Posts Tagged ‘isolation’

Choices, Options, Decisions

January 28, 2017

Home.

It was just to come home.

And I was very much ok with the coming home.

In fact.

I danced around my home feeling pretty happy and complete.

I had a good day at work.

I had a great meeting of the minds after work.

I got asked out to dinner.

And this time I got the feeling it was more than for just fellowship.

I said yes.

I don’t know when we’re going to go, but I feel like we will be going soon.

He had a cold or we might have grabbed a bite tonight.

I decided to opt out of going to my friend’s birthday dinner.

I was already half way towards home and super hungry.

I just couldn’t fathom turning my scooter back around, going the other direction into Friday night end of the week cocktail traffic and doing a late sushi dinner.

I was too hungry.

I figured the best thing to do was ping my friend, extend my happy birthday wishes and head home to eat some tasty dinner here.

I just did and I am quite pleased.

I am also pleased as I have paid my rent for February and I bought myself a few things online from ModCloth for new interview clothes.

Why?

Because I’ll be interviewing soon.

How do I know that?

I got a response to my resume and cover letter this morning!

Hi Carmen!
Thank you so much for your resume and info. I recall meeting you at the practicum fair.
It does look like you might be a great match for our therapeutic community here. I’d like to invite you in for a casual interview.
Please let me know some days and time-frames that would work for you and we’ll schedule a casual interview.
Thanks! 
Whoa.
I had completely forgotten I had even applied.
Hahaha.
The e-mail this morning caught me off guard.
I was not looking for it, just checking my e-mail as I had breakfast and was enjoying some coffee, thinking about what I might me doing this weekend and my plans had changed when I discovered I had gotten my period.
Yeah.
TMI.
Fuck you.
But no, there will be no fucking me.
Canoodle session canceled.
Which I am alright with.
I realized after I had gotten this e-mail.
I am going to need to do some shopping for some interview clothes tomorrow!
Yippee!
I like clothes shopping when I’m in the mood and I have to say, I’m in the mood now.
Hehe.
Super excited.
And fingers crossed we will be doing the interview soon as I would really love to nail down my practicum site and not proceed forward with more open houses and more applications and more interviews.
I responded with times and days and fingers crossed I’ll hear back soon.
I also contacted the third year student in my program, he’s the person who recommended the place to me, and said, I got asked in for a casual interview, any suggestions?
He said, “just go in and be your fabulous self.”
Well fuck.
I can do that.
And though it will be casual, whatever that means, I do feel like I want to show up nicely dressed and coiffed.
Really what it comes down to is that I need a pair of nice flats.
I don’t have a single pair of flats.
Oh.
I have tennis shoes.
Converse and a pair of Saucony.
And I have my boots.
But I don’t see wearing rain boots.
Or.
My Burning Man boots.
Um no.
Then I have a couple of pairs of heels, but I don’t have the appropriate interview attire to go with them, they were bought for dresses which I feel are too dressy for the interview.
And I have plenty of wedges and platforms.
But walking into an interview in 4 inch Mary Jane black suede platforms might be just a bit too much fabulous.
I figure I need to hop over to Macy’s downtown and grab a pair of D’Orsay flats from Nine West, they carry my size and they’re not super expensive, plus they’re cute and I can wear them with other outfits.
Then maybe I pop into Banana Republic and grab a nice pair of slacks or a long skirt, a simple button down and maybe a blazer jacket.
Nothing too fancy, but clean, simple, pulled together.
The site is in the Mission and it’s a Community Therapy model, so I don’t think any one is going to be over concerned with my outfit, but I know that it’s better to come in looking tidy then roll up in jeans and Converse.
Even if I end up doing the practicum hours in jeans and Converse, which is a likelihood, I will feel better being well suited for the first get together.
I’m going to get up, go to a 9 a.m. yoga class.
Shower.
Breakfast.
Coffee.
Scooter up to 7th and Irving, meet my person at Tart to Tart at 12:15p.m.
Then another lady at 1:15p.m.
Lunch.
Then a manicure and some lunch.
After lunch I’ll head downtown and do the shopping.
Hopefully it won’t take too long and then I’ll head to the NOPA do the deal and maybe if I’m feeling it, hang out and do some fellowship, grab dinner at Brenda’s if folks are going out.
Sunday will be yoga, taxes, homework, cooking for the week, reading, write a paper.
And if I get it all done I will be taking the suggestion to go see a movie.
I may not though.
And I’ll be ok with that.
I did promise myself that since I wasn’t going out tonight to my friend’s birthday gig I would try to get out tomorrow and connect with people.
Keep myself from isolating and be in the stream of life.
Because I suspect I’ll be starting practicum soon and I want to have some fun to balance out all the school stuff.
And though there is more work to do.
I am excited.
I am happy I got a response to my resume.
And.
I’m happy I got asked out to dinner.
Yes.
Yes I am.
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Holiday In Quarantine

November 25, 2016

It was a very quiet, self-reflective, mellow, slow Thanksgiving.

I did a lot of reading.

A lot.

I finished all the reading for my Child Therapy class and I got six chapters read in my Family Therapy class.

I had a couple of long sweet conversations with friends and family.

I received many sweet messages for the holiday.

I slept in.

I sat in the sunshine.

I walked on the beach.

I, yes, did some more laundry.

I have to strip and remake my bed every day for another 5-14 days.

I’ll see what happens when I go in on Saturday for the second treatment.

I didn’t stray from the neighborhood.

Most of the day I sat in the sun in the back yard and read and talked on the phone.

It was nice.

It was simple.

It was a great way to get a lot of reading done.

I still have plenty to do to get myself through the rest of the semester.

Papers to write, more reading to do.

Registering for the next semester of classes.

I have a lot to do.

But today I just sort of did small little actions.

I didn’t feel like following through with any invitations to come over and hang out, after I’m fully cleared.

I mean.

It’s doubtful I would pass anything on, but I just want to be sure.

That being said.

I am going to go to yoga in the morning.

And I plan to be out in the world a little more tomorrow.

NOT doing any Black Friday shopping, unless one counts grocery shopping.

I don’t.

But I will do a little movement away from the neighborhood, go do the deal and such, get out of my head and not let myself be too isolated.

I’ll pop up to the Inner Sunset and grab some fellowship and doing the deal in the early evening.

I don’t have big plans, as you may have sussed out, I have felt a little ostracized, self-imposed for the most part, after finding out about the lice, I haven’t really felt much like being social.

I know, they’re not contagious, but there’s still a little stigma in my head.

Or on my head.

Until I get the second treatment I may be a little shy about social stuff.

I will, however get out and do some stuff on Saturday.

I have my appointment for the second treatment at 9:30 a.m. on Fillmore between Clay and Sacramento.

It’s a fun little neighborhood for shopping and they do have a card shop that I like, I’m a sucker for stationary.

I also put a tentative coffee/lunch date ask out to a friend over in Oakland, hoping to entice him over the bridge with my MOMA membership.

And.

I’ll be seeing my person that night as well as going to dinner with him to Brenda’s.

I can’t eat much on the fried chicken, po’ boy side of town, but they do have a lovely red beans and rice with andouille sausage I quite like and I may allow myself to try the shrimp grits too.

The company is where it will be at though.

I don’t mind a bit of isolation but I need people in my life, even with all the time that I need to dedicate to being in grad school, I still need human love and interactions.

I need rituals and traditions too.

I may get my Christmas tree Sunday.

I almost didn’t have one last year and a friend gave me a little guy that I was able to have on my desk, but I missed having the full size tree.

It will be my splurge.

There really is something decadent about having a live tree in my house that will run me anywhere from $75-$100 for the honor of having a holiday tradition.

And.

Yes.

I will be traveling for Christmas.

But.

I so love the smell of the tree and the lights and the glow.

This is always the point in the year when I wished I was living in a bigger space, so I could have a bigger tree, but I tend to get a nice sized one, last year excepting, and it fills my home so fragrant.

It’s a self-love, self-care act.

I love hanging the lights.

Unwrapping the Christmas ornaments.

Unearthing the holiday cards.

I realized the other day that I have Christmas cards that I bought in Paris last year.

I got them at the gift shop at the end of the Tuileries.

Last year was a sad Christmas.

Despite being in Paris.

My heart felt like it was on fire the entire time.

How hard a place to be.

In the City of Lights, in the City of Love, in the most romantic place with a man I loved, but unable to have any romantic rapport with.

It’s a long terrible story that I have never fully sketched out.

Suffice to say.

It was hard for me and I was sad often.

The light on his face as we walked the avenues and roamed through the museums.

The hope, constant, beating like a broken winged dove in my heart, that something would change, alter, the silences and the unspoken things would come out, the berating of myself and the gorgeous back drop of the city, the smell of chestnuts from street vendors, the children on the carousels, the smell of hot chocolate and popcorn, the lights hanging in the streets.

On one hand it was the most exquisite romantic experience ever.

Unrequited love songs generally are sang best in the tune of not getting what you desire most.

I chose something different this year.

I chose to throw my own birthday party.

I chose to spend Christmas with my best friend from Wisconsin and her skulk.

I chose friendship and comraderie over heart ache and soul suffering.

It was brilliant grist for the grad school paper writing mill, but I don’t need to have that experience again.

It was painful.

I could have built a wall, I could have disappeared into a tunnel of angst, and I did for a little while, but upon careful reflection I deserve every powerful taste of love I can get.

And.

I know without a doubt that getting to know that depth of love I had for that man-made me a better woman, even though we couldn’t be together, the lessons learned will and have made me ready for the next experience I get to have.

I just hope it’s not an experience where I will be inhabited by tiny bugs scritch scratching in my head.

Puts a damper on making out.

Seriously.

I am ready to move forward.

And excited for what the rest of the holiday season brings.

More love.

I am sure of it.

Happiest holidays to one and all.

On Track

August 25, 2016

I’m super stoked right now.

I just finished reading the last bit of my assigned reading for one of my classes.

It’s so nice to have it done, to have understood and digested a lot of it too.

Oh.

I’m sure I will have “forgotten” most of it by the time class rolls around, but there is a lot more going on in my brain than my mind wants me to acknowledge.

Also.

Fuck.

I am so lucky.

How I made it to where I am considering the trauma I underwent from pre-birth on, it’s a fucking miracle.  Just reading about it in my texts books sometimes overwhelms me, but I feel lucky, graced, blessed.

I mean.

I have always secretly believed I was something special, shh, don’t tell, that there was just something intrinsically different in me, yeah, yeah, terminal uniqueness is also a quality that can separate me out and make me unhappy, but I’m talking about more than that, something different.

If life were fair I would be dead.

Hell.

I wouldn’t have been born, I shouldn’t have considering how sick my mom was, how traumatic things were for her when I was born and then the innumerable things that happened as I grew up and I mean, can you just say resilient?

I am so resilient.

So even though I can get through the big things, sometimes the little things, job conflict, will throw me for such a loop I can’t get the hell out of the way to gain any kind of perspective on it.

I mean.

I did have fear and it was not a fun time yesterday after I set my boundary with my boss, but I had to set the boundary and though the response was not what I would have preferred, it wasn’t as bad as all that in the scheme of things I have undergone and gone through.

But my brain blows shit up.

I also am acutely aware of my part.

I people please, I am a perfectionist, I can be over accommodating of the needs of the people for whom I work.

Boundaries were crossed early on in my job and I didn’t address them when they happened.

The past, can’t change it, but I can move forward and not keep doing the same things.

I have been well aware of that too, that I can’t go back and beat myself up for not doing it better, no should’s please, I did what I could in the each situation and have been given time to assess how it works or doesn’t work for me.

I adopted a here and now sort of attitude towards the whole thing.

What can I do right now, right here, to take care of myself?

Pretty fucking basic.

And so, I got a break today, appropriately timed and well delineated and fuck, I got school reading done and I got to rest, not really as I was digesting really big psychology theory, but I got to be out of the way in my space in the house, quiet with a cup of tea and a book.

I returned happy to work and there were no other altercations, issues, or weirdness.

Ok.

That’s not true, I still felt a little on pins and needles, but that again, is my feeling and asserting a need, even though it be a small need, for me, is a very big deal.

I remember well a father of one of my charges told me years ago, seriously, six, years ago, “Carmen, your problem is you can’t ask for what you need, you have to speak up.”

He wasn’t saying it to be mean, he was saying it because he wanted me to ask for what I needed, that he knew that I was not capable of doing it and that it was ok and not just ok, but allowed.

Encouraged even.

It blew me away then, and I don’t think it actually sank in for some time, I was allowed to ask for what I need.

What a gift he gave me, you are allowed to ask for what you need!

Now the difference is, with time and perspective, also knowing that though I ask and it may not be met and in that doing I get to make sure I don’t harbor resentment.

I fail to ask many times because I anticipate not getting the need met, so why bother, and then the resentments flourish and I’m stuck in the bathroom sitting on the toilet “peeing.”

I’m really praying and asking for help and clarity and what is the next action to take.

Lucky for me I have faith and I don’t have to explain that either.

And friends.

Fuck me.

I am so lucky to have the friends I have.

The amount of support I have gotten from my friends is unbelievable to this person who for so very long felt rather alone and not able to cope or ask for help.

I wasn’t allowed to ask for help.

I don’t know when that got hammered into my head, but man, it was from a very young age.

Now I’m like, help, help, help, all the time.

Well.

Perhaps not quite like that, although there are times when I am incapable of asking for help, they have gotten fewer and farther between.

And as I feel this softening in me, this loosening up, this growing, I am more and more and more grateful for these experiences I have.

I can help so many people just be showing up and saying, hey, I went through that too and here’s how you survive, here’s how you are not a victim, here’s how you in fact, are allowed to prosper, to thrive.

Thrive.

That’s what I want.

Therein lies the striving and the living and the having fun and oh!  The fun countdown is on.

Two more days of work, then I am out, out, out.

Out to the dusty dust and the art and the big, wide open skies, and floating across the playa on my bicycle and smiling from ear to ear and wearing big pouffy crinolines and ridiculous amounts of flash and bang in my hair.

Out where my heart sings 24 hours a day and my friends are all around and though there is a lot of work, it really is so much fun.

“Funishment” a friend coined it last year.

Yup.

And god damn, I am ready for it.

So ready.

I really am.

Bring it on!

Bring on the funishment!

This lady needs some.

Yes.

And.

Yes, please.

Fuck It

March 31, 2016

Except.

Fuck no.

I have seen a lot of folks saying fuck it recently and honey, that shit is not pretty.

I may have a struggle now and then with the sads or the fuck its but thank God, that generally passes pretty quick and when I am in a pity party, well, I’m all about myself.

Nobody else can get in there.

And with that in mind I confirmed that I will be going to a birthday party on Saturday.

Because I can’t let myself be isolated.

Just because I am busy with school and the work and the stuff and things, I can’t isolate myself off behind a wall of text books and the fear excuse of I’m too busy.

I’m not too busy.

Yes.

Fuck.

I am busy.

But not that busy.

If I even have an inkling of the thought that I could hook up with someone, which, hell, please, I am constantly thinking of hooking up, oh, and the fantasy got killed hella quick around the one person I was attracted to.

He’s dating.

Ugh.

I could use a desperate man.

Maybe.

I just have to keep showing up.

That’s all.

I just have to stay sober.

Nothing else, nothing else is more important.

“They’re all down at the bar,” she whispered, “I’m not going there.”

Nope.

No fucking way.

That is not my solution.

So.

When the busy gets in my head and I feel overwhelmed, all I have to do is remember that I am perfectly ok if I get into my bed tonight, my sweet, warm, cozy bed, sober.

Then it’s a perfect day.

It doesn’t matter if I haven’t figured out how to get my papers written, fact is, I always get them kicked out, despite the horror show that my head seems all hell bent on showing me.

The work gets done and I’m going to yoga tomorrow, so kiss my ass scary brain, everything is going to be just fine.

Fortunately for me I am surrounded, in the middle of the boat, covering my commitments, meeting with my people, staying on the beam.

Even when the head gets the crazy on fire feeling, I know it’s not real, it’s just a fantasy, it’s just a way for me to manufacture some adrenalin so I can get a “natural” high.

Bah.

The feelings I have are big, but they do pass, and as I walked out of the room tonight, a tiny bit disappointed, I mean, god damn he is a hottie, but then again, so is the girlfriend, at least I knew and I could clear my brain with it, the fantasy got squashed so I can be available to whatever reality is in front of me.

When I am day dreaming I’m not paying attention to what is right in front of me.

So.

Back to the reality board.

Back to basics.

Which I haven’t really dropped at all.

I am on my own, but I am not on my own.

I have fellowship, I have faith, I have friends.

And.

I get to see them this weekend, which is what I am telling myself, that I need to see these girls, women, I need to be connected to this community, I need to and I am ok with the fact that it doesn’t leave me as much time to work on school work as I would hope.

The fact is I could and can find time elsewhere.

The time it happens without me getting in the way of it if i just take care of the other basics first.

It’s not like I’m frittering time.

It is the opposite.

When I am having a little get down with the ladies, or my guy friends, friends in general, it alleviates the stress of school too, and I realize that so many of my friends, doctors, nurses, therapists, teachers, they all went through some type of intense schooling to get where they are at.

I am not unique and if they can get through it, so can I.

I feel like I am burning brightly right now.

And.

I want someone to burn brightly with me.

There is nothing wrong with this feeling.

I’m just not going to dampen the fire because I am on my own.

I don’t have to know.

I am open to it all.

I open to dating, sex, kissing, making out, hooking up.

Or.

Being entirely my own woman and just going to yoga and working and doing the deal and meeting with my ladies and going to school.

I don’t have to have either/or.

I can do both.

I have the abilities to hold many things.

I have a big heart and there is room for it all.

Art.

Creativity.

Recovery.

Work.

Working out.

Working it.

Dancing.

Friends.

All the things.

ALL.

I am a glutton for experience and life and doing and going.

I know that I have to have balance, hello yoga, writing, prayer, etc.

It’s all there to be had.

Life.

It’s fucking awesome, even when it scares the crap out of me, which it does often.

But then, I’m on my scooter and the California poppies are nodding in the wind and the green grass in the park is bright and the skies are blue and I am zooming down the road having the time of my life.

Alive.

Yes.

Getting to do this thing, not saying fuck it, not checking out, even when I want to check into what that might look like, I can fall down, but I can’t check out.

Not an option.

Fuck it is not an option.

Singing at the top of my lungs to music that makes my heart happy?

That’s always an option.

Until my land lady kicks me out.

Heh.

I know that I am taken care of and I am excited for the weekend and for the newness and the more will be revealed.

Because more always is.

And you should know by know.

I love more.

Always have.

Serious.

 

I Keep Up With You On Facebook

May 14, 2015

Good to know.

I ran into an old friend tonight at an unexpected spot and we got to reconnect, check in, swap tales, talk about work, life, change, graduate school, pattern making, dress altering, and Burning Man.

Oh yes.

That thing.

I picked up the most fabulous of dresses at Community Thrift a few months ago–blue sequins, marabou trim, teal, really the whole thing is glittery and teal and well, it will look amazing in the dust.

Except it fits for shit, too big and not properly cut.

So when I saw my friend I asked, for the first time really, to have something altered to just fit me.

I am excited.

She’s busy.

I’m busy.

But there’s enough time before the event for me to get one or two fabulous things together.

I always want fabulous things for the playa, but this year, I really do.

I’m going to get to play a lot more and spend more time hanging out and seeing art and well, going to Burning Man instead of doing “working man.”

Oh.

I dare say, I’ll still find plenty of ways to be of service and I will carry my weight and help where and when I am needed, but it’s going to be a fair different show for me and well, I went to be dressed up for it.

Besides.

Who doesn’t want a teal sequined dress?

I mean.

Please.

I’ll find somewhere to wear it.

Maybe even to work.

I’ve been known to wear some kooky shit.

But I like that.

I like that I have a skewed sense of fashion and I love to be a peacock.

I mean life is short, let me dress up for it.

It was good to see my friend in real-time, though, and I want to make sure that I am doing more of that–spending time with friends, not just interacting via social media and texting.

I need to have human connection.

It means an awful lot to me.

Besides.

I know that I don’t translate as well over the internet as I do in person.

Oh.

I suppose, this blog is me, but it’s not me too, you don’t see me fussing around my place, messing with my hair or trying on clothes or mooning over music or dancing or stuck in my head or daydreaming when I should be paying attention to the road in front of me.

I want to be seen for all that I am.

All my human ness.

All my frailties.

And my strengths.

I do have those too.

I want to be able to be vulnerable and tender in front of you, not just behind the screen of my phone or sitting at my table typing words onto my laptop.

I want to carry on a conversation, long, long, long, up late, past my bed time, sharing secrets, telling tall tales, laughing, drinking tea, being me.

I have a tendency to isolate and I wish to be more known.

Here in my community, in San Francisco, in the world at large.

I wish to see and be seen.

“I saw you on your bicycle this morning, riding up Lincoln,” my friend said to me tonight, “I almost hollered out the window at you.”

“Next time, do,” I smiled, “it really makes my day, I feel like I’m a part of the neighborhood.”

I feel apart of the city, the movement and action, the life that is happening.

I like being alive.

I’m feeling a little more alive today too, I’ve had just the tiniest bit of a cold since last Thursday and I think it’s finally starting to pass–all the family has it, I swear, even the dog seems to have it–and I’m not one who often gets sick.

In fact, aside from my ankle, I can’t remember the last time I was sick or when I actually had a cold.

And it’s low-grade.

I have a sort of husky, sexy, throaty voice, raspy like, which is amusing, and a tiny cough once in a while that produces, well, you know, stuff, and I have been just a tiny bit tired.

But not horrible.

Certainly not enough to call in sick.

But enough to slow down this week, make sure I’m taking all my breaks, eating well, sleeping well, taking good care to take good care.

Which is good.

I want to do things this weekend.

I want to get out.

I’ll be hitting an anniversary party Saturday afternoon in Golden Gate Park after I do some doing the deal in the Inner Sunset,then I’ll be off to the park, getting connected to my peeps.

I want to go out too.

My going out last week felt really off and rather awful after the heart-rending scooter encounter at the shop I took the Vespa too.

Side bar.

I actually forgot about the Vespa today!

What a fucking relief to not have that taking up head space.

I cannot even begin to express how good I feel letting it go.

End aside.

I’m not sure what’s happening Saturday night, but I feel something happening, a plan, winds stirring, something.

Change is always happening.

Flexibility.

Adaptability.

Love.

My stars aligning.

Who knows.

But maybe I’ll get my party dress out and see what’s shaking up in my world this weekend.

Not my sequined one, but that will get addressed soon.

I hear music playing.

Maybe some dancing?

Maybe I don’t have to figure it out right now.

Suffice to say.

I’m feeling happy and sexy and that’s a nice feeling to have.

Feelings.

I get to have more than one, you know.

I’m good at running with the happy and sexy ones for right now, however.

Bring those on please.

And you got some ideas about this weekend.

Do share them.

Do.

I want to see you in the real world, not just my phone screen.

I need to give you a hug.

And.

I could use one too.

Long Legs

February 24, 2015

Long day.

“Look at your legs!” The kid passing by me on his fixie shouted.

“Thanks, I’m twice your age, I don’t think I can keep up,” I shouted back.

He had whipped past me and gone up the right side of the flow of cars crossing Market Street at Church.

I, having discovered, weeks ago during my commute, that unless there’s a MUNI train screaming behind me, to take the far left lane that is specifically only MUNI and taxis–thereby avoiding the commuting traffic at Church and Market and also the drivers turning in and out of SafeWay.

“What the fuck?” The kid saw me angle left and whip around the N-Judah that was waiting to cross over to Duboce.  “How did you do that?!  Sneaky lady!”

I laughed.

I got to have some tricks up my sleeves.

“You’re not twice my age, no way,” the kid replied.

He was right.

I’m 42 and he was 32.

Still.

That’s ten years and I worked a 9 hour day today.

My 42-year-old legs, though lovely to look upon whilst riding my one speed from the Mission to the Outer Sunset, were tired.

Monday’s are always a busy day, a long day, full of stuff and things and work, work, work.

But today there was the extra hectic of a grandparent visit, construction happening at the house and the house next door, visits from out-of-town friends, and swimming lessons.

Whew.

I was never once alone in the house.

Or at the park, grandparent’s tagged along on the outing in the morning.

Fortunately I have gotten used to interacting with a lot of people while working for this family and I feel like I can roll with the punches.

I generally keep a pretty good demeanor and keep myself occupied.

It does, however, mean I was unable to take phone calls, make phone calls or really respond to texts messages during the day.

I realized that I hadn’t talked to anyone outside of work until 6:30 p.m. tonight when I rolled up into the Inner Sunset.

I was grateful to sit and be quiet though, sometimes that’s all I need, I don’t need to check in, I just need to claim my seat and sit.

Then pedal my bicycle on out towards the beach and the smell of the ocean.

Monday’s always go by quick, I tell myself this when I am eating my morning oatmeal and drinking my coffee, waiting for the caffeine to hit while I write my morning pages.

I was writing this morning about how I feel a little stuck on the dating front, I exhausted my list of guys and I haven’t met anyone new online that is a good match and well, what now?

I had a friend suggest I go perform, or try to perform, at the Moth tomorrow night at Public Works.

I was tempted.

I even came up with a few ideas about a piece.

The topic?

Heartbreak.

Heh.

I thought I could tell a story about red flags.

And there’s some funny ones that have come up for me and I probably could tell a five-minute story on them.

Truth though.

I’m tired thinking about it.

I have a long week this week with the grandparents in town at work, and the graduate school interview on Thursday, and the scooter getting checked out on Wednesday night after work, and stuff and things that I normally do, plus a workshop that I agree to run on Saturday.

I mean.

Sitting here at my table this morning sipping coffee and my whole week is mapped out and I wonder, well, fuck, the next thing I know it’s going to be next Monday and the whole thing will start-up again.

I felt exhausted even before starting.

I shook it off.

I had a really lovely, relaxing, mellow day yesterday and I bank rolled that into today, keeping my spirits up, not getting involved in drama, doing my job, keeping my side of the street clean, and going to do my commitment.

That leaves little time in my day to write out an extra piece and practice it.

Anyway, the contemplation process was short and sweet.

Not this time.

I can and will make time to do things, I will, I thought, I have to, if I’m going to date I definitely have to.

There’s a balance and I know it can be struck.

But I am, really, fresh out of ideas for the dating thing.

Y’all have any suggestions throw them my way.

The best thing I can think is to not isolate, and yes, I know that going and doing something like the Moth would be a great social event to check out, I just find it a serious challenge to add extra things onto my week day evenings.

I will though.

If I have to.

I’m willing to do the work, but right now, I don’t even know what that is.

I like myself, natch.

I take good care of myself.

I try to look cute when I leave the house for work, you never know when someone might be looking, at the “those legs” or that hair.

Or the glasses.

I got a lot of compliments on the frames today.

I am quite pleased with them.

They are outside my box, and yet, a perfect fit for me.

So how to get outside the dating box?

I tried Tinder and that was just nasty.

I’m not having much luck on OkCupid.

Unless you count offers in Scranton.

Sorry dude.

I don’t want to date outside of San Francisco, let alone outside of California.

I asked out the ten.

I did get two dates out of that.

So cool.

But what next?

I really would like to just magically get asked out.

Ah.

Magical thinking.

Fucks me every time.

I used to have magical thinking around my weight.

Turns out I had to have a huge bottom around it, get broken down, and find spiritual help outside my own brain.

Basically, I had to do a lot of work.

I did the same with my finances.

I had to do a lot of work to get out debt, stay out of debt, and live prosperously (thanks Jerrold Mundis).

I know the same is applicable to dating.

“You know what’s been nice about this graduate school deal,” she told me on the phone yesterday, “it’s not fast and wild and crazy, it’s been a slow, serene process, where you’ve taken things a step at a time and let go of the results the entire time.  It’s been pretty amazing to watch it all unfold.”

I know that’s a correct assessment.

Those things worth having are worth working for.

I don’t mind doing the work.

That’s not the conundrum.

I don’t know what the work is anymore.

So, this week, unless I get some stellar suggestions about dating.

I’m going to focus on taking care of myself and doing the things that I need to do for graduate school and doing my job at work.

As well as doing the deal.

Which is a non-negotiable deal.

The dating will probably happen like every thing else.

When I am not paying attention to it.

I’ll get popped on the head, or in the heart.

And I’ll be off on another adventure.

Such is life.

My life anyway.

Go Have Fun

October 12, 2014

Not the answer I was looking for.

Go to Decompression tomorrow and have fun.

I thought, no, I should stay at home and flog myself onward and upward to prep and prepare for my work week, then I should do some work on the graduate school application thing, even though it doesn’t even open for applications until November 15th and it’s like October.

I should be getting ready for bed, even though it’s Saturday afternoon, for an early night on Sunday, so that I can be ready for an early day at work on Monday.

I should be doing laundry and making vast pots of soup.

I should be scouring my bathroom, even though, “it’s not dirty in here at all,” my friend said today as I apologized for the mess.

There might have been some soap scum hiding out in underneath the soap dish.

I should be constantly living in a state of perpetual motion so I can pack it all in.

Because if I don’t, the world, my world, is just going to fall apart.

Man, this is a thematic I come back to again and again and again.

So, I fessed up and I told on myself and I got some fantastic suggestions, to practice being present, to enjoy the surprises that life throws me.

Like getting a text from a darling friend who was heading out to the beach and wanted to know if I was available to go down to the beach for a walk.

I wasn’t, I had to be up at 7th and Irving to meet my person, but I was available too.

I was available to have a cup of coffee here at the house for an hour and catch up and eat some breakfast and just revel, I mean revel, in having a house guest.

I love, love, love having friends over.

It was such a nice surprise and I was happy to abort my busy making plans to sit and hang out for a little while with her before I had to leave.

I skipped doing a few things, yet felt so revitalized by the visit that I realized I need to make sure that I am getting people time in my life, that despite having some serious reconsideration about going to Decompression–I sometimes get a sort of desperate vibe from the people there, a kind of forced gaiety or an attempt to capture the Burning Man experience all in one little block party–I decided that I will go after all.

It’s all well and good that I take on self-care as a matter of course, but I don’t want to wear that garment so tightly that I end up isolating myself from my fellows because I am busy making soup all the time.

Besides, the family I work for now is super generous with their kitchen and I have been invited again and again to take my meals with them.

If I don’t make food to take to work this week, it’s going to be ok, I can make a salad at work and have an apple.

My world is not going to end if I go to a San Francisco day party.

Besides, I have a new lip gloss to wear.

“Go to Sephora and buy a lipstick,” she said to me when I outlined my plans, I needed to go down town to do some clothes shopping and sometimes I enjoy the idea of clothes shopping, but mostly, I dread it, because I feel compelled to buy certain things and I still have this conception of what looks good on my body.

“Pretend you’re with your best girl friend and you’re going to get some things you wouldn’t normally let yourself get, and you are going to Decompression tomorrow in your sexy clothes with some great new lipstick.”

“And,” she continued, “ask some one out, go on a date, go on a lot of dates.”

Who are you lady?

“Listen, with 26 years behind me, it doesn’t get easier, but we get to have fun, and you need to have some fun, you do the work, you are always doing the work, you do more work than most of the women I have worked with over the past two and a half decades, go have fun.”

“Wear your life like a loose garment,” she said.

“You’re super sexy!  That’s a gift, share that gift, don’t keep it all to your self.”

Again.

Who are you?

And how come it’s so damn hard doing that.

I know she’s right.

And I left my meeting with her elated.

I met with another woman and got to share her successes and bear witness to her life and times and pass along some of what was so freely given me and it was another awesome hour of my life in a coffee shop.

I am not being facetious.

It was.

Then.

A light lunch at Crepevine on Irving Street, followed by a train ride down town.

And yes.

Shopping.

I did pretty ok.

I’m not the best at clothes shopping, but the suggestion to act as if I was there with my best  girlfriend really helped.

I did not find jeans, even with my best girlfriend, man, oh man, do I have a hard time jeans shopping.  However, I did find a cute baseball jersey t-shirt, a couple of pairs of cute leggings (which I can substitute in lieu of jeans for a little while), some adorable socks, a really cute skirt–this is when the girlfriend piped up, try that on!

I can’t remember the last time I bought a skirt.

Then, yes, a trip to Sephora.

I love me some Sephora.

Two lip glosses later and one orgasm and ready to go.

Nars illuminator in “Orgasm” that is.

I also tried “Super Orgasm” but ended up getting “Risky Business” instead.

I guess I’m ready to date now.

Baha.

I am at least ready to embrace the sexy tomorrow for sure.

I will see you at a Decompression party soon, with my fun pants on.

Ok.

That sounded just odd.

But you know what I mean.

I’ll make sure that I’m wearing some “Orgasm” and just act as if I know what I am doing.

Feel free to ask me on a date.

I’m available.

And ready to allow more fun in my life.

Bring it.

Get Messy

January 5, 2014

She told me today.

Stop trying to be perfect.

Work on acceptance, read this one story here.

Write about what I want other people to think of me.

What?

No.

I don’t want to write about that.

Then write about what I want to get from them, what I want them to do, how do I want to look and what is my idea of who I am.

I tell you what, none of these are my idea of fun.

Fuck me.

However, I am ever willing to do the work.

Even when it means re-applying the eye make up and getting vulnerable.

Even when it means showing up to get hurt.

I am going to fail, you are going to fail me, no one is perfect, which means I don’t have to be perfect and if I want to be in an intimate relationship there’s going to be pain.

“I am willing to get hurt,” I said, and something shifted.

Holy shit.

I am willing to get hurt.

I mean I get hurt all the time, I go through pain, things happen, life shows up, people are not who I think they should be, I get expectations, and then something completely weird happens.

I just don’t know that I have been in a place before in my life or my recovery where I was able to vocalize that, I am willing to get hurt.

Most of the time I am working pretty hard to not get hurt, to not connect, to stay safe by playing it safe.

I say I want intimacy, then I run the other way, I get a little, A LOT, scared, then I don’t want to deal with it.

Today, for whatever reason I was able to say it and mean it and it went from head to heart to gut.

Now to get messy.

Not quite certain how that looks, but I feel like it means living and trying and making mistakes and yup doing things differently.

Maybe it’s time to try a new direction with my writing.

For instance.

Get me out of my shell a little.

Writing on one hand connects me with myself, a creative force, and with others, especially when I blog.

Yet, I am completely by myself when I am doing it.

I am alone.

Aside–pet peeve–“Yeah, I know, I read your blog.”

I am not my blog.

It has my voice and there is loads of me here, but I am more than the sum of these words and there are some things I don’t write about, or can’t write about, or frankly don’t care to write about.

I am more than this summation of ideas and images.

Oh, it’s all me, but it’s not all of me.

Social media creates a false idea of connectedness wherein we are all in our rooms peering into the well crafted lives of others on facebook and okcupid and tumbler and twitter and linkedin and whatever else that we do tweeting and poking and posting and liking and commenting.

However, despite knowing what you posted last night on your facebook feed, nice pix of your cat, FYI, I haven’t actually seen you since before I left for Paris, which was over a year ago, and you don’t actually know what’s going on in my life.

Nor I in yours.

Oh, I get a little peek, but I don’t get you and you don’t get me.

What was suggested to me was to check out The Moth, a storytelling event that arose out of New York and is now happening here in San Francisco, where basically you tell true stories out of your life.

I like the idea.

The next event is going to be held at the Rickshaw Stop on January 13th.

Which has some special meaning to me as an important anniversary in my life.

However, I will be in Florida celebrating with family, not in San Francisco.

The events are slams.

I have done slams and I like them.

True, they are nerve-wracking, but I seemed to do well and I believe I am a decent performer and maybe that I could try a little something outside my comfort zone.

Ie my blog.

Which I am not about to give up.

It was also suggested a writers group and or a class on performing.

Had not thought of doing that last one, but why not?

Things that I can do and be a part of a creative community, not just where I am sitting by myself in my room writing.

I am pretty good at sitting by myself in my room writing.

Things to do to get me out there, rather than in here.

Here being my head, my ideas about where, who, what, when, the list of all my shortcomings and I am not enough.

Because I am enough and I am willing to do the work.

I am shocked sometimes at those who are not and devastated to watch what happens when people drift away.

I cannot afford to drift.

I know where I will drift to and it is not a pretty place.

Softening to this way of life, easing into it, allowing myself to be hurt, risking the mess to get to be beautiful, accepting that I am exactly where I am, that I don’t have a good idea of what’s best for me and that it really is ok to accept that people love me and care for me and respect me and what I do.

Who I am.

That I can acknowledge and accept that as well.

Let in the love, so to speak.

So much to keep learning.

And re-learning.

Not even judging that this blog is drifting into self-affirmation, Stuart Smalley land.

So what?

I can be alright with that as well.

Tomorrow I get messy.

I make mistakes.

And I allow the light in.

I will write a story to tell the Moth and go to the website and record my bit.

I will try to do something new and let myself not be good at it.

And be perfect and happy in my silly self willing to get hurt to get love.

The love is the better for the pain.

Richer, deeper, fuller, sweeter.

All things I wish for in my life.

So get ready for messy.

Just Start Writing

October 15, 2013

Something will come.

It always does.

That’s the nice thing about doing the blog, just open the page, open the template, and write.

I have been sitting here going over the details of my day, not enough sleep, worked a late shift last night to an early start today and I have a little over caffeinated headache, realizing that there were not many details to my day.

It was mellow.

The sun was out.

I did some grocery shopping with my charge.

We went to the park.

I watched the sunlight bounce of the tree leaves and relished the warm sun.

In fact, I was relishing the still rather warm, still night air riding my bicycle home this evening after leaving the Inner Sunset, that and the sharp, pungent smoke smell of a beach bonfire.

Oh, to have a boy to go snuggle down in a blanket by a beach bonfire.

Yeah, I want to get in the surf, but I wouldn’t mind a little interlude on a blanket by the water.

I have been thinking a lot about that, on and off for the last few days, a boyfriend.

Feels like it’s that time.

Not sure where he’s going to come from, but he’s coming and he’s really fucking amazing.

I mean, he’ll be dating me, so yeah, of course he’s amazing.

Then I smiled, today, earlier when I realize how used to being on my own I am and what wishing for a boyfriend is, asking for something to practise spiritual principals on.

Just like when I whinge about money.

Oh look, another opportunity to get some humility.

Now that being said, I do feel a shift in my person life and space.

First, I am living in my own space.

I am no one’s house guest, I am no one’s room-mate.

Yeah, my house mate lives upstairs and we’re friends and I will happily go upstairs for a cup of tea, but my house, my home is completely separate.

I have my own space, really for the first time in over a year.

Second, I am not moving anywhere.

Although I was told by a friend recently who was visiting Paris, that my room was still available there and waiting for me.

That was nice to hear, but I want to get proficient at surfing and that may take a few years.

So, no Paris for the mean time, although I would love a visit, I would.

Being anchored in one spot is a good thing.

It allows people to get to know you.

I want to be known.

I don’t need to be famous, although it could be interesting, I want to be known.  I want to be seen, I want to be approachable, and reachable and “date”able.

I also want to have my eyes opened.

Because, third, I am tired of dating guys that aren’t 100% into me.

Yeah, I know, folks have to pay their rent and I am not advocating anyone leaving a job, but damn it man, tell me I am pretty, tell me you are thinking about me, let me know you might want to get to know me better.

Let’s talk, shall we?

Now my opinion as to whether any of this will work, is just that my opinion, and my opinions are usually idiotic.

And my perceptions skewed.

This too I was thinking about as I rode my bike to work and a car zoomed past me going too fast, my opinion, and too close, again, my opinion.

Then I laughed, because I realized I was getting dramatic about something that did not happen.

I was startled, but I wasn’t hurt, and I knew it was coming, I could hear the car, and I knew as well that he was going to be close.

But he wasn’t too close.

He didn’t hit me.

So, no need for drama.

I realized tonight, in a not so subtle way, that I zoom close to things, then skitter away, afraid to be hurt, afraid to be known, blind to what is in front of me and ignorant of what is best for me.

Could you just tell me please?

My brain, which is circular in its thinking, twittered away in the park today as I pushed the stroller about being old and being single and not making enough money, and I said, that’s your opinion, now, get present and watch how adorable this little boy is.

And I did.

It was really good to do that.

Children, they do bring you right into the moment, when I most want to escape the love that is right in front of me, it pulls me right back in.

It, everything, all the things, are not on my time line, they are on God’s.

You don’t like that word?

Fine.

Use the Universe and see how it’s all the same and we are all the same, all worried about the same things, frittering our time away worrying about the things that in the end matter very little because we are too afraid to embrace then things that matter now.

I love you.

I do.

You, the reader, that has gotten this far.

Whoever you are.

I love you.

You listen to my rambles and my rants and tell me, “I know, I read your blog,” when I share something with you in person.  You tell me that I wrote something important, but you know, I am just a conduit.

Sometimes we conduct things that are to happen but we can’t see when or how or whom.

The thing that comes to mind is a drawing my therapist had me draw years ago when I first started working with her.

It was my dream home.

There was me and a man, with curly blonde hair (?) and I was pregnant and there was a little boy, with curly blonde hair, in a wagon next to us, a brick Victorian house in San Francisco, a small globe with an airplane going around it, a little picture of the Eiffel Tower, a stick figure, me, on a surf board, a small island with a palm tree.

The house had a back yard with a wrought iron table and a kitchen garden and a sand box and toys and a tricycle, there was a fire-place with a cat on a leather sofa, a library with books, and as study up in the dormer window where I knew I wrote.

Looking out over the city, looking out to the sky, watching the sun play on the roofs, there was a giant dormer window and a big desk, stacks of note books, mugs of pens, a computer and more books.

Lots of books.

I don’t know where or when or how.

But I have lots of time and as I grow I can already see the seeds that were in the picture in my heart blooming.

Things bloom in me when I write.

When nothing else makes sense, just start writing.

It will all fall together.

It has never fallen apart.

That is how I know I love myself.

When I write.

That is how I know I love you.

When I write.

Just start.

Just start.

Just start now.


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