Posts Tagged ‘jet lag’

Almost Over

August 3, 2018

The jet lag.

I forget that it takes a bit longer for me to adjust on the way back.

I was sitting at the park watching one of my charges swing and suddenly I got whacked with the tired’s.

I looked at my phone and realized it was 1 a.m. Paris time.

Of course.

I am still surprised that my body doesn’t adjust as fast as I think it will.

But I only had to take a look at the baby this morning as he fell asleep with his head down on the table, to see how powerful it is when we mess with our time clocks.

He was so sweet and out hard.

He didn’t wake up, although he fussed a little, when I removed him from the high chair and got him snuggled down for his nap.

I had a moment of wishing to just hold him and let him sleep against me, but the other two monkeys are with me full-time this week, school’s not yet back in for them, and it would have been too much to juggle a sleeping baby on me and two high energy kids on top of it.

As the case was, the little lady decided to help mom with chores and the eldest and I played Monopoly.

He’s really quite good for an 8-year-old, but he had a hard time with losing.

I didn’t rig it, I won, yes, I am that person, I am the person that will beat a kid at a game.

And not because I’m an asshole.

My mom was an asshole to me the first time I learned how to play Monopoly and was extremely competitive, she and her friends would have Monopoly parties that went on for hours and hours and days at a time.

They would leave the board set up in the kitchen and keep playing until there was a winner.

I was quite fascinated by it and at some point I learned how to play.

I learned how to be cut throat.

It wasn’t much fun.

Although the competitiveness of it was a kind of excitement that I had not experienced before that ramped me way up.

No.

I wasn’t trying to be an asshole, but I was trying to show him what it felt like to lose.

He’d rather win.

What kid wouldn’t?

But he’s also smart enough to know if I was throwing a game.

I have been tempted to before, he likes a couple of card games and he’ll get super upset if I win, but he also notices if I’m not playing with my all, so I just stay honest and play like I mean it.

Which is how I played the Monopoly today.

And he was good, not great, but good, and I could see that he was super into getting the money and collecting the properties and building the little houses and hotels up.

He was also expecting to win and a bit flabbergasted when he didn’t.

I told him how proud I was of him for figuring out big words, and for doing math problems and for playing as long as he did.

I also gently pointed out that there were things that he did super well, that he had ideas about how to make investments on his properties and figured out that he should put more houses on the properties that were landed on most often.

He was picking up strategy.

He didn’t much want to hear it, but I told him anyway, and when he realized that the person with all the money was the winner he went quite socialist on me and it was so sweet.

He decided to make up his own game where all the hotels became public housing and there were gardens and places people could go and get soup and be fed and it was so endearing to watch him draw it out on pieces of paper and talk about how having all the money wasn’t the most important thing.

I don’t know that he’s going to remember our game of Monopoly down the line, but it felt like a little victory, a win even though he’d lost, that he figured out that money wasn’t the most important thing.

It was probably pancakes.

He adores pancakes and I obliged this morning and made him breakfast (and lunch and dinner).

It was a lot of cooking today, but I don’t mind, I do like cooking for them and often I will make things I don’t myself eat, which is fine, I’m not tempted, it’s actually rather nice.

I used to love to bake before I got abstinent from sugar and flour, so it’s rather soothing and fun for me to cook for the family, I get the joy of making things that others enjoy and pancakes were definitely on that list.

So too, apple pie.

Which I will be making two of tomorrow.

I wasn’t expecting that, but dad’s got company coming over and a big request was made for my apple pie.

I don’t mind really, it’s nice, like I said to bake, and truth be told it does make my day go faster.

It will definitely eat up some time.

Which I’m all about on Fridays.

So despite the bit of jet lag, I am making it through.

One more day of work and then a very busy weekend.

I have an early interview on Saturday for a private practice internship, then a dentist appointment, then group supervision, a nail salon date for myself, a get together to do the deal, and then a late dinner with my person.

And Sunday will be full too.

But I’m not there yet.

One more day to go.

Thank God it’s almost Friday.

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No, Not Yet

May 25, 2017

I’m not ready.

And.

It doesn’t matter.

Because.

Tomorrow I start my internship.

Fuck me.

I am still jet lagged, I still keep waking up too early and then rolling around in bed in a half dream state, fantasies and revery keeping me company, but not compelling rest.

So, I got up, sprung up, got ready to go, cleaned my house, striped the bed, washed everything, sheets, pillowcases, duvet cover, swept the floors, swiffered the fuck out of everything, dusted, tidied, wrote, had coffee and still had time before heading to work.

When I got to work I had a full tilt boogie sort of day and I utterly forgot that I had agreed to stay an hour later.

Ugh.

Four o’clock the jet lag hit, would be 1 a.m. in Paris, makes total sense, and I have another coffee and rally and do the nanny dance and I am helpful, but my God, tired.

I had so hoped to be out of it at this point.

I am making myself stay up a little later tonight, even though I am tired, to balance myself back out.

I wasn’t incompacitated, I was just softly out of it.

I got home later than I wanted threw a half assed dinner together as I didn’t have enough time to really heat up the dinner I had planned, and ran back out the door to my Wednesday night commitment.

In between all the coming and going and work and doing the deal I checked my e-mail, maybe mid to late afternoon, I had my phone all day, but not much access to it, I had the baby a lot today at work and the mom worked from home today, then the 7-year-old and the four-year old and the cooking dinner (brown butter poached chicken breasts with tarragon and herbe de Provence, pan sauteed asparagus and zucchini with roasted garlic, quinoa fusili with parmesan and olive oil, baby spinach and strawberry salad with red wine balsamic and crushed almonds) and helping put the kids to bed and nighttime routine and story time and toothbrushing and snuggles and hugs and wait, didn’t I have a big important e-mail to look at?

I did.

And I just can’t even process the e-mail.

I have to be at work early tomorrow.

ARGH.

I can’t hate on it though, the mom gave me Monday off to recuperate and I just get to suck it up and show up and it will be ok.

I just start my internship tomorrow and that was what the e-mail was about.

My key codes, my telephone extension, my keys, my e-mail address.

Holy shit.

People.

I have an office, a key card, key codes, keys, e-mail address.

I am going to be seeing clients.

In my own office.

Starting tomorrow.

Ok.

That’s not true, tomorrow I start, but I won’t have a client, I will have a training and a sit down and a schedule that will be mapped out.

I glanced at the e-mail, I couldn’t give it my full attention at work, there was too much to do, and I didn’t have time to look at it in between getting home from work, throwing some food in my mouth and hustling back out the door.

I just know the gist of it, a new e-mail for clients to get a hold of me, a phone number and extension to my office, that I will get a set of keys and a key card to get into the building.

I will sit down with my supervisor a half hour after I get done with work and hash out my training schedule and when I will start seeing clients.

I know that next Saturday, not this Saturday, I have it off, thank God, I will start my group supervision training although I don’t know exactly what it will entail.

Originally my supervisor broke it down like this: M, TU, 6:30-9p.m. Thurs, Frid, 6:30-9pm. Saturday 2pm-7pm.  I am hoping, however, to get out of Saturdays a little earlier than 7p.m.  Either that or start a little earlier.

I will be switching up my work hours soon too, the kids will be finishing up school in two weeks.

I will start going in earlier and I will work an extra hour, so I will be fully 40 hours instead of the 35 I am now.

And.

Breathe.

And focus on this moment.

I am listening to The Orb.

I am drinking hot Bengal Spice tea.

My house is clean and I get to crawl into fresh sheets.

There is nothing like getting completely naked and slipping into clean, soft, cotton sheets.

Exquisite.

Fresh sheets always make my gratitude list.

I have my candles lit.

There is just this moment, this now, there is nothing wrong, nowhere to go.

Well.

In the next hour I will be going to bed.

But.

I have done all that I possibly could today and I won’t beat myself up for not being able to look at all the details in the three big welcome abroad e-mails I got from my internship.

I will review them in the morning when I have my breakfast and coffee.

After I good full night sleep.

I feel easier for just having written all this out and for knowing that I made it through today and that as long as I take it one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time, doing the best I can in each moment, then I am taken care of.

I always have been.

God has not brought me this far to be dropped on my ass now.

Suit up.

Show up.

And it will all be fine.

And I have a nice weekend planned.

I’ll do the deal, meet with my people, hang with friends, go to yoga, go to the DeYoung on Sunday and catch the Summer of Love exhibit.

And now.

A spot more tea.

A bit more music.

A winding down.

Brush my teeth, wash my face, tell myself a sweet bedtime story about love and wrap my arms above my head, close my eyes, face in the soft pillow, head turned towards where the moon will set in the morning.

Good night.

Sweetest dreams my friends.

Sweetest dreams.

It’s Awful Nice

May 24, 2017

To be missed.

It was obvious that I was missed.

I got so much love at my job today, it really was something else.

From the appreciations I got from the mom for the work I do, to the little ladybug running to meet me when I picked her up at school, to the oldest boy leaning his head against me and just hugging me, and letting me kiss him.

The little girl couldn’t stop kissing me and telling me how much she missed me and that she wasn’t ever going to be mean to me and that she loved me, very much, very, very, very much.

Nothing like having a warm, soft paw in your hand all day and soft sweet kisses–when we walked home from school she insisted on holding my hand the entire time and would kiss it constantly.

I was utterly charmed.

It was a long day, but I mustered through and probably drank a lot more coffee than I should, but I made it and actually don’t feel too jet lagged at this point.

I still woke up too early, and found myself so sacked out last night that I could barely check in with the folks I needed to check in with, but I did get a good night’s sleep.

And a good hot shower in the morning, lots of writing, big mug of coffee and getting myself organized before heading out to work helped a lot.

I also got a few errands run before I headed into work, including mailing my mom a package–I hadn’t been able to send out her Mother’s Day gift before I left for Paris.

I got to get lots of face to face time with the mom at work and we talked about summer schedule, the kids schedule, work, travel, and my internship, which starts on Thursday.

I will have a busy week, but I also will have Monday off next week, it’s a holiday, and I’m super happy for that.

I know that I am busy, that life will be busy, that life is full, but there are moments of reprieve, idyllic hours when the unexpected and sweet happens, the hand in mine, the press of lips against my skin, a kiss bestowed upon me, a sowing of love.

“Carmen, you need to sleep over soon!” She said to me, tugging my hand again and again, “and bring me more stickers.”

I laughed.

I also made them dinner and the kids got their favorites, alphabet pasta with cheese and butter for the oldest boy and alphabet pasta soup with carrots in chicken broth for the little lady, I bounced about while the mom ate–slightly fancier stuff for the parent dinner–sautéed asparagus in olive oil and garlic, bechamel sauce over grass-fed seared beef, quinoa pasta with butter and parmesan, mixed greens salad–with the baby, who’s bright happy smile met mine many times today, I felt he recognized me and it was wonderful to get his big smiles.

It’s nice to be appreciated and I felt that in spades today.

When I went to leave the little lady jumped up from her chair at the dinner table and hollered “NO!”

But I told her I would be back soon and that we would have more adventures tomorrow and she can’t wait, “cuz I have a dentist appointment tomorrow!”

Dentists are a lot more fun then they were in my day.

I have a dentist appointment on Saturday, I am not nearly as excited as my charge, not by far, of course I’ll be getting novocaine shot into my gum line instead of a big red balloon, so that may be why.

And while my little charge was chatting excitedly, her older brother said, soft and under his breath, but audible to me, “but I get you when she’s at the dentist, we get to be all by ourselves, I get you for me.”

Aw!

Love buttons.

I felt adored today.

Not just appreciated, but adored and that is a damn fine way to feel, especially at work.

I am grateful for the family and all that I get to do for them.

It’s so much easier to be present and available when I am appreciated and then I just want to do an even better job.

That’s how I am.

It makes having to work full-time while I am doing school and my internship and all the other things, so much easier.

It really does.

It’s work, don’t get me wrong, I do a lot for the family, but it is also a joy and I am beyond grateful for them.

And for my life.

It is rich and varied and so full of unexpected happiness I am constantly surprised and joyful in my person.

In my tired, still slightly jet lagged but yes, very happy, person.

I think I’ll have the jet lagged licked by tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.

I have an appreciation for it though, everything seems dreamy and surreal, the fog, the soft coolness on my skin, the music I have been listening to, the hot showers and the warmth of my bed when I crawl into it at night.

Dreamy and swaddled in.

Softened and bending.

Surrendered to the woozy and the swoon.

The drowsed light and the refracted love notes of jazz.

Cocooning me in succor.

Baby, sweet baby.

Slumber drifting on the swell of moon rising in the night.

Ghostships of desire.

Latent and laden.

Tipsy in the cusp of dawn.

The cashmere softness of pre-sunrise and smoked grey of early morning.

Plush with promise.

And.

Smocked velvet kisses.

Hello Jet Lag

May 23, 2017

Sigh.

I knew it would happen and so it has.

Hopefully it will wear off by the time I start my internship on Thursday.

Today I had the day “off” so to speak.

But I was still up at 6 a.m.

I had to go and meet with my off site supervisor this morning and do all the things to get that going and though it was a good meeting, it was surreal.

Everything has felt a bit surreal.

Which is generally how it is for a few days until I can re-adjust to my time zone.

I didn’t do a whole lot else today, to tell the truth, I needed to have the down time and it was a great pleasure to not have any obligations other than to go to the market and get some groceries.

The cupboard was bare.

I didn’t have it in me to make a big run to Safeway, so just to the corner co-op and lots of fruit and some coffee, almond milk, sparkling water.

Just enough to get me going and sustain me for a few days.

I have plenty of food prepped for my work week so I didn’t have to cook today, nor did I have any inclination to do anything but stay in bed most the day.

I even had delivery.

I cannot remember the last time that I had delivery.

I mean.

It’s been years.

But I didn’t want to leave my cozy little nest and so I didn’t.

And it was good.

I did get laundry done and I did get some basic scheduling stuff taken care of.

I did also get out this early evening, I knew I needed to go and do the deal and get that in under my belt and I am so glad I did, ran into some folks I haven’t seen in a while.

I ate left over delivery for dinner, did a few e-mails related to my internship and now, some Debussy to listen to and a little blogging.

Tomorrow I go back to work and I am actually looking forward to it.

I have missed the family.

I am also excited to give my charges their gifts.

I sent them postcards from Paris, but I also wanted to get them something.

The oldest I got a sweet book on how to draw from the Musee D’Orsay gift shop and library.

The younger girl I got a night-light from one of my favorite stores in the Marais, Fleux.

But not just a night-light, a unicorn night light.

She has a thing for magic unicorns and who doesn’t want a unicorn nightlight?

I mean.

I do.

Heh.

I already have a bunny night-light, also from Fleux that I got myself years ago on another Paris vacation I took.

It was a lot of fun to tell my supervisor today about my Paris trip, he asked me what the highlights were.

I had to run down the experience of seeing the amazing Japanese painting that caught my heart in the Orangerie, also, the sweet woman who sold me my cashmere wrap the last night I was there, all the fellows I got to see from when I was living there, and writing my morning pages on the deck of the houseboat.

I like my supervisor a lot and although I did not want to get up so early to go and meet with him, I found myself surprised when our hour was up, there was so much to talk about, not just about Paris, but about psychology and seeing clients and the ways of getting my child/family hours that I hadn’t thought about.

Not for right now.

But eventually I will have to address that, there are many different kinds of therapy interactions and iterations that I will have to accrue hours for, some solo therapy hours, supervision hours, group supervision, Couple therapy, Family therapy, child therapy.

All of it will come together, I am sure, one small step at a time and as I have described to a number of friends, this next year of the experience is going to be tough, a grind, so to speak, a juggling act of making sure I can get my internship hours covered, work attended to, recovery done, and who knows, once in a while do something social.

Things are very much on the cusp of big change.

But all I have to do is show up for this moment, just this one, and do the best I can in this moment to be gentle with myself and anyone else that I may interact with.

Today was a good day.

Wonderful really.

And though I am absolutely jet lagged.

I will get through this.

Another early bed time for me and a cup of tea.

Fingers crossed it will be worked out by mid to end week.

As for now.

Good night friends.

Sweetest of sweet dreams.

No Rest For The Wicked

May 22, 2017

But.

I am going to try.

I am zonked.

It’s been a long day.

It started at 5 a.m. today, yesterday?  I don’t even know, what day is it?

Yes.

Sunday.

And yes.

I already have my alarm set for the morning.

I have to get up early and go meet with my supervisor.

My internship starts this week.

I’ve the meeting tomorrow and then training starts on Thursday.

And.

You know.

Work.

And um.

Hello.

Jet lag.

Current Paris time is 4:53 a.m.

That means, 24 hours ago I was just about to get up and finish my packing.

And it was a great big last day of a last day.

One last morning of having coffee on the houseboat and then off to Clingancourt.

Which I almost bailed on.

Crowds cause me some anxiety.

My friend I went with pretty much noticed that ASAP.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I was told, and I knew that, but I also wanted to make the effort.

I’d never made it in to Clingancourt before, I had only gone one other time and it was closed.

I wandered around and took street art photography.

The thing about the market is that it’s in not the prettiest neighborhood, lots of low-income housing tenements, it’s just at the Periphery of the city, so it can get quite a bit sketchy, it’s a haven for pick pockets, and there’s a lot of dingy, trashiness to it, plus there was a lot of construction going on.

However, once you make it into the actual market, it’s great.

It’s just getting through shark infested waters.

I’m bad with pushy tourist scam artists and crowds and what feels very edgy and compromised.

I also recognize that I am sensitive and it takes a lot of work for me to shut out that kind of lifestyle and edge.

I used to do it pretty damn well, but truth be told I haven’t had walls up that high in a bit and it felt exhausting and I was a little ashamed that I wasn’t able to keep it better together, apologizing to my friend too much for how I was dealing and it just left an uneasy taste in my mouth.

But.

I did have fun in the market itself, I saw some beautiful things and actually bartered a little bit with a vendor and got 10 Euro knocked off a pair of vintage earrings.

Scoring them for 20 Euro instead of the 30 Euro listed.

Great deal.

Especially considering that the other pair of earrings I had seen that I was very drawn to were 1750 Euro!

Of course they were, but my god, so gorgeous.

I also had a sweet chat with the woman running the stall and it felt nice to be able to at least tell her that I was so grateful for her time showing me her beautiful jewelry and I felt pretty damn good about remembering the word for earrings in French.

The longer I was there the more came back, although when I got tired, which was often, I don’t think I actually ever got a big full eight hours of sleep, I would lapse in the quality of my French.

Still.

Overall.

I think I did pretty good.

And though Clingancourt was a challenge for me, I can say, I did it, and I also got a very cool poster, a 1955 Scandal sheet, that I was able to score for 10 Euro.

Felt fun to do that.

Although I ended up missing seeing a few people I had hoped to catch up with, after I got back from the market I was too zonked out to try to do anything else.

I sat on the prow of the houseboat and I wrote awhile in my journal and just enjoyed the hell out of the sun.

Super grateful that my last day in Paris was sunny.

Not as warm as I might have liked, but really nice.

And.

After I got packed and sorted a friend and I went out to grab a bite to eat and I decided to get dressed up a little for my last night in Paris and wear my earrings and put my hair up and if only for that I am super glad I went to Clingancourt, my earrings were such fun to wear.

It was lovely to take one last walk along the Seine, to see all the folks lined up at the Musee D’Orsay, to window shop a little, and oh God, yes, get one last little souvenir for stuffing into my suitcase.

Or, as the case may be, for wearing around my shoulders.

I picked up a gorgeous black cashmere (my first cashmere) wrap from this beautiful little shop.

I met the owner and chatted and she called me out as being an artist and then showed me the book her little sister had just gotten published and then told me about Nice and Picasso and Miro and art and al the artists that used to come through their home–the photograph of the book her sister wrote is the woman as a young girl with Pablo Picasso making faces at her.

It was super sweet and she asked me for my information so she could follow my blog.

Which frankly was an interesting moment, when she asked if I was an artist and I am, I’m a writer, a poet, a dreamer, an arranger of colors and sounds and atmospheres in myself, but when someone asks me if I am an artist I always seem to have a moment where I pause and think, no, no, not me.

I’m not really an artist.

But.

I am.

I write poetry and once in a while it is good.

And once in a while I will write a blog that makes me think, yes, I got it, that was art, that was beauty.

But do I paint or draw, no, not so much, do I make music, nope, although I do aspire to be lyrical in my writings.

Nevertheless I gave her my blog address and for a moment I was again a woman artist in Paris, talking art with another artist in a beautiful shop full of soft, delicious things to touch and wrap around me.

It was a comfort on the plane to have the cashmere wrap and I don’t doubt that I will wear it often.

Sensual and soft, warm and engulfing.

All the lovely things.

And now.

My darlings, my dears.

It is time for rest.

I must be up early and I have been going for 24 hours.

Good night my dears.

From a very.

Very.

Grateful.

And.

Lucky girl.

Home, Sweet, Sweet

May 24, 2016

Home.

It’s so nice to be back.

Sometimes I go away just to have that feeling again, of how much I love being home.

Home is San Francisco.

Oh.

It could be elsewhere, I did find myself experiencing a very deep fondness for the little neighborhood in Brooklyn that was adjacent to where I was staying in Clinton Hill–The Fort Greene historic area, so, pretty, so many gorgeous brownstones and kids on scooters and the park and the feel of it being a community.

I really liked that.

I could see living in one of those brownstones and sitting on the stoop on a warm night or day, reading a book with a cup of coffee, watching the world go by.

I do like that.

I miss having a place like that to hang out, my place doesn’t have a front porch or a stoop.

However.

There are spots in the neighborhood where I can sit and watch the world go by and I did do that for a little while today after getting back from the airport.

Despite big delays on BART, I still made it home pretty much around the time I thought I would as my flight came in a half hour before it was scheduled, so the time I “lost” on the train wasn’t really lost time.

Plus.

I had my book from the Strand and I pulled that out and started reading and got a good 60 pages into it, popped on my headphones, listened to some Radio Soulwax and just sat.

Sometimes I just need to slow down.

I just got off the phone with one of the women I work with and that was the gist of the conversation, the suggestion to just slow down.

I can get going really fast, I won’t feel, and I will be doing and it tricks my brain into thinking I’m being productive, but sometimes I am just running away from myself.

I take myself wherever I go.

Oh.

There I am again, I thought during a moment of being slightly turned around in Brooklyn and hesitating as to what to do next, literally I was walking around in little circles.

I realized that I was there with me and the “me” was itchy and antsy and getting a little irritated and discontent, which is like my natural state, so I said a prayer asked for guidance and got take out from the Thai place I had dinner at on Saturday night.

Now.

Just stopping and slowing down and letting the world happen, I got to meet Doug and go do the tour of his studio, so even when I seem lost and confused, see, there, I am being looked after and loved.

I sent him a thank you note via e-mail and got just the sweetest response from him today.

He told me the price for the piece I want, several thousand dollars (but he also offered to work out a deal with me, which I super appreciated and despite not having several thousand to drop on an art piece, boy howdy do I aspire to that), and also an invitation to stay at his place the next time I visit–he rents an Air BnB as well, and he said when he comes to San Francisco we must get together.

Also, and I found this so sweet and endearing, that I will make a great, empathetic therapist and I will make loads of money and buy lots of art including his.

That literally brings tears to my eyes.

A very secret wish of mine, to be able to afford to buy the art I love and also to support the artists that I see around me, I love art, it does something to me and creativity and my friends who are artists just blow me away.

“What kind of art do you do,” he asked me outside the doors of the meeting hall, it’s an assumption I get a lot.

But instead of saying I’m not an artist, I said, “I’m a writer.”

And that is a kind of art.

I am creating as I type and when it is right, when the mood is lovely and I am completely transparent I am a conduit and what comes forward is not me, it super cedes me and reshapes me and I am a different person after doing the writing.

In that is great joy.

Yeah.

I want to be an amazing photographer, I am a passable amateur.

Of course I want to draw and paint and sculpt, but those mediums I have never quite had the passion for, the drive for.  I do get ideas and have ways of being in the world that I believe, deep within me, are supremely artistic.

It could just be the way I arrange my hair or hang a photograph on the wall.

But.

I have always wanted to be a patron.

There’s just something super sexy about that.

A dream.

A home, a big one, with lots of light and a studio to write in and a library to read in and rooms for friends to come and do retreats and a cottage in the back and art everywhere and recovery and always the work, the growing the finding of new beauty and subsuming it into my person.

How much art can I hold?

How much love can I give.

That is an art.

The art of smiling, being of service, reaching out, kindness is an act of art.

Art is love.

It is perspective and joy and great waves of sorrow and overwhelming moments of uplift and I can’t comprehend it and maybe, probably, I just don’t want to.

It is an art being myself.

I realize this as I move through the world, how I let myself express myself is an art too.

I can be a living piece of art.

Although sometimes I just need to be a tired human.

The well needed to get refilled today.

When I got home I unpacked my bag and threw my clothes in the wash, I put all my things away, all the notebooks and the few little things I had brought back from my travels and walked up to a little spot in the neighborhood and grabbed lunch.

I sat inside, then I realized I just wanted to sit for a while.

I pulled up a seat at an outside table and sat and watched the ocean in the distance and the neighborhood doing it’s neighborhood deal and then I read for an hour.

Occasionally closing my eyes to the sun and I realized I needed a nap.

So a quick pit stop at Other Avenues for some household stuff and then home.

And a nap.

Oh such a nap.

I slept three hours.

I woke up twice to a text message and to pee, but really, I slept nearly three hours and I can feel I am a bit jet lagged still.

So easy does it the rest of tonight.

Full and grateful heart and a gentle song of jazz on my radio and a little more tea.

And sleep.

In my own home.

In my own bed.

In my favorite place in the world.

San Francisco.

Where my he(art) is.

Honor That Love

December 28, 2015

He said to me on the phone.

I hold deep capacities for love.

Sometimes that feels utterly overwhelming.

I sat here, in my chair, home and felt a wave of sadness go over me and said, “self, just have the feeling.”

And.

So I did.

I can lift my face up to the love, I can grow towards it, I can bask in it, I can honor it.

I can love.

And not be loved back.

I can love and not feel that I have to be compensated for that love.

I can see.

I can be seen.

I can be authentic and lovely and lovelorn all at the same time.

I believe.

I do.

That we all have this deep capacity for love.

Not everyone allows themselves to feel it, however, or it gets buried under afraid and not getting enough, not being in control, in the need for validation, approval, acceptance.

I accept, validate, and approve myself.

And I let the love shine like a light above me, something I can grow towards and through.

Not something that I have to fall into and drown.

These are new ideas for me.

To hold love and not expect a return.

I realize too, that I have expected returns from the earliest of ages, and that it is a constant letting go of that expectation.

I am the romance of a lifetime and I get to have these intense, beautiful, full, astonishing feelings.

Sometimes.

I really don’t want them.

But I also know that I have the capacity to hold it, the heart breaks, the heart breaks open, the heart grows in its ability to hold more.

At least mine does.

As I look about my small, but so beautifully appointed space I am ever so grateful that I have this nest of love to nestle in.

I was quite grateful for the space my friend and I stayed in while we were visiting Paris, but it’s not home, and home, oh, she is a lovely place.

I got back mid/late afternoon and like a good camper, unpacked, organized, and put away all my things.

Including doing a load of laundry, going through the mail, and writing out the rent check for January.

A quick run to the grocery store to get a few supplies.

I didn’t have it in me to cook today.

In fact, it feels like I don’t have it in me to do a whole hell of a lot.

So, the feelings leak out and instead of drowning in them, I let them happen.

Such a relief to already have seen them go past and to wave to them from the opposite shore.

I am sure that they will be back, but in this moment I am, as it was suggested honoring the love I grow towards and honoring myself and my abilities to try new things and go and have experiences.

Paris.

What an experience.

It is a little mind bending to think that yesterday I wandered the Marais, and today I am in the Outer Sunset of San Francisco.

I got to have one more last fabulous meal with my dear friend at Cantine du Troquet in the 15th.

I ordered with confidence and even made substitutions.

Ha.

I have to admit my French is not the best in the world, but it felt grand to be understood and to be able to ask for what I needed.

Of course.

I can forget.

Case in point.

The meal today on the plane.

Nothing I could eat.

Like.

Nothing.

And I sighed, accepted, drank some water and adjusted myself to what was happening.

A few minutes later, while I was watching a movie, my friend plunks down next to me and hands me three clementines.

That is love.

I grow toward it.

I smiled.

That small kindness.

Three small clementines, cold from the flight, but warming to my heart, and I am full, replete, and soothed.

And here.

In my space.

Feeling that same warmth.

Surrounded by beautiful things, small reminders of my trip, of my travels, now and previous, the lights around me warm, the candles lit, the bed made.

Oh.

How I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.

So very much.

I actually slept quite a lot on the plane.

I set my watch when the time was noted and moved than hands on the face forward ten hours and saw that it was early morning here, that I would be asleep if I was in San Francisco and vowed at the moment to try to let myself drift away into the sleep so that I could reset my own body clock without too harsh a contradiction.

I dozed in and out and I actually believe I got in a few good hours here and there and passed much of the time in sleep on the plane.

A good way to travel.

Then.

Home.

Customs.

Waiting for luggage.

This was my first trip in a very, very, very long time that I checked baggage.

In fact, I can’t recollect a time previous in the last ten years that I checked, so waiting at Charles de Gaulle for my bag and again at SFO was a different experience.

It took longer than I expected, but I got through and got a ride home from the airport, hugged my friend, and came inside.

To be greeted by my sweet, dear home.

Ah.

Home.

Then the feelings came as I unpacked and though I tried to hold them at bay for awhile, doing the laundry, running to the market, sorting and situating, the feelings had to get out.

And.

They did.

And I am grateful for that.

Grateful I can feel so many things.

Grateful I know love to the depth of my being and even beyond.

That I have so much to give and feel.

Yes.

I love hard.

And.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I really wouldn’t.

My life is better for it.

I am better for it.

The white velvet light of it.

The richness of it, the swelter and glow.

The sweetness of a clementine in my mouth.

And.

The capacity to dream.

Dream.

Love.

Grow.

Shine.

Let me be that beacon.

I am honored in it.

I lean into it.

I accept it.

And I forgive myself for ever looking outside of myself for it.

I have all the love I need in the world.

And.

Probably.

Quite a bit.

More.

You’re Here Now?

May 8, 2013

WELCOME HOME!  She said to me with a big smile as she headed out the doors of the grocery store.

That was nice.

I went out on my bicycle this evening heading into the wilds of Oakland on an errand to get my head on straight.  I did not get there, but the exercise did me good and I now have my bearings and I know where I can go tomorrow.  I am back online with good connection and good navigation.

I did however, locate a Whole Foods.

I did some grocery shopping.

Not a lot.

Just enough to get me through the rest of the week.

Picked up a few more toiletries.

Dental tape.

Ah.

Coconut shampoo.

I forgot to get shampoo last time I was out.

Some more almond milk yogurt and another Japanese sweet potato, some pears, and some socks.  I am going to have to make a run to Graceland to get through the rest of the house sitting gig here.  I had hoped to not have too, but I need to get a few more articles of clothing.

Not that the little girl I am working for notices what I am wearing.

Other than to say “shoe” when I put on my shoes.

Very cute.

Her little voice is fetching beyond belief.

She is also quite opinionated about what she does and does not want to do.

“No.” She said firmly when I asked her if she wanted something to eat.

Or if I could cut down her fingernails.

“NO.”

Hate to break it to you kiddo, but those bad boys have a limited shelf life.  Nothing stings more than sharp little baby claws.  Almost as bad as getting scratched by cats.

“Kitty booboo,” she said, out of nowhere showing me the little red scratch on her forearm.

This girl has language abilities far beyond her 20 months.

I feel like I am conversing with an adult.

Both her parents are very bright and very verbal.

It shows.

Today after her nap we went for a very long walk.

We went to Frog Park.

It was a half hour walk according to my map on my phone, but I was not thinking of the stroller factor or the stopping at lights and waiting calmly for all cars to clear the intersection.  It was a 45 minute stroll by the end of it.

Not horrid.

I’m sure once I get used to it, the walk will go quite a bit faster.

I also discovered that I was in a part of Oakland that I did know a tiny teeny bit.  I recognized a few shops and stores and cafes from when an old friend used to live off of Telegraph.

I saw some places I want to do some exploring in.

I saw some places I want to spend some money in.

However, until I get my rent together, which I have not had the chance to talk with the master of Graceland about that, I do not care to go off willy nilly and spend money that needs to be allocated toward rent.

And mama needs a new pair of jeans.

I am down to one pair of pants.

I have been wearing dresses and tights for some time now.

Not really a problem, but a girl likes a pair of jeans.  And now that I am back in the states and the sizing makes sense to me and I know what brands to shop for, I am going to prioritize some blue jeans.

I also saw my Joanie today.

God damn that was good.

She laughed at me when I expressed myself about my jet lag and my inabilities to slow my roll.  My friends know me better than I do myself.

She also suggested that I take John Ater’s advice and call on folks I know at the Burning Man offices where I applied to a job earlier this week.

“Honey, you’re an adult, do the adult thing, there’s nothing wrong with letting people know you applied for the position,” she said and smiled.

Three people now have said pretty much the same thing.

They know better than I do.

My best ideas have me hiding in a corner.

So, I made another phone call.  Felt funny and I was not able to say why I had called and I just caught up with my friend, who also happens to live in Oakland, and we made plans to go on a bike ride.

Then, I figured, shit, why not, just call another person.

This time I left a voice mail.

I don’t know what will come of it.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe something.

But if I don’t put it out there and take actions I am going to get the same results.

I want different results.

I actually want to work at the Burning Man organization.  It feels like a good fit for me.  I would be of service in a community that I really like being a part of.  In a place that is home to me, regardless of how much effort it takes to be there, when I am on playa I am home.

So, I have now contacted three people within that community and said, “hey, I applied, if it makes sense to you, put in a good word for me.”

That’s it.

Leave the rest to the Universe.

I have a job regardless.

I have another working interview to go to this Friday as well.

I have been already been asked to work for them, so this is not necessarily an interview to determine whether or not I’ll get the gig, I have it, it is to suss out the details and make sure that we are all comfortable with each other.

Heck.

I have not even met one of the babies, he was born while I was in Paris, but I have been asked to cover an upcoming Sunday for the family.  It is nice to be trusted.

I will go to the city, meet with the family, meet with the family they do the nanny share with, go over the details, and ask for what I need–which is going to include transportation costs.  If I am going to BART into the city I am going to get reimbursed for that.

Well, the jet lag seems to be on the waning side of things, and I have gotten in my 1,000 words.  Time to wind it down and take it easy for the rest of the day.

Getting settled slowly.

In Oakland.

The No Blog

May 7, 2013

Blog.

“Why don’t you just post a notice letting people know you have taken the day off to recover from jet lag?” John Ater asked me yesterday via Skype.

Well, that would be a great idea, but I was too busy flogging myself for not being over the jet lag yet and I had to post my blog, that’s what I do.

Then the internet, which is wonky as I type, really wonky, horribly wonky, I want to yell at the people I’m house sitting for, it is so bad, kept going down.  Technically it’s down now, I have no idea whether or not this will even post up, but I am going to give it a try.

Besides, I did not post yesterday and despite letting myself off the hook, it feels odd to have not posted.  I figured I would do a short post now and a longer post later.  If I can get the timing down and post up in between the short periods of time that the server is actually up and running.

I was writing this morning and realized, you know, Martines, you have only been back six days and you have moved into a new place, slept in three different beds at three different locations, baby sat the Junebug, interviewed for a new nanny gig, started that said gig a day early, seen some friends, put together your bike, did a test run from Graceland to the nanny gig, gone grocery shopping at Berkeley Bowl, cooked a huge pot of vegan chili and have been house sitting in a house that is completely unfamiliar to me in a new town I don’t know yet how to navigate around.

Cut yourself a little slack.

So you did not get the blog up last night.

I got hit, once again with the jet lag around 5pm yesterday.

It seems to come right about that time each day.

I get a bad case of the yawns and just want to sink down where ever I am at and sleep, sleep, sleep.  My brain gets frowzy and I cannot seem to make even the simplest decisions.

I am completely powerless over this, I tell you, or I would have fixed it by now.

“You probably have been going full steam ahead since you landed, haven’t you?” John asked me point-blank.

Uh, um, yeah, so?

“Slow down, take it easy, let yourself adjust,” he said.

Bah.

I don’t like hearing that, but I realized he was right, I really do need to take it easy.

Thus, no blog last night.

Not, to tell you the truth, that there was a lot to talk about.

The vegan chili turned out damn tasty and it was great to get in some hours with the new charge, discover a new playground, and take a walk around the neighborhood.

The dog likes to snuggle in bed and Mister Pants, the cat, is über friendly.

Other than that, it’s sunny and I am adjusting.

Letting myself adjust.

Oh, and loving, oh yes, indeed, the toiletries I picked up at Berkeley Bowl.  Every day I brush my teeth and wash my face I am absurdly grateful for the toothpaste and coconut lotion.  And I washed my hair yesterday and it was so happy, coconut conditioner to the rescue.

Happy, happy, happy hair.

I do have a full week ahead as well.

I will admit that.

I cancelled on a friend yesterday and felt pretty bad about it, but I could not imagine biking to BART and getting myself into the city, it felt too overwhelming.

I am going to make it in this weekend though.

Friday I meet with the other families to talk nanny and then see a friend for coffee in the early afternoon, and meet up with my pal Calvin after that.

Saturday I will come into the city and see a ladybug and get myself some Four Barrel coffee action.  I have also RSVP’d to a friends AidsLifeCycle fundraising event.  Depending on how I feel I may or may not make it.  I have to watch the hours away from the dog too, she’s a good little egg, but needs outside time more frequently than I was first led to believe.

I am going to do my best to ease back in.

I am not the best at taking things slow or gentle, but I am getting there.

One jet lagged day at a time.

Smack Down

May 4, 2013

Break down.

Fall down and cry.

I really thought I had the jet lag thing completely beat.

I was wrong.

Oh.

Was I ever.

Bethie can attest to that as she met me on the sidewalk in front of her place on 24th Street here in San Francisco.

Yes, city by the bay, I am here, although on the BART ride over I really wanted to get off at 19th St. Oakland and head back around.

The jet lag caught up to me, beat me up, beat me down, and had me cornered.

I bit off a little more than I could proverbially chew and by the time I was meeting with Beth I was knackered.

I was in tears.

I could not be touched or hugged.

And apparently I was going to continue to get talked at by greasy men on the street about my tattoos.

Thanks guys, I feel right at home now.

I got up again, early, earlier than the alarm, and had a nice breakfast, chatting with my room-mate who stayed in and worked from home, drinking hot coffee, getting my day set out.

I was off to conquer the world.

I was going to ride my bike the seven miles to the gig I was checking in for and a little voice said, maybe not, maybe, this time take BART.  Maybe you have enough on that old BART ticket to carry you into the city tonight, just use it.

I agreed, despite having the map laid out in my phone and ready to be utilized.

Thank fucking God.

I probably would have wound up dead on the side of the road had I pushed myself that hard.

I did ride my bike to BART and to the gig and I met with the family and officially was introduced to their daughter.

I can just say that there is nothing cuter than a 20 month old blond pixie dusted fairy waif of a child giving me a “dap” fist bump.

Oh my God.

I just about fell out.

She is beyond smashing, very precocious, super verbal and just an all around well-adjusted sweet little girl.

After some initial shyness we had a great time hanging out, chatting, showing me stuffed elephants, playing hide and seek, feeding me “pie” and “sushi” and “cheese and crackers” all little fake plastic toy foods that you would see in a sushi restaurant window store front in Japan Town.

“Pie!” She said emphatically and pushed it at my mouth and smothered herself in giggles.

I was in love.

The house is great, cozy, warm, full of art and the parents have the same kind of child rearing ideation that I do.

And I sort of rather like them a bit too.

The mom told me the most flattering story, “You should have seen the text he sent me, [dad] “CARMEN” is coming back!”

News travelled quickly amongst the co-workers at the office and I am grateful it did.

I start on Tuesday.

I am also house sitting for the neighbors.

Which, truth be told, I am a little freaked out about.

The original ask was for a house sitter to help with a cat.

They then mentioned, after I agreed to house sit, that there was also a little dog and that they could only do $200.

I said yes and I will honor the commitment, but I got overwhelmed by the amount of things they wanted.

I am going to do a tired rant for a moment.

LADY FOR 200 DOLLARS YOU WANT ME TO WALK YOUR DOG TWICE A DAY FOR 12 DAYS, WATER YOUR GARDEN, ADMINISTER MEDICATIONS, AND OH, YEAH, THE DOG HAS TO BE TAKEN OUT EVERY 4 HOURS OR SHE PEES THE FLOOR?

Oh, but it’s lovely that you get to have the whole house to yourself. 

She said with a tight smile, that dared me to say otherwise.

Not so much.

It’s an inconvenience.

I have a home.

I said yes to doing the gig because I thought, yes, I need the money, yes, just say yes, it will be of service, and I am going to do it and I have the keys and I won’t back out now, they’re about to leave for Turkey.

But no, you’re right, I’m not going to mow the lawn.

“I’ll ask >>>>>>> to mow the lawn,” she said.

“Yes, that’s a great idea, you’re not paying me enough to mow your lawn,” I said as evenly as I could, then I asked to use the bathroom, then I prayed and said, ok, God, there’s a good reason I’m here and I know I will be ok and that I am being paid, and the dog is adorable and the cat, I mean, please, his name is Mister Pants, so that’s a good thing, so help me let go of my ideas about what I can and can’t do.”

Amen.

Or something like that.

It was sort of the last straw.

My energy reserves were plundered, it was time for coffee, and I still had to take BART to San Francisco.

Where I haven’t been in six months and how does may hair look and my god I am tired and what the fuck was I thinking saying I could do this?

And voila!

A completely powerless wreck landed on my friend’s doorstep.

She was a peach, she is a peach, I am writing my blog while in bed with her getting ready to sleep on the other pillow, and she sat me down, got me a bottle of water and talked me through it.

Then the hugs.

I almost had a panic attack in the hallway.

I felt it oncoming and just breathed and said, no, not yet, I can’t do a hug yet, no touching.

Then it passed.

And I was able, after hydration, remember kids, it’s important to stay hydrated when it’s warm out, to pull my head out of my ass, thank Beth and let her know how happy I am to be here, hugs were exchanged, hair was let down, make up touched up and off to Pauline’s to meet friends for a birthday celebration.

Overwhelmed?

Not so much any more.

Tired.

Yes.

But one thousand words in, I can say I made it, did not hurt myself and did not hand back the keys to the house sitting gig and say something I would need to make amends for in the future.

Life is sweet.

My friends are sweeter.


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