Posts Tagged ‘room mates’

What Happens

August 11, 2016

When I miss a day blogging?

Aside from my reader stats dropping like hotcakes.

I missed you!

I have been busy.

Busy with school, busy with the life of school, the getting up and going to class and eating and going back to class and little mini breaks where I get to walk around for a few minutes and grab a cup of tea and then back to class.

It makes for a long day.

I’m up early and in bed early.

My room mates are both already in bed.

I am in bed, literally, but just not asleep.

I will say,however, out of consideration for my room mates I may not write a very long blog.

I’m a fast writer, though and fingers crossed I can just kick it out.

My head is a little busy.

Gently trying to remind myself that I am pretty much immersed in school and although the world is spinning on outside the grounds of the school retreat, that there is much that I cannot quite get to process, or deal with.

For instance.

The school says they have not received my FAFSA report.

Which is not cool.

As it hinders receiving my financial aid package with which I pay for my very expensive tuition.

But according to the FAFSA website I did it, and it was processed in FEBRUARY.

Which feels about right, but how come the school hasn’t received it?

Nothing I can do at the moment except what I just did, shoot out and e-mail and be patient and continue to show up for class.

In other worlds.

I have a ride to that thing in the desert!

Thank you interwebs and Burning Man ride share board.

I have a ride there, but not back.

I have a back up emergency contact if I can only get to Reno, one of my classmates who lives in Nevada and commutes to school would be able to swing through Reno and get me if necessary.

I’m hoping to line something up for a straight shot back, but it is really nice to know I have a way there.

I’ll be heading up with a virgin burner who has an early arrival pass to help work on one of the art projects and has basically been put in charge of bringing up extra coolers of food for the team.

I’ll be able to swap my vehicle pass for the ride and if the cost of the gas goes over $80 I’ll split the costs with him.

The selling point for him was the vehicle pass and the fact that I can drive a stick shift.

Thanks mom!

He’ll be picking me up from my house around 8p.m. on Friday the 26th and we’re going to drive through the night to get to the playa.

I’ll have all my gear except my bike which will come up with my OG playa family.

Yay!

All the things.

They are working out.

And I’m going to cut this blog short.

My roommates need respite from my clickety clack and as crazy as this sounds, 11p.m. this week is up way past my bed time.

I have a 7a.m. start.

Night my friends.

I’ll try and get you a full report tomorrow.

Suffice to say.

Happy to have snuck in a few words here even if they were a little punch drunk with being tired.

Nighty night.

xo.

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I Don’t Read Your Blog

August 8, 2016

“I want to know you through getting to know you, I want to have first experiences with you.”

I was so utterly and honestly compelled to write about this that I can’t even explain how important that is to me.

This is something I hear too much.

“Oh, I know, I read your blog.”

Well.

You don’t know.

I mean.

You do.

There’s a lot I put out here, there’s a lot of me, there’s this now, this experience of sitting in a tiny cabin with two other women in my school cohort.

Oh.

And tiny aside.

The triple is not a bigger room.

It’s the same size as the other rooms except it has a bunk bed in addition to the regular size bed.

Basically they shoved two beds into the space of one and called it a triple.

I was dismayed when I first saw the room and felt a bit claustrophobic and how the fuck am I going to handle this and where am I going to go to have some privacy?

And.

Fuck.

Like that.

Intimacy.

Into me you see.

I don’t want you to see me, I want you to see a perfectly crafted me, the woman who gets up two and half hours before she has to go anywhere so that I eat breakfast and pray and read and have my morning me time.

But.

Also the woman who paints her face and does her hair and sticks glitter everywhere.

I mean.

That perfumed lady is special and  is me.

But she’s not all me and I don’t want you to see me without the glitz and the glam, to see me in old faded yoga pants and a sleep shirt that has pink skulls and flowers on it.

I don’t sleep in pajamas, I sleep in the nude, so a week of being in a cabin room and having to wear pajamas to bed.

Oh my god.

Dying.

Yet.

I know, in a big way, in a small way, in all ways that it is important for me to let people in, to let myself be seen, warts and all, saggy upper arms and all, sans the glitter, or the lipgloss, with my hair messy and my heart out on my sleeve.

Literally and figuratively.

And there’s not a lot my room mates aren’t going to see of me in the next few days.

Eight to be exact.

Seven nights.

Eight days.

All of me just hanging out.

So to hear that my dear friend wants to actually experience me, to get to know me, to love me, in person, up front in real rather than behind the scenes, or the screen, person to person.

Of course.

I’m not exactly present at the moment, typing away on my little laptop, digesting my day, letting go, moving forward, not knowing exactly what this next week is going to be like, or the next few weeks for that matter.

I’ll be living out of suitcases and bags and traveling with work and you now, that thing in the desert.

Don’t put nothing in unless you feel it.”

Yes.

Nina Simone.

Break it down baby.

I feel like dancing.

I feel like being in a club.

I feel like round back chairs and oval wood tables.

I feel like smokey hazy air and warm breath and sultry nights and slow dancing.

Fantasy.

But a nice fantasy to have in my heart.

My little burning heart all lit up with vulnerability and lights, carnival lights the fairground, the tilt-a-whirl, the up and down of the carousel horse, the golden bridle a shine of paint faded from sticky cotton candy hands and the brass ring.

Right there.

It is all so right there for me right now.

I can’t touch it.

But it is all right there.

Just there.

I am not exactly on the other side of the window, not exactly a wallflower on the wall, but not quite there, not quite on the dance floor yet.

I can feel it in my body, this urge to break out in dance, to move to surrender to that urge to just go.

To go where?

I don’t quite know yet.

Perhaps it’s a metaphor, a place that’s not a place, a coming back around to.

The deer, a doe,  head up and alert in the shadow of the tree.

The fawn a tender outline against the bright light flittering though the green and brown edges leaves of the old growth oak trees.

An outline of senses and thoughts and emotions.

A swirl of thought and love.

I am glad my friend doesn’t read my blog.

I am also glad that you do.

I miss you too my friend.

When the press of the stars is heavy in the sky, heaving with the sentient knowledge of god and the abundant nature of the celestial, the movement of the spheres a song that I catch faint and gossamer in the shell of my ear.

Poetry cut from the green hearts of apples.

The robin on the wire in the garden.

The moon a sail, a sloop, a causeway of honey on the midnight blue cast of the horizon.

And I here.

In this little bed.

In this little room.

I think of you.

Starlight pressed in my bosom.

Isn’t it a pity, isn’t a shame, how we break each other’s hearts and cause each other pain.  How we take each other’s love, isn’t it a pity.”

The time is not my time.

The heart, though it longs, is just a reverent watcher.

The mind, rabid burns with a morbid chastity that I cannot witness.

The applicable beauty that surrounds both.

To bring them both together, to not bring my mind to heel, to not break my heart, except to break it open, to feel more love.

To give back to go forth.

To be naked before you.

I am not so good at that.

But.

Tonight.

I will try.

In this small moment.

I won’t explain myself.

I won’t say how much I want to cry.

I won’t say how much I want to laugh.

I want to cradle you in my bosom and bright your life my words.

Love.

Love.

Full.

Replete.

“The beauty that surrounds us and we don’t see it, isn’t it a pity.”

Please.

Hold my hand.

Walk the woods with me.

And see.

How beautiful.

So very beautiful.

You are to me.

 

 

 

 

A Different Kind Of White Out

September 9, 2013

I got the keys!

I got the keys!

I got the keys!

Well, not to the new place, that is still to happen.

But I got the keys to the garage and the garage leads to the door that leads to my in-law.

Yay!

I move in tomorrow, I will also get the real keys tomorrow, but I am more than happy to have access at all.

Tomorrow, for the first time in over a year I will be sleeping in my own space.

No room mates.

Just me.

No bed yet, either, or other house hold thingamabobs.  But whatever, that all will come.  They usually do, and always much faster than I expect them to.

Although if you have any spare pieces parts or bits, let me know, ‘kay.

I ain’t got nothing.

Not even a carrot peeler.

Note to self, add that to the list.

I really am starting from complete scratch having gotten rid of all the things I had household wise when I moved to Paris.  I told my friend when I wrote out the check for September rent, pro-rated to not include the first week when I was busy being in the dusty dust, that it meant I was getting better stuff.

I cleared out what does not work for me and will be replacing it with better things.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

The stuffs will happen.

In the mean time, my friend is lending me a great big blow up mattress and some bedding, a small dresser, a chaise lounge, and a small table.

It’s enough to get me started.

I have started with less before.

And I am going to have fun putting together my new space.  I am going to enjoy the hell out of it.  I am getting some plants, I like greenery, and well, I am getting all the things to make it my home.

Plus, although I have yet to touch base with her since my return, I do have some things in storage at a friend’s house out on San Jose Ave.  I don’t recall there being any furniture like things, but I will have all my photographs and postcards and paintings and pictures.  And my grandfather’s spice rack, which is going to look really good in my kitchen.

The kitchen looks great, brand new cabinets, a full size gas stove, a three-quarters size fridge with freezer.  Oh, add ice-cube trays to the list.

Shit, hang on, I really do need to get out the list and write this stuff down or I will forget it.  Not that I think I need to make ice any time soon, but you know, it’s nice to have when the city is experiencing an Indian Summer.

Not that I could tell as I rode my bicycle out to the 46th Avenue.

Where I am now to be found–46th between Irving and Judah–in the fog bank.

My glasses were misted over by the time I got to the house and I will be pocketing them for future foggy rides, better to be slightly blurry from not wearing the glasses than blind for riding in white out conditions.

At least this white out doesn’t taste bad and leave a coating of alkaline on your skin.

It did frizz the hell out of my hair though.

Ah, curly hair, how I love to hate to love you.

But as I stood waiting for the N-Judah to swoop me up and take me back to Cole Valley, I left the bike in the garage at the house, I don’t need to worry about moving that as well, I thought, I could really get used to this.

I like the smell.

It feels cozy.

I like wearing cozy clothes.

I sleep better in cooler weather and I like to sleep under blankets.

Ack.

Add to list.

Anyway.

I liked the shroud of fog.

I like the fuzzy lights of the train pulling through the dense cushion of mist.

It was pretty.

I like the pretty.

Oh snap.

I can go for a walk on the beach tomorrow at sunset.

How freaking cool is that?

And I got my first mail there.

I sent myself a post card from Burning Man.  I did not read it yet, but I propped it up in my bathroom.

Sigh.

My bathroom.

Nobody I have to share it with.

I can get up in the middle of the night and use it and not put on my pajamas.

Nothing says good times like a naked potty run.

Seriously.

There will be runs to the coffee shop, Trouble Coffee is a block away and Java Beach is two blocks away.  There will be meanders to Mollusk Surf Shop, I will eventually learn how to surf, damn it.  There will be dining at Thai Cottage.  Holy shit, that was the bomb tonight.

Surprise take out dinner around my friends kitchen table with her boyfriend and daughter.  Best Thai food I have had in ages.  Super awesome brown rice with yellow curry and tofu for me and they had the red pumpkin curry with tofu, plus an amazing mango salad.

Yum.

And cheap.

New favorite and I have only had it once.

But I foresee many a visit in my future.

Oh, yeah, a Thai Cottage picnic on the beach at sunset with iced coffee from Java Beach.

I remember about 8 and a half years ago I got this urge to go out to the beach a lot.

I was discovering a connection to a power greater than myself.

Stand in the ocean and try to make the waves stop.

See how immense the world is.

How small I am, insignificant, really.

I went every day for a week, over and over and over.

I walked in the surf barefoot and the cuffs of my jeans were soaked and salty and I was loath to wash away the smell.  I organized a beach bonfire one weekend and all my new friends came out to show their support, we stood next to each other smelling the clean sweet scent of the sea and the warm crackle of burning wood singed with marshmallows and dropped cinnamon graham crackers.

It seems that all along the siren song of the ocean has been calling me back.

Your wayward daughter returns, my love.

I shall see you soon.

And like mermaids we shall call each to each, I shall wear my trousers rolled, and eat a peach (well, probably a nectarine, I like them better) as I walk upon the shore.

I do believe, however, that they, the mermaids will sing to me.

I can hear them even now.

And that I will not drown.

Rather I shall rise from the surf a kind of Venus.

With punk rock hair and the laughing mouth of a glad hearted girl.

 

 


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