Posts Tagged ‘paper writing’

Feeling Better

October 15, 2017

And almost through the weekend of classes.

The air quality improved substantially today.

So much better.

I have still had a low-grade cough, raw throat and tight and sore sinuses, but the air is better and tonight when I rode my scooter home I could take deep breaths and it felt so, so good.

There are still fires burning, but today felt like hope, that maybe there was an end in sight and that as the day passed things felt better and better.

I don’t know, I can’t predict a thing, but it was something to breathe better today.

The small things that I can take for granted, fresh air, good water, my home, it was with great gratitude that I drew those clean breaths of air, such goodness, just a big simple drawing in of air.

Ah.

I can feel my head ache easing and I know that the air quality has substantially improved.

This morning when I got up it was registering at unhealthy and there was ash again all over my scooter and a distinct smell of wood burning in the air, it was hazy and smudgy and smokey and my first class of the day was boxed up in a hot airless room.

But by the afternoon it started to shift and I left campus to grab lunch with a friend at The Market, the chi chi high-end grocery store in the Twitter building, they have a poke bar that I like to eat at if I’m going to blow a wad of money on lunch rather than eat the food that I brought with me.

I was happy to get out of the school building, the air felt fresher and it just continued to improve throughout the day.

So grateful.

So, so, so grateful.

And I’m also grateful that I only have one more class to get through tomorrow and that will put my squarely at the half way point of the semester.

I will have two more weekends of classes and then the winter break.

I’m doing pretty good, I’ve participated,  caught up on all my reading for this weekend, and I turned in the paper that was due for my Jungian Dream Work class.

I have a mid-term paper due on the 24th of the month for my Transpersonal class that I figure I will write the paper next weekend.

Then two more weekends of classes and I will enter the final semester of my Masters in Counseling Psychology.

Fuck.

I am doing this, I’m doing this, it’s really happening.

It’s been so much work and sacrifice.

I don’t always talk about that, the things that I have had to let go of to participate in the program while still working full-time.

I have given up going to birthday parties, out dancing, movies, fellowship, dates, dinner with friends, people and places and stuff that I used to do on a much regular basis.

It’s been hard.

I have felt sad when I have not been able to connect.

And yet.

I have spent so much time figuring out how to connect with people, with grace, with God, with service, with learning what I need to learn to better serve my community.

And.

Yes.

To have a fucking career where in I can make some money.

Oh.

I know, I’m not going to make a grand amount, but I am going to make so much more than what I make as a nanny, unless I get some super cush job, but the fact is, I’m ready to not be a nanny anymore.

I’ve a few more years and I’m fine with that, I still have miles and miles to go, but sure and steady, slow, one day at a time I am doing the work to get to the place.

And when I get there, well, there will be other places to go.

But.

For right now I am just really happy to be in my last year of the Masters program and to let myself be proud of what I have accomplished.

Showing up every weekend.

Turning in every assignment on time.

Straight A’s.

It’s awful nice to have a 4.0 average in grad school, just let me acknowledge that, I have a 4.0.

That’s something.

I have learned a tremendous amount about myself.

I have made dear friends.

I have a cohort, a group of peers, a community where I wasn’t expecting to have one, I have people who see me and regard me as an equal and who I get great feedback and validation from.

And I’m doing something that I don’t think anyone in my family has done.

I’m getting a Master’s Degree.

I could be wrong about that, I may have a cousin somewhere with one, but I can’t think of any off-hand, I don’t believe most of the people in my family have a college degree, let a lone a Master’s degree.

I feel pretty lucky that I have achieved what I have achieved and that I have put in the work.

Sometimes the sacrifices have seemed really hard, I have been lonely, I have missed experiences, but I also know that I am making myself into a woman with great potential to help and heal and that I will be of service for so many years.

I think I’ll have much more longevity as a therapist than a nanny, I’ll be able to practice as a therapist many, many, many years past the time when I would want to be a nanny anymore.

Hell, I’m pretty done with it as it stands.

Oh, not that I hate my job, I love the family  work for and I am so happy to get to do the work with them.

No, what I meant, is that my body is about done with it, my back is sore from carrying the baby in a carrier, my knees hurt, I have spent so many years being on my feet, from all the years, decades really, working in the service industry–started at 12 ended at 32, so that’s twenty years, and now the past eleven years or so as a nanny.

I could use a sit down job, thank you very much.

I once was having some real problems with my knees and I was young, in my mid twenties, and the doctor told me at that time that I needed to get out of the service industry, that I needed a sit down job, “your knees are that bad,” he told me showing me x-rays and explaining what the problems were.

I didn’t really heed that advice.

And I have managed to get by, sometimes a bit painfully slow, and I have seen things that have slipped past me that I wish I could still do.

No more running.

Not that I was a great runner, but I thought once or twice that I would at least do one marathon in my life

And dancing.

Oh.

Man.

I can tell how bad my knees are when I go out dancing, they are just not what they used to be, not that they used to be great anyway, but fuck.

Anyway.

I will go on standing for a little while yet.

I’m not there yet.

But.

Damn.

I am one more step closer.

I’ll take it.

Yes.

Yes, I will.

One little baby step at a time.

I will get there.

You may be assured.

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Small Steps

July 28, 2017

Add up.

I keep telling myself that as I slowly start tracking my hours for my MFT license.

I also reiterated that to myself and an old friend that I had the pleasure of catching up with today over coffee and lunch in Hayes Valley.

We hadn’t seen each other in years and it was like old times.

And yes.

We’ve gotten older.

And older is all I’m going to get.

I don’t mind.

I like myself more and more.

I feel like I am entering my prime, not exiting it.

I have so very much to live for and I am so grateful that I have carved out this life here in San Francisco.

I don’t have to think about how long it will take to get my hours, I will get my hours, it will happen, the time will pass and one day it will be a story that I tell someone else who is beginning the process.

Things take time.

Sometimes things happen quickly, they fall into place, and there is a beauty and grace to it.

I am often reminded of what a very wise woman said to me years ago, “if it’s meant to be you can’t fuck it up and if it’s not meant to be, you can’t manipulate it into happening.”

My career path is like that.

For the longest time I tried this and that and the other to make it as a creative.

A writer.

A poet.

Maybe a screen writer, I certainly had and do have some interesting ideas for movies, but nothing panned out.

Oh.

Sure.

I have this, my blog, and it’s panned out fantastically, I throw my stuff at the screen in front of me, I process my day, I get things out, I figure it out mostly by not figuring it out, but by taking the creative action of just showing the fuck up here consistently.

But.

I have never really made it as a writer.

Not that I’m not a writer.

I’m fucking writing right now.

I’m good.

I’m not great.

But I would hazard that I am better than plenty of folks that do get published.

Perhaps it’s that I don’t understand how to submit, or that I don’t submit the right stuff or that I am not as good as I believe, it’s beyond me is what I’m saying.

One day it may not be.

Today it is and suffice to say.

I don’t give a flying fuck.

I love writing.

I love poetry.

I love expressing myself.

And this is my medium.

I don’t write for an audience.

Oh.

Sure.

Sometimes I may be addressing you, sometimes things sneak in and there’s a message between the lines, I won’t say that there’s not.

But I do really do the writing for myself.

But it’s not a career.

The dividends that have paid off are vast and varied, the people who I have met because of my blog, the things I have done, the experiences I have had, especially when my blog was a little more public, were and have been astounding.

Too many to list here.

However.

Most of the time the pay off has not been cash money.

In some round about ways, though, it has paid off more than handsomely.

I expressed to my friend today that I am often a bit ridiculed, or teased, ridiculed seems a harsher word than the poking fun I get from my cohort, for how fast I can write papers for class.

It really hasn’t been too much to sit down and knock out a big paper in one sitting, in a few hours.

If I have an idea of what I am writing, if I have done my research, taken good notes and done my reading for the class, I can crank it out.

I can do that because I do this, consistently, my rate of typing is fast.

I haven’t timed it in a long time, but it does seem that my thoughts fly from my brain and to my fingers quite quickly.

I will publish, I know that.

I will publish poems.

I will publish essays.

I will publish my memoir, although it needs severe re-writing.

It may not be the book I originally wrote.

But it will have the skeleton of the manuscript, I am sure of that.

My writing goals have not been met, but they will be, I am sure of that.

When isn’t important.

And I will publish psychology papers.

In some odd sort of twist that may be where I find my first publications, I don’t know exactly, but I do think that I will find that as an avenue for my work.

I have had great reviews of my school papers and I think with some tweaking I could probably submit some of those papers to psychology publications.

Who knows.

I just know that it will happen.

And I’m fine with the process being what it is.

I don’t have to manipulate it into happening and I can’t fuck it up.

Unless I stop.

Which right now seems impossible.

I have stories and stories and stories.

All the words.

There are so many.

So beautiful, like birds on a wire, like the scattershot of sunshine sparkling from the froth of waves, like the way love endears itself further into my heart when I am least expecting it.

My friend and I parted ways and I reflected as I got on my scooter and headed over to my job, my day job, that I have it pretty motherfucking good.

I do.

I have discovered many things about myself in the dozen or so years my friend and I have known each other and they all seem to have played beautiful and rich into the hand that I have been dealt.

I am on the path and in the place I am meant to be.

“You look amazing,” he said.

And you know what?

I feel amazing.

I think that shows.

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

 

Running Into Old

October 14, 2016

Friends.

Is so very nice.

I saw two people tonight that I have not seen in some time and it was really good to catch up.

“It’s been forever!” I exclaimed to one of my friends, who raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t feel like that to me, but then again I read your blogs.”

Oh.

I love that.

It just made my night.

Especially when it comes from people who I respect and admire, who I think are smart, it warms the cockles of my heart.

Cockles.

It’s a word.

Look it up.

Granted it meant not getting home until after 10:30 p.m. tonight, but I really needed to catch up with my people and it was super nice and I feel more connected and seen.

Sometimes I just need to claim my seat.

And I did that tonight.

I also got to relax and come down from work, the breaking up the week between gigs is challenging.

Not just from the standpoint of the differing locations and the different times, but also in establishing my boundaries again with the boys.

It’s something that usually happens on Mondays.

But I’m not with them on Mondays anymore, I don’t see them until Tuesday, then I’m at the other gig on Wednesday and that means the last couple of Thursdays have been a much greater challenge than they used to be.

I’m rolling with it, but by the end of the day I have been pretty worn out.

Of course.

I have my second wind, but it’s like after 11 p.m. and I should be winding down.

But.

I’m listening to

Bon Entendeur.

Fuck it’s good.

So good.

It’s a bunch of French actors who open the set of music with a little monologue, then the music.

Ooh la la.

I’ve been quite into it.

It’s electro, chill, deep house, hip-hop, disco, house, techno.

Um.

Yes.

And.

More please.

My darling French friend at school had put together a Spotify play list for me and one day she added this awesome mix by The Kungs, a French dj–Valentin Brunel–Cookin’ on Three Burners, This Girl and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

I ended up saving all their music to Spotify and listening pretty compulsively to their artist page on Spotify.

I was so hooked.

Then when I ran into them for the mess in the park that was Hardly Strictly melt down for me, I mentioned it to her husband.

She had relayed to me that he was the one who needed to be thanked for the Kungs hook up, he had discovered them.

So I did.

And the next thing you know he’s adding Bon Entendeur to my phone and, well, god damn, it is so, so, so good.

I’m a happy clam listening to it, let me tell you.

There is always something new and amazing to listen to.

I can’t keep up with it all and when I get hooked on something I do tend to stay with it for a while.

I mean.

I am not necessarily embarrassed by it, but I did listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel for a couple of months pretty non-stop every night earlier this summer.

I got to where I could basically sing a long to everything.

I either want something that I can sing along to.

Or I want something I can groove to when I’m writing.

Once in a while.

I need jazz.

On a Sunday.

Chet Baker.

Miles Davis.

Coleman Hawkins.

Or I need some Regina Spektor, a Saturday night spell of girlishness where I will sing and sway alone in my room.

Sometimes I need The Myna Birds and I need to stomp and shout and be mad melancholic.

Or.

I need some Van Morrison.

Which is familiar and wistful.

Or.

A little Shuggie Otis Strawberry Letter Number 24.

Which is got all sorts of undertones to it, some raw and perfumed with the devil of jasmine on a cold night in the Mission with the fog cool on my heart and the breath of autumn rains soon to come.

At times I need the Bach cello sonatas.

I am an emotional eater of music.

Bon Entendeur really has my ticket right now.

It may be that way since I’m going to Paris in May.

It may be that I like fucking good music.

Probably a little of both.

Oh.

And even though it’s late for me, on a school night.

Tomorrow is Friday.

Thank you God for helping me get through the week.

I do have a lot of homework, a lot of papers that need to get written.

But thank God, I finished the reading for one of my classes–which meant being caught up with the back log of reading I had for the class and finishing the reading that is due for next weekend of classes, so that paper will be easy to write and it’s short.

The other I can do in an hour, max two.

The third, yeah, there’s three.

I’m not exactly sure how to approach.

Depending on how early I get up tomorrow and what the weather is going to be like, it’s supposed to rain, I may knock one paper out tomorrow morning before I go into work.

I bet I can get it done.

Then one on Saturday and one on Sunday.

Totally doable.

Even if I don’t feel like doing them.

I will.

Even if I’d rather dance around in my house listening to god damn tasty French music.

I can probably manage to do a little of both.

Fingers crossed.

Hello weekend.

So nice to see you.

Seriously.

 

So I Said

September 16, 2016

Fuck it.

And went to yoga.

I expressed to my friend via text.

We were commiserating about having both gotten a rejection from a publisher in the past twenty-four hours.

Yeah.

I don’t write about it much, but I did send off a couple of poems in recent memory and yesterday I got the thanks but no thanks.

Ditto for my friend.

Although I still get them impression that he’ll be published in a big way and then I can be all like, I knew him when.

He asked if I was working on anything new and where I was going to submit next and what was the contest that I had submitted to.

I had already forgotten.

I explained that I have been too focused on trying to get through the reading for my second year grad program.

I haven’t had time to think about polishing any of my current pieces and submitting them anywhere.

I suppose I could.

I probably should.

I would like to.

Could, would, should.

Good ways to take me out of the moment and beat myself for not having done all the things yet.

But I told him I had a fuck it moment last night and decided to screw doing any more reading and go to yoga this morning instead.

I am grateful I did.

Although.

Fuck me.

It was hard.

In fact.

I cringed when I saw the instructor who was teaching my class today.

I went anyway.

I sacked up.

I got up.

I went.

It was hard.

It was hella hard.

I am still sore.

But.

Man.

I was out of my head and that’s the point, right?

To not be in my head, but to be in my body.

I floated out the door of the studio, gingerly, I was sore, I am sore, I’ll be sore tomorrow too.

I’m going to go to yoga again in the morning.

I have a busy weekend with the things and the doing and the goings and the people and oh, all the freaking home work.

But.

I will make time for fun.

Yes.

Yes I will.

Because all work and all grad school and all recovery can make Carmen a kind of crazy girl.

I have to do the work and I’m down to do it.

But I’m also going to take my joy where I find it.

I’m hella grateful tomorrow is Friday though, let me tell you.

I’m also grateful that I don’t have a paper due for my Psychopathology class; although there’s an uncomfortable amount of reading I need to do for the class by next weekend, at least there’s not a paper.

I have papers due in my two other classes.

Plus.

Sigh.

The paper I need to write for my Gestalt class.

Which.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

I really had some powerful experiences in Gestalt and I don’t feel that there will be any lack of things to write about, plus I read the readings and I took good notes.

It’s a six page paper.

I’ll have it done in an hour and a half.

Twenty minutes to review my notes, go through my notes in the reading, then forty minutes to an hour of writing, some time to proof it and voila.

A paper in 1.5 hours.

I’m a fast writer.

But please, don’t think that my work comes without effort.

It is work.

I have also been practicing my craft for years.

I started this blog what now, seven years ago?

I have been writing in my notebook for ten and a half years.

Every day.

Every god damn day.

I write, I write, I write.

So.

Yeah.

The papers do come fast, but I’m always doing the work, putting in the time and getting down to the actual practice.

I was a little afraid when I started my grad school program that I would lose the habit, maybe not blog as much or write less in the morning.

But.

That has not happened.

I have been consistent.

With that consistency.

Rewards.

The first being that I type hella fast.

I’m not sure how fast, but over 60 words a minutes, probably somewhere around 75 if I’m honest, 80-100 on occasion when the words are really flowing.

I can knock out a 1,000 word blog in a half hour.

Not that I always do.

My typewriting skills not withstanding, sometimes I’m crafting the blog or messing with it or I’m feeling poetic.

Anyway.

Yeah.

Lots and lots and lots of practice.

So the other two papers that are due won’t take me too long either.

Besides.

They’re both two-three page reflection papers.

I’ll review my notes and kick out each one in a half hour.

The biggest challenge is just keeping up with the reading.

And.

Fortunately for me I am a fast reader.

Granted I read slower when I am studying then when I am reading for pleasure, underling pertinent information, re-reading certain things, making sure I understand what I am reading.

But.

l still read at a fairly fast clip.

I am gifted and I get it and I am lucky and I also work my fucking ass off.

I had a friend who would give me shit last year while I was working on my papers about how fast I wrote, and it was no skin off my nose and I have to say, it is work, and I do so much outside work that is not my job job or my school job, that it can feel like I’m working all the fucking time.

I took some offense to it, despite also knowing that he was pretty correct.

The worst thing for me is not the paper writing.

It’s the anticipation of having to write the paper.

That’s where the anxiety lies.

And that’s just another way to take me out of the moment.

In the moment.

Right here.

Right now.

Nothing is wrong.

I have a roof over my head.

It’s an awful cute roof too.

I have food in my belly–dinner with a dearest to celebrate my nine-year anniversary in, well a sister program I go to–and!

I got persimmons at the farmer’s market today.

I have clean clothes folded up in my closet.

I have had a hot shower today.

I had coffee.

The nice kind.

Home brewed for breakfast then an Americano today at work from Ritual.

I got to spend an amazing hour with an extraordinary mentor and friend.

I got to talk with one of my best friends on the phone today.

I got to make plans for the weekend.

I went to yoga.

There’s a hot cup of tea waiting for me and a cozy bed.

Life is fabulous.

And.

Tomorrow is Friday.

So yeah.

Fuck it.

I’ll be going to yoga again in the morning.

The reading and the papers can wait one more day.

Seriously.

Deeper Shade Of Happy

March 24, 2016

I am so happy.

Maybe it is the full moon.

Oh.

Did you see the moon?

Creamy, golden, a flat dinner plate of finest china wiped with soft butter and flipped up into the deep indigo sky, the last kiss of sunset gloaming over the west and the wet slick shine of color over the the black sea slathered in shine and shimmer.

Normally when I am in this part of my cycle I am upset, tender, vulnerable, emotional.

I am all those things and yet.

Happy.

So happy it almost scares me with the intensity.

I am a feeling type creature.

I feel the world in my body, the sun, the stars, the shadows of old light, the mittens forlorn in the lost and found box, the laugh of a child sliding down a twirly slide scattered with sand, faster than fast.

I am alive.

I AM SO GLORIOUS AND ALIVE.

No.

I am not high.

Ha.

Just full.

Full of life, of joy, of fucking health.

Jesus fucking Christ on a raft,  I have no idea sometimes how sick I am until I am not so sick any more.

The cold kicked my ass for the better part of ten days and it’s almost gone.

I can still feel a hitch of it in my body and by the end of the day today with the boys I was in husky voice mode as though I had snuck a pack of silk cut Nat Sherman’s at the playground and chained smoked them under the bougainvillea, blooming deep bloody purple, in the corner of the Mission Playground.

But I did not.

No.

Just the last kick of this cold.

I actually felt so much better today that I was able to get done a bunch of stuff that I had been putting off without even realizing I was putting it off.

I have felt a bit muffled in my head and I just had no real awareness of how under functioning I have been.

I got hella shit done before work today.

Reading for school.

Appointment for some Apple Care help regarding my hard drive, a question about my back up external hard drive I just used this weekend and also some help downloading and opening up the APA formatting software my friend in the cohort has lovingly lent me the use as one of her free downloads.

Plus I got myself an appointment to see the fabulousness that is my new hair colorist over at Harper Paige for this Saturday.

I wasn’t expecting to get in until next month and wouldn’t you know, they’ve got an opening this Saturday.

Hell yes.

I also connected with a friend who I haven’t seen in years, aside from social media, who is now in the process of setting up her own private practice therapy business in downtown SF and who just happened to be in the same program that I am in currently at CIIS.

We are going to catch up and have coffee on the next Sunday of my next weekend of classes.

I got a good picture in my head of what I need to do this week for school and for the upcoming weekends, and yes, good old Dubitzky, she dropped the bomb late last night and I got the e-mail that yes, I do have a third paper that I will have to do for the next weekend of classes.

But.

As I was explaining to a dear friend of mine tonight I’m doing better with school this semester for any number of reasons, I’m used to it, I know what I have to do, I also know when I can be flexible and go have fun, like, um, ha, this weekend.

Yeah.

I have a date on Friday.

Movie night.

I haven’t been on a movie date in a while.

Excited and a little nervous.

Anywho.

That’s another story for another blog.

School is being handled and it was handled well this morning.

Happy to be making progress and feeling reconnected to the material as I pick it up and keep assimilating it into my life and work and the next word in the story of Carmen.

The Carmen Show.

Ha.

I also purchased my first Burning Man buy today.

I must have felt it in the atmosphere.

For I certainly forgot about it.

Today was the day the tickets went on sale.

And of course.

Sold out.

I didn’t think about it because I already have my ticket, my job, my camp.

And check it out!

The friend who I was chatting with tonight, his kid works the same camp.

Just made me laugh, I had this strange feeling, and when I asked, he confirmed.

The Universe is so small.

Burning Man.

How I do love thee.

Let me count the ways.

Or say them with ruckus and abandon.

I walked into my spot tonight, doing the deal, and saw a lot of awesome familiar faces.

And.

Holy shit.

My Burning Man crush from 9 years ago!

Oh my God.

“That night, that was the, the best, night, riding around in the back of that truck, the hot springs, that was just the really, the best, might have been my best night ever at Burning Man.”

Yeah.

It was a good night, I remember sitting in the back truck bed and the stars, oh the stars when there is not much light yet on playa, especially away from the event area, and oh God, how I was just blown over by this guy sitting next to me,  I had such a flaming hot indelible crush on this man.

The night, the next year, after having run into each other randomly at the Commissary, we spent the entire dinner hour talking, until literally, we were the only ones in the tent, even the kitchen workers had left.

I always run into him randomly somewhere out there on the playa, somewhere in the dust and the melee and we reconnect and there are hugs and smiles and my heart shines up at him and then.

I walk away.

He’s never been interested.

Some men just are not.

There is a friendship, a bond, a longing, on my side, but that longing, despite it being there tonight, I was able to just hold it soft in my hand, a kite string.

My heart, floating away, the tail tied with ribbons and flowers.

I was uplifted with love and surprise to see him there.

He’s moved back to the city.

And we exchanged numbers.

I don’t have expectations and despite wanting, for a moment, then, I held that heart string, and let the pull of it tense in my hand, but not fly off, I just let it pull me a moment towards that desire, “hey, I should just tell him and get it over with.”

Ah.

Um.

Yeah.

No.

That’s my thing.

And I don’t want to do that.

I would rather tie that heart string kite to the full moon and let it drag me around the world then to keep on that unrequited love road.

If the man was ever interested in my romantically he would have pursued it the ample times we have connected at the event.

Instead.

I got asked to help another woman out.

We exchanged numbers and we’re going to meet this Sunday.

Have some tea, read a little, get right with God.

I know how this works.

And instead of being upset that I was glowing over a man and not the woman, I just can acknowledge with joy and wonder that my God lit me up to shine like a beacon.

Not to attract a date.

But to help out another woman who needed to see some sparkle tonight and now that there is abundance and joy and love for the taking.

I think this is what they mean when they say God will take away your defects of character when they don’t help another person anymore.

That woman did not have any clue that I was enflamed for the man sitting next to her.

She just saw and heard someone that had something she wanted.

She touched my arm, “thank you for what you said.”

I have no fucking clue what I said.

I just felt incandescent with it.

Alive.

Aflame.

Happy.

I don’t have to know the reason why.

I can just enjoy this moment and the deepening.

The opening of my heart.

The daisy sprouting there.

Growing toward the sun.

Love.

Love.

This day.

Right now.

Fly your kite.

Mend your heart to the moon and take all the brilliance with you forward into the next day.

The poetic smash of words in my mouth.

The song of smoked salt on my lips.

The sun shining, even on the other side of the world, onto that full moon face.

And right.

Straight.

Deep.

Into.

My.

Heart.

There.

Yes, there.

Love.

READING?

November 23, 2015

You’re reading?

Take a break.

Alright.

But wait.

I have to e-mail my professor.

Fuck my mother.

I was on the phone with a friend who I haven’t had a chance to talk to all weekend when I got a ping, I wasn’t paying much attention, trying to re-connect and make plans for when he’s back in town and then, I see it’s my T-Group professor.

Then I see the regarding part of the message.

Dear Carmen, it looks like you attached the directions to how to write the paper rather than the paper.

How shit.

Of course I did.

Damn it man.

I wrote that sucker eight days ago and really did not want to think about it.

My friend got off the phone with me to leave me to my fretting about school and so I could re-send the paper.

I got it off and the professor sent me a sweet note saying not to worry and it’s all set.

I decided to take my friend suggestion and relax the rest of the night.

Cue vibrator.

I mean, come on.

I need to get some stress out.

I came so fast I couldn’t believe it.

Sorry.

Should have put in the warning about relatives reading said blog.

Sorry, relations, you should stop reading blog.  Pick it up tomorrow.

Anywho.

Yeah.

So.

That was fast.

Note to self efficacy of said fantasy extremely high.

Baha.

I actually went for round two and the same thing happened.

I can’t remember the last time I had two back to back orgasms that fast.

Yup.

Needed to unwind.

Then.

Into the shower.

SUPER HOT.

And I just sat under neath the falling water and let all the cares sluice down the drain.

I am taking it easy for the rest of the night.

I deserve a break.

Twenty nine hours of school over the weekend and yes, ma’am, I do need a break.

Plus I went grocery shopping right after school.

I had not quite calculated enough food for the weekend and was a little short in my fridge.

I knew I needed to buy staples and I was going to go and do a nice run to Rainbow, I was on my scooter, after all, but by the time class was done.

So was I.

Done that is.

I negotiated with my self and decided I would just do a run to SafeWay for some staples and then over to Other Avenues for eggs, coffee, and persimmons.

I am grateful I didn’t try to do more than that.

I got overwhelmed in SafeWay.

Oh duh.

It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving!

It was packed in the store.

I don’t know that I have ever seen so many people in a SafeWay.

I got in and I got out.

I got home and I made some dinner.

Pot of brown rice accompanied by ground turkey sauteed with mushrooms, garlic, brussels sprouts, and broccoli.

Hella good.

Then the dishes.

Then the phone call.

Then the fuck this I need to relax.

And I feel a lot better now.

The hot shower and I even splurged when I got out and slapped a face mask on myself.

Note to self.

Lovely gift from friend smells way too good to put on face, want to put in mouth, want to lick off self, perhaps use as aphrodisiac for next self-gratifying session.

Speaking of which.

I need to go wash the mask off my face before I start sticking my tongue out the side of my mouth and snacking on it.

Excuse me for a moment here.

I just looked at the ingredients on the facial masque–first ingredient–raw cocoa.

Second ingredient.

Honey.

Well, of course I want to eat own face off.

I just washed it off and skin feels lovely.

And slathered self with coconut lotion.

Now self smells like Mounds Bar.

I smell delicious.

Is it possible to make out with own self?

Oh.

My.

God.

I am nuts.

Just a little tired from three day weekend of psychodynamics, human development, Freudian theory, processing, group triads in therapeutic communication, playing therapist, playing the client, showing up in class, being on time, writing, writing, writing, reading, reading, reading.

But as I stare down the rest of the semester, there is just one weekend left in December before I am finished with the semester, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s called the City of Lights and I can’t wait to go!

“You know it will be cold and gloomy, and somber after what happened,” my darling Parisian friend said to me this weekend.

“Yes, I do, and I am ok with that, I lived there during the cold, dark, dreary, and I am prepared for that, besides, I am happy just wandering the streets, I don’t need to have the best weather in the world.”

Although when Paris is warm it might be the most delicious place in the entire world.

And whatever the season, it’s Paris.

Christmas in Paris.

Sounds lovely doesn’t it?

Better than say, Christmas in Daly City.

And we have plans, ma poulette et moi.

She is going to show me the Jeu de Paume museum.

Which I can’t believe I never went to when I was in Paris, but it just went right under my radar.

It’s a museum of modern art and photography.

I am really interested in the galleries and also of the Phillip Halsman photos of Marilyn Monroe jumping.

I see a souvenir in my future.

Plus, she, my Parisian friend, vowed to show me parts of the 1st Arronsidesment that I have never seen.

I am extraordinarily excited.

And much more relaxed.

Scent of face mask fading.

Body relaxing.

Hot tea taking affect.

Laundry wrapping itself up in the wash.

Food prepped for the week.

And I have a few hours of down time that I will not, I promise, devote to school work.

Rather.

A video.

A call back to my friend now that I am in my right mind.

Well.

I may never be in my right mind, but I am a lot more settled down, that’s for sure.

And a full night’s sleep.

Then back to the grind tomorrow.

But that is tomorrow.

Tonight.

I relax.

Yes.

Yes.

And more.

Yes.

I swear that wasn’t meant to be sexual.

Freudian slip.

Ha!

 

 

 

And Now It’s Time

October 12, 2015

For a little night music.

Since it’s Sunday.

That would be jazz.

Colman Hawkins.

Chet Baker.

Soothing.

Sexy.

Satiating.

Mostly soothing and easy for me to palate since my brain has been on fire with my Human Development paper and final project proposal.

I sent them both off tonight.

Minutes ago in fact.

Well.

The reflection paper, the second of five that the class requires (ok, ok, that I require, the class only requires four, I can opt out of one, but since I only got a B on the first paper–I got docked for formatting issues–who the hell asks a student to write in 1.5 paragraphs instead of 2.0–I will be writing all five.  I can get extra credit for writing the fifth which will bring my grade up to where I want it) I sent off about 45 minutes ago.

It took me a little longer to write then I thought it would.

But.

I got it done in under three hours.

My brain hurts though.

My ass too.

From sitting in a hard chair for hours.

I also sat in this chair to do my morning pages and to meet with two different ladies back to back before I got started on the paper.

Plus, I sat a while organizing my notes and notebooks and my gigantic ass text-book and the reader and well, my tush is half asleep.

Hopefully this blog will be quick and I will get my butt out of this chair soon.

Ah.

Getting old.

Thanks for the reminder body.

I was actually surprised to find myself finishing up the proposal for the final project tonight.

I was going to put it off until tomorrow night.

But.

I did not want to sit down to a cold proposal tomorrow night, I figure I may be too tired, I’m going into work early and both the boys have the day off from school for the holiday, so I’ll have my hands full.

And.

I am meeting my person after work to do some reading and do the deal.

So.

I started making some notes and gathering my information and looking about the internet and I ended up writing out my proposal and sending it off as well.

Today’s reflection paper was on issues in human development–nach, that’s the title of the course–around racism, micro-aggression in families, sexual fluidity, same-sex parenting, parenting styles, and effects of violence and media on children.

Yeah.

Like that.

Except it was seven pages (at 1.5 fucking paragraph line spacing, so it felt like ten pages) and 2,953 words.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Now I go vomit in my bathroom.

My proposal for my final project presentation is on using sign language with babies to help parents communicate before verbal skills have developed.  It will be mainly a theoretical research project, but there will be color from my own personal experience, plus a video on signing, and a hand out with 20 common signs, some of which I plan on teaching the class.

I am still rather shocked that I got the proposal done and sent off.

Relieved too.

I need to focus on my other classes a little bit.

And.

Start the reading for the next weekend of classes.

Ugh.

The Human Development class has three chapters of reading in the text-book and six articles in the reader.

I don’t know what I need to read for my other classes at all.

I don’t know when the papers are due either.

Although I have a vague inkling that I must have my Dubitzky paper on Freud before the next weekend of classes and my Therapeutic Communication class always has a paper due right before class too.

That’s two papers.

Plus the paper for my T-Group.

That one isn’t due until November 17th, but there is a lot.

A LOT.

Of reading I have to do for it.

Ah.

Finding balance.

Oh!

Excellent.

I just got a response back from my Human Development professor.

She received my second reflection paper.

The professor also has a policy that the student is responsible for making sure she, the professor, gets the paper.  If I don’t hear back within 24 hours or so of sending out the paper I need to check in with her to ascertain whether or not she has gotten it.

I suppose this negates the possibility of that old saw.

What do you mean you didn’t get my paper?

I sent it!

Computers!

I feel like I do a little too much housekeeping for this particular class and too much grunt work.

But.

So it goes.

The price of admission.

OH!

Hey!

This is nice, check it out.

How delightful!  I am looking forward to your presentation Carmen.  Go for it!   

I just received another e-mail from the professor.

She likes my project proposal!

Sweet.

I don’t have to think about it too much more.

I will have to make a trip to the library, in fact, I may just buy the book online, the one by Dr. Joseph Garcia, called Toddler Talk, if I can find a cheap copy of it on Amazon and of course, do the presentation, but I have some space to work on it and I figure that I will be doing a bit of that work after this next weekend of classes, which is not until the 23rd of the month.

I have twelve days to get done another two papers and read another load of words.

And life.

There’s always that basic maintaining that has to be taken care of.

Self-care.

I was good to myself today.

I slept in.

Not a lot, but I didn’t use an alarm, probably the only day this week that I didn’t, and I bought myself flowers–a sort of incentive to get my paper writing done.  I also did some grocery shopping and I cooked food for the day and for the week.

Dinner and lunch was brown rice with tarragon chicken and mushrooms.

Food for the work week is homemade “fried” rice with turkey bacon, chicken, mushrooms, peas, carrots, and sweet corn.

I also finally caught up on my spending plan and wrote out my expenditures for September and made a plan for October.

I knew I was procrastinating on writing the paper when I started playing catch up with my spending plan.

I mean, hello.

I would rather work on a spending budget for the month then write this paper.

But.

It’s done too, October, and where all my money is allotted.

Clothing allowance excepting.

I spent that all yesterday.

Heh.

Life it moves a pace.

Oh!

And I wrote another sonnet.

That’s eight done.

I should have the full ten by Tuesday after which point I will take the roughs from my notebook and put them into my laptop and edit them and send off the bunch to my collaborator.

I wasn’t busy today.

Hahahaha.

Not at all.

Breathing a sigh of relief.

Drinking hot cinnamon spice tea.

Soft jazz on the stereo.

Winding down for the day.

Time to rest up for the week.

It’s a big one.

But at least I have one last paper over my head to worry about.

Good night all.

Sweet dreams.

 


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