Posts Tagged ‘Mr. Robot’

Super Bummed

September 7, 2016

Like really bummed.

But.

Not hurt.

Although I am anticipating my legs and knees are going to be sore tomorrow.

Sigh.

My scooter got smacked down today.

I left work this evening eager to hop on it and scoot out of the neighborhood and go catch up with some fellows in a church basement.

But.

‘Twas not to be.

I noticed something was off with it right away.

It was canted funny, like it wasn’t sitting on its’ kickstand right.

Then.

I realized the right mirror was busted.

Oh fuck.

I tried to right it, but it was tilted at an off angle and the tire was locked, I had my kryptonite wheel lock attached to it.

I slipped off the wheel lock and rocked it forward.

It was definitely not right.

I tried to start it.

Oh fuck.

The left hand brake was broken.

So.

Some one ran into it, tipped it over, banged it pretty hard and then picked it up and drove off.

No note.

Thanks buster.

I suspect you will get your comeuppance.

I don’t have to hate on you, you know what you did.

I was pretty upset.

Mostly because I just wanted to get out of Dodge.

I went back to my job, hoping that maybe they had caught something on camera, but the scooter was parked just a little too far back for their cameras to have caught anything.

I called the SF Police non-emergency number and was told I had to come down to the station and make a report.

Ugh.

So, a bit teary, tired, and frustrated, I trotted over to the Mission police station.

Thankful, really, that I work only three blocks away from the station.

It could have been a lot worse.

Plus.

I can leave my scooter where it is for the next couple of days while I figure out what to do next–my childcare parking permit will let me stay parked for up to 72 hours in the same spot.

I suspect I will be making a call to Scooter Centre in the morning.

I have a two year service warranty, not that it will necessarily cover this, but I believe it includes road side assistance, I should be able to get it towed to the shop in the morning without having to shell out money.

I got the accident report filled out so I can file with my insurance.

It’s all just a big pain in the ass, really.

I wasn’t on my scooter, I didn’t get hurt, it’s not smashed to smithereens, I have insurance.

It comes down to inconvenience and well, hey, I got a bike, I can ride it to work tomorrow and deal with it.

I will skip the yoga class I was going to do before work tomorrow and just get right on getting things straightened out.

Ultimately, I got over being upset pretty quick.

I am super grateful that I wasn’t hit, that I am ok, that my body doesn’t have a scratch.

Just a wet mark from a few tears sliding down my face.

Mostly out of frustration, but even in the frustration I could see that I was going to be alright, it’s just a thing, I didn’t lose anything, maybe a little bit of time that I would have preferred to have spent on other things.

I am also laughing, a little, I just fucking had it serviced!

Literally, on Friday, while I was in school, I dropped $300 to make sure it was all up and running and doing good.

Le sigh.

And moving on.

I got to yoga this morning.

Wowzers.

It’s been a minute.

I was not as bad off as I was afraid and the teacher was a new instructor I have not had before, she had us do a lot of stuff, but I didn’t feel like I was ever going to die in the class, like I have before when I have had different instructors and I am not used to their teaching style.

In fact, she was the best possible re-entry to my practice.

It was a small class, Labor Day weekend, Burning Man, I suspect many folks still are getting de-dusted, and it was nice to ease back in gently.

I came home after class, drank a gang of water, took a hot shower, ate some nice breakfast, drank some fresh brewed coffee, wrote three pages long hand and had enough time left over that I ran my numbers for August and did my September spending plan.

I’m ok on the money.

This is what I’m telling myself.

I don’t know exactly how insurance stuff works, but I suspect that I will be paying out of pocket to get my scooter repaired and then getting reimbursed through my insurance company.

Grateful I know that I have the funds to deal with it.

I also will get a small amount of money after my student loans are disbursed to pay my tuition this month.

So.

Yeah.

A bit of a hassle, some time suck, but overall, no big shakes.

Luxury problems, yo.

I’m so much calmer now that I’m home and have some hot tea going into my body.

I was also thinking when I was getting a ride home from the Lyft car I pinged, how lucky am I?

I have a phone, I hit a button, called a car, got a ride home.

I live in San Francisco.

I have an awesome bicycle in the garage and no shortage of ways to get back to work.

I repeated, to myself, I am ok.

I was not hurt.

I was no where near it when it was hit.

I am safe.

There really is nothing wrong.

It’s a nice mental place to be in.

Sure.

I’m not looking forward to dealing with it tomorrow, but I don’t have to be at work until 1p.m.

I have the time to spare to deal with it.

And deal with it I shall.

There was a reason it happened and I don’t have to know why, I don’t even have to be upset that the person who hit it didn’t leave a note, that’s on them, and I bet it sticks with them.

My conscience is clear and I won’t have a problem dropping off tonight.

And I suspect, more will be revealed.

Maybe I was supposed to be slowed down this week.

Who knows.

I’m safe.

That’s all that’s important.

That and making another cup of tea.

And watching Mr. Robot.

The rest of it can all wait for the morning.

Night y’all.

 

No Date For You!

September 5, 2016

No soup either.

I chose a pork chop instead.

I was in the middle of class today and I received a text message from tonight’s date regarding where and when to meet.

Um

Uh oh.

Zeitgeist.

Now.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Zeitgeist, it’s great, lovely picnic tables, outdoor seating, lots of port-a-potties, good location, the Mission and all.

But.

Um.

Yeah.

The last time I was at Zeitgeist I was wasted in the beer garden and well on my way to scoring some blow from my dealer.

I was smoking cigarettes like there was no such thing as lung cancer, or a brighter tomorrow, and over tipping the bartender to over compensate for my lack of self-esteem.

And well.

He was hot, in a beer goggly kind of way.

I haven’t been to Zeitgeist in over a decade.

Seriously.

I am 11.5 years into recovery and I think the last time I was at that bar was a few months before I got sober and put it all down, thank you very much, the dancing on the picnic tables was fun when the weather was warm and the nights were boozy, but no thank you.

But thank you for the offer.

When I responded that Zeitgeist was not an option for me on a first date I got a long, drawn out pause.

I mean.

Let’s get something straight.

If I have a reason to be at a place serving liquor or where there’s drugs and extra curricular activity happening, Burning Man, a concert, a club with a good dj, then I’m all set, I have a reason to be there.

But a date.

Nah.

Meet me at the cafe s’il vous plait.

Bars ain’t no good for me and Zeitgeist doesn’t have any appeal either for music since they don’t do shows there, fuck they don’t need to, they have an outdoor beer garden and you can smoke.

Well, you could the last time I was there, who knows now, regardless, not the place for me.

My potential date quietly and vaguely backed away from the meet up.

I asked for some clarification, not that I gave a shit, you don’t want to hang because I don’t drink, no biggie, you got your heart set on a pitcher of pilsner and a smoke in the beer garden at Zeitgeist on a Labor Day weekend, do it.

He had made a soft ball pitch, underhand, slow pitch, not fast, that maybe he would consider hitting Dolores park.

Which didn’t have much appeal to me, but I could if enticed.

There was no enticement though, again a vague rather back out.

I finished up my day at school.

Hurray for getting through the first weekend intensive of the semester!

And.

I sent a text asking for clarification.

Did he want to meet or not?

The answer was a no.

And like that I was free to go about my day.

We were both congenial in our response and that felt rather adult.

It also reminded me of the things I have been writing about regarding the want to attract an adult male partner.

Sobriety is pretty high on that list, followed closely by not smoking, gainfully employed, self-supporting, age appropriate, local…

I was grateful to turn down the date and be honest about what I want and need.

The first step in manifesting a mate, yeah, I know, hocus pocus, but fuck you, I’m giving it the old college try, all things considered I have manifested stranger–hello three seater Cessna plane ride home from Burning Man this year (you do realize my stuff is still on playa gathering dust as I type), why not a sober mate; is to know what I don’t want.

I don’t want an active drinker, drug user, or cigarette smoker.

I do want someone who is emotionally available, strong, powerful in themselves, aware, intelligent, creative, funny, affectionate, will bring me flowers…

I could go into further detail, but suffice to say, said partner is not going to want to take me to Zeitgeist for my first date.

Nope.

Truth be told, it was nice to have the afternoon to look after myself once school had wrapped up.

I took my time, chatted with a few friends in my cohort–man, I am liking how well I have been getting on with everyone–and slowly took my leave of campus, tucking my books and notebooks into my scooter basket and zoom zipping to the Outer Sunset.

I dropped off my school bag at home and headed back out on my scooter to do some grocery shopping.

I decided to cook myself a nice meal: boneless pork tenderloin pan sauteed in orange and rosemary infused olive oil with tarragon, garlic, sea salt and pepper; accompanied by thinly slice brown butter (ok, ok, it was Earth Balance, but brown butter sounds so much nicer) brussels sprouts, brown mushrooms, and white corn.  I served it over a little bed of brown rice and happily tucked into the deliciousness with some sparkling water.

After that I was a good school girl and read for about an hour and a half.

There is a lot of reading this semester.

A LOT.

And despite wanting to sit it out for a minute, I knew that it would be a better use of my time while I was freshly fed and hydrated and relaxed in my cozy little home, to get in a little reading time.

I do better with retaining the material if I do a half hour to an hour and a half at a time.

More than that and my eyes cross.

I read for a bit over an hour, took a break, then went back and picked up a different book and read for another 30 minutes.

Perfect.

Some hot tea, some blogging, some relaxing.

I’ll watch a little Mr. Robot, have a little snack, a cup of tea, and sleep in tomorrow.

I won’t be setting my alarm for 6:30 a.m.

I will be resting.

I don’t have plans for tomorrow.

Like none.

I suspect I will spend most of my time in the neighborhood.

A walk down to the beach, perhaps.

A long sit in the sun, if the fog lifts, in the back yard.

And.

Yes.

Very likely.

More grad school reading.

But.

Hey.

If you’re a sober male, appropriate age and local.

(non-smoker)

Let me know.

I’m around.

And.

I like coffee.

You?

My Body Hurts

August 16, 2016

My brain hurts.

Everything hurts.

I am not sure why.

It’s not sick hurt.

It’s like I slept on my back hurt in a strange way.

But I slept like a baby, like a tired baby with hot milk in its belly.

In my own bed for the first time in eight days.

I remember putting my head on the pillow and rolling over and I was out.

I mean.

OUT.

I woke up to go to the loo at some point.

I think.

I mean, I usually do, as I like to have a cup of tea before I hit the hay, but I don’t even remember if I did, it was just an assumption.

I woke up when my alarm went off and got moving.

Now that I remember it, I did feel sore when I woke up, but I think I just shrugged it off.

And perhaps it’s tension or psycho-somatic, or who knows, I certainly don’t have to figure it out, but it is certainly there.

And there is no sleeping in my sweet, cozy, dreamy little studio tonight.

No.

I have made my return to Glen Ellen, to Stone Tree, to a week of being in Sonoma, but instead of being in Petaluma, I am at work.

The family’s vacation spot for the summer.

It’s not a bad bed and fuck, the room I have is huge, I mean, really gigantic.

Bigger than my in-law, that’s for certain.

It’s just not my bed.

I will be wrangling up some ibuprofen in a little while, after I blog and make a cup of tea and I think, yes, an episode of Mr. Robot.

I tried to do some Burning Man stuff, order a few last minute things, but I found I didn’t have the focus in me to do so.

I just paid my phone bill and that was all the online activity I could handle, no Amazon shopping for me tonight.

I made it out here ok, although there was a bit of a miscommunication between me and the mom and I didn’t realize that I didn’t have to lock up the house after letting in the housekeeper.

So I was in and around the Mission for many unnecessary hours.

That being said, I made an appearance at one of many fine church basements in the Mission and got right with God.

I figured, a week out of town, a week away from my fellows, from my favorite cafes and food and San Francisco, from my bed, my home, my things, was going to warrant a little getting steady with my emotional, mental, and spiritual needs.

I will be getting compensated for the additional money I had to spend on the rental car, which is nice, but I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with the parents about it.

The conversation happened via text this morning while I was at the house waiting for the cleaner to show up.

And today when I got there.

Well.

I was too busy catching up with the boys who wouldn’t let go of me.

Dinner was had with one leaned against me and the other in my lap, there was no removing myself.

The youngest was such a little darling, he was napping when I showed up and dad had to run to town on an errand, the older boy and mom were out, and it was just the little guy and me and the dog.

Said dog who was so happy to see me it made my heart warm and fuzzy.

When he woke up, the look on his face, incredulous joy.

“Surprise,” I said softly, touching his sweet face, and wiping his little sweaty brow.

He sleeps hot.

“Carmen!  Oh, Carmen, I missed you, I want to go pick tomatoes with you in the garden and make you a salad,” he said all warm and soft and cuddly and my god, my heart.

So much.

So much love.

He crawled into my arms and wrapped himself around me and told me how much he missed me and how much he loved me, and then he took my hand and we walked to the garden and picked tomatoes off the vine and fresh basil.

When the oldest boy got back, he proudly showed me all the places they had picked blackberries and then insisted that we go back up to the garden and pick even more tomatoes, because he too, missed me, loved me, and wanted to make me a tomato salad.

They remembered from last year.

The tomatoes were out of hand and I probably ate two or three each meal, mostly chopped up with sea salt and olive oil, black pepper, lemon balm (it’s a type of herb), oregano, and fresh basil, splash of balsamic and I am a very happy girl.

Both the boys helped me make the salad and then they both ate out of my bowl and dredged their fingers through the olive oil and vinegar and ate bites of grilled chicken off my plate and just were relentless with touching me, cuddling with me, sitting on me.

“Carmen,” the oldest boy whispered to me, “please massage my back again,” he said, then tugged on my hand, when I had stopped to take a bite of dinner.

I melted, just a little bit.

Ok.

A lot bit.

We sat chair to chair and while his brother basically licked the bowl clean, I rubbed his shoulders and told him about my graduate school adventures and the animals I saw at the institute–hawks, the deer, the does and their fawns, the jack rabbit in the grass, the ears so high and big.

I tried to get a photograph of it, it was just huge, but it loped off into the high grass before I was able to get my phone up and open to the camera.

After dinner, which began to devolve, I think the eldest has a bit of a cold he’s struggling with, I let the boys smack me with pillows.

I had a sense that though they were not necessarily mad at me, there was a need to be a little aggressive with their feelings, get out some of the consternation and energy from not getting to see each other for the two weeks I was away from them.

They had missed me and they had feelings around it and they needed to express that too, not just the snuggly love stuff, which not withstanding was divine to experience, so a pillow fight ensued.

And it was absolutely the best.

I set a timer and let them hit me with pillows for three minutes solid without defending myself or hitting them back with the couch pillows.

It was so much fun.

The giggles.

Mine and theirs.

Then, when the alarm rang, we all just collapsed in a heap on the couch and snuggled more.

I was with them far past what should have been my end of day, but I couldn’t resist catching up and re-connecting.

I’ll be here until Friday.

Drive back into SF in the evening then have the weekend in town.

I’ve got some organizing to do in regards to Burning Man, then depending on what next week looks like, I’ll be heading back to Glenn Ellen in the evening on Sunday, I think, for one more week of summer vacation travel nanny fun.

Then off to Burning Man next Friday.

Oof.

Not quite ready yet.

But not really able to do anything more tonight.

Too tired to figure it out right now.

Time for Mr. Robot, I’m into the second season now, cup of tea, apple, bed.

Night y’all.

See you on the flip.


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