Posts Tagged ‘reflection paper’

Staying In The Moment

March 18, 2017

Is hard to do.


If I’m not careful I’ve skipped over the whole weekend and I’m back at Monday and in the work grind again.

I can do that, magically get so caught up in the things that I need to get done that I forget to do the things for myself that I need to do, slow down, breathe, appreciate my efforts for the things I have done.

Acknowledge that shit, yo.

I worked a full week of work after having done a full weekend of school which was just following a full week of work.

So yes.

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.


I am stoked.

I am going to do some nice things for me as I have done a lot of work for school over the past week, from showing up to my internship and signing papers, to e-mailing and contacting supervisors, to making appointments to interview with a possible supervisor–next Wednesday, to reading four chapters of Trauma class readings, and contacting possible therapists as I will need to be in therapy as I am working with the clients that I will be helping.

I have signed up for two yoga classes this weekend.

I have plans to see my people, two back to back sit downs to read and do the deal on Saturday.

And yes, I think I will, a nice little mani/pedi at the local nail salon as well as some eyebrow help, they’re starting to get a little out of control, as they do.

I may take myself out for a nice lunch.

I am thinking I will go out to dinner tomorrow night and do some fellowship.

Dinner somewhere in the NOPA neighborhood.

Sunday a day with a friend in San Leandro.

Sunday night a quick visit with a friend in the neighborhood.

And bam.


I told you.

It’s Monday.

And somewhere in there I need to do food prep and cooking and I have entertained the possibility of writing my Trauma reflection paper.

Just to have it the fuck out the way.

Especially since I am going to be working an extra weekend this month.

I was also asked to work next Friday by a family I used to work for and I had to say no.

I am going to help out my current family the last weekend of the month, basically work a Saturday and a Sunday while the dad is away on work, the days won’t be super long, granted, but not having any days off will be challenging and I’m pretty aware of that.

I have turned down two gigs recently.

The one to work next week and a wedding in Napa.

Part of me considered very seriously both propositions.

The extra money would be nice, but.

I really want to see the boys I used to work for, but.

I just can’t do it.

I feel like I need all the reserves I can get to just get through my work and my school work and the additional stress of figuring out all the practicum stuff has been wearing on me, I am hoping, so hoping, that the Wednesday interview, before I go to work (which I might as well get used to, I’m going to be working with a supervisor once a week for two hours before I head into work for a year) and interview with him.

Please say yes mister supervisor.

I don’t have much energy to keep looking.

I am also looking for a therapist.

The first one who was referred to me couldn’t fit me into her schedule.

But she was super helpful and offered to refer me out and I said yes please, of course, I haven’t heard anything else back, but I tried.

I just emailed another therapist tonight too to keep that ball rolling.

I will have to be doing it as part of my program and I have to be doing it while I see clients.

This is good and I am rather looking forward to it.

And frankly.

After two years of studying and training and practicing how to be a therapist I’m ready for a little of that love to be turned back around on me.

In some ways, it has, especially in the actions that I took today and over the last week, in regards to what I can do, how I can take care of myself and what I need to do to take care of myself.


Not working on my days off.

Ok, yes, I am working that weekend for my current family, but we negotiated easy hours for me, a big break, payment in cash, and I’ll get my meals covered and probably have a fun field trip type day out with the charges.

It will be a fun adventure.

And yes I will be tired, and yes, I will need to be gentle with myself.

Which is also why I said no, to the other two queries, and the best thing about it?

God damn.

It felt like such a win.

I didn’t justify or explain my response.

I said simply in both cases, thank you so much for thinking of me, which is true, but no thank you.

It is nice to be thought of, it is nice to be the type of person that others want you to work for them, that they want you so much that even though they think I probably can’t (both parties said it, it was sweet), they want me bad enough that they’re going to ask either way, just in case.

I was flattered.

And though I felt momentarily guilty about taking care of myself over taking care of others.

I got the fuck over it.

Self-care people.

It really is a thing.


Here’s to me doing some sweet, kind, generous, loving things for myself this weekend.

So that I may be sweet, kind, generous, loving, and caring to those around me.

Now excuse me.

I have to put on my oxygen mask before assisting others to the exit slide.




Get Some Rest!

September 11, 2015

Kiss my ass lady.

Or even better.

“Kiss my grits!”



What the hell is that?

Who wants rest when there are papers to write and books to be read and articles screaming for my attention and readers that haven’t been cracked in weeks, or work to be done.

The boys smothered me with hugs before I left tonight.

I’m on the new nanny schedule.

I’m working 35 hours a week–except every third week when I will work 28 hours (the weekends I’m in school, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday)–1p.m. until 8p.m.

The boys get done with school between 2:15 p.m. for the little guy who is just starting pre-school and 2:45p.m. for the big guy who is in kindergarten.

I get to work, do all the breakfast dishes, sort out the laundry, make the boys beds, put away the toys, legos, dump trucks, airplanes, baseballs, books, and effluvia of the morning.

I check in with the mom, write down anything that needs to be bought: today I went to Lucca Ravioli, the corner market, and the Farmers Market on Barlett and 22nd streets.

I make the boys dinner plates in advance, sort out snacks for after school pick up and possible play dates.

I pet the dog and keep her water bowl full.

I water plants, make note of deliveries, sort out toys that don’t work anymore, sort out books, tidy, and prep for dinner.

Tonight was roast chicken, brown rice, carrot sticks, and fruit salad for the boys.

I de-boned one roast chicken and also made chicken salad for sandwiches for the family for over the weekend.

The boys arrive and are passed off to me around the 3 o’clock hour.

We either go out for adventures or play in the back yard.

Today was the market and that is a big adventure–samples from Dave Hale, best apples around, samples from JP–an Italian guy with cheese spreads that the boys go nuts over (and then have tremendous gassy farts from, oh the joys of garlic cheese spread), samples from the Twin Girls orchards and of course lots and lots of strawberries from the Tomales Bay Farm–today we got half a flat.

It was a prep day and a laundry day and get the family ready for me being away day.

But a day to rest?


When I received the schedule for the weekend for school I did not faint or vomit, I just took it patiently in stride.

Of course.

I was a little distracted.

I was pondering the sacred and the profane.

The nameless and the secret.

The words in between the melody and the chorus.

That small space, that thimble full of soul and heart and just there, that tiny ache for someone who lingers between the sunlight in the trees and the water reflection of stars over head.

A photograph of a lost earring.

Cinderella’s slipper.

It glowed on the screen of my phone and while I unloaded the dishes from the dishwasher and confirmed with the mother to pick up pesto and cheese tortellini from Lucca Ravioli, I would glance at the text on my phone and smile.

I grinned a silly grin and thought of his face.

“I like it when you look at me while my eyes are closed,” he said, mouth curving up in a smile, eyelids closed over the soft green of his eyes.

I traced his eyebrows with my fingers and brushed the tops of his cheekbones with the pad of my thumb, sweeping through the stubble and tracing the outline of his face onto my memory.

Etched there still and quiet, beautiful and gentle, softness and gentility, reposed with delight.

I can see it now in my mind’s eye.

I can see him.

And even though the love bites have faded from my collar bones, I can still feel his mouth there and desire will sweep through me and distract me from the mundane and simple tasks that I did today.

Or from thinking too heavily about the school hours and the papers and books, the reading I am behind on.

I would not trade those days and hours of his company for time to have been more prepared for my classes.

I would not trade those kisses for a good school girls’ piety for being prepared.

My heart, my body, my being needed that affection.

“I think we are both just starved for attention,” he said as he cupped my breasts again, his hands always on my body, cradling me, kneading my skin, running through my hair (such dusty hair!), or brushing the side of my face, trailing along my jawbone and sliding down my neck.

I can feel his hands just there, a ghosting touch, a magic movement over my skin.

Time melts.

Effortless and fluid.

I cannot grasp it and I wonder, has it really been less than a week.

Tomorrow is Friday.

I met him last Friday.

The days we were together had their own song and movement.

The days we have been apart, the same sort of melting and flowering.

I got through the day.

I did the deal.

I helped the family.

I was of service and I loved the boys hard.

I did what I could to prepare myself for tomorrow and the first day of classes.

I reviewed material and wrote a reflection paper for my Therapeutic Communications course.

I packed my messenger bag.

I set my alarm clock.

But get some rest?

I don’t know how.

I will try.

I will finish this blog.

I will think about the space between the here and the now and let in the magic where ever it choses to come.

And I will be grateful that I am busy and do not have to obsessively think about when I will see him again.

I will see him when I see him.

In the meantime there are books to read and classes to attend to.

And should I smile secret and lascivious.

To myself.

At times.


There are worst ways to get through the day.

My Gratitude Knows No Bounds

August 21, 2015

I mean.

How grateful am I for this blog?

So fucking grateful, so grateful I can’t say it without a depth of profanity to back up the word gratitude because it sounds sort of pussy and woo woo to say grateful.


Grateful out my ass.

If only from the stand point of the amount of practice I have had over the last five and a half years of constantly typing.

I am hella fast on the key board.

Grateful too for a forum to sort my thoughts, get my head together and aligned with my heart and to see the places and spaces I need to go and sometimes the things that I need to let go.

I just finished writing my second paper for my cohort for this semester of school, the ICPW weekend intensive for CIIS.

That is Integral Counseling Psychology, when I write about getting a Masters in Psychology, it is within the realm of this program.

Said program, lest you haven’t been paying attention, or have just come to start reading my little blog here, is held on the weekends, except for the week-long retreat that heralded the beginning of the semester.

Retreat my ass,

Boot camp it was and boot camp it remains.

Although, it probably had much better food than boot camps do.

And I was able to get my ass into the hot tub twice over the span of the eight days I was there.

I find it hilarious that though school has not officially begun, it has begun and begun with a roar.

I mean, I had a paper due before the start of the retreat and so much reading that I am still getting caught up.  Part of that was my bad, I did buy the wrong readers for half my classes.


My sweet friend who tried to go to Copy Central and pick up the Dubitzky reader for me, I love, love, love you, and am horrified that you spent all of lunch time waiting in line at the counter only to find out that the reader is STILL not in.

Copyright laws my ass.

Get my reader printed bitches I got reading to do.

I really wanted to have it in my sights before I headed out to that thing in the desert, but it seems that is not to happen.

My friend did say he would hop back there while I was at Burning Man and try to retrieve it again, Copy Central said give it another week.  Of course, I don’t have another week, I leave for Burning Man a week from today.

In fact, this time next week, I will be in the dusty dust.

So excited!

End aside.

Work, lots and lots and lots of school work, and yes, I know, this is a graduate program, but it is new for me, and I realize that I am going to have to make a continued, sustained effort at getting things done every day.

I also have to say, I have felt a feeling of dread and anticipatory fear both times that I sat down in front of my laptop to start writing my papers.

Tonight’s paper was on my Integral Yoga and Philosophy class.

“Oh! How’s the retreat going?  The yoga sounds really lovely,” a friend texted.

Are you reading my blog?

Or are you just projecting your desires to do yoga under some nice spreading oak trees in the grass?

Because there was no yoga being done where I was.


There may have been, but it wasn’t by me.


The Integral Yoga class was a history class on yoga as a spiritual path and the philosophy of said integrated system as informed by the studies of Sri Aurobindo.


I didn’t know who the guy was either.


I took really good notes.

Thank you self for being such an avid note taker.

Also, note to self, need to buy a shit ton of new pens, I must have gone through five or six in the course of the week at the retreat and another two here at work.  I will be continually investing in pens.

However, the notes helped.

And that I paid attention in class.

And although I had no coherent thought about how I was going to attack the paper, attack I was.

My blog and the habit of writing it assists me.

Despite my brief noodling around on facecrack and okstupid, I got down to brass tacks pretty fast.

I opened up a Word document and I typed my name and student id on the top of the page, followed by the name of the class and the name of my professor.

Then I titled it with something that had caught my eye when I was skimming through the main text of the class.

I typed it down.

I underline it.


A sentence.

A thought.

Another thought, a paragraph, a quote, a look at my notes, another idea, another, and I’m off to the races.

Two hours later, 9 pages, 2,775 words long.

Fuck yeah.

And granted, they, the two papers I have written, are not done in APA style.

If they were, I would still be writing them.


They were both well written and I sent both of my papers off tonight to the two professors.

I was glad I sat on my Human Development paper for a day, it did need a tiny bit of polishing, but tonight, after I had re-read, out loud, my Integral Yoga paper, there was nothing there but lightness and bliss and yes.




My arms are tired and my head is a little foggy.

But I was not remiss in my body today either, I had a whole, forgive me, I can’t help it, mind/body/heart kind of day at work.

The family went to Train Town and I cleaned and did laundry, made food, and organized, tidied up the pool area and folded swim suits and basically got the space tidy and when the boys got back and had lunch we went for a long walk and picked black berries again and then dinner was made and I had a great abstinent meal and a great swim.


I got back in the water again and the boys cheered me on and asked me to do dolphin kicks and swim butterfly, I almost threw up my dinner, and my arms are going to ache tomorrow.

Swimming butterfly is much different at 42 than it was at 18.


Hot shower, cup of tea and sitting down.

Showing up.

Letting the words come out.

I am always surprised.


It’s not the writing that is the hard part.

It’s sitting down to do the writing.

I showed up.

I got it out.

And I’m half way there.

Not through school, I mean, fuck, the semester still hasn’t “officially” started.

But I’m half way through my assignments for the retreat.

I won’t be writing tomorrow as I will be wrapping up my week here at work and heading back to the city to do the deal and then pack as much as I can for Burning Man and yes, dye my hair pink.

I’ve got a hair geographic itching to happen.


It is good






That was my spiritual principle today.

I picked a good one to practice.

Not like there’s really a bad spiritual principle to practice.

But I did good.

I did.

I did.

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