So Glad

For my car.

The fog.

My God.

I don’t know that I have seen it this thick ever.

I am so glad that I rode my scooter home today in between school and my evening commitment.

My scooter was hit and run and I had ridden it home yesterday from class without too much worry, the guys at the shop pretty much said it was just some body work damage that was slight and nothing that was mechanical so go ahead and ride and bring it back in the morning.

Which I did.

And it was foggy this morning, but nothing like tonight.

I had the sense that it was going to be bad and I decided that I didn’t want to be out and get caught in it, visibility is just awful, the fog is so thick it condenses on my helmet and it might as well be rain, the roads getting slippy and if I’m riding close to the park, the fog condenses in the trees and drops down in big fat heavy wet drops on you.

No thanks.

My fear was that if I came home I might not leave, but after getting my scooter from the shop I just knew it was the best idea.

Besides, I was, I am all caught up on my homework and had nothing to do.

I suppose I could have found something to do to kill time, but I really just wanted to get my scooter home and get it covered up and put it away far a while.

I love my little car, I have become spoiled.

But the truth is.

I’m also safer in my car and I know it.

I am more visible and I drive safer and I feel so much more comfortable being warm and dry and having music.

I love having music in the car.

The fog was so dense coming home I had my windshield wipers on.

All the way home, it would have been a nightmare on my scooter.

I’m happy that I was safe and let myself have a home cooked meal as well and make a phone call with my best friend and get caught up on the day.

Plus.

I got my new glasses!

I like them.

They are different and I had a few moments of fear that I wasn’t going to like them as much as I did when I tried them originally, I also couldn’t remember what they looked like.

And they are a different look, but I think they flatter my face well and I am already used to the prescription, except when I look up quickly.

Yes.

They are progressives, the optometrists nice way of saying bifocals, so they are for both near and far and when I originally got my first pair of progressives, my just recently retired frames, it took me days to get used to the prescription and I was off-balance in very alarming ways.

I actually fell into a door at work and I walked around like I was drunk for a couple of days.

My entire equilibrium was off.

But once I got used to them, it went away and hasn’t really ever come back.

I had a touch of it for the first half hour I wore the glasses and now, well, now it’s gone and I really am happy I updated my prescription.

It’s not that much different from my previous one, but it is a little stronger and I have noticed the difference.

I like clarity.

I like seeing things well.

It’s nice to have them and I am sure I will get used to the frames as well and how they look on my face.

I’m already wondering about how to wear my hair tomorrow.

And.

Fuck.

Also being annoyed that I am losing an hour of sleep for Daylight Savings time.

I was already planning on getting up early so I could get in a shower before class and I forgot I have to turn my clock ahead.

Ugh.

I guess I’m getting up really early.

Which is fine.

I’ll show up to class and be on time, like I always am.

I do like being in school, even when it annoys the piss out of me, like it did yesterday, I do like showing up and seeing the people in my cohort and I also like running into people who haven’t seen me for years who are all excited about my upcoming graduation.

That happened tonight when I went out to do the deal.

I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in four years, possible a little more.

And it was so good.

It was good to talk about life, she’s gotten married, I have gotten 3/4s of the way through grad school, and get caught up.

“You’re going to be an amazing therapist!” She said tonight.

That feels really nice to hear.

It’s been such work.

And I’m grateful for the work, it means I’m alive and I get to keep learning and that life is not, no it is not, at all boring.

I can say that without a shadow of a doubt.

My life is not fucking boring.

It is full of love, passion, adventure, emotion.

Oh.

All the emotion.

I have feelings.

And they tell me that I am very much alive.

Grateful for those, feelings, even when they are hard to hold or I want them to be different from what is coming up.

I find that today, in this moment, after much work, and I know it is not done or even near to completion, that I have a great container to hold those feelings.

A vast, enormous heart that is ever expansive.

To feel is to know that I am alive.

Oh.

Man.

I am so alive.

So in love with life.

So.

In.

Love.

With.

Well.

You.

Darling.

Of course.

You.

Tired

And wide awake all at the same time.

There was a moment today when I just thought to myself, I am not going to make it through the day.

Not enough sleep.

Too many hours at work.

Client that needs to be seen after work.

Party for a friends studio opening.

And I was asked to come in earlier tomorrow to work.

I thought I was just going to pass out.

The little lady was close to taking a nap and I hazarded a distinct longing to put her down for a nap and cuddle with her and sneak in a nap myself.

But.

No such luck.

I also didn’t want to super caffeinate.

Although I came daringly close I did not succumb to the temptation and powered through the day.

My thoughts kept me company and I kept myself moving around the house a lot and kept telling myself that it was almost Friday.

It still was a long day.

But I made it through work and I got to my internship and I had a really good second session with a new client.

Two clients this week and I’ll be adding another client next week.

Slowly it builds.

I felt really good doing the session and decided that I could rally afterward and go sneak over to my friend’s open house studio opening.

I really wanted to have a grown up moment that was a social, even if it was just for a little snick of time.

I hadn’t any dinner so I knew that it would be short-lived and watching the fog roll in over Twin Peaks I was pretty assured that it would be a quick visit.

But it was good and I got to see an amazing work space and reconnect with Burning Man friends and talk a little about the event and when folks are going.

I haven’t found a ride yet and there was a moment when I thought, fuck it, wouldn’t it be nice to not stress and give up the ticket and spend the time here in the city with people I love and then I was like.

Um, no.

Hahahaha.

Sure, there are people who I want to see here, but the fact is if I don’t go to Burning Man I’d just be working anyhow, it’s not like vacation, although it completely is, but it’s outside of my time frame of paid vacation and I wouldn’t just take the week off without going.

Plus.

It’s the ten-year anniversary of my best friend’s death and he’s the reason why I went in the first place.

My heart, tender, feeling that loss, but not so achy as it’s been in the past, just tender, just there and I know there will be feelings that come up.

And there will be a conversation with him, somewhere in deep playa, out past the Temple where I am sure between the Temple and the mountain range my friend still resides, just a little part of him, I didn’t take all his ashes, but enough, enough to know he’s there and there are many places that I connect with the memory of him and also with the aliveness of him, the way I live my life a reflection of the gusto he went after life with.

I am sure he would be proud of me.

OH.

Hello.

There are the tears.

I knew you were around.

I watched the fog roll in over the top of Twin Peaks from the deck of my friends studio in the Mission and it was the same height and approximate distance from the hospital ICU, General, where my friend spent a week in a coma before the family pulled the plug and harvested his organs for donation.

There is always one strong memory for me, pressing my face against that window, my fevered brow, the hotness of my heart, the tears always on and off, more so off when I was at the hospital–it was only in the privacy of my own room in the dark as I prayed to God on my knees to get me through the experience that I would allow myself to cry–the coolness of the window and the dark, heaviness of the fog rolling in over Twin Peaks.

A blanket of sorrow and felted love thrown over the entirety of the city as though we all grieved the loss of my friend.

So.

Yeah.

I might be a little tired, but I’m not bailing on Burning Man.

Nope.

Sure.

I haven’t gotten a ride together yet, but that will happen and hopefully it won’t be as crazy as the ride up was last time.

I have gotten a couple of nibbles from my post on the ride share board, but nothing solid, it always comes together, I’m not too worried.

It’s more a matter, at this point, of getting a playa bike and finding time in between the comings and goings of my life to do some preparation.

I have people I am responsible to, my own recovery to attend to, and God damn it would be nice to get in a yoga class this weekend, but yeah,  a new playa bike and some sourcing of other items that are always nice to have and I’ll make some time, find some time, create some time, and do a little shopping when I can.

Side bar.

The mom just sent me a message about my work performance and told me that I really was “Mary Poppins sister!”

I’ll take it.

Anyway, this Mary Fucking Poppins, will be riding again under her parasol out on playa again this year and enjoying the hell out of not being a therapist in training, a student, or a nanny.

Just a girl.

Out on her bike.

Riding towards the painted calico mountains with secrets and love to share with an old friend.

“I finally was the ball, Shadrach, you’d be so fucking proud of me.”

I Got You

Really.

Nicer words couldn’t be said.

I got some sweet messages from playa friends today regarding my cry for help and a friend will be loaning me his tent come Saturday.

This makes better sense than the following: getting a tent from friend who told me he could help me last night, why?

Said person has never been to Burning Man and does not know the amount of havoc dust can wreak on something.  As much as I appreciated the offer, even while it was being made I was thinking, I may well go with something else I don’t want to destroy my friends stuff.

That being said.

The offer made to me today to help is from a long time burner, who has more than one tent and already told me what he’s got is hella dusty.

Great.

So I’ll get a little taste of playa before I even get to playa.

Haha.

But it really was such a sweet message to get and to know that I have friends who are willing and happy to help out.

And you know, I would do the same.

I’m helping out where I can.

Today I was at BMHQ (Burning Man Head Quarters) and I helped the Media team for a few hours and got caught up with friends and had one of the team members run down my shifts for on playa.

Basically exactly what I did before when I was a fluffer, and since I’m an “early riser” or how did she say it, “a morning person” bwahahahaha, that anyone thinks I’m a morning person is amazing I am so not a morning person.

However.

I get up and I get shit done and I don’t stay up all night long with extracurriculars anymore and I am much more of a morning person than I used to be, like I get up before noon.

Often times, many hours before noon.

And yes.

I do get my shit done.

I have no problems taking the early shifts at Mecca for fluffing.

Happy as fuck to help out.

Happy to see friends today and catch up and happy to have my tent idiocy addressed.

“Oh!  I know exactly what you ordered,” a friend said, “you got the white one, not the green one!”

“Yes!” I replied.

“Which makes total sense, because it’s white and will deflect sunlight, but the green one is the one with the attached floor,” she finished.

Yup.

Exactly.

Ugh.

But.

Oh hey there, my friend suggested that despite having recycled the box and the receipt, that I could still return it to Amazon.

I just e-mailed Amazon, wrote a little comment about why I don’t want the tent and asked to return it, they’re going to review my request and I’ll see shortly if I can send it back.

Fingers crossed.

I also, in the way of being open to all things that might cost me less money to get to Burning Man, updated my ride request on the ride share board.

That being said.

I am still planning on the car rental.

I don’t want to rent a car, I’d so much rather get a ride or you know, magically get a car from a friend who has a spare.

Like anyone in San Francisco has a spare car I can take to Burning Man.

Bwahahahaaha.

Um.

Yeah.

I’m going to continue to look, but I know that getting out is the big deal, that getting back on time for school is what’s important.

Holy shit.

School!

Like in three days.

Fuck me.

I’m getting excited, albeit a bit nervous.

I haven’t received my school book that I need for one of the classes yet, but if I don’t get it before the retreat starts I’m sure I can borrow from a friend while there.

I much rather have my own copy, that’s for damn sure, so fingers crossed it will get delivered by Saturday.

I leave Sunday, the retreat starts at 4p.m.

Classes start the next day.

The calendar looks a little wonky, but I have faith it will all be exactly how it is supposed to be.

In the mean time.

I just keep doing the next action in front of me.

Get ready for work tomorrow.

There’s a lot to do.

Despite the family being out of town it will be a busy day.

The mom has requested that I make up a bunch of food for the family to have while I am away at the retreat.

So tomorrow morning I’ll go into work and receive a very large InstaCart delivery from Whole Foods and make the following:

Broccoli Soup.

Beef Stew.

Beef Stroganoff.

And.

Turkey and black bean chili.

It’s going to be a busy day of cooking for me.

I’m going in at 10 a.m. and hopefully the delivery will get there pronto so I can start the process.

I’m planning on meeting a lady for coffee and reading at 6:30p.m.

I don’t think it will take a full eight hour day to do the cooking.

But I’m going to play it safe.

Then I will do the deal at my spot at 8p.m. and after that Saturday will be one more day of yoga, meeting my person, getting the tent gear from my friend who’s coming into the city from Santa Cruz, and getting reading for my retreat, plus a speaking engagement on Saturday night and somewhere in there, yes ma’am and sir, I’m going to try and sneak in a mani/pedi.

I’m almost looking forward to school just to be slowed down in one spot for a week.

Plus.

Well.

Frankly.

I would love a break from the fog.

I haven’t seen the sun in days, it’s constantly bundle up time, cold, foggy, dreary, wet, damp, did I mention cold?

I wouldn’t mind some heat for a few days.

And I’m sure to get that in Petaluma.

Plus.

I will get to spend time with my friends from school.

It’s a busy, busy, busy month.

But a lovely one for all that.

Thanks again to my friends who reached out to help with Burning Man.

YOU’RE THE BEST!

Seriously.

It’s An Inside Job

In more ways than one.

Ah.

Life, just keeps showing up and saying hey, here’s something else to experience.

I didn’t get outside today at work and I was wondering why I felt wonky by mid-shift, oh yeah, I haven’t left the house.

Once.

It’s a really challenging thing for me to not get outside during my work day.

Especially when it’s beautiful out and the skies are blue and the sun is shining.

I actually felt a little physical pang as I realized that I was’t going to be able to leave the house today, it was so pretty out.

Not so much out here in the wilderness of fog and chilly air.

It was foggy when I left for work.

It was foggy and dreary and cold coming home.

At least there was yoga before work and I knew, I had a feeling, that I might be getting stuck inside and to let it happen and roll with it.

I’m going to have some spare time from work next week and if this is how it’s playing out this week, fine.

Summers are strange.

Not just weather wise.

I love it when folks on social media are all like, global warning, gah!

Yes.

There is undoubtedly global warming, I’m no rocket scientist, but I can see that weather has changed a lot even since I was a kid, but hey, folks, this is San Francisco, it’s July, it’s foggy.

Stop acting all shocked and layer up.

Nothing says “local” like layers.

Today I had on a tank top, a blouse, a cardigan, and a hoodie.

Most of the day I was in the cardigan, but the hoodie came in handy and I could have worn something even heavier for the ride home as it was so cold, damp, foggy, and dreary.

I did have a motorcycle jacket on over all of that.

Thank God.

I love this jacket.

It’s padded, like armor padded, in the back, shoulders, and elbows, it’s a little stiff, but I don’t need it to be flexible.

It’s also a serious wind breaker and water proof.

I rarely ride without it on and I have it with me at all times on the scooter.

Because even if it is hot enough during the day to ride without it, which it rarely is, it will get cold at night and I will want it for the long ride home.

Speaking of the long road home.

A dear friend offered me her place over the weekend in the Mission.

I’m contemplating it, if only to get out of the fog and have some sunshine on me all weekend, that and they have a big clawfoot bathtub.

However.

I have a lot going on this weekend, doing the deal with a couple of ladies, going to do the deal with my person, going to a 40th birthday party, in 50s housewife drag, taking the American Red Cross class to get re-certified in child/infant CPR and first aid, going to Oakland for a housewarming party…

If  I didn’t have life responsibilities right now it would probably happen.

But.

I think I’m probably going to stay out here in the fog belt.

Yoga.

It’s just down the block and having all my things in one spot is a nice thing.

Plus.

Well.

I am a creature of habit and of comfort.

I have all my creature comforts right here.

Though it is tempting.

It would be a little like being off the grid.

Well.

Not really.

But it would be different and sometimes a change of scenery is good for me.

Hmmm.

I’ll be sleeping on this, my friend said I didn’t need to get back to her right away, so I can ponder a bit longer.

I’m sure I’ll have more time to think about things tomorrow.

It’s most likely going to be a repeat of today and so forth through the week.

On one hand it is a challenge.

On the other hand.

I do get to go to yoga before work.

The boys are in summer camp this week and I am not at work until 1 p.m.

So I have been getting up and going to yoga before work.

Which is the nice part.

If I was working the 10a.m.-6p.m. shift that is the “normal” for the summer, I’d be unable to get to the morning yoga class before work.

Of course, I just reflected, after this week, nothing will be normal for the next month.

The family being out of town next week.

Then I will have my retreat for school.

Then the family will be in Sonoma, at Glen Ellen for two weeks and I’ll be working overnights there until I go to Burning Man.

Then school that next weekend.

Then the boys are in school and my schedule will be 1-8p.m. again.

I’m just going to easy does it through this week.

Get out and see my people after work and do yoga before work and it will all fall into place without me fretting.

And hopefully there will be outside time for me, even if it’s just a run to Lucca’s to pick up cold cuts or to the cleaners to drop off mending.

My life is pretty full and wonderful.

All the things they be happening.

And!

I got my tent in the post today.

It was leaned up against my door when I got home.

I’m thinking I’ll set it up in the back yard sometime next week when I’m not working.

I can do a dry run and see how it works and figure out how many rebar stakes I will need to get from the hardware store.

It’s going to be fun coming home from work every night to the packages of camping gear and Burning Man supplies.

Which reminds me.

Time to check in on that possible ride.

The ride share board via Burning Man hasn’t yielded results.

Yet.

I have faith.

I have hope.

I know it will happen.

It always does.

It really.

Really.

Does.

Just one little action at a time.

They will add up.

And the results?

Well.

They’re not mine.

Never have been.

Never will.

And always.

I mean.

Always.

Better than anything I could have planned for myself.

Seriously.

 

I Missed You!

He leaped into my lap and curled up into a little ball, stuffed cat in the center of it all, his small, soft, warm limbs entangled with me.

“I missed you too, bug,” I said and wrapped my arms around him.

It’s nice to be missed.

Even the dog seemed extra special friendly when I came to work today.

It’s always nice to get a warm greeting from an animal.

From a child.

From my employers.

I am grateful for my job.

Very much so and it was nice to be back in the mix.

It was cold and foggy most of the day, even in the Mission, but we did manage to get out for a little while and I felt happy to be home in San Francisco doing what I do.

Even with Sutro Tower obscured by the fog, I knew it was there and my city had me.

“What does ‘obscured’ mean?” Asked the six year old when I pointed out that Sutro Tower had disappeared from the city scape.

Then I told him that the name of the fog was called Karl.

This led to much yelling at Karl to go away.

I had to laugh.

He wasn’t the first person I heard today yell about the fog.

The thing is, I’m used to it, sweatshirts and layers and turning on the heat in July rather than the opposite.

Although it can damn straight get cold here during the winter too, wet, splashy, soak the bones cold.

I am not thinking much about the cold.

I’m thinking about the messages I received earlier from a Tinder date I went on months ago.

He and I hit it off, really, really, really well.

Ahem.

However.

We have not managed to get back together and it’s been a funny game of text tag.

“Nope, in Ohio,” from him.

“Nope, I’m in New Orleans, or New York, or working,” from me.

“I’m in Europe,” from him.

It’s kind of silly.

However.

It is awful flattering to have someone remember you with much fondness and ask after you and there’s nothing like a handsome man telling me that I am beautiful.

Thanks man.

Even should we not manage to hang out again, I always appreciate a sincere compliment.

I appreciate dating.

I’m getting a mite better at it.

I think I’m also taking it much less seriously.

I remember, more and more often, to have fun.

I realized the other day as I was happily surprised to see a friend of mine post her engagement ring picture, that there was no compare and despair, rather just a very honest assessment of her journey to this relationship.

She’s dated.

I have not dated so much.

It takes practice and finding out what works and what doesn’t.

It takes asking for what you want.

Sometimes I can do that.

Most often I am not so successful, but I am seeing areas where I can improve.

And.

Also, my confidence is higher.

In myself, in my choices, in my life.

I just see a lot of work slowly paying dividends.

I was thinking, in particular, about a couple that I witnessed having a fight in a restaurant at the table next to me on Friday night in New Orleans.

The man wanted to be right versus happy.

And the woman, who had the better logic of the argument, couldn’t get him to drop the conversation from the table, the loud, angry, I’m rightness of his voice banging up against her protests.

She was also obnoxious, I’m not going to lie, both parties at the table were idiotic at one point or other in the discussion, but the man was a jackass and loud.

And she cried.

It was sad.

At one point the busser cleared a dish and managed to intervene a little.

A server asked them to bring it down a little.

And the woman fled the table, wet faced and mottled red with shame and anger.

I sat at my table happily people watching, enjoying the fuck out of my awesome company, me, being nice to the server, eating an amazing crab and avocado salad and I almost, but did not, although it was tempting, turned to ask the man a question.

“Do you want to be right, or be happy?”

But.

I already knew the answer.

He wanted to be right.

The break up wasn’t imminent, both the man and the woman seemed oddly resigned that they were going to be together, yet, I felt it, the leaving of one person or the other, the despair and the wash of ugliness that a person can have even with a person they care about.

It did not seem a relationship, or marriage, or love, more one of convenience and desperation, there wasn’t going to be anyone better and I better get it while I can.

I wanted to stand up.

Say, “be brave! Change!  Eat some humble pie and let the other person be happy.”

Not that it would have made any difference.

I just felt compelled.

And.

I realized, this is not my experience to have and I am grateful for it.

I had someone reach out and ask me some questions regarding my paramours and my dating activity and I was more than happy to share.

I divulged a bit and it was fun to talk about it.

And.

I realize how many people are jealous of my lifestyle.

I am free to go and do what I please.

I have no one to be accountable to.

Just me, myself and I.

I am happy.

“My spiritual principle today is happy,” I expressed to my person on the phone when I called and checked in with her.

Why shouldn’t I be happy?

I got laid last night.

I had a lovely company and was a spoiled princess.

I have a home in San Francisco.

I have a healthy, able body.

I have recovery.

I have myself and my love for my challenges and all the twists and turns on my journey.

I am a part of a community.

And.

I got the most beautiful gift in the mail today.

My grandmother crocheted me an afghan.

It was delivered when I was away, so I took the USPS slip to the post office before work today and picked it up.

It is gorgeous.

Stunning really.

And it fits so well into my little studio’s color schematic, it’s just perfect.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

There is beauty everywhere.

And I get to be a part of it.

Divinity.

Grace.

Joy.

Happy.

All of it.

All the things.

All of them.

Sorted, Satiated, Seduced

By my sweet foggy city.

Home.

It is such a nice place to be.

I am so grateful I put it all back in place to when I got home last night.

I unpacked and put away all my little treasures from the trip.

Some flower hair clips.

Two vintage cardigans.

A couple pairs of cheap earrings.

Some stickers.

Two pounds of locally roasted coffee, one from Mojo and other from Hey Cafe and Coffee.

Two pairs of new sandals.

And the little bit of swag from the conference.

I was a little wound up from getting home.

I got the butterflies and the happy sparklers of joy in my belly as the plane flew in over SFO International Airport.

It is this way every time I fly into the airport.

This feeling of happiness and glee.

This recurring knowing of being home, even before I called San Francisco home, it was home.

I still remember, sixteen years later, how it felt the first time I flew in over the city and how giddy I was with it.

Anticipatory joy and love and awe.

Awe that I was coming and getting to see the friend, a man I was in love with, romantically crushed out on, a man that though I did eventually get to have for one one night, was not the man for me.

But.

I will always be grateful for that unrequited love song that yearned in my heart for it led me to this city, this amazing space and land and confluence of fog and love and flowers in my hair and self-discovery.

And.

Of course.

No matter what.

No matter where.

It will always be home because it is where I got sober.

No other place can lay claim to that piece of my history.

So on top of the general body and soul and heart knowing, there is this deep pocket of grace that I am here.

I leave and return.

I tried to move to Paris.

That didn’t work.

I could see living in New York, it has it’s energy and allure and spark.

But.

Yet.

I am here.

And I continue to return and be soaked with gratitude every time.

I could live in New Orleans.

Oh, the hot humid sexy of it.

The big lushness of it, the flowers and trees, the moss in the trees, the drawl of the voices, the funky, bluesy, jazzy’ness of it, the art and the creative.

And also the underground dark scary spooky.

I suppose everywhere has pockets of wildness and dark.

But I could sense it closer to the surface there than a lot of places, maybe any other place I have been.

Death and sex and hot damp over abundant wildness.

It is there just skimming along below the pulse of warm air on your skin.

I can’t quite describe it, it is intense and dark and surreal and powerful and made my skin feel electric at times, the small hairs on the back of my neck rising in silent acknowledgement of the old the, wild, the barbaric yawp.

I feel it at times, in a different kind of way, but a dark wild way, in pockets of Golden Gate park when I would ride my bike through it at night.

Not always, but often, and though a different kind of energy then what I felt in New Orleans which was at once languid and violent, it too has a dark windy animal howl.

I am compelled by both those energies, softly drawn and also quite aware and wary that it is not my space to wander through.

I get to give it a wide berth.

The other thing about New Orleans was the architecture that was so heavily French influenced.

I do have a thing for all thing Francophile.

It is a definite and well defined influence that I really felt drawn too.

Plus, the colors.

Oh, so bright and many.

And that too, is something I find wonderful and compelling about San Francisco–the Victorians and the architecture here, gorgeous and bright and colorful as well.

I also recognized a kind of art and brightness that I normally associate with San Francisco and the Burning Man culture here.

In fact, at one point when I was in a little store on Magazine Street, I recall thinking to myself that I didn’t know New Orleans was such a Burner’s city.

Then I realized that it was Burning Man influenced, though, there may be some of that too–I know Burner’s Without Borders did a lot of work in Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina–it was Mardi Gras.

The store was full of costumes and feather boas and masks and at first I thought it was a store like you might find in the Haight that specializes in festival gear and clothing.

Nope.

Mardi Gras.

Either way, it’s dress up.

For me, though, although I flew my personal little self-expression flag high, I was not as comfortable with it in New Orleans as I am in San Francisco.

I felt at times, if I were to live there, I would tone it down a bit.

Then.

I realized.

Nope.

I am not toning it down for anyone.

I am wild and free and wonderful and live a happy, joyous, compelling life.

And so far.

That life has been focused and centered around living in San Francisco.

Even when the fog, Karl, sweetheart I did miss you, is so thick you can’t see the fireworks display in the sky on the fourth of July.

Even when I needed to unearth the heavy sweatshirt today.

Even with the tech kids and the Millennials and the people getting pushed out and the high cost of living.

Even with the extra traffic and the gentrification.

I still love it so.

I still get feathering tickles in my body of joy co-mingled with electric blue sparkles of anticipation and awe, the wonder of it all.

I get to live in San Francisco.

I.

So.

Am.

The luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

Roll With It

I mean.

It was a weird day.

Not a bad day.

No.

Not at all.

But hella weird.

Wacky.

Occasionally wonderful.

A bit on the oddball side.

I got things that I was afraid I wasn’t going to get.

I got asked out.

I was called beautiful and spiritual.

Which, oh, not a Tinder date, fyi, who does that anyway on Tinder?

I am swiping yes because I find you spiritually compelling!

I was quite flattered by the ask and now we have a coffee date for this Saturday.

I actually remember meeting this person years ago and thinking, hmm, I think he finds me attractive and wondering if he was going to ask me out then.

It’s been awhile since I have seen him, but apparently he did not forget and reached out today and that, well, that was nice.

I also got my replacement permit!

I actually did not believe I was going to get it.

I went into the SFMTA pretty much, like, ok, just be prepared, it probably ain’t going to fly, but I’m going to try anyway.

And.

It was amazing.

It was a completely different experience.

There was no line to get into the line.

The area was 3/4s less full then when I went last week.

The woman who helped me was sweet and friendly and we chatted and the next thing you know, after she casually flipped through all the paper work, hands me the new permit.

Here you go.

And I’m on my way.

TWENTY MINTUES LATER!

I got to work early.

Parked and cleaned off my fender.

I peeled the sticker and made sure it was stuck.

In fact, a little later in the day when I was making one of my many runs around the neighborhood, this time just to the corner market, I went back to my scooter with clear packing tape and taped the fucking permit down to the bumper.

No more falling off.

Because I don’t want to do that show at the SFMTA ever, ever, ever again.

The boys were with the mom a lot today and so I spent the majority of my time taking care of food prep and cooking–butter lettuce wraps with ginger chicken and hoisin sauce, green onions, celery, water chestnuts and brown rice.  Plus, tomorrow there’s an errand we need to run in the morning, so I packed up a big picnic lunch to take to the beach for the boys and the mom.

I’m actually not sure what I will do for myself tomorrow since my little sea food stew makes better being heated up.

I’ll figure it out, I don’t feel like doing it right now.

I feel like just letting the day lose itself off my skin.

I really did roll with things well today.

Even when I got the un-expected amends.

Please people, just a reminder, more to myself than anyone else, it’s not really an amends if you’re doing it to make yourself feel better.

I got a loopy apology from someone this evening that was so distinctly uncomfortable to hear that I am surprised, in hindsight, to see how calm I was and that I was able to say thank you and I’m glad you feel better.

Because the apology, for behavior in the past that was not much different than the behavior manifested every other time I have engaged with the person, was more for them to feel better than me and I realized.

This person is desperate to feel better and who am I to get in the way of that.

Hasn’t he had enough sorrow in his life already?

I can accept.

I didn’t need the apology and for a minute I was rather hot with a touch of annoyance, but it faded off quickly as I scootered off into the fog.

Karl the fog.

My how you creep.

My how much like having an expensive dermabrasion whilst riding my scooter home.

I chuckled, really it’s like getting free aqua therapy for my pores as my face was blasted with fog, I should get a face cover, I don’t think the fog is going to let up any time soon.

Sorry.

I digress.

Anyway.

By the time I was on the Pan Handle I had let it go and forgot and I don’t need to be right, I don’t have to tell anyone how to do it right or better.

I just get to improve myself.

I can feel the experience and know for my future actions what felt good and what felt bad and go from there.

Act according to how I want to be treated.

The man was miserable, and had apparently been carrying this thing for years, and I felt compassion for him and also a modicum of empathy with his experience, which is far different from sympathy and perhaps, at least in my opinion, more human.

So.

I got to be a human.

I got to take a couple phone call check ins as well when I got home and I don’t know where the words came from, I just shared my experience, my strength, my faith.

Hope sometimes is not the word that best expresses it for me.

Faith is the wheelbarrow that carries hope across the high wire of my desires.

I often don’t get what I want.

This is not a bad thing.

If I got what I wanted I wouldn’t be of service the way that I have been culled for.

I am lucky.

I could be one of those people that I see on the streets wrapped up in old sleeping bags, there but for the grace of God, go I.

I could be the girl smoking crack on Capp Street.

I could be the woman bent over searching, searching, searching for that crumb on the street.

I could so easily have fallen through the cracks.

And the fact that I still get to be here.

To be apologized to awkwardly.

To be given a permit to park where I work.

To be able to accept the compliment of being beautiful in someone’s eyes.

To be considered spiritual.

To get to be this human.

This woman.

This child of God.

I can roll with that.

My life is on and on and on.

A constant source of amazement.

Seriously.

Luckiest girl in the world.

All day long.