Posts Tagged ‘long’

It’s The Weekend

August 2, 2014

And I don’t care.

Jimmy crack corn.


It was a week.

And I am glad it’s done and now the weekend which just feels like prepping for the week to come, not really a time of respite or relaxation.

I know I have to change that, or at least that attitude.

By the end of my day I was actively limping again and had a few folks inquire if I had hurt myself.

Yes, and it’s a long, boring, stupid story that I don’t want to repeat any longer.

Can any one say pass the peas please?

Icing as I type.

I am not in self-pity mode, but I am in antsy mode.

I have gotten two invites in the last week to go dancing, I haven’t been able to get on my bicycle, and I look at my scooter with a mixture or dread, awe, nervous excitement, and complete fear.

I want to ride again so bad.

But I don’t want to fuck up the ankle.

Add to that the saying good-bye to one of my charges in two weeks, looking for work, feeling exhausted thinking about that, but I do need to start hatching a plan of action, getting ready for Burning Man–I leave two weeks from today–getting asked to speak, a lot, and just normal get about and I could care less that it’s the weekend.

I don’t have much planned.

I want to try riding my bicycle again, maybe this time I will get to the end of the block instead of the end of the driveway.

I sound bitter.

I am just tired.

This too shall pass.

I will see folks tomorrow and checking in over coffee and tea always helps me get my perspective on and it helps get me out of myself and that’s always a great thing.

I don’t have anything new on the work front, so that can be addressed too.

I shall put out the word to the folks in my world and also work on the letter of reference my mom has asked me to write, I will write-up a draft, and she will add to it.

I am a little uncomfortable with this, but I know what to say and it’s not like I am going to be asking her to lie about what I do.

I can then e-mail all the moms in my network and dads too, and friends and just put it really out to the Universe.

I don’t have to get results from it, or I don’t have to get the results I want, I just have to take the action.

Yesterday I couldn’t get much further than responding affirmatively to a family that a friend put me in touch with.

When they didn’t respond to my e-mail, my head went to the dark side, and I thought, Jesus, let’s not go down that road, there is no good in that neighborhood.

So, I figure, a day’s response is no big deal, it’s never on my time, this timing thing, or my schedule, it’s on God’s, now I just have to take another action and another and another.

There is no particular one that will yield results.

I know what I need and I know how to ask for it, that’s the start.

Speaking of which, I have to do my spending plan for the month, especially now, my goal is to be able to pay September rent in the next two weeks.

I can do it.

I want to have it paid before Burning Man.

I just wrote the check for my scooter payment for the month, then there’s the phone, and I already took care of paying my Healthy San Francisco, so rent and phone, groceries, and that’s it.

Rent, in my mind, also includes utilities, since it is a set rate.

I have thought about asking for a break on the utilities since I was gone a week in July and I will be gone for three weeks, but I have not done so yet.

It’s a thought.

It’s all working out.

I will be fine.

I know the drill.

I just want it to be with an ankle that is fully recovered.

I miss my mobility and the time wasted on MUNI.

I have gotten used to getting up at 6:30 a.m. to do my morning routine and get to work, it’s often times, the getting back home that is harder, the trains not running as frequently, but then again, at least I am close to the train and so is my job.

The only day this week that I had to do transferring from train to bus was Thursday.

That’s not too bad.

And I worked extra this week and there’s extra money on my paycheck.

There’s a lot to be grateful for, which is what I will finish my whiny blog post with, some fucking gratitude.

Grateful that I was not the mumbling man who smelt of rotting potato vodka and a dirty ashtray dipped in dog shit on the train home.

Grateful I remembered I did not need to be held hostage by the swaying beer belly and got up and moved.  So it meant standing, at least I can stand.

Grateful that I have great references and faith in myself that I can and will find a great job.

Grateful I still have work, full-time work for the next month and a half, so much can happen in six weeks, it will be a brand new world and I won’t remember any of the ambivalence of being in the middle of the hallway.

Grateful for Saint Germaine de Pres on my music cube.

So grateful that my laptop still works.

Grateful that I get to go to New York for the first time ever in my life next month.

Grateful that rent is paid, I have a comfy bed to sleep in with fresh sheets and big fluffy pillows, that I can pay to ride MUNI home and that I am not sleeping outside in the fog and cold, and boy, it’s cold out here tonight, let me tell you.

Grateful for frozen peas, they feel great.

Grateful for all my friends and fellows who consistently show up for me in friendship and love and who help me whenever I am floundering.

Grateful for service, love, faith, getting to go to Burning Man, all my friends who are going this year, being of service, being of inspiration, writing in the morning, blogging at night, hot tea, nectarines from the Farmers Market, notebooks, good pens, Stumptown Holler Mountain coffee, fog, God, living in San Francisco.




Everything is great and yay.

It’s the weekend.

Things change.

Things are going to be wonderful.

They already are.


June 24, 2014

I still can’t hardly believe any of this has happened.

But it has, and as I write I just look left to my tingly, in a good way–it means it’s healing–ankle, I know it has.

I still want to pinch myself  though.

I got the text today saying the funds had been deposited to my bank and thank you for letting me be of service and don’t rush out and do anything wild, you still got to heal kid.

I rushed out and paid rent.

Yeah, yeah, it’s not due for another eight days, but I did not want to go spending money on frivolous things, look at all the money in my account.

Money that I would basically have if I were working, and since I am not, I felt due diligence to take care of that which needs taking care of.




Healthy San Francisco.

Check, check, and check.

Then I looked at my check register and sighed.



But I am so completely taken care of.

So utterly held and carried, I become overwhelmed at the drop of a hat and want to play it forward so bad that I can get carried away in my head about what I can and cannot do.

Here’s some crazy for you.

I actually walked out of the house and mailed my Grandma a card.

I made it to the mailbox today without having to ask someone to cross the road for me.

Look ma!

No crutches.

Then I sat my ass down for a minute on a bench.

Then I decided, I am going to go to Trouble and have a coffee.

I didn’t particularly need one, I had two cups this morning when I had breakfast and did my writing–which incidentally has morphed from three pages long hand to four (despite having “nothing” to write about I am writing like gangbusters)–but the idea of sitting at a cafe and enjoying the human life around me was too good to pass up.

I found a nice little perch on the parklet that is outside the cafe and prepared myself to go inside and get my Americano on.

I heard my name hollered, and here comes a friend!

My buddy two blocks down from my house who has been in a cast from foot surgery, then a walking boot, and now a half-boot/sandal, for four and a half months!


Mind you I don’t think I can make it four weeks and he’s been doing it for four and a half months.

My friend, you have bigger balls than I.

It was perfect timing.

He went inside Trouble and ordered up some coffee and we sat in the sun and shot the shit for an hour or so.

It was such a relief to be outside of my studio.

Outside of my head.

In good company, in my neighborhood, in my city, by my ocean.

I could see the ocean from the crest of the hill, a small hill mind you, one that I look ridiculous climbing in my wobbly boot, but one I made it up nonetheless.


That’s a scary thought.

Thank God this didn’t happen to me when I lived in Nob Hill at Taylor and Washington.

That would have been such a challenge.

After a bit of chat, this and that, meditation, sitting still, the insights that come from having a stretch of quiet time, forced upon oneself, and what comes from the practice of being quiet, we parted ways with hugs and gimped off in opposite directions.

I came home did some household stuff, made sure my check book was balanced–just because the online version says I have so much money is not the same as having that money–I double checked my maths with the rent and utilities check and then made some food for the week.

Homemade fried rice.

Left over rice from yesterday’s beans and rice, sautéed garlic and onion, broccoli, white corn, carrots, peas (not all of them, mind you, I still need to be icing down my ankle), chicken and shrimp that I cooked up with some ginger and sea salt, Bragg’s Amino’s, Spike Seasoning, and then to make it all come together, one organic scrambled egg.

I topped it with 1/2 a sliced avocado and sat outside with the warm sun on my face.

I can’t say that I want to be sitting still for much longer, but when I take the time to make it special, like taking my food from my kitchen to the back porch, and eating it with intention and attention, it becomes this magical thing.

I am finding a deep richness involved in my day-to-day life that I believe I was going way too fast to see or appreciate.

Making a meal takes some effort and I sort of blow it off, but being forced to slow down, I feel and see things differently, the small things that I accomplish now make me feel really good.

“You made your bed!” My friend said as he helped me bring in groceries from the car. “You must be feeling better.”

I am.

And I am having a lot of personal delight in my home.

It really is such a beautiful, sweet, warm place.

The perfect place to heal.

I am also thankful and in deep gratitude for all the help I have gotten, the money, the groceries, the toiletries.

You know you’re loved when someone buys you tampons.

Just sayin’.

I am also grateful for other’s perspectives, because mine is so skewed, I really don’t see myself very clearly or well.

And I often think I am trying to get over when I am not, I’m not really sick/hurt/tired/hungry/lonely….

I will push myself to be perfect and just fine and ok and I can handle this.

This whole experience has more than shown me that I am not capable of doing it all myself and I need to be reminded of that even now.

“Oh yeah, he’s right,” a friend said to me tonight when I mentioned the silly, well, what I think is silly, idea of calling ahead to the airport and asking for the wheelchair. “Totally use it, don’t push yourself, you’re still healing, you’re still within the time frame the doctor said, right, two-three weeks.”

I nodded.

“Uh, besides, how are you going to handle your suitcase?”

Oh fuck me.

Hadn’t thought about that.

Dragging a suitcase along while hobbling through the airport.

“Swallow your pride and accept the help.”

Yes ma’am.

Once again seeing that the only way to win, is to get out of my way, I am my worst advocate.

As soon as she said that it made complete sense.

And I don’t need to be a hero and I will still be healing.


The doctor said six months for a full recovery.

Take it slow.

The hare may bound ahead.

But it is the tortoise that wins.

Slow and steady.


Really slow and steady.

But winning, nonetheless.


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