Posts Tagged ‘moment to moment’

Not Quite So Dark

June 18, 2017


For fuck sake.

So here I am trying to be all low-key and down low and not post anything via social media so I stay anonymous.





Turns out I’m completely transparent and known on my own fucking blog.

My “About Me” page had, I say had since I just pulled it down, a photo of me and link, failed link, but still a link, with my gmail account linked to it.

My gmail account is my full name.

Rolls eyes at self.


Fortunately a friend caught it and gave me the heads up.

And the post has been updated to reflect that.

No more photographs of me, no more name on the page.

Just me and my thoughts listening to some Bill Withers.

When I wake up in the morning love and the sunlight hurts my eyes.

…..Just one look at you and I know it’s going to be a lovely day.

Up a little late.

Up a tiny bit wired.

I went to an anniversary party this evening after doing the deal over on Turk and Divisadero this evening and saw a swarm of folks that I hadn’t seen in a while, including one of my best friends who came into the city and my god, it was good.

I had my internship today and lots of errands that I wanted to do and some down time in the afternoon to do laundry and get myself caught up, and I realized that I hadn’t done a good bit of this kind of socializing in a while.

It took me a moment to catch my stride.

I can be charming and funny and outspoken and a character, but the truth is that sometimes I get a bit over my head with social stuff, which is hilarious and most folks have no idea.

I am not going to label myself an introvert or an extrovert, I’m not going to pigeonhole myself, but I will say I felt awkward and I realized it was going to pass and I had a minute to get settled and be in my skin and let it be ok that I was in a big social situation with a lot of people I am acquainted with but perhaps not that close to.

I also needed to be there and be seen and just let myself be not at work or at the internship.

I logged another two hours today at the internship, even went in a little early to do some paper work and get myself situated and eat a lunch quietly in the office before the other interns got there for our session.

I got some good info, gave some good feedback and was mightily pleased that I had clients to talk about.

I am just dipping my toe into the mix and it’s a lot to carry, but I’m starting to do it and I can see that I am doing the thing that I am supposed to do.

Granted when I logged into track my hours I realized that I had done five hours this week, two client hours and three training hours and that my supervisor at the internship wants me to carry a load of 15 hours.

Three times what I did this week.


Granted I may not get up to that speed for a while and there will be times when I’m able to do that and times when I won’t.

I can’t get too focused on it and I also told myself today that in the service of keeping a tiny semblance of sanity that maybe I don’t have to get as many hours as is possible for me to collect while I am in school.

I just need to get the hours required by my program to graduate.


I say to myself.

Fuck that shit.



I don’t want to kill myself and I want to have some socializing.

I need face time with people.

I am thinking specifically of a few friends that are just too dear for me to let go of and I will squeeze them in where and when I can and I will be tired and I won’t give a fuck and you only live once and get it.

Get it girl.

Some things may feel overwhelming, but in the day-to-day of it, I’m doing it.

Slowly building up my client base, learning how to be a therapist, learning how to keep loving and taking care of myself and finding those odd hours and minutes in the hollowed spaces of golden sunned afternoon light when I can pause, catch my breath and get hella grateful.

I mean.



That I have what I have.

“You look different,” my friend said to me tonight.

And she’s right.

Things in my life have altered in an amazing way and I am beyond myself with happiness and succumbing to all the feelings therein.

Without expectation or thought for future moments.


Small white lie, I do have some plans for future travel, but I am trying to really keep it to this day, these scattering of moments, dipped in old school R&B, or Elvis ballads, old love songs and lyrical movements in time, the stars framed by the trees overhead, a snapshot of a moment.

Astounded with beauty.

Awake to every feeling in my body.

And that’s all I can wish for.

This moment.

Where I am alive.


And I am so alive.

It is glorious.


Might have something to do with the peer pressure cup of coffee I accepted gleefully at the party and perhaps I might have racing thoughts but I have had racing thoughts for weeks now and I am rather used to it and the heart beating in my chest going fast just lets me know how fully alive I am.

It is exquisite and I am unabashed by the feeling of it.



That’s where it’s at.

The word that flutters in my chest.

The ache and longing.

The aliveness.

The song on my lips.

The poem in my eyes seeking yours.

The smile that I cannot help but smile.

So fucking good.

This life.

My life.

Luckiest girl in the world.


Be Flexible

June 4, 2016

And I’m not talking yoga.

I am talking to myself.

I am about to embark on the summer time schedule at work, aka, the boys full time.

However the family has a lot of traveling, summer camps, swimming time, and activities planned, it’s going to be busy and the mom has asked me to work 10 a.m. to 6p.m. Monday through Friday.

Except next week Tuesday when I’ll work 12-7p.m.

Or the next week when I’ll be on call for jury duty, so who knows if I’ll be working or not.


And that Friday, the 17th, I’ll have it off completely!

They will be out of town visiting family in the Midwest.

And although they won’t be back until the following Tuesday, I will work that Monday for them, just to let the housekeeper in to clean the house and also for me to accept whatever Instacart order the mom has placed so I’ll be there cooking food for them.

Like this week: oatmeal for the boys breakfast, broccoli soup for the mom over the weekend, pitted 6 pints of cherries for snacks, hulled an entire flat of strawberries, roasted cauliflower twice, homemade baked macaroni with cheese, homemade beef stroganoff with bow tie noodles, cheese tortellini with pesto, plus lots of peeling of carrots and chopping of raw veggies.


Like that.

Then the next week.


Who the hell knows.

I did ask that I have a set schedule, but the mom has other ideas and I’m ok with it to a point, I do need some regularity in my schedule.


Do I?

Can I be flexible?

I want to be flexible, I want this job through the school year, through all my school years if I can, and that means trying to fit myself of maximum service to the situation.

I did ask that I have a weeks time to negotiate my own schedule.

Seeing as how I already went ahead and offered my time to one of my ladies for next Tuesday thinking I had the schedule all figured out.



Fortunately she’s flexible too and all the women I work with are sweet about my school schedule and work schedule and I’m just going to do my best to stay in the moment.

Each moment.

To each moment.

To each moment.

It’s really the best I can do.

Like not trying to figure out my weekend plans.



I have none.

That would have once thrown me into paroxym of terror.

Unscheduled down time?


I’ll do yoga.

Or not.

I’ll sleep in.

Or not.

Probably not, although I did a little today and  that was lovely, my Fridays previous for the last year have been days when I got up early to do reading and school work, today I slept in long, did lots of reading, loads of writing and did some laundry, putting fresh sheets on the bed.

I’d like to get them rumpled up.

My possible date has not gotten back to me and I have eschewed chasing him down to nail down a time this weekend.

It will happen.


It will not.

I’m being flexible.

I’m doing my best to lighten up.

“I’m open to be available for what you need,” I told my boss, in sincerity, once I had a moment to breathe and realize that though it was not my ideal, the change in my schedule that she was out lining, “even if you want to have a date night in there, just let me know.”




Before you give it all away, remember, there is too flexible too.

I want to bend, but not break.

I will need fun time for me too.

Especially since the rest of my summer vacation time is not vacation time–it will be my second year school retreat.

Even if I’m not sure what I want to do on my weekends, aside from getting my hair colored the weekend of the 18th and being interviewed the weekend of the 25th.




I’m super excited about that, and a bit nervous too.

I actually have to confirm it and let her in on some of my creative process and see what she wants from me in regards to the filming.

It’s a podcast, so I’ll keep you posted as to when it airs.


I don’t even know what that means, podcast.


I have to, scratch that, I get, to talk about my creative process and what that looks like, what I’m working on, what the fuck am I working on?

Inspirations, loads of those, but a definitive list, and so on.


I just realized, heh, I’ll have had my hair done pink from the previous weekend.


I’ll be on film with pink hair.


I have actually practiced reading the sonnet sequence that I wrote for the gentleman I met last year at Burning Man, I like how I sound in my head reading it, of course, I don’t like hearing myself so much, but I have been told many times I have a nice voice and I do believe that as well.

Plus there’s a couple of longer poems I have memorized that I could perform.


I haven’t done an open mic in a while.

And I’m not sure what exactly I am working on.

I have had a thought about re-working a short story I wrote years ago and sending it to Glimmer Train, they have a “new writer” contest deadline coming up–they send me updates all the time since I have applied to the contest before.

That could be something I’m working on.

And of course.

This blog.

I am always working on this blog, or it is working on me.

The blog works me.

It is where I find solace.

It is where I find my truth.

It’s not always pretty.

But once in a while, I believe, it is searing in its honesty.

And once in a great while.

It is beautiful.

I have no idea which blogs those would be, I don’t go back and re-read them once they have posted unless I feel like I need to do some grammatical editing, or, ugh, I have written something that affects someone in a negative manner.


I can only write about myself.

I cannot judge another.


I’m not allowed to judge myself.




I am searching for the things to show this artist who wants to film me about all the things I am doing and already I am not enough and I am judging myself.


This is not how it works.

I show up.

Every day.

Or damn near close.

And put my heart on my sleeve and let you in.

I show up.

And that may be the best artistry I am capable of at any moment.

It is not the awards or accolades.

It is the daily grind.

The words mount and flow and I can sit on them and bury my heart.


I can show up.

Let them out.

Have a little dance party.

And surrender to the art of what is happening.

Not to worry about what I have published, accomplished, or succeeded with.

The failure is just as important.

Every experience and opportunity.

For love.



More love.

All the time.

As long as I show up.

That’s it.

Oh yeah.

And let go of the results.

That too.

Always that.


Tell Me A Story, Papa

June 17, 2012

The mailbox had a little something in it for me today.

I got my passport.

I guess the Passport office has not heard of my nefarious plans to move to Paris and be a writer.

No Visa, no job, no EU citizen to marry.

Well, I could make the suggestion to Barnaby, but I am going to act as if that subterfuge is not necessary at this time.

Just taking another small step forward in the adventure of my life.

I walked around a lot today.  Hell, I did not do much else today, but walk, slowly, leisurely, in my sandals, up to Noe Valley.

I had an 8:30 p.m. commitment to make it to.

I left the house at 2 p.m.

Plenty of time to get there.

I was in to taking plenty of time today.  I did not go to bed until 4 am last night, ah, this morning.  Which equates to me not getting up until 12:30p.m.

The last time I slept past noon?  I cannot remember.  I did not give myself grief, hassle, or worry about a “lost” day, or time.  I just took things moment to moment today.

I stayed off my computer, until just a few minutes ago.  I wrote long hand, like I do.  I sat in my rocking chair.  I meditated.  I made the bed.  I said hello to the powers that be.

I tossed aside any ideas of “work” or errands or being proactive with my day off.  I’ll do it on Monday.  I work tomorrow, to make up for taking today off, not a bad trade-off when I get to sleep past noon and be out late the previous night at a club.

The responsibility of being responsible for my own health and mental happiness is actually not a difficult thing to do, when I let myself have it.  There was  a time, in the not so distant past where the idea of taking the day off to do something recreational was absolutely a not going to happen deal.

I would probably still have gone to the event, I would have been miserable, anxious about leaving on time, rushing home, and writing, and getting up early and feeling beat and jagged out all day long and cranky and nasty at work.

I would have convinced myself that I would never do it again and that going out and having fun is not worth the work.

Instead, I just arranged to let myself have the day off.  I got to enjoy the events of yesterday evening without the mental repercussions.

No, I am not particularly thrilled about working tomorrow, nor do I like split days off, but what ever.  Today was so relaxed, so lovely, and so mellow.

So necessary.

I see it again and again as of late.

I have the need to sit in cafes and watch the sky and read and watch people.  I need to walk about and take photographs and see things and let them soak into my brain and my heart and my words.

I need to fill the well.

My well of images.

Today into that well went, the tiny, perfect, wee small toes of Tyson.  I ran into Sam Leon at The Ark in Noe Valley.  I was sticker browsing.

Yes, I like stickers, shove off.

I was off in little girl land when I heard my name.  I looked up and there was Sam.  I have known him for seven and a half years, but I have not seen him in a few.  It was amazing to see him and his son.  His wife, Trisha, was around the corner.  I have known her a good few years as well.

Amazing what happens to people.

Amazing those little toes, baby starfish toes, pale, at low tide, soft, delicate, pink, like the inside of a conch shell.


Gratitude to see my friend and a kind of quiet that struck me deeply, although I did not see it until later when I was up at the park above 24th and Diamond.

I went to the children’s part.  I felt a small touch of disquiet for sitting in the play area, really, I know it’s supposed to only be for people accompanied by children, but until some one booted me, I was going nowhere.

I sat up there, kissed by the fading sunlight, still warm, still soft, still conversant with summer.  I closed my eyes, I listened to the laughter of the children, swinging, playing in the sand box, the chatter of the parents, the twitter of robins flitting about the park, the bounce of a dog in the dry grass above  the park.  I sat on the sand dusted ledge, with my eyes closed and the press of the old wrought iron gate in the small of my back.

Still, and in wonder that I was not back in Noe Valley with a child in a stroller, neither as a parent or a nanny.

I was just me.

Me, with a new passport in my straw purse, along with my camera, a notebook, lots of pens, a novel, and a bottle of water.

There had been cherries too, but those were long gone.  I had nibbled right through the bag at an earlier pit stop outside of Martha’s on 24th wherein I drank the largest iced coffee possible dusted with nutmeg and cinnamon.  The cherries were just so right, I could not stop.

Ah, stone fruit season, how I do love thee.

I looked like a tourist.

I realize now that was probably why I was left alone.  Single woman, with camera and book sitting in children’s play area, a relatively “safe” place to be.

Despite not wanting to ever look like a tourist, I have always stick out a little bit.  There is just something about how I take in the world about me, I am just a little different, not unique or special, I don’t want to imply that, there is just an intensity in how I observe.

Whether it is how I see the world or how the world sees me.  I am neither here nor there.

But I can go anywhere.

I have no baby, seven weeks old with pale starflower toes, and translucent skinned eyelids sleeping in a pram with a cotton cloth dotted in little blue tow trucks drapped over it.

No diaper bag to carry.

No person to answer to.

I get to simply see and appreciate.  And perhaps later, at some juncture, instead of speculating about what my life would be like “if only,” I just get to do the if only.

This sentence struck me today in Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy:

Stories happen only to those who are able to tell them…

I believe I am able to tell them.

I have stories to tell.

A passport, a camera, an open heart, a sincere belief that I only have to leap.

Oh, my body, my breath, my fingers, they ache to go forward into the brink, to come back to you, soft and shining, in the dusky light with tales of adventure and love.

Tell me a story, do.


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