Posts Tagged ‘savings’

Sometimes

May 30, 2018

It’s nice to get mail.

Sometimes it’s really, really, really nice to get mail.

Especially from the IRS.

Holy shit.

I got home today, as per usual, a little tense, a little upset, a little in bafflement, as I have been over the last few days since I was told that I needed to move out, to a few items of mail.

One was a very sweet and unexpected card from my grandmother with a $20 bill congratulating me on graduation.

So sweet.

The other from the aforementioned IRS.

And it looked like a check.

But.

I already got back my tax returns, both state and federal, and I filed electronically so the returns were sent directly to my bank.

What was this check looking thing?

Could it possibly be?

Could it really be?

I was almost afraid to open it.

I had a thought, but my thoughts are not always the nicest to me, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

Cue an earlier thought, that I sort of joked about, but not really to my boss that it was ok, me getting asked to move out, because I have a tent, and I can hang out on the beach.

My boss laughed, but she was horrified to hear my news and also very supportive, there will be no beach for me necessary.

I can stay in the spare room that is currently the kids play room if worst came to worst.

Such a kind offer.

And one I hopefully will not have to take up, but it’s always good to know that I can.

I did once before when I was in transition, stay with employers, actually, former employers, who were remarkably generous and let me stay in their attic room with private bathroom and yes, with both my cats, while I was waiting to get into my next place.

Nothing says worst nightmare to me than homeless with cats, but in a sense that was exactly what I was.

I used to say I was in transition, but it was a transition that was horrendously uncomfortable, especially at seven years of sobriety.

I used to beat myself up about that, homeless with that much sober time, but it was just God preparing me, winnowing down the unnecessary things in my life, so that when the time came a few months later when the opportunity to move to Paris was presented to me, I was able to go without much thought about stuff and things.

I didn’t have much.

I don’t now when I look around.

The only furnishing in my studio that is mine is my bed.

That’s it.

The chaise, end tables, chairs, kitchen table, bookshelf, all my landlady’s furniture.

She’s a realtor and I believe they were used for staging at some point.

Anyway.

I won’t have much to move when I move, just the bed and the things hanging on the wall, the clothes hanging in my closet, and my kitchen stuff.

I could very easily move and do it quite efficiently.

It’s just a matter of finding a place to move to.

I began slowly putting out more feelers today.

I got a tip on an in-law on Silver Terrace, but out of my price range at $2,000.

I figure I will be comfortable spending $1500.

And if I have to I could go as high as $1800.

But that would be super freaking tight.

And I know this sounds crazy, but whatever, I have a feeling it won’t be that expensive, I do have a feeling the right thing will come and it will be what I can afford.

I told my therapist today how scared I have been and upset and angry and how it’s been hard to fall asleep because my brain will attack me with horrifying scenarios about not finding a place to live or not being able to afford what I find.

So.

Last night I said, enough brain, knock it off.

I can’t live in a future where there is no God.

God is right here.

Right the fuck now.

I am being taken care of.

I have paid for June rent.

I only have to be concerned with today.

Stop with the future tripping.

And if you have to think about the future, think about it with faith.

Magic.

God.

Love.

Abundance.

Light.

Envision where you want to live.

Think about what it looks like, really get into the details.

Hard wood floors, light, oh man, give me some light, I have been living in my little cave for almost five years, I could use a god damn window.

High ceilings.

Or at least higher than they are now.

I have low ceilings.

A nice kitchen, a gas range, a washer and dryer on site.

A place to park.

A big closet or two.

I mean.

A bathtub!

Oh.

Fuck wouldn’t that be nice?

Ruminate on the nice things, not on the bad things, see it, visualize it.

It will come.

It will!

I don’t know what exactly will happen next, I have to go to the SF Tenants Union on Saturday and do the drop in counseling.

Until that point all that I can do is what I have been doing.

Reaching out quietly to friends, avoiding social media, but just texting a friend here and there and asking them to keep ears open.

And practicing staying in the moment.

Where there is nothing wrong.

And.

There is only a little envelope to open from the IRS.

So open it.

I had put away all my stuff from my day out and about and put away my groceries, and I was heating up my dinner when I opened the card from my grandmother.

I left the envelope from the IRS alone.

But I really wondered.

If.

Well.

Could it possibly be?

And.

OH.

OH.

OH!

It was!

It was!

It was!

It was my refund from 2014!

2014!

In January of 2015 I did my taxes early and I did not have all my paperwork, I didn’t realize this until after I had filed.

I received some paperwork a month later and realized that I had fucked up my taxes and that I actually was due a bigger return than what I had filed for.

So.

I filed an amendment with the paperwork that I had left out and sent it in.

I never heard anything back.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

But.

Well.

I was hoping for something.

I sort of forgot about it after a while.

Although it would peek up above the surface of my unconsciousness every year after when I was filing and I would remember to make sure that I had all my necessary paperwork available to me before filing.

Certainly didn’t want to make that mistake again.

And there it was.

My fucking amendment refund check from 2014!

I laughed out loud with joy.

I’m going to be ok!

I mean.

I know I’m going to be ok.

But now I can stop stressing about the money I wanted to have for my traveling this summer.

I was afraid that I would find a place and have to use up my travel savings to put down a deposit to move into a new place and then have nothing left to travel with.

Maybe I would have to break out that credit card I got months ago but have never used.

Maybe not!

Not when I got a check from out of the blue for.

Wait for it.

Like you haven’t this entire blog.

Heh.

$2,126.34!

Boom.

Can you say happy?

I can!

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking free to travel about the country.

Luckiest girl in the world.

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Prudence

November 1, 2015

And a prudent reserve.

A good conversation with a very smart friend.

Some soul-searching over sushi.

Oh my god.

So good.

Such good sushi.

I made sushi face all over the place.

“Don’t tell anyone about this spot!”  My friend exhorted me.

Mum’s the word.

And the realization that the discomfort I was feeling about getting a Vespa was about not having any prudent reserve left over in case of emergencies or life happening.

Thus.

I have decided to go with the Buddy from Genuine Scooters.

Unfortunately, the Italia in avocado is gone, gone, gone.

Le sigh.

However, I learned something today, after having the fantastic sushi meal my friend and I decided to hop over to Scooter Centre and see what Buddy’s they had in stock.

I looked at the 170cc’s but none of them did it at all for me and for the cost, I might as well say, wait for the money for a Vespa.

And after talking with Barry and acknowledging what my needs are, I don’t really need that much power, I’m not going to ride the scooter over the bridges.

I am going to ride it to work and to do the deal and to school.

And how handy is it that Scooter Centre is literally a block away from school?

Pretty auspicious I say.

So I looked over the 125cc’s Genuine Buddy and I liked what I saw.

First, it wasn’t as bulky as the 170cc and I liked the color choices better.

I narrowed it down to black, mint green, and this silvery grey that has some sparkle in the paint.

Did you say sparkle?

Did you say, matches my helmet with the big stars on it?

Did you say glitter?

Yeah.

So.

I’ll be getting the soft grey with shimmer and I will be getting her next Friday.

What with the money I received for writing the sonnets and the money I have in savings and the deal I’m getting, tax, title, registration, all out the door, brand new two-year warranty with road side assistance, and he threw in a disc lock for me, $3239.

I have enough!

I have enough!

I have enough!

And.

I have some prudent reserve left in my savings too.

I will transfer the money out of my account tomorrow so that it lands by Thursday.

Then, on my day off, Friday the family will be in Indianapolis for a Bar Mitzvah, I will go down to the shop with my helmet and if I can find my gloves, my gloves, and if not, I buy a new pair, I like riding with gloves, really feels so much better, and my cash in hand.

Cash.

No credit card.

No financing.

My hard-earned money.

I am over the moon.

I will be celebrating some poetry with my scooter.

Perhaps I will ride to the top of Twin Peaks and proclaim myself with a barbaric yawp of delight.

Poetic no?

I told you.

My scooter will be running on poetry, aka love.

It gets great gas mileage.

92 mpg.

Thank you very much.

Filling up the tank will be cheaper than riding the MUNI train.

Plus.

The seat flips up and has a storage area underneath for the helmet.

Now I have to contact my insurance and let them know that I will be needing motorcycle insurance again.

And that’s it.

I don’t have to go down to the DMV and register it, Scooter Centre will do all that, tax, title, registration, brand new.

This will be my first brand new vehicle ever.

Motorized that is.

My bicycle was new when I got her.

My friend even suggested I could sell my bike, but I don’t think I will, I love her too much and I may want to have her in case I need to have a day of servicing etc on the scooter.

But next Friday!

Next Friday.

I ride.

I am over the moon.

And it feels right.

It feels right to not push myself financially and try to get a new Vespa, it feels prudent to get something nice that will get me around and do me for school and get me through the next three years.

I will be able to do so much more.

I’ll be able to get to some places that I don’t get to on my bike.

I’ll have more flexibility in my schedule.

It will be a great help to me.

And it will save me time.

Time I can use for school.

I did pretty damn well with my time today as well.

I got up an hour before my alarm, I knew that was going to happen, I just wanted to get some stuff done and I knew if I got up just a tiny bit earlier I would be able to accomplish some extra things in my day.

Like a little spoiling, I got a manicure.

And a nice hot shower this morning.

And some writing.

Which reminds me, I have to pop to the store tomorrow, I need to buy a new notebook, I filled up another notebook with my morning pages.

It was my Burning Man notebook, the one that I brought with me to the event.

I looked at the stickers I got there and my ticket to the event and flipped through a few entries.

So much has happened since then, and it was just under two months ago that I was there.

Things can change so quickly.

Especially if I allow myself a little flexibility.

And some fun.

I let myself do both.

I still got in a lot of reading, in fact all the reading I need to do to write the paper I have to write tomorrow.

It’s not due until November 4th, but that’s the middle of the work week for me and I just won’t do it like that, it will feel awful and rushed and I have commitments during the week that I need to make sure to get to.

So, tomorrow I write.

For I read today.

I also made pureed cream of broccoli soup with smoked bacon and a big pot of chili for my friend.

He who hauled me all over the city and helped me negotiate for the scooter and gave me suggestions and ideas and has been a great sounding board and also let me commandeer his couch while I read for school.

Plus, I got to snuggle with a cat.

Heaven.

Reading on the couch, a pot of chili on the stove, corn bread muffins too, the sound of college football on the tv in the background, the kids in the neighborhood trick or treating and the happy knowledge of making a decision to improve the quality of my life and get something that works best for me, plus doing the deal this morning and seeing my person at Tart to Tart.

I had a damn fine day.

Damn fine.

And I even got my helmet out of the closet and dusted her off.

I’m just about ready to rock and roll on a working scooter.

Over the moon.

I am.

Just over the moon.

Which is perfect since my helmet has sparkly glitter stars on it.

Ha!

You Are The Embodiment Of The Poet

October 30, 2015

My heart burst reading that line.

I was in the upstairs bathroom at work wrangling monkeys, brushing teeth.

Brosse/brosse/brosse/

Les dents/

Brosse les tres souvents/

Tous les jours/

Tous les jours/

Tous les jours/

A les belle est dentes.

Brush/brush/brush

Your teeth/

Brush them every day/

Every day/

Every day/

Every day/

Ah.

The pretty teeth.

(sung to row, row, row your boat)

Yay!

“Spit,” I said, running the water.

I had to put down my phone, I could not finish reading the sweet e-mail I had received from my patron, my eyes kept tearing up reading it and I had to manage the two boys.

I’m just going to call him that, he’s my patron.

Anyone who sends me a check for $1,000 for some poems is my patron.

Anyway.

I had sent him an effusive e-mail thanking him for the check and how I was honored and seen and just over the moon.

That moon.

Did you see her tonight?

Sometimes in the waning I feel there is more power, more poesie, more haunting and longing.

The wandering back into the self, the darkening lunar landscape, the eery rise in the night sky and the glow as it rose over the trees in Golden Gate Park, the nipping wind chill on my neck and my arms, reminder to up the sweatshirt ante here soon.

The Indian summer is passing and the autumn cold is coming.

But that luscious moon.

Yes.

Over the moon.

He sent me back another sweet missive and the above quote amongst them.

To be the embodiment of the poet, that means so much.

The validation has been powerful.

It’s hard to acknowledge and yet, I know I absolutely have to, its false modesty to not acknowledge it and the sorrow for all the time I didn’t let myself create, the doubt, the fear, the negotiating my own way through the world, poetic voice or no poetic voice, being an artist, yet denying myself entrée into the club.

No.

Really.

I don’t belong here.

No.

That table couldn’t possibly be for me.

No.

I know you say I have a reservation to be here, but there’s been a mistake.

The maitre d leads me to the table and seats me despite my own fuss.

“When I heard you reciting them,” my person said to me in front of the Church St. Cafe as we sat and drank tea and caught up, “I thought to myself, oh these are lovely, who’s are they?”

He continued, looking at me with his sparkling blue eyes, that matched exactly the corn flower blue cashmere sweater wrapped over his shoulders, “I didn’t know you wrote them, it took me a minute to catch on!”

We talked about the story behind the poems and I told him how I got there to the creative process and how I did a nonce and what that was like and it was me running away at the mouth.

“Girl, I knew you could write, but I had no idea about this part of you,” he said and smiled, with his eyes and mouth and heart, and squeezed my hands.

“You are an artist and you are curious and you let yourself go there and you have experiences, this other artist saw that in you and you connected and you let yourself do that,” he smiled more.

My heart squeezed itself in my chest and tears rose in my eyes.

“I feel like I may have cheated myself a little though,” I told him.

“How so?” He asked, curious himself.

“Well, I cashed the check and immediately, like within minutes I had transferred the entire thing into my savings account, there was no celebration, there was just a straight transfer, I feel like I should be celebrating and doing something with it, although I am doing something with it, I’m going to get a Vespa, a new one, which is what I wanted to do all along before I got bamboozled last year with the knock off I bought.”

“Girl, you are celebrating, you are telling me the story of the poems,” he looked at me, “it’s good that you put that money right into your savings.”

He’s right.

I don’t have to go out and spend the money frivolously to prove some sort of point.

In fact.

I transferred the entire $1,000 and another $150 of my own into savings.

I really want to get a scooter.

And I really want a Vespa.

So.

Just a little closer to my new ride then I was the day before yesterday.

The acknowledgement, the accolades, the poems themselves, the being a poet, letting myself be seen, that is the celebration.

Plus.

All the love from my friends who have always seen this side of me and applauded it when I did not or was not able to.

Sitting here.

Doing my blog.

Being happy.

Knowing that I made another artist happy with my work.

That is celebration.

I revel in that.

I also revel in the almost weekend of it all and my staid Halloween plans.

Which include going to 7th and Irving to get right with God, meet my person at Tart to Tart, maybe get the nails done, then lunch with a friend, and afterward, borrowing said friends couch to sit and read all day long on and maybe, just maybe, let myself take a nap.

Yup.

Those are my mad, crazy Halloween plans.

That and sitting down tomorrow to write-up another sonnet.

I have an idea I want to submit to the Bastille and I need to get it out to them ASAP, the deadline is the 31st.

Plus.

I have decided that the compensation for the sonnet series being what it is I am not, cannot with any integrity, submit it for further publication or award.

I have been amply compensated.

That being said.

I am still submitting to the Nemerov Award.

I am going to send in a sonnet that was supposed to be part of the sequence, but I messed up the rhyme scheme and the principle was out-of-order, so I tossed it.

I tried to re-work it but, it just didn’t fit.

I let it go and wrote a fresh one that fit the schematic I had set up.

But I really liked the sonnet.

And.

This means, I have an extra sonnet with all the flavor of the sequence, that I did not submit to my collaborator and patron.

Thus.

I will rework it and tighten it up and send that off instead.

I love that I have ideas falling out of my head.

I still have lots of work to do for school.

Another paper to write for Human Development.

More reading to do.

Etc, etc, ad infinitum.

But I will find the balance with the poetry.

And move forward into the generous flow of language that is out there just waiting for me to cast my net upon it’s worded sea of stars and images.

I’ll push out my boat into that ether and gather wide the nets into my arms aching and full.

Heavy with the heavenly catch that lies awaiting me.

All the things.

All the love.

All the pretty.

Pretty.

Poetry.

And Drumroll Please

September 26, 2015

It was a good day.

I have a brand new Casper mattress coming in the mail.

What?!

I received a text today asking for my address.

I thought someone was sending me flowers.

Nope.

Holy shit batman.

The Universe really was listening.

I am just a little stunned.

(just a little fucking stunned, just a little)

And.

Relieved too.

I had actually decided earlier today that I was probably not going to get the mattress until next semester’s disbursement.

I wanted to make sure that I could make it through the next few months.

I received my first financial aid disbursement and it was about $1300 less than I thought I was going to get.

Oh yeah.

That’s right.

The “retreat”.

AKA graduate school boot camp.

I had forgotten that was going to be taken out of my tuition bill as a fee.

So what I received was $1555.00

Basically one months rent and utilities with a couple of weeks of groceries thrown in.

I was not going to get a new mattress with that tiny bit of wiggle room.

I decided I would pay rent right away and I waffled on actually paying for November as well, but I want to see how October plays out and if I can keep the $1500 in my savings and collect a little interest on it before I use it to pay rent.  I want to see how long I can go without using the money.

Granted.

If I need to.

I absolutely will.

But it feels really nice to have a little cushion behind me.

I let go the idea of getting a new bed and wrote my pages this morning and expressed a great amount of gratitude for my life, and I won’t lie, I did actually write another affirmation about the mattress–along with about fifteen other ones–as well as a gratitude list before I hopped on my bicycle and headed in to beard the lion.

Otherwise known as.

Doing my year review with the family.

And it went well.

They balked at giving me a raise.

I got to let them have their experience and I said what I needed to say, I came into the job under my ask, at the same amount as the outgoing nanny, I expressed how they themselves have stated I was the best nanny they have ever had, and that I only expected to get better at my job.

I also said how grateful I was for their flexibility with me.

They have agreed to keep me at 35 hours a week and continue to pay my health insurance, which is huge, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be getting that.

We also agreed that we would see how everything plays out and stay at 35 hours a week until the end of the year.

I won’t have to look for supplemental work and I won’t have to look for another family.

They will deal with me being unavailable every third Friday while I am in school.

We tied it up with them saying they would think about a raise.

And.

I am good with that.

The fact is.

I am going to be taken care of and I will be fine even without the raise, though it’s nice to get and I don’t recall having had a single job where I didn’t get some sort of raise after a year.

The flexibility with my schedule is the coup and the still getting my health insurance covered is huge.

And.

When the boys are on school break, I will work more for them, I will work my 40 hours like I was all last year and be of service to the family.

Win.

WIn.

Win.

Then I had myself a busy day.

I earned my keep.

I made homemade pizza for the family and for the family that came over for a play date.

Four boys.

Two three-year old boys and two five-year old boys and one delicious 8 month old baby girl.

So much deliciousness.

The baby let me cuddle and snuggle her and the three-year olds let me read them stories and the five-year olds helped me “prep” dinner, and the parents had a visit and the dog kept me company and I did the laundry and marketed too and set them up.

I did my job.

I did it well.

And I felt really good about how the conversation went and grateful that I asked.

Now I get to let go of the results and know implicitly in my heart that all is taken care of.

I mean.

Hello.

I really thought I was getting some flowers delivered, I did not expect that the message was, the Universe reads your blog and wants you to get some good sleep for graduate school studies.

Fuck.

Can’t come soon enough.

I have so much work to do this weekend.

I was trying to not be hyperventilating on my bicycle ride home.

I had taken the time to do the deal and popped into Our Lady of Safeway right at 8p.m.

So grateful I got my God on.

That hour reset me, refreshed me, and despite having anxious thoughts plague my ride home, I knew that I was going to get it all done and it was going to be ok.

I asked for a raise.

I asked for a review.

I got a great review, by the way.

I got tons of thank you’s and I love you’s and sweet little boy hugs.

I got a beautiful ride home through the park on a Friday night.

I got a gift coming in the mail.

SERIOUSLY?

Seriously.

I also have the gift of getting to go to school.

That is a gift too.

I am graced.

I am loved.

Don’t let me ever tell you different.

Loved I say.

And What Are You Up To

September 25, 2015

Tonight?

Not what I was up to last Thursday.

Ahem.

I am studying.

Or should I say, I was studying.

Sigh.

Not getting hickies tonight.

Oh well.

I knew well what I was getting into when I decided to pursue graduate school–no more reading for pleasure for a few years, limited social interaction and engagement, and lots of studying, outlining, underlining, and digesting of ideas, theories, and studies.

I will also get to add to that, navigating student financial aid, technology, online facebook pages for my cohort, never thought I would use social media for graduate school studies, but my cohort has a group on facebook and I actually do use it.

Said hickies have faded and left little trace of their previous engagement.

All that is left is a warm feeling and a few sweet thoughts.

He goes one way.

I go the other.

Nothing wrong there.

No expectations.

No resentments.

Life meandering on its way.

I’m not maudlin, upset, or concerned.

I’m focused on what is happening in front of me.

Which is mainly getting all my Human Development reading done before the weekend.

I have one chapter left in the big text-book and a lot of articles in the reader, but I have successfully finished all the reading that I need to have done to outline the chapter and do the presentation with my partner next week.

I will go back over the reading again this Saturday and perhaps one more time before I do the presentation.

Grateful to be getting the work in and done.

Grateful to be carving out the space here and there to navigate said reading.

A little here.

A little there.

The stuff and things they get done.

I haven’t really addressed the reading for any of my other classes yet, but I will.

I will get to it.

I always do.

I don’t sit idly by.

I don’t take many breaks.

I get the job done.

Speaking of job.

I expect that at some point tomorrow, since it has not happened yet, didn’t happen today, I will be sitting down with the family and doing my year review.

I have no more anxiety around it.

Which is a relief and I don’t have expectations of myself, except that I show up and be honest and come from a place of gratitude for my job, for the boys, for the gift of having a job while I am in graduate school that seems like it could well carry me through all the way from this first semester to the last.

That is my hope.

Although.

I know.

Well.

I know well.

That whatever happens.

I am taken care of.

I have no doubts.

With that qualification I await the morrow with some interest.

Tomorrow is when the school disperses the financial aid.

I have my fingers crossed that I will get the rest of my tuition bill paid for and that there will be a few thousand, two to be specific, two thousand, left over after my tuition is covered.

I really want a new mattress for my bed and I have been eyeing the Casper full size for the last three months or so.

But.

I wonder.

Would it be better to sit on the money and see how I do under my own power with the hours that I am working at work before I spill out the money?

Should I sock it away into savings and have a nest egg?

Sleeping well is important, but could I wait until I do my taxes in January?

That seems so far away.

I have been quite frugal the past few months and am doing alright with my finances.

I will be paying my rent for October when I get my paycheck tomorrow.

That’s also something I need to keep in mind, the paychecks for the next few months will be smaller to reflect the fewer hours I am working.

I feel like I can afford it though.

The full size is $750.

That would still leave me sitting on $1250, which is basically one months rent, and I could sock that away into my savings, where I currently have one months rent, and then have a little prudent reserve to see how I do with the navigation forward.

I keep looking at my bed.

It’s a nice bed.

But.

It’s an Ikea mattress that is two years old and was not meant to be the end all and be all of mattresses.

I had thought I was going to replace it this spring, but I did not.

Sleep is important.

My brain will do better with quality sleep than without.

I could write it off as a study aid.

Baha.

Doubtful, but it’s a nice thought.

I don’t have many needs.

I live a small life.

But.

It is a full life.

A quality life.

I like my food organic.

And yes.

I do drink expensive coffee.

I probably drop $60 a month on coffee beans.

But my, they are so delicious.

I also rarely buy coffee out, although I do have it on a fairly consistent basis.

Today I had a lovely iced coffee from Grand Cafe on Mission Street on my way to the Mission/Bartlett Farmer’s Market to shop for the family.

The family sports my coffees.

I don’t take advantage of it, though there can be a tendency in my brain to want more, after a certain point I just can’t do a big coffee after four in the afternoon.

I have a lot of perks at work.

I am well aware of how lucky I am to have a good job, that I get to live in San Francisco, go to school in San Francisco, live in the best city in the United States, one of the best in the world, and live as well as I do.

Yes.

I live in a studio.

But it is by the sea.

In the most salient place for me to be.

The best place for my soul to reside for the time being.

At least for the next three years.

And after that?

Who knows.

I am too focused right now on the here and now.

Where the reading is.

Just there.

On the other side of my laptop.

Now.

If you’ll excuse me.

I have some more reading to do.

See you tomorrow.

I’ll let you know if I get that raise.

Put Your Money In the Bunny

December 16, 2013

Bank baby.

Save it for a rainy day.

Or for your birthday.

Which is the case with my bunny bank.

I have a bunny bank, not a piggy bank.

I actually have um, uh, yeah, three bunny banks.

Heh.

Plus an online account that I deposited to today.  I almost have the money to give to Barnaby to pay back the Paris ticket he bought for me to get home with.

Almost.

Another couple of weeks and I will have it.

I vacillated as I was looking at my checkbook, my birthday is Wednesday, I should, could, would like to, spend money on…

But the fact is I already spent my birthday money, today.

So, I put some more money in my savings account and mentally thanked my friend once again for helping me get back to where I need to be.

My “piggy bank” though is a different story.

I save up my money in my bunny bank, or banks, as the case may be, and the money that I save goes into my paw and I spend it on, once a year, whatever the fuck I want to spend it on for my birthday present.

There was not a great whopping load of cash in the bank this year, but I did get a new skirt and I took myself out to dinner.

Which is pretty much what I was hoping for.

I also took myself out to get a little pampering.

Manicure, pedicure, eyebrow wax.

I won’t have time for it the rest of the week.

Despite taking off on Wednesday, I still have a fairly heavy week, with extra work on Friday since I took off Wednesday.

And I start the holiday house sitting gig on Thursday.

I picked up the keys yesterday and met the cat, Stella, a golden little minx of a girl, orange tabby with the biggest eyes I have seen on a cat.  She cuddled right up to me and I thought, aw, this will be nice to have a little kitten to snuggle with over a week.

The house is also really pretty, a two bedroom on Dolores at 18th.

Right in the prime of the prime neighborhoods.

I will be in the Mission for Christmas.

I will miss my little tree with her twinkling blue lights, but I have really enjoyed having it and I will keep it up until New Years.

Then I think I will take it down and burn it at the beach, let go of the old ideas that I have carried with me over the year in a ritualistic Christmas/Burning Man/New Year resolution/surrender to it sort of move.

Burn it down baby.

But not today, today was not about burning the candle at both ends.

Besides I sort of got to do that Friday night anyhow.

No, today was about treating myself nicely.

Sleeping in.

Not that 9 a.m. is a huge sleep in, but when I normally get up at 7 a.m. it feels luxurious.  My brain really doesn’t care to let me linger in bed once I have gotten around 8 hours and I have no patience for listening to its morning rap of doom, gloom, financial insecurity, and fear.

I just get the fuck up.

However, I took a leisurely morning, writing, drinking an extra cup of coffee, hula hooping, sitting out in the back yard in the sunlight, in my flip-flops (super grateful it has warmed up to a normal temperature), meditating.

I took a walk around the neighborhood.

I went to a couple of art galleries.

I made a nice healthy lunch.

I drank some tea and made some phone calls.

Then I took my bunny bank money and went to the nail salon and Cross Roads.

It was perfect.

I have matching lilac nails with glitter bomb top coat over them.

It’s my party and I will sparkle if I want to.

Dinner down at Church and Market and a good book to keep me company.

Meeting with a ladybug, a trip to Our Lady of Safeway, and a train ride home through Christmas light infused neighborhoods.

So grateful for my life and my lively hood, my friends, and my community.

And my bunnies.

Heh.

I don’t know what that is about, but it is my thing.

I mean last year for my birthday I got a jack-a-lope tattooed on my forearm.

In pink.

Oh yeah.

I have been thinking about another tattoo, a little anniversary coming up in January that I may wish to commemorate, although I don’t have any idea what I would be getting, just that there is the thought in my mind.

Imagine.

I could fly back to Paris for a weekend and get one.

Not currently in my price range though.

I did hear a rumour that Barnaby may be relocating to Hawaii, and well, gee, I have always wanted to visit there, especially since I am a quarter Polynesian and still have family in the islands.

I joke with friends that I have never gone because I am afraid I wouldn’t come back, but somehow the time has just never presented itself to me.  I do think about it though, especially when I see friends posting photos of vacations there and well, hmm, looks like a place I would enjoy.

Who knows.

Just for now I am here.

I am staying and I like it.

I like that I am my age.

I like where I am living.

I like that I am willing to do the work to change, tried a few small things today, took some actions, even updated my Okstupid profile.

One action–forgiving myself for being single.

Another action–being available to the man who wants to spend time with me.

It was suggested I try the online dating thing again and ok, sure, I will.

I don’t know who or how or when and I am just taking actions, letting go the results you could say, but taking action nonetheless.

And taking, foremost the action of taking care of myself which does, yes, mean manicures and pedicures, they are a treat and I like to look put together.

“You have such beautiful lips,” my manicurist said, “what color lipstick?”

I love that.

I who used to never wear lipstick, who carried everything in her jeans pockets, clipped her keys on her belt loop on her jeans, and only wore lip balm.

Getting all fancy.

Carrying a purse, once in a while, ok, I admit it, I still mainly use a messenger bag.

Buying a skirt.

Growing my hair back out.

These are ways too in which I say, hey, look, me, available, looking nice, paying my bills, putting money in savings, living the good life down by the beach, I am available for the man who is drawn to me–I will get pretty for me, but I like dressing up for you too.

Yup.

I am even letting go of what that man is supposed to look like or be or have; although I won’t date a heavy drinker or someone actively using drugs, and my preference is going to lean very much toward a non-smoker and someone with a job and his own place to live.

But really letting go my ideas about other traits and qualities.

They, my ideas, don’t serve.

Most the time, they really don’t.

But the actions?

That shit works.

Even just the action of putting a little away in the bank adds up.

Pennies and dimes, nickels and quarters.

The small, aware actions that I take from flossing my teeth, to making my bed, to sitting in quiet contemplation and asking for direction to do the next thing in front of me, sweep the floor anyone?

These are the things I can do.

These are the things that add up to a life worth living.

And my God, my life is worth living.

So just getting started.

The best, my friends, oh yes, is yet to come.

What Does A Carrot Peeler

September 17, 2013

Have to do with anything?

I once would not have been able to tell you, but the conversation I had with my mom on Sunday revealed itself to me this morning as I was standing in the aisle at Cole Valley Hardware looking at the carrot peelers.

Damn.

Those things are expensive.

Then I heard the tone of my mother’s worry and anxiety around finances and I heard myself wish to not be of that mindset.

It takes a long time to change that sort of despair and belief that there is not enough in the world.

Mom was just talking about financial insecurity and I heard loud and clear where I pick it up from.

Then another voice, oh for Pete’s sake, buy the peeler, Martines.

This is the voice I am listening to more of, rather than the one of deprivation and there’s not enough, the one that says there is not abundance, there is not hope, there are people who have it all and you don’t get to be one of them, you need to suffer.

Yup, all this crap went through my head in the kitchenware aisle at the hardware store.

See, I bought a carrot peeler a few days back, at some janky ass little Asian cheapie junk store on Irving.

Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love Japanese dollar stores, they are awesome.

But the carrot peeler, it sucked.

And when I went to use it yesterday I ended up throwing it in the garbage.

Funny thing, I had looked a the exact carrot peeler I bought today and opted to not get it because it was too expensive and I’ll just get the cheaper one.

Cheaper not always better.

I almost put it back in the hardware store, I don’t have as many hours as I want and I….

Shut up.

I am fine.

There is money.

Buy the carrot peeler, buy the dish drain mat, buy the god damn nice soap dish, buy the ice-cube trays and while you’re at it, get some paper towels you eco conscious lady you, you like to use them.

Don’t deny yourself nice things.

I deserve them.

And if you saw the way I live you would say I am not exactly living high on the hog.

I am alright with my lot.

I am.

I was reflecting on that as well, as the baby napped, and I was doing my morning writing.

I am working a job where they say, help yourself to the tea, and we bought this one just for you.  Go ahead and write, in fact, here’s a notebook I found that I thought you would like.  Where I get to sit in the sun and watch the clouds roll by, where I am outside and giggling with a baby as he flirts with a gaggle of old ladies on tour in Golden Gate Park.

My job is pretty awesome.

I am wanted and needed and it pays my rent.

I could use a few more hours, but I picked up a half shift this week and found out that next week the mom won’t be going out-of-town and my hours won’t be cut.

I’ll make rent for October, as well as my student loan, and groceries, and I won’t have to dip into my savings.

Savings that I am setting aside for Paris.

Not to move back, but to pay for this move back.

I still owe Barnaby for the return ticket.

He gave me a year to pay it off and I want to have it paid before then.

However, I am not going to hurt myself trying to do so.

It is nice to have a few hundred dollars in my savings.

I like having that safety cushion.

And as I sat accepting that I could be a nanny for the next ten years and who cares?

I mean, really, who cares?

I get to write, I have gotten to travel, I get to giggle, to sit and read the New Yorker when the napping is happening, probably not much tomorrow as I have three babies on the day, but there are days I get the reading while the napping happens.

The commute in?

Twenty minutes.

The relaxing stroll around the block looking at houses.

Houses which I used to covet.

Houses which I don’t any more.

I may own one of those houses one day.

I may not.

But what I know today is that I have a home, a home that I can afford, it is small and cozy and just so.

I opened the door to the night as I went to bed yesterday evening.

I listened to the crash of the surf as I fell asleep.

I figured I could get up and close the door at any time if it got cold, although I probably would not have felt it as I bought myself a good comforter at Ikea, I spent the entire night with the door open and it was a soothing balm on my rest.

There is no need to change who I am or what I am.

I am not broken.

I deserve a good carrot peeler and a nice bed.

Spicy tea and sweet apples.

The quiet respite from the negative accusation that I have not done enough or am enough.

My life is yet from half over and there is still so much to learn and grow and be and get to do.

Listening to my mom I could have poked a hole in the fallacy of her thinking, but it was not my place, rather, what I learned and listened to and recognized is that she has always been taken care of.

Always.

And she is in her sixties.

I can extrapolate that out to myself.

I will always be taken care of.

Especially if I continue to do that work, of which I am not planning on dropping anytime soon.  I am going to be just fine and spending another eight dollars on something that will be helpful when I cook for myself seems a silly thing to quibble over.

Thus, the acceptance has not to do with  thinking there is a lack, I just got to accept I ain’t gonna get what I need, rather the acceptance is to recognize for myself that there is abundance.

I accept abundance.

This is acceptance.

Of reality.

The other is a fantasy I inflict upon myself.

Oh, yeah, that’s correct, my fantasies have nothing to do with success, but rather with deprivation, I’m good a dreaming up that crap.

Right here, right now.

I accept myself.

My job.

My art.

My voice.

My fucking authentic fabulous self.

“Paris misses your pink,” a friend wrote me in a message.

Indeed.


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