Separation of Church and State

And it finally happened.

I am so grateful to report that after much time, many failed attempts, yelling at my computer, yelling at the WordPress chat help, not literally, although I do think I told one of the people on the chat that I was as computer conversant as a tired four-year old.

I really felt like throwing a tantrum with that chat and I excused myself from it quickly when I realized I might, probably not, but might throw my computer on the floor and stomp on it.

So it is with much happiness and relief that I can report my website, my professional website, and my personal blog are no longer connected.

Oh.

They still are, but not really, not in a way that anyone could figure out and my friend who helped me even made the suggestion to change my face on the profile picture so I couldn’t be recognized that way.

Hence the new icon which is a graffiti photo I took many years ago in Paris.

Six years ago it feels like.

Paris was much on my mind today.

And in many of my conversations.

I went and saw my dear friend Barnaby at his new shop in Oakland, East Bay Tattoo, and he touched up the color on my pink jackalope bunny tattoo that he gave me for my 40th birthday when we were living as room mates in Paris.

We both marveled at how far we’d come since that time in Paris.

We were both trying to figure things out and neither one of us thought that we’d actually be moving back here.

Barnaby landed in Oakland and I in the Outer Sunset.

Six years later he’s the father of two boys and he and his partner own a house in Oakland and he just opened a new shop.

Six years later I’m a psychotherapist, not going to tell you my name though, oh no, I don’t want you finding my website from my personal blog (this baby is dark, no social media, no LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, nada), I’m also a PhD student and I own a car!

I mean.

I remember how I felt leaving Paris when we did, my heart-felt bruised, I felt defeated, broken, I had tried so damn hard to make it work and Paris was not having it.

Not having me.

Although she has welcomed me back with open arms and love every time that I have gone back since.

I feel like I have learned so much about myself from my time spent in Paris.

So my friend and I reminisced and talked about all the things we did there and the conversations and all the things that we have done in the time between and how life is.

You know.

Life is pretty damn good.

Even though.

Fuck my life.

I just found out that my paper is due at 5p.m. instead of midnight.

And!!!

Hahhahahahahahahaha.

God.

I must be a little on edge about getting my shit done by all the deadlines.

I forgot, tomorrow is Sunday, not Monday.

The paper is due Monday.

Of course I’ll be working and not really have time to address the paper, so I’ve been planning all along to have the work done by Sunday night and turn it in Sunday night after I get back from doing the deal up in the Castro.

Whew.

What a goofy little moment of panic.

I was all sorts of mad.

Heh.

Ah.

Breathing deeply again.

So.

I will hopefully be posting on a much more regular basis on my blog now that I don’t have any worry about potential clients finding out about it.

I mean.

Ahem.

My most “popular” blog is about cocaine and vodka enemas, not something I want any perspective client to be reading about.

I know how that sounds.

I never have and never will administer or be given a cocaine vodka enema, but I had a friend tell me a story once and I was so horrified by the idea, I’d never heard of it and I guess it’s actually a thing, that I wrote a blog about it many moons ago and what do you know.

It’s the most searched for tag that leads people to my blog.

I have actually thought about deleting it, but you know, it’s actually well written and it does in fact allude to recovery, so maybe someone out there who happens to stumble upon it might get the idea that they actually have a better shot at life without shooting cocaine up their bum mixed with vodka.

Anyway.

There are lots of other things in my blog I’d rather not have my therapy clients find out.

Like I’ve been to Burning Man eleven times.

(Dirty hippy)

(Sex addict)

(addict in general)

(weirdo)

I won’t say that any of those things don’t apply, but ahem, you know, I’m happy with who I am and not really shy about sharing.

God forbid a client read any of the blogs I wrote about my brief and tumultuous jaunt on Tinder.

God was that a heap of crap.

With one or two shining moments, but mostly a lot of yuck.

And now.

Well.

THANK YOU FRIEND!

I don’t have to worry about it.

I can write happily and freely about everything.

Well.

heh.

I don’t actually write about everything either, you know a girl has to have a few things kept back.

At least for right now.

There may well be a time and place when that changes, but right now, yeah, there are a few things that don’t wind up in these posts and that’s alright too.

I’m just so happy to have my little blog space back.

I don’t mind that it’s gone so dark, it’s like my own little private universe with a few select friends that like to hang out and have a cup of coffee with me and catch up.

I’ve got some followers who know me in my personal life as a real bona fide person, and I’m cool with that, but the rest of the world can keep right on thinking of me as Auntie Bubba.

I’m very.

Very.

Very.

Cool with that.

Get A Room!

It’s an embarrassment of riches, this.

I just got a room in Atlanta.

After all the kerfuffle with the bed and breakfast, I got a room.

I don’t know that I had mentioned it in the last few blogs, but I found out late last week that the bed and breakfast that I had made reservations back, oh, I don’t know, four, five months ago, had a sudden and very unexpected plumbing problem come up.

I was told that the extent of the issue was such that the entire facility was being shut down to address the issue, and so sorry, we don’t have a room for you, we hope you are able to find accommodations and enjoy your time in Atlanta.

Well.

I wasn’t even fazed.

I was later.

But at the time that I received the e-mail, there was a small quiet voice that said, there’s something better for you and don’t worry about it, it will get taken care of.

So.

I didn’t worry about it.

I went about my day, I did my job, I talked to my friends and I enjoyed the sunshine in Sonoma.

Although as my friend said to me later on the phone when I broke the news to her–she was going to share the room with me in Atlanta, so she was getting screwed as well, “working in paradise is not the same as vacationing in paradise.”

So true.

I like working back in the city much more.

Granted.

There were some really nice perks with being in Sonoma, but it’s so much easier for me to deal with my job when I can actually leave my job and have some private space.

I haven’t been woken up once this week by a tantrum or crying boy or a slamming door or loud booming steps running past my door.

That’s been really nice.

Plus my breaks have been a little more regulated, and that makes my work day a much happier day.

A happier day and a surprising day today.

I awoke this morning and turned off the alarm on my phone, threw off the covers, swung my legs over the side of the bed and took a big inhale of breath and broke out into a smile.

I was gifted some lovely art yesterday.

In fact, I was gifted two pieces of art!

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I had a lady bug give me a painting that she had done herself and wrapped up in pretty pink and blue and white paper and top with a big pink bow.

“Congratulations!”  She said and hugged me.

Oh.

It’s so nice to be seen and loved.

It’s a jackalope!

On a hot pink background.

It, uh, hahaha, fits right in with the rest of my apartment.

Apparently you may now consider me the bunny lady.

At least I’m not the cat lady.

Even though I do miss having a cat, I do.

Then last night another friend texted me as it was passing the ten o’clock hour, “you still up?”

For you friend.

I’ll get out of bed.

Just saying.

“Of course!”  I responded.

“I have something for you, can I park in the drive way?”

I walked out and there he stood with a Diebenkorn in hand.

Oh dear God.

Thank you for loving me so much.

Thank you for art.

Thank you for keeping me sober and abstinent today, for not having me smoke cigarettes, for not having me eat sugar and for having me do all the work that ends up with me being given so many precious gifts.

Gifts I never.

Ever.

Ever.

Expect.

And gifts that I am learning.

Sometimes quickly.

But mostly slowly.

To accept without saying anything other than, “thank you.”

Not, “I don’t deserve this, or you shouldn’t have!”

Nope.

Just a sweet simple thank you and my heart grows ever bigger.

More room in there for more love.

Who knew it could get this big.

Bigger than the moon rising over the Castro as I stepped out into the still warm evening air and read the series of text on my phone.

It was the travel itinerary of a woman I have never met who got my number from a man I have never met who does this thing once a week in the city on Wednesday nights with a friend of mine and I was passed his information and called him as I was touching down in LA.

“Hey, __________, I’m a friend of ____________ from ___________ he said you might have a room?”

Turns out he had a block of rooms with space in one of them.

He said I could have it.

Whoop!

Then I went off on my LA adventure and had my celebration like there was no tomorrow.

The best way to live, by the way, not in tomorrow, but in the right freaking now.

That’s where the God is.

The juice.

The love.

Right here.

Right now.

In front of my beautiful new art.

As I mentioned, the other piece I was given was a Diebenkorn, Ocean Park No. 67.

It is glorious.

A print from the DeYoung that was mounted on wood and cropped such that the title and DeYoung logo have been taken out, it’s heavy and my friend is going to help me mount it up on the wall.

Right now it’s in front of me, luminous with light and blues and greens, sage, creamy soft buttery yellow, I told my friend that it remind me of the ocean, the dunes, the green grass and the way the light is at the golden hour.

I had not known the name of the piece when I told him what it looked like to me, so when I googled it, I was pleasantly surprised to see the title of the piece was Ocean Park.

It made me smile.

Seeing that painting as soon as I woke up, all the colors in my room coral and beach blue and cream and light, love again, there, against the wall, waiting for me to awaken and walk towards it.

I walked toward accepting it all.

Just like I did a few hours ago when I stepped out underneath that glowing moon.

I told the woman who got my information from the man who offered me a room, that I would take over her reservation.

Sure.

It’s more than I was going to spend.

But who knows.

Maybe a friend needs a place to stay.

Or maybe I’m just supposed to have the experience of being on my own.

I won’t be alone.

And though I may feel lonely, I can, even in a crowd of 80,000 people.

I know that I am not alone.

I am loved.

Lit up.

Surrounded my art.

My soft, sweet, bright room.

And love.

Yes.

I got a room.

A room of my own.

With a window on the world.

My view from here.

Spectacular.

What The Fuck Was That?

I just had the most intense flight or fight response I have had in quite sometime.

I got a lot of news about some people I care for in short period of time.

Including a friend who has been trying to use like a gentleman and not having a good go of it, someone I love and care about and had to tell, hey, I love you, but I can’t talk to you when your intoxicated.

Then not being able to get a hold of someone who I was worried about and had a brief monstrous flash of what could be wrong.

Fortunately I was incorrect, but it was an intense moment, standing in the door way of my studio pacing back and forth trying to get a hold of someone on the phone while receiving texts about my friend using drugs at the same time.

Ack.

Then, well, I go where I need to go and on Wednesdays that’s changed since the break up with my ex.

I used to see him on Wednesdays on the regular before we were dating at this one spot in the Inner Sunset.

Then my job changed and I stopped going there, and when we broke up, it was completely off the table to show up there.

We agreed to the 90 days no contact and I have honored that.

So.

You know, surprised, might be an understatement, to see him walk into the Beach Burrito not ten feet away from where I am standing at 8:25 p.m. this evening.

Fuck me.

I went tharn.

That would be, like a rabbit caught in the headlights as it’s about to be mowed down by a car, made up word stolen from one of my favorite works of fiction.

Watership Down, Richard Adams.

I was knocked over by the feeling.

Ow.

My heart.

Really?

Right then.

Relapsing friend.

Another friend missing in action.

Catching my breath, trying to breathe, then my ex walks into the fucking burrito shop ten feet away from me.

He waved.

I don’t know that I did, I don’t think I waved, that is.

I don’t know what I did.

I did of course.

Tear up.

Wallop!

Smash!

Run!

My heart beat, my eyes watered, I was shell-shocked.

It shouldn’t hurt like that.

Like what?

I mean, I don’t know.

I haven’t been in a serious relationship in a while.

Despite it being short, it was sober and real and intense and lots of emotions were stirred up and it was a deep learning experience.

I feel things.

I am a sensitive bunny.

That’s why I like the jackalope, it’s got some horns.  One doesn’t fuck with a jackalope, one might get pronged.

Ah.

My heart on a pair of horns.

But my God has me, takes care of me, makes sure that I can handle exactly everything that I have been handed.

My best friend calls thirty seconds after I see the ex go into the burrito joint with another woman.

I am standing looking into a room while I am on the phone with her, the room, full of smiling faces, warmth, laughter, friends, all I have to do is take a breath, pray, and walk over that threshold.

Sit down and be enveloped in my fellowship.

Thank you God for this experience.

I have not been painted into a corner, I was just made vulnerable, soft, washed out with salt and tears and hollowed out to hold the light that was there, Christmas lights, white on the floor, glowing in the dark, softly blurred from the tears running down my face.

I am grateful for this.

I am grateful for these feelings.

It means I am alive.

And I can hold more than one emotion at a time.

There’s room for them all.

Even for humor.

I mean, it’s funny, the details are more convoluted and ridiculous the more that I looked at them, how human, how connected the people in my life are and how the picture continues to change and grow.

“Look at all your hair,” he, a friend I was surprised to see in my neck of the woods, said to me afterward, when the lights came up, the candlelight done for the week, to return next Wednesday, same time, same channel, hopefully less an  ex boyfriend eating Mexican next door.

I hugged him.

God he felt good.

“What are you doing over here, didn’t you move to Berkeley?”  I asked.

“Ayup, class today,” he said and sparkled at me.

Damn.

You look good.

But you’re not on the list.

I asked you out once before.

You said no, let’s be friends.

And friends we are, but you know.

When you bury your face in my neck and smell me, I wonder, you know.

We caught up.

I told him about what had happened, in a bit more detail than here.

There are things I can write about are through my own lens and there are things that I can’t.  I don’t want to write about people I know and love except in the vaguest way–anything that is unkind or breaking a confidence, I just cannot put here.

Other people and their lives are not my business to write about, how I feel, what I do, how I live my life, my experiences, those are the things I can write about.

I’m tiptoeing a fine line is what I’m saying, but I could tell my friend that I saw tonight in a bit more detail, namely because he didn’t know any of the people I was talking about.

Then we talked about money.

Student loans specifically.

“I figure I just take the next action and if I get in, God will put the money there, it will happen,” I said.  “I mean, it’s only $50,000 a year, for three years.”  I think I may have blanched saying that, but since my friend’s in nursing school he knows, his tuition at a private university is about the same.

Just a little thing called faith.

“Hey let’s bounce,” my friend’s ride came over.

He hugged me again, I mean hugged me.

It was snuggly.

Boy howdy I needed that.

Then it slipped out, “are you sure we shouldn’t get together and snuggle,” I whispered in his ear.

“I mean, I know you don’t want to date me, we’ve already covered that ground before,” I teased him.

“Well, I think, maybe, I should rethink that, we should go out and have dinner,” he said.

“Yes we should.”  I said and hugged him back.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I don’t know that it could have happened at a better time.

And though he wasn’t on the list, since, I had asked him out over a year ago, he would have been on the top of it at a certain point in our acquaintanceship.

Everything works out.

I don’t have to know the how and the why of it.

I just need to know that it will.

Fall into place.

 

Everything falls into place.

It falls right into place.

Because you’ve got a big heart, baby.

Oh, you’ve got a big heart, it’s true.