Posts Tagged ‘once more into the breach’

Once More

April 6, 2018

Into the breach.

My friends.

Once more.

My fourth weekend of my final semester of my Master’s program begins tomorrow.

I will be kicking it off by doing a case presentation on a client for my Integrative Seminar program.

I feel like I have already kicked it off, so to speak, by all the preparations I have done this evening–laundry, hot, hot, hot shower and washing the hair, packed up my notebooks and folders, roasting a chicken, roasting as I write.

I know.

I know.

I said I wasn’t going to roast any more chickens.

But my fucking reflux hasn’t gotten any better since taking that particular food out of my diet for a week and a half, hell, almost two weeks.

In fact, I haven’t really noticed too much of any kind of change despite my valiant, they feel valiant to me, efforts to really be good about my food.

I mean.

Fuck.

How many god damn kale salads can a girl eat?

I have eaten salad every day for lunch for the last week or so.

I have eaten super simple food.

Lots of oatmeal.

Brown rice.

Shrimp.

Lean ground turkey.

I haven’t eaten citrus, garlic, onions, fatty meats, tomatoes, dairy, for the most part, put a spot of it in my tea today when I ran out of unsweetened almond milk at work, no sugar, no flour.

I have, however, eaten a fuck load of Tums.

And.

I have chewed a lot of gum.

I have also drank a lot of fucking apple cider vinegar.

I am fucking tired of drinking apple cider vinegar.

It seemed to work really well and then over the last week, not so much, some relief, but the reflux comes back with a vengeance.

I have it super bad now and like I said, I ate fantastically well today.

Oatmeal with apples and blueberries for breakfast.

Kale salad with veggies for lunch, apple and blueberries with roasted pumpkin seeds for dessert.

Dinner was sautéed shrimp with broccoli and a cup of brown rice.

Didn’t fucking matter.

Still in so much pain I want to vomit.

“You look tired,” my eight year old charge told me today as we were going up the stairs to his house.

We had an awesome adventure out to FirePie Pizza.

I know the founder and CEO and I had asked him if I could bring in my charge.

A few months ago I was out with my oldest charge, ran into my friend, introduced them and when we walked off my charge said, “who was that?”

And I replied, “he owns FirePie!”

“What!” My charge yelped, “I love FirePie! You know the owner!?”

He was star struck.

So.

I arranged for a private tour of the kitchen and today my little charge got to put on an apron and get in the kitchen and cook his own pepperoni pizza.

Two actually.

And to my utter amazement, he ate one entire pizza when he got home.

Pride of ownership I think.

It was really adorable to do it and I am very happy my friend accommodated us so sweetly.

My charge, however, was right.

I am fucking tired.

Six and a half hours of over time this week.

Three and a half today and three yesterday.

I’ve come in early the last couple of days.

And two out of my three charges have been sick all week, and today was parent teacher conferences at school, so nobody went to school and I had all three monkeys while the parents met with teachers.

I was great, if I do say so myself, I made them pancakes for breakfast, I let them watch movies in their pajamas, we had fun building cars out of cardboard boxes and duct tape.

The baby napped on me in the carrier for two and a half hours.

And I took the oldest boy to make pizza with his own private tour of FirePie.

#winning

#whosyournanny?

And.

I have had horrendous, unrelenting reflux pain every day this week.

Gah.

Maybe I’ll try some more apple cider vinegar, it hurts so bad right now.

And that helped, a little.

Oof.

Hopefully that nullifies things for a little while.

I will say I am fucking hydrated as fuck.

I did make an appointment with One Medical for Monday.

I could have gotten in today, but there was no one I could have given the family such short notice without being short of dying.

And though it feels like I’m dying sometimes I am capable of showing up and working.

Monday though.

Monday I am going into see a new doctor, I’ve joined a new organization and hopefully I will get some relief.

I just can’t take it much more.

Plus.

I really want to enjoy the next few months.

Or next month and a half.

I only have one more weekend of classes after this one.

Then.

I graduate!

I really am so excited for that.

I am already getting emails from the PhD program and I will be registering soon for the fall semester, no rest for the wicked.

But.

There will be a party.

And there will be vacation time.

And I want that time to be enjoyable.

I started doing a little bit of party planning with my best friend who is helping me organize and do set up with another dear friend of mine.

I’m trying to come up with a graduation theme.

I was thinking “Gidget Graduates.”

I’m having a beach bonfire party at Ocean Beach.

I thought it might be cute to have some sort of theme, 50s or 60s beach party.

I found this super cute Gidget book cover that I think the movies were based on.

“The little girl with big ideas.”

Kind of cute.

Or I might go Frankie Avalon and Annette.

Anyway, it’s going to be fun and I’m looking forward to it and I want to through the next two weekends of classes and get all my papers done and in.

After tomorrow’s presentation I have two papers left.

Two.

I am so ready to be done.

So ready for a break.

From school.

And from my tummy.

Seriously.

 

Once More Into

January 18, 2017

The breach, my friends.

Once more, into the.

Oops.

Ha.

I meant, books, once more into the books.

Yes.

I have started in on the reading that will need to be done for the next weekend of classes.

I got a new trauma book in the mail today and that has been cracked, as well as getting into the next chapter in one of my couples therapy books.

There is so much reading.

But.

It is so much better than the reading I was doing last semester, the DSM V is a little, ahem, dry.

I just knocked through a chapter and a half in “The Body Keeps the Score,” which is a book about healing trauma.

I am all down for that.

Yes.

Yes I am.

It’s fascinating reading and I’m a little surprised it’s just now that I am getting into it, but as I know so well, my past experiences will guide me and though I may not have much experience with healing trauma, although that could be argued I tried a lot of different things, I do have plenty of experience with having been exposed to trauma.

“Like to like,” I said in class as we were setting up the parameters for how we as a class were going to move forward.

I meant, that like attracts like.

I reflect that I don’t know exactly, consciously, why, but there is something there, I have worked with too many women who have had identical if not highly similar trauma stories as I have.

I have sought out to work, like wise, with women that I have found out later, had the same experience or sets of traumatic experiences that I had as well.

It’s shocking.

And it’s not, all at the same time.

I am grateful to be doing the work now as a student and I have always had an inkling that what and where I land will have a great deal to do with how I have walked through my own trauma spaces.

And not walked through.

There are spots and things and big old cheesy holes in my memory.

But.

The body remembers.

And that’s what I find fascinating and curative in its own way.

I have done an extraordinary amount of self-work and I wonder how much I saved myself without even realizing that I was saving myself.

And I wonder how much more saving there is to do.

Plenty I am sure.

I can often see when a behavior is not serving me, for instance, but it takes a great deal of effort to not continue to engage with something that isn’t good for me.

Men who are not divorced, emotionally available, or hmm, live in another part of the country.

So sexy.

I mean.

Even a novice in psychology would say, oh, I bet her dad wasn’t around when she was a kid.

I mean.

Duh.

And perhaps I am dumbing it down a little, but it’s a cliché because there’s some truth there.

The child like need to reconstruct the past in my present circumstances so that I may resolve an old psychological wounding.

I had nothing to do with the break up of my parents marriage, I gather it was breaking apart before it had really solidified.

Yet, how many times have I been involved with a man who is going through a bad divorce or break up with children of certain age?

And better yet, with those children being girls?

Ack.

It’s embarrassing.

I will be going into therapy soon enough to deal with that, but I do wonder, sometimes more than I wish, wouldn’t it just be nice to get involved with a straight edge kind of guy, one with good morals, who’s single, not married, doesn’t have kids, isn’t an active drug addict, isn’t alcoholic, or, I don’t know, not a felon or a convict?

Fuck.

That sounds boring!

There is comfort in the known.

I once was told, “Honey, I know five things about the man you are dating without you having to tell me anything,” pause, “he’s homeless, jobless, he’s got less than thirty days sober, doesn’t have any money, and has holes in his socks.”

I was aghast.

It was like he’d just looked into my bedroom.

I’m not joking.

I was mortified to recall that the paramour at my apartment the night before had holes in his socks, I remember finding that distasteful and I was ashamed that my person knew me so well.

I have since had lovers who have stellar socks.

But occasionally I do fall for the emotionally unavailable man.

And boy howdy, they’re just like a big box of chocolates.

Another thing I can’t have.

But my mind has a sweet tooth for the emotionally unavailable man.

They are so tender and deletable.

And.

Safe.

Fuck me.

They are so safe.

They are not available for romantic, emotional commitment, and great!

Because.

Neither am I!

Or so the story goes and then I’ll be safe and not get my feelings hurt and not have all that past trauma drug up and tossed about.

Except.

Well.

None of that works for me.

And as I read more and more and go through more and more of my program I am in fact, looking to heal those places, to let in new scenarios.

To dump the box of temptation in the trash rather than fondly sift through the contents and ponder what it would be like if I just had a tiny little taste.

NO.

It’s just not good for me and I keep finding resolution in the way the material works on me and through me and I am excited and gratified to know that I can change, am changing, am growing.

That the trauma will get worked out, it’s been getting worked out, and that I am allowed to work it out.

Maybe my best efforts at keeping a true emotional and romantic and spiritual relationship with a man would have once been too threatening, that I kept going back to the known trauma of the relational field to keep some sort of fresh wounding intact.

I wouldn’t forget my father that way and I might somehow figure it out.

How to save him.

But.

Really.

I think.

Saving me at this point is more to the point.

And ultimately.

What my father would have wished for me if he could.

This I believe.

And in that knowing, which will sink from head to heart to gut, I will heal.

I will grow.

And I will let go of those old ideas that no longer serve.

For something new and wonderful.

I fucking deserve it.

I really.

Really.

REALLY.

Do.

Smacks!

March 11, 2016

$0.99

That is cheap!

I mis read the sign as the car turned onto Laguna Honda.

It reads “snacks” but I thought smacks was pretty appropriate for San Francisco.

I sort of want to smack my own head.

I realize I am going to have to ask for some help with my paper formatting.

I have a dear friend in my cohort, so dear, she’s coming to pick me up in the morning so I don’t have to take a car into class–damn it rain, ease it up–who has some software that I can use to format my papers in APA style, but I haven’t figured out how to get it onto my computer.

So.

Help.

It must be had.

I suspect, no, I know, I know, and frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn, one of the courses is a pass/fail class and yes, I know it’s graduate school, but without having to have an assigned grade I’m sort of like, I don’t give a fuck that it’s not entirely properly formatted.

It’s well fucking written.

It gots a title and stuff.

Bah.

I knew this was going to come up and I just haven’t dealt with it.

I have less urgency this semester, but I also have good habits and I’m pretty much done with all my reading and the two papers I wrote are well written, insightful, and dare I say, informed.

They are just not entirely formatted in the proper manner.

I think between the two of them, there half of what needs to be done, and I have to say I just don’t care.

This may actually be a breakthrough for me.

I made the executive decision to print them off and I’m going to turn them in and I will let both my professors know that I will be getting my APA ass together and the rest of the papers will be properly formatted.

I mean for the perfectionist in me this is a big deal.

There is a grand part of me that is horrified that I have done them exactly right and another part of me that’s totally like, fuck it man.

I wrote them.

Hand them in and move on.

Of course I may change my mind after writing my blog.

The evil nagging voice in me that says, oh, ho, you got time to blog and you went to yoga class today and you were on Tinder, you better get your fucking ducks in a row and write those papers correctly.

Fuck.

Yeah.

Knowing me that’s pretty much what is going to happen.

I don’t like turning something in when I know better.

Ignorance is not really bliss, but knowing that you’re purposely not doing something because you don’t want to deal, well, um, that’s just being childish.

The work is work and I want to show that I am willing to play ball with the big kids.

I mean, my biggest annoyance in class is when a fellow student is being distracting talking or watching something on their lap top that has nothing to do with class.

If I expect others to approach this with seriousness, I suppose I should too.

And I do.

I have done the work, it’s just not up to 100%.

Not that everything is ever going to be perfect.

I can’t aim for perfection, it’s too much responsibility.

However.

I can aim for doing my best and these two papers, with a little tweeking will be better.

Sigh.

Yeah.

I know.

I’ll be doing some more homework after I finish this blog.

But hey.

At least, like I said, I’m getting a ride into school tomorrow.

That’s really nice.

Plus it will be nice to have extra time with my friend.

She’s not in the city, she’s one of the students that come in from out of town.

That still amazes me that so many of the people in my cohort commute in from other cities and states and countries.

My cohort has a man that flies up from Mexico, another from Miami, Fl.

These people are putting in the effort.

I can too.

And despite a longing to go to bed at a proper hour to get the right amount of sleep, I never do fall right off the night before my first day back into a weekend of classes.

I just don’t.

I have laundry in the dryer I’ll deal with.

My lunch and dinner is packed though, coffee ready, tea, all the little things that are nice to have when the day is long and the classes stretch out before me.

Grateful that I get to be in graduate school.

It is a gift.

I’ll get the papers done right and let myself off the hook.

No one is more of a critic than I, but I do suspect one of my professors will have a bit to say if I don’t format the papers correctly according to the standards she’s outlined in the syllabus and her class is not pass/fail, but is in fact given a letter grade.

I do participate a great deal in the class, as I do in all my classes, but half my grade will ride on papers, so I do want to be turning in well heeled papers.

It’s midterm.

I can hardly believe that.

I am half way through, or on the eve of being so, my second semester of my first year.

This is happening.

“You are aware that you have to fulfill a lot of hours after your program, aren’t you,” my date last night mentioned as he shifted in his chair, pushing his glasses far up his nose.

Are you aware that you are two inches shorter than your profile?

Oops.

Ha.

Um.

“Yes, I am, but you know, I’m only going to get older and I’m ok with the amount of work that I need to do, anything worthy having is worth working for,” I replied and smiled.

Because I am a worker.

I do the job.

I get’er done you know.

I am grateful for the work ethic.

It does sometimes mask a need to keep me busy so that I can’t possibly have time to feel my feelings, but for the most part, it is a defect that still serves.

I suppose at some point it won’t.

But.

For today, for graduate school, I’ll keep it for a tiny bit longer.

That being said.

I’ve made my 1,000 words for my blog–my unspoken goal for all my blogs–and I am going to edit this and proof it quickly and publish.

Leave myself a little time to go back over those two papers and put them together with some proper care.

Once more into the breach my friends.

Once more into the breach.


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