park to the house, literally stopping me in my tracks as I pushed his brother in the stroller.

“________________, I’m right here, right now, with you, and,” I paused, reached down, hefted his 6.5 year old body up, great work out, being a nanny in case you’re ever wanting to switch careers, “I love you and I promise tomorrow is not the last time you will see, I promise.”

I had lifted him so that he was eye level with me, we rubbed noses, he wrapped his arms around me, and we just stood and hugged it out on the corner.

Oof.

It was like that all day.

The park was barely the park.

Mostly the park was both boys trying to sit in my lap at the same time.

They eventually did get up and play and run around and chase pigeons, but all they wanted to do was sit with me, on my lap, or leaned against me.

The youngest gets me the most, or at my heart the most, his small face this plate of silence and sadness.  He just oozes it, it breaks my heart to look at his face and every time, like, um now, fuck, I see his little face in my head, I just start crying.

Which is challenging to do when writing a blog, the screen gets blurry.

Ugh.

Oof.

I am super grateful I have the feels, it means the boys mean something to me and it’s important I grieve the loss and the moving on and yeah, I don’t know what tomorrow is going to be like but I did make sure to have plans to have dinner with a friend and maybe I’ll go get a mani/pedi afterward and just take it really sweet and easy.

I got a nice Christmas bonus.

Slight aside.

SERIOUS ADULTING.

I got my Christmas bonus yesterday and I couldn’t open the card until I had been home for hours, there was something daunting about it, and I realized later that I was loath to open it because it really would signal the end of days and I can’t quite seem to wrap my mind around not going in to work next week and seeing my little guys.

But.

I did open it and I was quite grateful for the gift, really.

And then.

I did the adulting.

The first thing I bought with my bonus?

Dental insurance.

Then I put a little in savings.

I met with my person after work today and she plunked the kleenex box down in front of me, “today the last day or tomorrow,” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” I said and reached for a tissue.

We had tea we talked all things recovery, it was really good.

Then she said, “that’s great about the dental insurance, that’s a beautiful gift to give yourself, but get something fun for you too.”

I took her suggestion.

It took me a hot minute though.

I was going to go book a massage and when I went they place was closed for the holidays!

Ugh.

So I went to Rainbow and bought some, for me, expensive body lotion I really like by Pure Organics and a Rau raw chocolate drink.

Then I pondered where I was going to go.

There was a little voice in my head that said, go home, hide, stick your head in the sand, get all isolated and shit, watch some videos and let the squirrels in your head run amok.

I was like, ooh yeah, I’ll catch up on Black Mirror.

But.

Well.

That sounds fucking depressing.

Jesus, Martines, that’s not a good idea.

I just about laughed out loud.

So.

I rode my scooter over to the Inner Sunset and I made myself park close to a spot that would pretty much guarantee me doing the deal, then I went and cashed my Christmas bonus check and went to Green Apple Books.

I had not bought anything when I was there the other day, I was just browsing to kill time until I met my date at Park Chow.

This time I let myself buy.

God  damn do I love buying books.

And pleasure books, oh lord, I get to do some pleasure reading.

Not much, just a week, so what ever I knock through between now and New Years is what I get.  Maybe even a little less, I’m going to need to order my books for the upcoming semester sooner than I realize, I know it.  But.  I’ll have seven days of freedom, I think, where I can read.

I bought three books.

The new Don DeLillo, Zero K.

Cormac McCarthy, Child of God.

And.

Irvine Welsh, The Bedroom Secrets of The Master Chefs.

I’m drooling just typing out the names and looking at them on top of my stack of notebooks makes me very happy.

After I had satiated my book desires I went to dinner.

I treated myself to Marnee Thai and fuck am I glad I did, it was awesome.  I took the suggestion of the waitress and had a red curry with duck and plantains and brown rice.

Swoon.

It was good.

A bit pricier than I would have typically spent at my little secret spot out here in my hood, but Thai Cottage is closed for the next few weeks for the holidays and I smelled goodness wafting from the restaurant when I passed it on the way to the bookstore.

My nose knew.

After the dinner I still had some time and I popped into Ambiance.

And yes.

l bought myself a pretty dress for New Year’s Eve and decided that I would commit to going to a New Year’s Eve party some friends of mine are throwing in the Mission.

Yup.

I’ll be going stag to a New Year’s Eve party, and I don’t fucking care, I’m going to dance and wear platforms and my new dress and be pretty and not give a damn about being single, because I’m allowed to have fun and be happy.

I don’t need to be partnered up on the holidays.

That’s not worked out so well for me the last few years.

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, not well at all.

No.

And tomorrow.

Well.

It will be here soon and I’m sure I will have all the feels about it and just breathe in and out and hug my boys tight and smell the napes of their necks and kiss their faces and it will be alright.

It will.

I am lucky to get this opportunity.

I am literally paid to love.

Not a bad job if you can get it.

Seriously.

 

It’s a Small World

October 5, 2013

And I only have so much time to write about it.

I just got back from a 14 hour plus day.

It went just a bit over the original estimate of time.

I was ok with it until the last-minute.

Then there was a fucking bomb threat in the Mission and mom and dad had to hoof it home.

Who the fuck bomb threats the Mission?

Isn’t it bad enough with the rents?

Anyway.

In the end, it was fine.

I am home now and I had the most exhilarating ride home.

I don’t usually care for late night rides home, but then I consider where I have done late night riding and the difference between doing a late night bicycle ride through crack infested waters in East Oakland and the delicious perfumed air through the Pan Handle is so starkly different that I can scarce believe it.

The weather too, nigh to perfect.

The air was still warm on the ride, not a usual night in San Francisco.

I believe that tomorrow and Sunday are also going to be as nice, if not nicer.

Quite lovely for the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival.

The Hardly-I-Won’t-Be-Going-Festival, I should call it.

As despite many a debate in my head over the last three days, I don’t believe I am going to venture in.

It is just too much.

Too many people.

I like my people.

I like my concerts in the park.

I just don’t want to do it with over 50,000 people.

I mean, maybe at Burning Man, but the area of the city is quite a bit larger than the Golden Gate Park area that the festival encompasses.

Maybe if I knew a posse of folks that were going and camped out a stage, but just the thought of trying to go claim some territory with a blanket and some coolers.

No.

I can’t.

I will sleep in instead.

I have a coffee date with a lady at 1:30 p.m.

Which means that I will further unwind from my day with another cup of tea and a download of a video.

I may not watch the entire thing, but I will sit in my bed and I will eat an apple and or a persimmon and have some tea and maybe just ooze into the pillows.

I watched a movie tonight at work while the baby was sleeping, the baby that did not take his late afternoon nap and was cray cray.

Cute.

But crazy.

I took some photos of him and he looked drunk.

It was fun and those photos along with the movie I watched reminded me of some of my early times in San Francisco.

Add to that the movie, “Ecstasy,” was based on the novel by Irvine Welsh (Trainspotting, Skag Boys, Porno, etc) and it was definitely a flashback sort of night.

I remember some of the shows that I went to, the places I danced at, the people I met.

Turns out my employer worked with a lot of the musicians that I was going to see.

I knew that she was in the music industry, as is her husband, you only have to take a quick peak in his office to know that there is a serious sound system and recording studio in there, but I guess I just did not put two and two together.

Turns out she did vocals for loads of shows at 1015 with Spundae between 2002 and 2009.

I am sure I saw her sing.

And I have absolutely no recollection.

Of course I was a bit of a whore for the dj booth, I always wanted to be right up front, pressed as closed to the class as possible, eyes closed in my own little dance world of bliss.

“Someone’s in love with the dj,” my friend said to me one night at 1015 as I danced myself crazy in front of the booth on the main floor in the big room.

“No, I mean, he’s cute, yeah, but no,” I said, shaking off the accusation, wild-eyed and wide-eyed and yes, oh yes, quite dilated eyes too, “I saw God.

Period.

The dj was Jonathan Ojeda with Spundae.

I met Ojeda a few weeks later at Spundae in the Haight and he and I talked turntables and he showed me what I should get.

I made notes, thanked him and made plans as to how I was going to afford Technics.

A month later I was back, money in hand, ready to buy, but Ojeda was not at the store.

Instead, there was a young woman who helped me out.

The shop was quiet, we started talking djs, dancing, clubs, guys, SF, etc.

Before you know it, she says, “you don’t actually want to buy here, you don’t have that kind of money to spare.”

“But I want them and I am willing to pay,” I stopped as she waved me off.

“Listen, the tables are too expensive here, go to House of Stereos on Market Street and flirt with the old guy behind the counter, tell him exactly what you want and don’t deviate from it, don’t buy anything extra.  Here, I will write down what to get.”  She bent over the counter top at Spundae and jotted down a concise list.

“See you at the club,” she said, “good luck!”

“Thanks!” I grinned ear to ear and hopped on the Haight 71 headed downtown.

I found House of Stereos and it was sleazy but stocked, man was it stocked.

I walked in, went straight to the counter and read my list to the younger man behind it.

He looked at me, went back behind a door in the store and a few minutes late an older gentelman walked out.

He flirted with me.

I flirted back.

He offered me some extra stuff.

I said no, nicely, firmly, with a smile, I said no thank you, just what I have on my list.

He shook his head, ok, and waved to the young man who took my list and got all the items on it.

Two Technic turntables.

A mixer.

A really nice set of head phones.

Some needles.

The total bill was $1400.

I asked to split the cost between two credit cards.

I signed the first for $700.

I signed the second for $7.00.

I did a double take.

I looked up, “you didn’t charge me the correct amount,” I said swallowing my tongue, damn it, why did I say anything?

The old man squinted at it, “nope, is right.”

I did a double take, “are you sure?”

“Yes, now sign and go enjoy.” He smiled.

“Where your car?  My boy, he load it up for you.”

“No car, bus,” I said.

“No, no bus, taxi, go flag her taxi, load it up, where you go?”  He asked me.

“20th and York,” I said, barely able to contain myself.

I don’t remember the first vinyl I played on the tables.

But I do know where they are.

In a friend’s house in Diamond Heights.

I sold them to him when I was in the process of moving.

He took them to New York, Chicago, and now they have come home, here to SF.

It’s a small world.

It really is.

And I did see God.

I still do.

BANG

March 17, 2013

Fuck me.

That hurt.

It also effectively cut short me doing anything other than lounging around the rest of the day.  I gave myself a little sabbatical, here on the sabbath.

I went out and did my normal Sunday morning routine out to the 7th.

I had coffee with a darling gal after.

Then I came back to the house to have a late lunch around three this afternoon.

A cup of tea, a sliced up persimmon, and an e-mail query for agency.

I also followed up on a job lead, for babysitting, and I e-mailed the Creative Writing Director at the American University in Paris.  My friend had suggested he may be someone to contact, do some fact-finding and fact gathering.

I did express to her I had no money for tuition and she said it was like magic how things happen with him, so maybe, and why not throw it out there to the Universe.

She also does not want me to go.

She and I as well.

I do not know what will happen, but it does seem more and more likely that a return trip to the states is happening.  Something is going to happen, I can only be in this apartment until the end of May.

We talked about the artist residency I applied for, that is not until July and August, however, what would I do for May and June?

I tell myself, as I told her, that if I am supposed to be here, it will be made very obvious.

If I am not, it will be made very obvious as well.

I noticed myself not wanting to do any sort of searching for work today, not wanting to reach out, not wanting to go out, wanting to do some isolating, in effect.

That certainly is not going to turn the trick.

So, after I had sent out an e-mail to the director and sent out an e-mail to a literary agent, I decided I would pop over  to the pool and go for a swim.  Vacance (vacation) for the pool was over and it had re-opened.  I grabbed my gear and went over to the pool, which for a Sunday was not too busy, and got in a nice swim.

Returning to the house I figured I would take a shower and head over to the cafe and do some writing and maybe a little reading.

I threw my wet things in the laundry, hit the shower, and hit my leg, hard.

HARD.

I slipped getting into the tub, it’s a much higher lip than most tubs, I caught myself going down, but I smashed down on my leg.  Instantaneously a welt rose up.  I actually double banged it, I hit hard the first time, caught myself and hit it again a little higher up on the shin.

I feel lucky I did not break my leg.

I am flat serious, the welt is a good inch raised and ugly.

Ugly.

Sometimes the Universe tells me to slow down.

Sometimes I actually listen.

I decided then and there to slow down.

I took a seriously hot, leisurely shower, deep conditioned the hair, shaved, all the jazz.

I pulled on my Hello Kitty pjs and said, spa day here I come.

Manicure, pedicure, deep condition lotion on my feet, hot tea, and a book.

I am currently reading Irvine Welsh’s “Skag Boys”.

Farking amaze baws.

So good.

It is the prequel to “Trainspotting”.

I sat and read and let myself just be still.

I had gone to the pool with a head full of questions and should I do this or should I do that and what do I do next and do I keep trying to stay here and how is it all going to work out?

It took me about 400 yards of swimming for the voice to literally get drowned out.

I also attribute that to getting water in my ear.

What is worse than getting water in an ear?

Getting it in both ears.

Fahk.

Shaking the head to get it out of the left side, while the right side just gets it knocked in further.  I wonder if that is how I might have lost my balance, I was trying to get the water out of my ear.

Does not matter.

Just grateful that I did not hurt myself worse.

The swimming took my out of my head and the hurt leg took me out of my head and then, I thought, you know, when was the last time you let yourself have a little Sunday afternoon girl day?

It’s been a while.

Waxed, plucked, shaved, lotion, groom, then I let myself get all snuggly in my pjs, soft and cozy.

I made a cup of tea and lost myself in Welsh landia.

Gah.

He is a fucking fantastic writer.

The tits.

Some one, from Ireland, asked me, how in the hell I could read his work.

I remember the first time I tried to read Welsh and it was really hard, I think I was reading “Porno” or “E” I don’t think it was “Trainspotting”  probably “Porno” I remember the jacket of the book, and at first it was just pure gibberish, another language entirely.

I put down the book in frustration, then a little while later picked it up again as I had nothing else around to read.  I do not know why it occurred to me to read it out loud, but saying the words out loud was the key to the magic.

I could hear the vernacular.

I was suddenly in Scotland, Leith.

I heard it.

I have never had a problem since.

I got in a good hour and a half of solid relaxed no distraction reading.

What a gift to give to myself.

This experience here in Paris, too a gift, and one that I wish I knew which way it was going to go.  Whether I stay or go.  Now or then, come back, or go elsewhere.

“It took me four tries to get it together to make it here,” he said to me this morning, as I was putting away the coffee supplies and wiping up the spills from the table in the basement.

“Four times,” he repeated, “it’ll happen for you, if it’s supposed to, and you never know how or why, you just ask for clear-cut directions and trust you are being taken care of.”

He gave me a big hug, “I am rootin’ for ya.”

Me too.

I don’t believe I was brought all this way to be dropped.

Fact is, I never have been.

I have always been carried, even when I fall.


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