Posts Tagged ‘love’

Speak To Me

September 26, 2018

In the language of trees.

Specifically.

In the whisperings of God dropping through the boughs of the giant avocado tree.

Said tree that I stand next to at times, times of the day when I am alone at work, out on the balcony to the world staring down at the bowl of San Francisco from my perch.

A  perch just on the cusp of Glen Park.

Borderlands to Noe Valley.

A perch of privilege, a deck of wonders.

Who knew there was such a view?

Or that God would choose the avocado tree to teach me of my love for you.

For a moment I could not even remember if you liked avocados.

Then.

The memory of the first time I cooked you breakfast.

(You requested, something simple, like avocado toast, which you got, as well as prosciutto and asparagus fritatta with pecorino and grueyere and fruit, all organic and curated, and granola parfait, said toast dusted with sea salt collected by the soft milk white hands of virgins under the new moon–at least that is what I told you,  as it cost $58 a lb)

How I wanted to please you.

How I wanted to make you happy.

How I wanted to impress you.

And yes.

How I wanted to show you how much I loved you.

Although the words had not been uttered out loud.

They were there.

Lingering in the cast iron skillet I sautéed the asparagus in.

Late spring asparagus I had culled with much discernment at the market.

Everything needed to be just so for you.

You may see how mad I was to impress you.

See.

Here.

Here are my list of skills.

Cooking, obviously.

Did I tell you that I know how to make pie crust from scratch?

I know I must have enraptured you at some point with tales of apple pie and vanilla custard ice cream in the house in Windsor, in Wisconsin, with apples that I picked myself from the Cortland tree.

Apples that to this day I can taste faint, sweet, crisp, with a wicked whisper of tartness that reminds me of you.

You flavor my ways and days and the memory of you wicks through me some times with terrifying speed.

I digress.

Apples.

Apple pie.

Apple tart kisses, my bonny boy, my blue-eyed one, my love, my love, my ardent heart.

I digress.

Where was I?

Oh.

Yes.

Skills.

Cooking, cleaning, pie crust making, massage, poetry, recitations, love-making.

We were oh so good at that last, weren’t we lover?

Digressing again.

I shivered, it felt like withdrawal, in the car tonight, on my long drive home, waiting in line on Lincoln Avenue for the light to finally turn green so that I could turn on to 19th and head to Crossover Drive, to float down the hills, rolling and soft, like a asphalt veld, to the sea.

To 48th and Balboa, my new digs.

You were the first person to see it.

Just the bones, you know.

Just the bare walls and the wood floors and the oh so, oh my God, is it really all mine, deck.

I almost kissed you there, in the shadow of the house, I wanted you to kiss me there, in the corner of my heart, in my new home and cement yourself even further into my heart, is that possible?

It is I think.

You managed somehow.

And though I did not kiss you, I stopped, startled, stunned that I wasn’t allowed to kiss you anymore, momentarily forgetful of this whole grown up thing we are doing, the no contact thing that we keep breaking, like my heart, trying to find our way through the morass and the mire to that high road of love, I wanted to.

I wanted to kiss you.

And I did.

Later.

But I am not at later yet.

For.

I digress.

The digression too becomes a part and parcel to the piece.

Does it not?

Where was I?

Oh yes.

I was shivering.

Shaking with need, a good addict response, what had triggered me?

Aside, not digression, I hate that word, trigger, so banal, so trite, so overused and misunderstood, excuses to act out on desires, I was triggered, I could not help myself, what was it that pulled my focus, that made me shiver.

The damn car wash.

Remember that one?

You know the one, when we were on holiday, what a horrid way to misuse that word, from our sexual appetites, trying yet again to figure out how to be and not be with each other.

We’re just “friends” now.

I knew then, but did not say it, there is no going backwards.

So when we were just supposed to be going for a ride, just supposed to be talking, how we ended up at the gas station with the discount gas if you should happen to buy a car wash.

No overheated teenager ever made out more furious with passion than did we.

I do not know how long the water pelted down but it was not long enough.

It was never long enough with you and I.

And then I’m turning, the light is green, it is time to go, and I let the yellow and orange and white lights of the gas station melt away in the rear view mirror, but the song is still there and I still feel you in the air inside my car, some sort of ghost in the machine.

Deux ex machina.

And I feel you seeping under that layer of skin between muscle and sinew and I cry, out loud, your name in the darkened shell of my car, the dashboard lights the only witness to my pain.

I half expected you to text me immediately.

You do always know when I am almost there on the ledge of love waiting to leap and always wanting you to catch me when I fall.

But you didn’t.

Text me, that is.

No matter how much I may want you to.

You’re not allowed.

I am not allowed.

We are not in that place.

Yet.

And.

I do not know the place exactly that we are in now.

So.

I talk to the avocado tree at work.

I pace the back balcony, the view of the city spilled out before me like a sumptuous private banquet that only I shall eat at.

The clouds, high, and tight in the sky, flick past, but are not big enough to blot out all that wide open blue.

That sky that does me in.

You had to have eyes the color of the sky, didn’t you?

Eyes so blue, so deep, flecked with green and gold and burnished with love.

Like the leaves of the avocado tree.

Leaves that when ruffled against the blue of the sky remind me of when I fell, headlong, heedless, and in absolute knowing, that I was irreconcilable in my love, into the blue of your blue eyes, straight through to the sea of your soul.

I launched out upon that sea and I have never looked back.

And though I am so far from shore.

I know, I really do believe.

That if I can just decipher the secrets that the avocado tree is whispering to me I will unlock the key and bring you back.

Back.

Back.

Down to the sea.

Where the driftwood bonfires burn brightly on the edge of the ocean and the mermaids sing each to each.

Do not make me wait to be old, a Prufrock figure, with trousers rolled, feet bare to the sea-foam, pushed about by incoming waves of salt sadness and sea bream.

Come back to me my love.

Come back.

At least please see me in my dreams.

Where once again I will fall for you with nary a regret.

Never a regret.

Over.

And over.

And.

Over.

Again.

Always.

Will.

I fall.

For.

You.

 

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So Very Pleased

September 23, 2018

I got a lot done today.

I hung all my artwork in my new home.

I got my new couch delivered and my new chair and they were quickly assembled and they got here ahead of schedule, which was so awesome as it made it possible for me to not only attend a Zoom session for school, but also get to my group supervision on time.

Effectively making it possible for me to even take enough time to do some much-needed personal grooming and pampering, I went and got a mani/pedi and my eyebrows waxed.

And no, I didn’t glaze out with some trash magazines but actually did homework reading.

My books go where ever I go.

That has become mandatory.

Even if I don’t think I will have time, I’m bringing them along.

One at a time I will get through the reading.

There is so very much.

And though a part of me really wanted to do more homework tonight when I got home from doing the deal, I realized that I needed to finish as much of my unpacking as I could.

I just needed to feel settled completely in my home.

I am pretty damn close.

Hanging all my artwork really felt good.

So too blasting some French House music.

My place is sound proofed, plus the landlord is away camping this weekend.

So I didn’t have any compunctions about using a hammer at 9p.m. at night and hanging up my art.

It feels so nice to look at my space.

My couch is freaking perfect, so to the chair and the pillows I got really work nicely, I almost didn’t get them when I was at the store and I even had a moment when I packed them up and I was going to return them, but something made me stop and I am so glad I did, they work really well and look hella cool.

I’m very happy with my couch.

And tomorrow I will get my coffee table, end tables, and bedside tables set up.

I actually hired a woman from Task Rabbit to do it.

I figured it was worth it to not frustrate myself for hours.

I will instead spend a great deal of time tomorrow studying and doing homework.

I have to.

My work week will be full on again as the mom is back from her work travels and I will have the baby full-time again, I may have some time to do readings, but I won’t have time to do writing, which is what I was doing a lot of in the early afternoons before I headed out to pick up the big kids from school.

So tomorrow is definitely a full day of study.

I have one ladybug coming over to do work for an hour and I’ll get out and do the deal, but other than that, I can’t do anything but the work.

Well.

Probably some laundry.

I will want to do that, but I’ll bring homework with me for sure.

It will be my first time going to a laundry mat in years and though I am not excited about that, I am quite happy with how my home has come together and it feels very good to be here.

There are still some things that need to happen for me to entirely settle in, I haven’t gotten a dresser yet and I still have some clothes in a big garment box, but for the most part the space is nicely curated and it feels like me and it feels fun and polished and warm and sweet.

Once it’s all set up I’ll post a few photos.

I really do love the fact that I got myself a pink velvet couch.

Pink is not my favorite color, but I do like it and the couch is just so very me.

A sort of vintage 1970s Paris couch.

It’s the best.

Yeah.

I am very happy in my new home.

It’s also quite a space of reflection for me, to see how far I have come in the last few years.

When I think about how I moved back from Paris with $10 and what I have now, it’s really astounding how much can change in five years.

I got my Master’s degree, I’m working on my PhD,  I went through a buyout (a San Francisco rite of passage now it seems), I found a wonderful new place to live, I have had the most intense romantic love of my life happen, I have traveled back to Paris three times since I moved back, as well as going to New York three times, New Orleans, Burning Man five times, D.C., Atlanta, and L.A.  I bought a scooter, sold the scooter, bought a new car.

I never thought I would actually buy a new car, and holy shit, I did.

I’m starting a private practice internship.

I am fucking living life.

And yeah.

It does get overwhelming at times, but I have a primary purpose and I’m sticking to that.

The PhD is an amazing gift to get to do, but ultimately, it is not the endpoint for my life, although I know it’s going to consume a good bit of my life for a while, it is not my omega point.

Love is.

Deep love.

Loving myself to the best of my abilities and spreading that love as far out into the world as I can.

And now that my home base is almost secure and safe and settled.

I feel that I will be able to do so with even more veracity and courage.

I am in a good place.

It is a challenge.

There are challenges.

No lie.

But I am in a good place.

And I vow to love as hard as I can from this place as I can.

I promise.

Really.

I do.

Whirlwind

September 12, 2018

It has been a busy couple of days and it’s just Tuesday.

I’ve been running around and cramming the extra stuff in.

Today it was therapy before work and a long day at work juggling new school schedules and dentist appointments, followed by seeing a couple of clients.

And last night it was a late night as I was busy….

SIGNING A LEASE ON MY NEW APARTMENT!

Oh my God.

I have a home.

I am so fucking happy.

I cannot even begin to express it.

I went over to my new home after seeing clients last night, so I was literally signing my lease at 9:30 p.m. at night, I hadn’t even gone home yet, but it was the time we could connect, so it was the time to sign.

I have a home.

God.

I love saying that.

And it really feels like it’s mine.

I mean.

The moment I saw the ad it felt like where I was supposed to be.

And it all fell into place so nicely.

It was like knocking over dominoes.

I am very happy to report that I will still be by the beach, even closer than I am here and I’m pretty close here.

My new home is at 48th and Balboa.

So, just on the other side of Golden Gate Park.

The ocean is literally a block and a half away, from my place now its three blocks.

And the commute is only one minute longer than my commute now.

I am very, very, very happy.

So happy.

That when I got home I packed a box.

I have packed three boxes now.

I’m actually not sure I can muster the energy to pack more tonight.

I am pretty pooped.

I was also so giddy about getting to be in my new home that I ordered a new couch and a new chair online.

The same couch that I had found the night I saw the ad and began decorating in my head.

I have gotten a few more things for the house as well.

My house is not exactly a house, per se, but it is my home and I am so over the moon at how lovely it is.

All brand new appliances.

Gorgeous hard wood floors.

500ft.

Which is quite big for a studio in-law.

My current in-law, though I don’t know the footage exactly, is 12 x 15.

My new in-law is 19×20!

Much bigger.

Oh yeah.

And loads of windows.

Seven to be exact and a sliding glass door out to my deck.

My deck.

Oh my god.

I have a deck.

Adirondack chairs here I come.

Bring on the hammock.

Bring on the studying in the sun.

Oh, I know, not always, it will get just as damn foggy on the other side of the park as it does here, but when it is pretty, like it has been the last couple of days, it is glorious.

And I honored what I said.

I paid the damage deposit and six months of rent in advance.

I don’t think I have ever written a check for that large of an amount before.

I don’t have to pay rent until March of 2019.

Yay!

I will also get the other half of the buyout monies when I turn in the key, so I have some extra dosh to throw at furnishing the place.

I literally have nothing.

Aside from my bed.

I have a nice bed.

But everything in my studio was staging stuff from my landlady, I basically have been living in a furnished studio for the past five years.

I am starting from scratch.

And don’t get me wrong, the furnishings here have been sweet, but they’ve never been quite 100% me.

I get to pick what I want.

Like, heh. I ordered a pink couch.

I know!

PINK.

But its gorgeous, it was $1000 less if I ordered on-line versus trying to find something comparable in San Francisco that I could just walk into a furniture store and buy.

It made sense to get it and I got a matching chair.

The line is called the Matrix and it’s by Article.

It’s done in a soft velvet rose and its circa 1970 Paris.

Mid Century Modern.

The chair matches.

I was in heaven when I ordered it, a tiny bit anxious about pulling the trigger, but really excited when I did.

I want to create a beautiful home for myself.

I plan on being there for a while.

I mean, I don’t want to have to move again while I am working on this PhD.

I signed a year lease which will go to a month to month after a year.

The landlord was looking for a long-term tenant and I assured him that I am such a person, that I really could see myself there for five years, as long as it took to do the PhD and that I didn’t want the stress of having to move during my program again.

I want to hunker down in a pretty little, heh, not so little, space and surround myself with nice things.

Not crazy nice, but you know, sweet things.

I deserve them.

I work so fucking hard.

And I’m not home that much, I want my home to be pretty and sweet, accommodating and warm, welcoming, nourishing, safe.

I have my own separate entrance, no more going in through the garage, and I decided today that I am not going to wait until next weekend to move.

I am doing it this weekend.

I had thought I would push it off, but I realized as soon as I packed on box that it was on.

I cancelled the few plans I could cancel, I still have to go to my orientation for my new internship on Sunday but I cleared everything after that and I managed to clear one commitment off on Saturday, although I still have to go to group supervision as well.

I am hopeful that I can pack the majority of my stuff on Saturday and then move it all on Sunday.

I sent my notice into the lawyer, haven’t heard back yet, but gave myself until the 23rd of the month.

I figure I’ll move this weekend and whatever I can’t get to I will wrap up with next weekend and then clean the studio.

I have changed my address for the post office, updated my address for my bank, and I have ordered a couple of things for the house to be delivered to my new address–laundry hamper and a compost bin.

I will try to get some furniture Saturday if I can.

I don’t want to order a kitchen table on-line, I want to get something sooner and I figure that I can pop into Stuff on Valencia Street or Harrington’s and get a good used table and chairs and maybe a few other odds and ends.

I can’t wait to get out of here.

I’m grateful for what the last five years has been.

But.

I’m more grateful to get to move into something better.

Much.

Much.

Much.

Better.

A Time I Will Never Forget

September 1, 2018

I am appropriating your words again, my love.

You renamed something of ours.

It was appropriate.

The re-naming.

I approved.

I responded.

I know.

No contact.

I don’t know that you saw it.

But.

I hope that you did.

And I said.

“Nor will I, my love.”

Nor will I.

I can’t forget that time, our time.

The city we were in.

The heat.

The warmth of you next to me on the stoop in Brooklyn.

Our picnic that I put together.

The way the day’s sun had warmed the cement, the call of the birds settling in the trees.

The same birds that would awaken us in the morn.

They seemed to call to me.

Here.

Now.

Be with him.

And I gave myself to you.

I have no regrets.

In the giving I was given to.

The sacred radicalism of our love.

The driver the night before as we came over the bridge from one borough to the next.

She asked us if we were married.

We weren’t.

But you know.

We were.

We are.

Married and joined in some other way.

I felt betrothed to you.

I still do.

I write about that sometimes.

I haven’t told you that.

I still write your name, in its fullness, in my morning pages, and that I am married to the great love of my life.

Then.

Yes.

I list all the places we will travel to.

Places we have already been.

But will need to go back and reclaim.

And places that we will go to.

And make them ours.

Today I was in such a place.

Out by the sea.

Rockaway Beach.

It is not a particularly luxurious spot.

There is something rough and redneck about it.

And yet.

As I ate my three egg omelet at the table in the cafe while I watched the ocean come in and go out, I could not stop thinking of you.

I could see us in the hotel room where I am staying.

Alone.

My room-mate never showed for the intensive.

I could see you and I here.

Together.

Then in the cafe later, having a very late breakfast, drinking too much coffee, making plans to build bonfires at the beach.

Telling each other stories from our rebellious youth.

I could see your face across the way.

So real.

I teared up.

I cried over my three egg with cheese and bacon omelet.

Then.

Damn the music sometimes.

One of the songs that you put on my dance card came over the sound system.

REALLY?

I thought.

Really.

Now.

In this moment.

Right now as I am figuring out the tip for the waitress.

She wasn’t great but she’s my waitress and she’s going to get at least 20%.

Once a waitress.

Always a waitress.

And that song.

Not even a recognizable Elvis song, or an obvious heartbreak song.

Just something to dance to.

Remember.

When you made me that playlist.

And we went to the beach.

It wasn’t the best time at the beach.

I think we actually fought.

But we made up.

We always made up.

I wish we were making up now.

Instead of being nostalgic for another time.

A past time.

A memory that grows, though not distant, removed.

I miss you baby.

I wish I was making more memories with you instead of trying to reconcile not being with you.

I wish I was writing you poetry that you would actually read.

I wish you had been next to me, not just at the cafe.

But at the beach.

I saw the plume of a whale spout.

Then a humpbacked breached.

I gasped a loud and reached for your hand.

I almost fell off the damn rock I was sitting on.

Reaching for something that is not there.

Grief.

Yes.

Grief.

For a time I will never forget.

For a man I will always want.

For a love that is not mine to have.

But.

I had it anyway.

And no one can take that away from me.

Not anyone.

Now.

Or.

Ever.

Through The Sunlit Room

August 29, 2018

Overcome by your extravagant beauty I fell into your eyes.

I fell into love.

Into loving you.

I had no clue how deep that fall was to take me.

I have no regrets that I have fallen.

Fallen woman.

I am.

Coloured in by states of grace and the softness of your kisses on my face.

You drowned me in the flood of your colour.

In the iris of your eyes as they dilated and opened in the shafts of light falling over you.

Falling in love with you was like falling in love with art.

You are art to me.

Poetry.

Beauty.

Color.

Love.

I had fears of embracing you from before we embraced.

I walked away from you.

I strode away from you.

I got on my bicycle and rode away from you.

Literally.

Thinking to myself, why am I going home alone again?

Why?

As I sit here alone now.

Same table.

Different night.

Unalterably altered by you.

You broke me down though.

You and your shine.

And though danger forbade me I proceeded.

I embraced you and in the embracing.

I found myself.

Not a place I had thought I would stumble upon.

For you showed me to myself.

You displayed to me who I was in your eyes and I became something new to myself.

I knew I was to suffer.

And I didn’t care.

And when I did suffer.

When there was pain.

I stuffed it down.

I sat on it.

I buried it.

I smiled.

And then I cried when you left.

Sometimes slow hot tears that leaked as though steam from a kettle on the stove.

Sometimes torrents that would threaten to capsize me in the very boat of my bed.

The bed we had just ridden through tumultuous love waters to be stranded on the island of you and I.

Population 2.

I became one with you.

I still feel your embrace.

I still feel the weight of you on me.

And.

It fades.

The fading has begun.

I am not overcome by your beauty.

Unless I allow myself to stumble down the hill of photographs stashed away inside my computer.

Or I wallow out into social media scrounging for scraps of you.

Tomorrow will be three weeks since I last saw you.

Since our last kiss goodbye.

Ah.

Now there.

The pain.

It rises.

It is still there, persistent, it says, oh no, not faded yet.

But it is softer.

The sharp edge has dulled down.

The crying does not last as long.

And this too.

Worrisome.

When you are gone.

When I cannot remember the way you smell.

Or how you taste.

Or feel.

The heaviness, so comforting, of you arm across my body.

The crook of your arm as I nestled into it.

Always my safest place.

My home.

In your arms.

And what will become of you?

What will happen when I don’t recall the touch of your hand on my body?

Or in my hair?

Or your mouth on my mouth, my neck, my clavicles.

Remnants.

I have bits and scraps and pieces of you now.

And I try to not try to knit them all together and make a wrap I can put around myself.

To steel myself from being ultimately left by you.

I am afraid to let go of the pain of the loss of you.

Because that is all that seems real anymore.

And if I don’t have that pain.

I will have nothing of you left.

And.

Then.

Then.

Truly.

I will be bereft.

Tattoos and Tears

August 27, 2018

I just want to write you poetry tonight.

I just want to talk to crows and croon love songs to the full moon.

I keep thinking about adding to my Coup de Foudre tattoo.

Hearts and lightning bolts.

More hearts.

An explosion of hearts.

I think about you.

I cry.

Sometimes I yell at you in the car.

“Don’t give up on me, don’t stop chasing me, this is it, this is the push, don’t stop.”

I want you to come for me.

I want to be the one.

I think about not having you for years.

I still dream about being with you for all my years.

I think about my impending PhD.

I ponder the thinking and reading and writing I will have to do.

And maybe you won’t be a distraction.

And maybe you will.

And maybe you will be the carrot I use to get through the program.

He’ll come back to me when I am a doctor.

He’ll come for me.

As though you’re the reward for doing the work.

I want to grow old with you and be stupid and silly and mad.

I want to have dumb arguments with you and then have make up sex.

God.

I haven’t really thought too much about the sex.

I think I am afraid to.

I will get lost in the glory of the memories and beat my heart harder on the wall around you.

I long for you.

I dream about you.

The moon full in the sky beckons me to you.

I think about you walking outside.

I think about you sleeping.

I wish to be wrapped up in your arms.

I long to not be heartbroken.

Heart broke open.

Heart in the mouth of crow flying across the miles to you.

That’s the tattoo I keep thinking about.

A crow on my back flying with a heart in its mouth.

An anatomical heart.

With wild daisies growing out from it.

I feel hollowed out.

I miss you baby.

I miss you much.

This isn’t even a poem.

This isn’t even a blog.

This is just a list, a litany, a compilations of thoughts about you.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I can’t go on without you.

And yet I keep going on.

I have changed and I can’t tell where it is leading me.

I just fervently hope.

Pray.

Wish.

That it leads me back to you.

I just want to be your Buttercup.

I just want to be your baby.

Baby.

I just want to be yours.

Always.

Forever.

Your.

Baby Girl.

Well, I tried

August 26, 2018

I really did.

I even got up before my alarm went off.

Nightmares.

Fucking had a using dream last night and in my dream I woke up, still dreaming, thinking that I had relapsed and I had to tell my person and then I was going to be new all over again.

I woke up in the grey foggy light of the Outer Sunset in August, it could have been 6 a.m. it could have been 10 a.m., although my alarm was set for 8:30 a.m. so I knew it wasn’t that late, but for a moment I really thought the dream was for real.

I tried to shake it off.

I saw it was a little after 8 a.m. and just decided to get up and get going, sleep was pretty much ruined at that point, another twenty minutes was not going to do me any good.

I got up.

I put on my swimsuit.

I made my bed.

I did my prayers, read my books, breathed.

I grabbed my swim bag and I set out for Sava Pool.

Only to be foiled.

It’s closed for maintenance!

Until September 7th.

I was a bit upset, although not horribly, part of me was very proud of myself for getting up and going and seeing the pool through the glass made me happy.

I thought for a moment of heading over to the other side of town and maybe hitting the pool on Arguello, but I had a lot to do today and a friend from school happened to text me asking if I wanted to catch up and grab coffee at Trouble.

Seeing as how I wasn’t able to swim I figured I would settle for gossip and coffee.

Although I was a bit on the fence about going to Trouble.

That’s my landlady’s hang out spot and I wasn’t really wanting to see my friend there if she was there, we have been avoiding each other, but it’s still not very comfortable here.

The loudness gets to me quite a bit.

And sure enough, she was there and I could hear her laughing from the corner of the 7-11 across the street.

I pinged my friend, asked him to come over and we just had coffee at my place.

Saved me from a five dollar cafe au lait.

I still can’t believe what some places charge for coffee, it’s like what some folks charge for rent.

Despite our coffee plans being slightly misled, it was good to catch up with my friend and see what he’s been up to and how supervision is going for him and share my plans for my private practice internship and all the things.

He has wanted to do a group with me a number of times but our schedules have just not quite coincided.

But.

Lovely to catch up and good to have a person to talk to about school as I am so close to heading into my next phase.

I did a little, actually a lot, of writing after he headed out and that felt good.

I reflected on the phone call I had with my person this morning as I was driving back from the closed pool and relating the details of my nightmare.

How my alcoholism doesn’t like it when I am having intense feelings and the using dream was a way to try to escape from the feelings.

But the feelings came anyway.

I cried a bunch today too.

It’s still early, I’ve been told, there is going to be a lot to grieve, keep letting yourself feel them.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

I know.

But fuck.

It is hard.

And I’m a psychotherapist, I know the importance of not stuffing my feelings.

I’ve been damn good about it, I think, my person certainly has made a point of reflecting to me that I have, that he’s consistently amazed by the things I am moving through and the grace with which I am doing so.

I don’t always feel graceful though.

And I burst into tears three or four times today.

So.

There is that.

Ugh.

I just miss him so much, I feel crushed by it, I bought him cards today without thinking about it.

I used to write him love notes all the time.

I made it a point to find sweet, unusual, poignant cards to give him.

I like letters.

I like writing.

I like paper and envelopes and thoughtfulness.

I bought the cards thinking that maybe, maybe one day, hopefully not too far down the line, I’ll be able to write him cards again.

Perhaps I was foolish.

Perhaps I am foolish.

But for a moment it appeased my heart to have the cards.

I want to see him.

I know I  can’t.

At least not right now.

I want to talk to him, text him, email him, send him smoke signals.

And I can’t.

I want to kiss him, hold him, be held by him, express all the love in my body and heart and soul to him.

And I can’t.

All I can do is keep feeling these things and taking the suggestions I have been given and believing that God has this relationship, and that we are both being carried and loved.

That’s about the best I can do.

That and cry.

I am just going to go and cry some more.

Damn it.

You don’t remember me, but I remember you
‘Twas not so long ago, you broke my heart in two
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart 
Caused by you, you
If we could start anew, I wouldn’t hesitate
I’d gladly take you back, and tempt the hand of fate
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you
Love is not a gadget, love is not a toy
When you find the one you love 
(S)he’ll fill your heart with joy
If we could start anew, I wouldn’t hesitate
I’d gladly take you back, and tempt the hand of fate
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you

Swimmingly

August 25, 2018

I did not forget my swimsuit today.

Nope.

I had that puppy packed in my purse.

I go just about nowhere without my purse.

I pulled it out as soon as I walked in the door at work, “look what I didn’t forget,” I said triumphantly to my charge who was very excited to see it but still asked why I hadn’t remembered it yesterday.

I ruffled his hair, said I was sorry again for forgetting and promised I would do a lot of swimming with him to make up for it.

And I did.

I also went down the water slide to appease him.

I was not really interested, it’s meant more for kids and it was sort of awkward to climb, but he really wanted me to and I wanted to humor him and we were just having the best day, so yeah, I clambered up and went down and it was cute.

He was so happy today.

And so was I.

Although I had my moments of sadness.

Happiness too.

Swimming is happiness for me.

There is nothing quite like it.

I feel so in my body and alive and it’s just exhilarating.

The mom actually told me to take some time to myself today and I got to put in 500 yards.

That’s not much, but it felt great and I was happy to have some time to swim.

I have also set my alarm for tomorrow morning.

I will be getting up and going to Sava Pool to swim.

My swim bag is packed and I’m air drying my suit in a place that I won’t forget it.

It was also really such lovely weather, sunny, bright, not too hot, but hot enough.

And it made me think of you, bunny.

I realized that it wasn’t just the Marin hills that made me think of you, it was swimming as well.

I had the same feeling in my body, in my heart, when I went swimming in the Mediterranean when my best girl friend and I went hiking into the Calanque de Sormiou outside of Marseille.

It was the sun, it was the salt water, it was the dry hills and the green trees, very reminiscent of Marin, but also it was the feeling.

It was the feeling of being so in my body and I kept feeling that you should be there with me, that we are meant to be somewhere sunny with you sunbathing, as I know you like, tan and golden and glowing like some leonine thing in the light, and me swimming and emerging from the pool or sea to sit next to you and bask in the sunshine.

Then I realized it at a deeper level.

Swimming reminds me of you because of how at ease in my body I am in the water.

I found that same ease with you.

I have never felt so at home in my body than when I was with you, making love, or laying together, spent afterward, completely glowing and happy and alive, so alive.

I teared up at the pool when I made the connection and realized that was one more thing that was so good about being with you.

I was myself.

In the pool, in the water, I am myself.

When I was with you I was myself.

Unapologetically me.

I wanted you there by my side because I was myself and free and happy and I associate those feelings with you.

And I can’t share any of this with you.

And we never went swimming together.

Although we did bask in some sunshine.

It wasn’t enough.

I am such a good addict, just give me some more please, more of you and more of you and more of you until I am satiated.

Which I never am for very long.

Sigh.

I miss you my love.

And I am grateful to have made the connection today with what it feels like to be in the water, to be in my body and how it reminds me of you.

It will incentivize me to swim.

And one day.

I can dream.

I can.

I do hope.

I really do.

That I will get to go swimming.

I will get to share this feeling.

I will get to go.

And.

Be.

Once again.

With.

You.

Swimming Pools

August 21, 2018

And nectarines.

Vistas of blue skies, gentle mountain slopes, green trees, sunshine, Marin.

I went with the family I work for to San Rafael to the Marinwood community pool there.

The kids had swimming lessons and mom wanted to be out of the fog and in some actual summer weather.

Mission accomplished.

It is always just a touch surreal to come out of the grey blanket of fog into the bright sunshine of Marin.

It was an hour away but felt like an entirely different planet.

So much sunshine.

It was nice.

It felt good to be there, to be helpful, to be of service, to be doing a good job.

And.

Motherfucker.

It felt good to swim.

I love being in the water and every time I get in I question why am I not doing it more.

It feels marvelous.

The pool was perfect too, the temperature cool but not cold, the chlorine was well-balanced and it had the perfect saline level.

I was blissed out swimming in that water.

I have been swimming since I was a baby.

Literally.

10 months old.

I can’t remember not being able to swim.

Sometimes it baffles me when kids are afraid of the water, as one of my charges was, but she trusted me and we worked it out and I think she had some fun.

Her brother was much more into it, but they both wore flotation devices.

I keep my opinion to myself in regards to floaties, but I freaking hate them.

I feel like they, the floaties, especially water wings, create a dependence on them and it takes a child much, much, much longer to learn how to swim.

That being said.

I am not the parent in the situation and the mom wanted them in the floats and felt better about having them protected and safe.

Mom’s got the prerogative.

I however, felt free to cavort, to a point, I was with the kids in the pool, and play, and swim.

I didn’t get enough and now I am sitting here trying to think of ways to get myself back in.

And after today’s day at work, I basically have a swim bag assembled.

I have my suit, a towel, a chamois, my flip-flops, a bag of toiletries, and my goggles.

The goggles never made an appearance as I wasn’t going to do any lap swimming, although for a minute or two I thought about requesting the opportunity to do so.

It would have been nice.

So that’s twice this summer that I have gone swimming and after both times I have resolved to get myself into a more regular swimming routine.

It is good for me, easy on my crapy knees, great for all my joints, I love how I feel in the water, I feel free.

There’s something so heavenly about being under water and feeling weightless and graceful and strong.

I feel strong when I swim.

I noticed I walked differently in my suit when I came out of the locker rooms to the pool, I felt like a guard again, I walked like a guard without even really thinking about it.

I felt myself embodied.

It was really good.

And it was a nice change-up from the routine of work.

It’s a like a tiny work vacation while at work.

We’re going to be at the pool all week-long.

There’s a slim chance I might not go with them and stay at the house on Wednesday for a household delivery, which would mean that I would stay in the city with the baby, tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday, however, I will be swimming in Marin.

I am hoping I can carry the momentum forward and maybe hit Sava pool on Saturday.

I also looked at the UCSF Mission Bay pool schedule, they have late hours, I could look into getting a membership there again.

They have a great facility.

Of course, I’m just shy about committing to any certain place in the city yet, after I know where I’m going to live does it make sense to buy a membership to a place that I may regret having to do a big commute to.

So while I’m in the neighborhood I’m really going to give it my all and go to Sava Pool at least once a week.

I also think there is a pool at the hotel that the intensive for school will be held, although I doubt it’s a big pool, there maybe some opportunity to get in the water during the time I’m there.

It’s definitely worth bringing the swim suit with.

Anyway.

Swimming.

It’s on my mind.

And that’s helpful.

It helps with the sad.

It helps with my body.

It helps with my heart.

There is something sweet and nostalgic about it and also healthful and needed.

If I’m not doing yoga and I’m not bicycle commuting I really do need to incorporate something into my schedule.

I just checked the rates for the UCSF membership and it’s not too bad, $105 a month, I was paying $84/month for the yoga, it’s a little more, but then again, I enjoy swimming much more than I enjoyed yoga.

I will start small.

I will get to the pool this Saturday and I will let it begin there.

Shoot.

Having the swimsuit is more than half the battle anyway.

The rest is just showing up and jumping in.

I can do that.

I really can.

Bear Witness To

August 20, 2018

That’s what got me today.

Not the music.

No.

I was careful about my music choices people, I’m learning.

But the wanting to share something with you today.

I wanted so much to pick up the phone and talk and tell you how my day has been, how my week as been, how I feel overwhelmed and that I can’t do it and then you would tell me I could.

I was going through my private practice folder, trying to figure out some things and I touched the leather of the binder and I suddenly lost it.

I remember standing outside the restaurant after brunch when we were on vacation and looking at these soft, supple leather folders and purses and bags, gorgeous hand-made, hand tooled, beautiful pieces.

I bought a bag for files and a folder for my legal pad and I was so happy, over the moon, to be there walking through the city with you, the sun shone down, and yes, there was some sadness that day too, we had some talks, but there was the etherealness to it to.

I remember how you always offered me bites of your food, how you know me so well and in my abstinence you always took care to be kind about my food choices, well, maybe you teased me a little, but you were so sweet.

I was struck by how, later in the day after much walking, you grabbed a hotdog from a street vendor and had a couple of bites, then you ripped off the bun from the un-eaten end, and offered it to me for a bite too.

All the small, sweet, considerate gestures that do me in.

But it was that folder today.

I cried out loud.

I wanted to tell you about what has been going on, how things are moving forward, that I have an office to sub-lease, that I have rent to pay, that I have things happening, that I printed off another syllabus and read from one of my new books, that I had struggled today to not be anxious about all the things unfolding.

When I picked up the folder I realized that you were no longer here to witness me, to tell me how proud you were of me.

I know logically that I don’t need someone to pat me on the back and say, hey you’re doing a great job, I can do that for myself, most of the time, but it just struck me hard, I wanted to tell you and I can’t.

All the things I want to tell you.

I wrote you another letter today.

I told you a little fantasy I had.

I wished for you happiness and joy and kindness, sweetness, and grace.

I pray for you every day and every night and I pray to make it through to the next thing that I have to do.

I have a lot of things to do.

I did get a lot accomplished today and I am proud of myself for doing as much as I did.

I cooked.

I roasted a chicken and I made a turkey and vegetable stew with brown rice.

I cleaned my house.

Aside.

Man oh man, put a syllabus in front of me with homework on it and watch my house suddenly become sparkling clean.

I mean, I cleaned my house.

I have even started tackling some things like cleaning out the freezer, I figure I won’t be here much longer and if I tackle small bits of a big job they will get done eventually and not all pile up on me right as I’m making my move.

Second aside.

I have a place I am going to see on Wednesday.

I know, I said I was waiting.

But have I told you how loud it is here?

It is loud.

And it is uncomfortable.

I saw an ad last night on craigslist and I thought, wow, I should respond to that.

It’s not in a neighborhood I would have ever even thought to look, Sea Cliff, and it’s a unique housing situation, an Au Pear (which means guest cottage), with a drastically reduced (for San Francisco) rent with the caveat that when the family that owns the main house is away the tenant takes care of their dog.

I went to bed thinking, do I want to clean up dog poop and get up early to walk a dog a couple of times a month/year?  I don’t know how often the family travels or what exactly the schedule of care looks like, but yeah, do I want to clean up dog shit for a lowered rent on a cottage in Sea Cliff?

A cottage.

A stand alone, one bedroom with a library!

Oh my God, my little PhD student heart went pitter pat.

In Sea Cliff.

Now if you don’t know San Francisco that means nada to you.

But if you do, you know that Sea Cliff is crazy high-end, big houses, big sprawling yards and gardens, by Baker Beach with all the iconic views of the Golden Gate Bridge you could shake a stick at.

The house is literally across the street from the ocean, the cottage has ocean views.

There is also very little traffic in Sea Cliff, no buses or municipal vehicles go through it, no trains, it’s not quite a gated community, but it is super high-end fabulouslity.

A cottage in Sea Cliff would probably rent for $7,000 and upward, I may be lowballing that number too, I think it’s pretty rare that anything in Sea Cliff would actually be rented, and if there are rentals, well, they are freaking expensive.

So a cottage, again, a one bedroom with a library and the biggest freaking windows and wood floors for $1680 a month that includes utilities and parking and laundry?

I’ll pick up some dog poop people.

I have an appointment to see it on Wednesday.

I’ll keep you posted.

And in the meantime.

Love of mine.

I think of you often and wish we could talk and dream of a time I can once again be in your arms.

And yes.

Of course.

I cry.

In cafes with my confidant, at home holding things close you gave me, in the car listening to our music.

I hope you are well, I hope you are muddling through.

I miss you.

I love you.

Always.

Always.

Your baby girl.


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