So Good

To be home.

My God.

So good.

I’m super grateful I went to the intensive and I reconnected with all the folks in my PhD cohort, don’t get me wrong, but fuck, I was ready to get the heck out.

I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed again.

Five nights in a hotel in Burlingame is not exactly my cup of tea.

Granted.

I got super lucky, again!

I had no room-mate.

Although I had been assigned to share a room with another woman, I did not pay the extra $702 to have  room to myself (there were quite a few who did drop the money, but I really couldn’t see doing it) to have it to myself.  My room-mate just never showed up.

Not sure why either.

The name of the person was not someone who I knew from my cohort, which meant I would have basically been bunking with a second year person.

Which isn’t horrible, it would have just been an unknown and another layer of the experience.

Grateful as fuck that I had the room to myself and I didn’t have to pay the extra to be alone.

It was nice to sleep and do my thing at my own schedule.

It was nice to get up in the morning and shower without having to be concerned about a room mate or another’s sleep schedule, or wearing pajamas to bed, I sleep in the nude thank you very much.

It was lovely to have the quiet, especially as I have been incorporating a fifteen minute meditation into my morning the last few days.

I had a friend suggest an abundance meditation and I started doing it the first morning of the intensive.

I do a little reading, mull on the reading, then sit and meditate and after words write down what comes up.

Sometimes my brain is just too busy, but I have found pretty consistently over the past five mornings that I have felt more abundance and my flow and I have felt more generous, both with my money and with my time.

I definitely can suffer from a scarcity mentality and I feel like I have worked a long time on turning that around.

Now I want to bring more abundance in and that means conversely being more generous.

Faith.

Not fear.

I’m grateful for that.

I found myself tipping more at the intensive, offering to get things for people, more coffee when I was doing a refill for myself, asking others what they needed, buying flowers.

That experience was really sweet actually.

The second year students had their last intensive, there’s four in total for the program if you’re on the two-year track, six if you’re on the three-year track.

I am on the get it done as fast as possible track, two years of course work, instead of three years.

It means that once again I am full tilt boogie for the semester, but having survived the first semester I feel like I have a slight leg up over the person who walked in pretty blind last semester.

Granted, I still did have an anxiety attack the third day of classes going over my third class syllabus and realizing how much the professor wanted of us.

But, I managed to not die and a dear friend reminded me that I had a near panic attack last semester going over the syllabus in my third class too.

So I was right on time.

Lean into the process.

Fuck.

He was right.

And I got through it.

So it was nice yesterday to have a big chunk of time, I had my elective scheduled on Sunday, to run around a touch and get out of the hotel and go get flowers.

I had been tapped along with two other women to do the adieu ceremony for those in the program who were moving on and wouldn’t be with us next semester.

They will instead be doing the independent research that they need to do to get their dissertations done.

I drove my car into downtown Burlingame and went window shopping and walked around.

Downtown Burlingame is surreal, FYI.

It was like a big outdoor mall.

Very little that felt unique or town like, although there was a town like sort of structure to it, it felt like a big suburb.

It was nice to be out though and considering that most of my time I spend in San Francisco, it was nice to see something new, granted, not my cup of tea, but still seeing new things is good.

I won’t be going back anytime soon, unless they decide to do the next intensive in Burlingame too.

It’s hard to say, the place that the school had been doing them is under a huge remodel and may not be ready by next fall.

Anyway, I had fun window shopping and got a few new lip glosses at Sephora and then got flowers to give to the outgoing cohort.

We had a little ceremony later that night and I have to say I was super happy that I had made the suggestion to get flowers and then went and got them, it felt right and it was so sweet to see how touched the outgoing students were.

I like this kind of generosity.

I like bringing happiness to others.

I do like feeling in the flow and in abundance.

And I realize, quite well that when I am in scarcity I tend to hold too tightly to money or objects, afraid to lose what I have.

But it’s really hard to accept what is trying to be given to me if I hold on too tightly.

Giving back, being generous, even in small ways, seems to shift that for me and I found that I felt really positive and good in my interactions with my cohort and the second years moving on.

I also participated a lot more than I did last semester.

Sat longer at meals and talked more.

Participated in the talent show.

Made myself known.

Sure.

I also ducked out of going to the bars and grabbing margaritas or drinking wine with the ladies after class and went to my room and read, but I really did try to socialize a lot.

It was good.

I am proud of myself for getting through.

And I’m ready to go back to “normal” life.

Heh.

Busy life.

Full on tomorrow, work and three clients after work–I had to reschedule some of the folks that I had not been able to meet with for having been out-of-town.

Plus!

I picked up two new clients while I was at the intensive, which was really cool.

Anyway.

Grateful to be home, it’s home, and my bed is going to be a miracle, I can tell.

And I’ll do my best, I think I really do want to do that for you and for me, by writing my blogs as often as I can.

This week I’m pretty caught up on my reading and ready, but I know there will come a time when I fall off the face of the earth for a while.

Don’t worry though.

I will be back.

I promise.

I love this too much.

I really do.

Nice Little Day

Yoga.

Writing.

Loads of writing, just my morning pages, but the last week was super busy with early starts every day at work–I worked seven hours of overtime last week at my nanny job, so I didn’t get to my morning writing every day (skipped one day completely) or I got just a half page or maybe a page in.

Today I wrote four pages.

It felt so good.

Nice breakfast.

Leisurely latte.

Laundry.

Little bit of grocery shopping.

Group supervision.

Group today was really small, so I got to do a super long check in and do work around three clients, I don’t typically get that much time, my group is usually six of us and sometimes I get maybe fifteen minutes, twenty max, today, loads of time.

It was really good and it was also a sweet group to be in today.

Lots of support around my clients.

And.

Oh.

So nice.

I had a number of clients cancel this week and next.

Normally I wouldn’t be too happy about so many clients cancelling, but since my solo supervisor is on vacation for the next two weeks I was looking at having to get extra coverage.

As it turns out with all my cancellations next week I won’t have to at all.

Thank God.

It’s not a huge deal, but I get a lot more from my solo supervisor than the woman I go to if he’s not available.

Not to say she doesn’t have value, it’s just different and the rapport is not as strong and well, I get more from working with my supervisor.

And frankly, it’s nice to have some time off next week from clients.

I will only have two sessions next week.

One client Tuesday evening and one client on Thursday.

That’s going to be a short week for me.

And then a four-day weekend.

I will enjoy that quite a bit.

After supervision today I went into the fray.

Yes.

I went downtown on the Saturday before Christmas.

It was lit.

But.

I knew where I was going and I had a plan.

I even found parking that wasn’t metered.

I usually try to duck into the lot behind the Mint, it’s infrequently open, but once in a while you can score.

I wasn’t able to, but I went around the block and on a hunch I turned down Jessie Street and there it was, a spot, no meter, and only a block and a half from the Sprint store.

Yup.

I went and got a new SIM card for my new Iphone 8 and it’s working great.

It took a few minutes, but that’s all I had to do was stand around and wait, the tech guy in the shop did it and I didn’t have to pay for anything, which was really nice.

Then.

Heh.

I went even further into the crazy.

But it felt a little exhilarating because I had a single destination point and a gift card to Sephora burning a hole in my pocket.

I left the Sprint Store on Mission, slid through the back door of Bloomingdale’s and strode right through the makeup and perfume counters, zipped through the Westfield Mall and zig zagged through the masses of people on Market Street.

The line for the cable car was crazy.

I went into Sephora and I did a swoop.

I pretty much knew what I wanted and went to the exact make up aisles I wanted to grab products from.

I’m a total lip gloss junkie.

I picked up one of the Sephora brand lip glosses that I use on the regular and three different shades of Anastasia of Beverly Hills–one bubble gum pink with high glitter, called Girly, I know, I know, I was totally channeling my thirteen year old adolescent self (even though I never wore makeup when I was a teenager, making up hard for lost time) and then a pretty Vintage Rose gloss and a subtle glitter called St. Tropez.

Yeah.

I know “subtle” glitter.

But it sort of is.

Heh.

I had enough left over on my gift card that I splurged on a box of pretty highlight illuminating powders.

Super pretty.

I love makeup.

I love dressing up.

I love that I looked super chic and urban in my all black leotard and boho black skirt and leggings, my hair up in a high messy French bun, and my rose velvet pink Tretorns.

I had a total moment of “I have arrived.”

Which is funny.

But.

There it is.

I had that moment.

I felt happy and light and airy walking out of the crowded store.

I did not have any issue with the crowds, I got back to my car, had plenty of time to sneak in a quick pop over to Whole Foods and pick up a couple staples and fill up my gas tank before heading over to the NOPA to get right with God.

That was great.

I made dinner plans with a friend for next Saturday, I got connected, I participated and it felt lovely.

Home and a hot bowl of chicken soup with brown rice, veggies, and Andouille sausage and folding all the laundry I did earlier.

A super sweet, chill, lovely little day.

Tomorrow should be much the same, relaxed, restful, happy.

I’m going to go to yoga again in the morning, have the same leisurely sort of morning I had today, meet with ladybug and roast a chicken.

I’m thinking I’ll go to the Inner Sunset and treat myself to a mani/pedi and some eyebrow waxing, a hot cafe au lait and maybe a book from Green Apple Books, pop into the spot on 7th and Irving and get right with God and call it a day.

I’m not worried about it being Christmas Eve, it’s just a lovely Sunday that I get to relax.

And Christmas.

Well, that will be chill too.

I’m going to go over to the East Bay in the afternoon and see a girlfriend and go to a movie matinée and get Chinese food.

Super simple.

And that’s it.

No pressure.

No expectations.

I’ve been given so much this holiday season.

I have nothing to ask for.

It’s been intense.

But it’s been a really lovely Christmas.

Anything else is just more sprinkles.

(or glitter)

On top of the frosting.

Of some very lovely cake.

 

God Damn

I got a lot of shit done today.

I am, in fact, still getting shit done.

I am cooking a pot of chicken soup as I blog.

I am trying to do some peremptory food preparation for the next weekend of school so that this Saturday and Sunday I can give my full attention to the papers that I have to write.

Speaking of writing papers.

I got a lot of my Trauma paper mapped out.

I have four pages of notes and references from four different sources all set up and notated.

In fact.

I laughed at myself when I was finished listening to the podcast for the second time (in full, a couple of the segments I listened to three or four times) and I had all my paper notes and references complied.

Fuck.

I have a 10 page paper with all the work I complied today.

The paper is 5-7 pages.

I will have more than enough material to cut a fine suit from.

I am actually excited about writing the paper, I have such a clear idea of what needs to be done, I thought about writing it tonight, however, I wanted to wait until I had a clear swath of time.

And I like to have my down time when I get home.

Of course that down time tonight includes a couple of loads of laundry and making homemade chicken soup with veggies and brown rice, but it’s not writing and focusing in a scholarly way.

I am awful proud of taking the time to do the work that needed to get done though for the paper, I spent a great deal of my breaks this week working on the Trauma material.

I will be ready to pop out that paper Saturday and then turn my full attention to the Community Mental Health project that I need to do on Sunday.

I will work on that all day Sunday, nothing else planned, on the books or off, for that matter.

Tomorrow at work during my break I will go over my Community Mental Health notes and the half hour interview I did with the program that I am writing on.

I will basically do the same thing that I did for my Trauma paper, map it out, make notes, post-it note my notes, and go back over the reading material that I am going to utilize for my paper.

I’ll provide my frame-work for the paper and then be able to sit down on Sunday and write it.

That one is 8-10 pages.

I feel like it should be the other way around, my Trauma paper has so much richness to it and so much to explore, it should be the bigger paper, but I don’t make the rules, things might be different if I did.

Ha.

I’m super grateful that it’s coming together.

As I get closer and closer to my Paris trip.

Today to incentivize myself I wore my Chanel Rouge Allure lipstick that my dear French friend gave me as a birthday present.

Nothing like getting a gift bag of Chanel makeup for a birthday.

It was such a lovely gift.

Part of me, a very large part of me, is so thrilled that I will be wearing Chanel makeup on my trip, I know it’s silly, but Chanel products are above my paygrade, so when I got them, I felt like the proverbial kid in a candy shop.

The first time I went to Paris I discovered Sephora.

Oh my god.

I wasn’t able to get myself much, I was there on the slimmest of budgets.

I remember I actually got my sister a lipstick, as they had a brand that was the same as her name, although slightly different spelling, and I got myself a set of red barrettes.

I loved those barrettes so much.

Today, when I put on the red lipstick it reminded me of those hair clips and I realized, yes, that’s definitely a souvenir I will let myself get when I am in Paris, hair clips.

Maybe some red ones like the ones I got my first time there.

It seems surreal that I will be going back.

I remember when the woman I was working with in Paris told me that it was going to be ok that I moved back home to San Francisco, that Paris would always be there, that I could come back and make another go of it.

I’m so grateful that I had my time living there and I can contrast it with the life that I built and then re-built here.

I have it really good.

Oh.

Sure.

I make half the median income that the city recommends to get by and I am taking out student loans for therapy, hahaha, but ultimately, my life is really rich.

REALLY.

Abundant.

It’s gorgeous.

I have so much.

I have an amazing job.

I have a great therapist.

I have an internship.

I get to go to graduate school in San Francisco.

I get to live in San Francisco.

I get to write every day.

What writer doesn’t long for that?

Every day.

I get to live a recovered, full, useful life.

I get to travel.

I get to go to Burning Man.

I get to ride a scooter to work.

I get free parking when I’m there.

I have laundry in the garage, I get to wash my clothes for free.

I have chicken soup cooking on the stove and hot sheets in the dryer.

I am listening to amazing music on my Macbook Air.

I have a lot.

I have happiness.

I have self-esteem.

I do estimable acts, that helps.

I have red lipstick.

I have pretty perfume.

I have love.

I have friends, family, chosen and of origin, I have my cohort.

I have Ocean Beach a hop, skip, and jump away.

I have beautiful tattoos.

I have poetry.

I have abundance, joy, happiness, freedom.

I have.

All the things.

All the things.

 

I Might Be Feeling It

My new hair, that is.

OMG.

I feel like Snow White.

I love, love, love it.

LOVE.

I’m back to my “natural” color.

I haven’t had this hair color in about four years and it was brief at that.

It feels good to be brunette again.

And.

Though I hate to say it, age appropriate, which equals sexy as fuck in my book.

44 you look pretty damn good.

Yes.

That is a lot of cleavage, Virginia.

But fuck it.

Once in a while a lady is going to feel her oats.

I almost.

But no, I did not, re-load the Tinder app to my phone.

I realize that I don’t really need it and the validation is nice, but it’s not real.

I want someone to see me in real life and go, yes, I want her.

And.

Then.

Ask me out.

That’s the feel of it.

I always feel a little sassy after I have a new hair do and this is no different.

Except that it is.

It feels the most me that I have felt in ages.

I’m not trying to be anyone different from who I am.

Granted I may feel differently when my hair gets curly.

Which it will do.

I got a blow out at the salon and it will last a day, max two, if I don’t go to yoga in the morning and I don’t shower.

Now.

I did shower today.

And.

I could possibly beg off yoga since I’m still sick.

Not as bad as yesterday, I woke up without the tightness in my chest, but I had to bail on dinner tonight with a friend after doing the deal as I could feel it settling back in and the last thing I wanted to do was be out longer and get chilled and have it come back with a vengeance.

Especially since tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve and for the first time in a long time I have plans to go out to a party.

I had been invited to one in the East Bay, and man it’s tempting, a lot of my favorite people will be there.

But.

East Bay.

And no car and I don’t want to BART, even though, yes, it runs until 3 a.m.

I decided to get tickets to a semi-private event at a friends gym here in town.

He’s doing a “Fight Club” themed party.

Which makes sense since he owns a gym.

There will be lots of people I know, some doing the deal, and good djs and dancing.

I’m psyched to go and I want to feel good and healthy for it.

And yes.

I do, um, perhaps want to sport my sexy as fuck new hair.

I’ve been contemplating going back to my natural color now for a little bit now.

I had at first thought about just chopping out the blonde and the pink, but I realized, no, I rather like my long hair and I like that the longer it gets the curlier my hair gets and when it’s short, it tends toward wavy, not curly.

Here’s for curls.

So when I went to the MOMA on Wednesday with my dearest friends, who both happen to be taste makers for a living, one in retail fashion and the other in interior design, I asked.

“What do you think if I went back to my natural hair color?”

And they both gave it a big, big, big thumbs up.

Ok then.

I got home, hopped on the phone and made a call.

I got in!

I was surprised that I was able to snag a spot so close to New Year’s Eve, but it happened and I got great color and an awesome cut.

Harper Paige Salon.

Love you guys!

It was a faster process than going blonde and I was grateful for that as I had some time left on my meter and I skipped over to Sephora.

New hair.

New lipstick.

Duh.

I got an Urban Decay.

Oil Slick.

And.

A new Kat Von D.

Motorhead.

I love how both are dark and sexy and a tiny bit sinister sounding.

I’m rather all sweetness and light at the moment.

But I’ll go with dark and sexy too.

I’m single.

Dark and sexy could catch me a few dates.

Fingers crossed.

And perhaps I am feeling my oats.

But.

This is my year.

I feel it.

I feel it in my bones.

I’m excited for it.

The new contract for work.

Moving forward in my school program.

New hair.

Which is just really, “old hair” but it’s been such a long time that it feels like a new me, just a slightly more polished, a tiny bit more refined (unruly will be on the scene soon when the blow out fades of, but I can say polished for at least the next twelve hours), fresh, and pretty.

It does also feel just that.

Pretty.

Which I’m also down for.

Dear God.

I have just written nearly my entire blog about my hair.

Hahahahaha.

I’m not-self centered, really, bahahahahaha.

Sorry.

So.

So.

So.

Stupidly self-centered.

But also.

God help me, quite happy.

I did something completely for me.

Going blonde, the last time I did it, was for someone else.

Granted I wanted to, but I wanted to even more when he wanted it too.

This was all about me.

How to make myself happy.

How to please myself.

Not about a man, a woman, a job, another person.

Just for me.

It turns out I like making myself happy.

I should remember this the next time I’m feeling remorse.

I deserve to feel happy and I have all the power and capabilities to make myself happy.

No one completes me.

I am complete.

With just a tiny bit.

More.

Um.

Sexy.

Yeah.

Like that.

 

That Was No Fun

No fucking fun at all.

In fact.

That may officially be the worst weather I have ridden my bicycle home in ever.

Not my worst bicycle ride.

I have had a few accidents, though knock on wood, nothing in some time.

I have definitely had colder rides and thank God it was not cold tonight or I might have gotten off my bicycle crying.

Not that it didn’t look like I was crying anyway.

Hello El Nino.

Damn Gina.

That was intense.

I kept thinking of this exact moment.

This one, right here, right now.

Where I am dry, writing my blog, and have a very hot cup of tea in my hand.

Or as close to my hand as my keyboard will allow.

I don’t know how I got home.

I was hoping I would hit the window and not get the dousing.

I managed to this morning, well, it did rain on me, but I got up to 20th before it started and it was light.

The rain did fall and the traffic slowly but surely got worse and yes, I had a wobble on a train track, heart stopping, but no falls, just slick as shit.

But tonight the rain dumped and the wind was high.

It was painful riding home.

That was the worst of it.

Getting blasted in the face by the rain.

Especially when I hit the down hill portion of my ride.

Three miles or so, total of 6.5, half is up and half is down, that was just torrential and driving.

I literally said “ow” out loud at one point.

I fantasized about getting off and waiting for a MUNI, but I was riding through the park by that point and really, what’s the point.

I made it home though.

And I am dry now.

Everything came off in the garage, my shoes so wet they squished, I threw away the socks I was wearing there was so much road dirt in them they were dark grey.

Yuck.

Everything in the wash and my rain coat hanging over the handle bars of my bicycle.

At least I had a rain coat on and my fender, though the fender didn’t do much good, it was just coming down.

My bicycle is grounded for the weekend.

I need a break.

I will call a car tomorrow for the appointment and then MUNI my way back across town.

Sunday I am hoping for some decent weather, anything that is not rain, so I can run errands and go grocery shopping.

The bike can stay nice and parked and dry itself out.

I’m super grateful it’s the weekend.

It was nice to get a few extra bucks for the extra work I put in this week, but after coming off a school weekend it was tough.

I’ll be working a little extra next week too–Friday night for the parents, an extra two hours, but that’s next week.

No thinking about that now.

Get present.

Be here.

Where it is dry and lovely and Coleman Hawkins is playing on my computer.

Jazz always feels appropriate when there is rain and I am cozy inside.

I am cozy and dreaming of blonde hair.

Yup.

Tomorrow is the day.

I finally pull the trigger.

It will take two sittings, so it may not be full on blonde but, it will be heavily highlighted, it’s called a full head highlight, and I am getting a cut, which I haven’t done in a while.

I am looking forward to having my scalp rubbed and my hair washed.

I do love a good hair washing.

It’s one of those experiences that just defy explanation, I just really like having someone wash my hair, rub my scalp, some nice scratching, the lifting of the hair off the back of my neck, so divine.

Mmmmhmmm.

Ah.

I am all relaxed just thinking about it.

The process takes three hours.

I’m not sure what the second round will look like and how far she’ll be able to take down the color of my hair.

I am also wondering, curious really, how short it’s going to go, I expect that I’ll lose some length.

Then.

I am going to try to maintain it for four to six months, depending on how expensive the process is.

I plan on a range of Manic Panic self-home hair excursions after that.

Magenta, lilac, dusty rose.

Then.

I will either go and get it colored back my original color.

Or.

I will just chop it off and start from scratch.

I am looking forward to the fun.

It’s nice to let myself have a little fun, be a little frivolous, be girly.

I love that.

Ooh.

Heh.

I’ll be close to Sephora.

Mwahahahaha.

Mama needs a new lipstick too.

It may just shape up to be a girly kind of day tomorrow.

Fact is I could use it.

I deserve some pampering and it’s going to be fun to check out a new salon and a new hair stylist.

I haven’t been with anyone new in years.

I may even go with a new perfume too.

I’m getting low on my Egoiste by Chanel.

It’s time to pick up a bottle or perhaps a new scent.

I have been wearing it for so long that I realized the other day, one of two things had happened–I am either some immune to the smell of it or the bottle might be turning.

It’s not unusual for a perfume to go bad, but I have only had this particular bottle for about a year and that doesn’t seem the case.

It doesn’t smell the same though, I’ve noticed, recently, and I am tempted to get a new perfume.

New hair.

New year.

New tattoo.

New scent.

Same me.

But I’ll just be turned out a tad different.

I promise, though.

You will still get to see my heart on my sleeve.

There are just some things that never change.

 

I Did It!

It is done.

This, my first semester of graduate school, is hereby finished.

FINISHED!

I sent in two papers today.

One this morning before heading out the door to do the deal with my person up at Tart to Tart in the Inner Sunset.

The other.

About an hour ago.

I cannot believe it.

I am finished with the semester.

And.

Free to move about the country.

Or.

The world.

As the case may be.

And the case, my suitcase, is packed.

All is good.

All is ready.

My passport in my wallet, my bags packed, my toiletries in the little clear plastic flight bag–the same one I bought at Sephora a little over three years ago when I decided to move to Paris.

I am a little incredulous how much stuff I got into my carry on.

My friend reports that he is a clothes horse, ah, yeah, and has to check a bag.

Bahahaha.

Yeah.

I don’t travel like that.

In fact.

I was feeling that my second carry on was too big and bulky and I said, fuck it, I’m just going to carry my suitcase and my purse.

I figure that’s enough.

I have enough.

I am enough.

I reiterated to myself as I went about my day getting ready to do all the things that needed to be done.

Methodical, with a little bit of anxiety about getting it all in, but a surety that it would be done.

That no matter what I would have it done.

Maybe I wouldn’t get as much sleep as I wanted.

But.

My brain, the inflater of all things bad, never the good, always the bad, which should be a tip off, told me quite bold and loud that I would not have enough time to do my final psychodynamics paper and I should just put it off until I got back from Paris.

I was like.

Are you serious.

Oh.

Fuck.

You are!

Well.

That’s an option.

I told my brain and then just started doing all the things that needed to be done.

I had some housekeeping, some emails, and some laundry to do this morning, plus the general housekeeping of my brain and the sweeping out of my heart any cobwebs from the night before.

I put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed.

I love to come home to a freshly made bed.

Such a small kindness to do for myself.

I am always grateful for my fresh made bed after a bit of travel.

Then, the breakfast, the coffee, the writing.

I gathered up my things and got my scooter ready.

Grateful for a break in the rain so that I could ride to 7th and Irving.

I parked and went to Tart to Tart.

I did some reading, some checking in, some inventory, some down loading of my previous week.

I got a lovely birthday card from my person and loads of perspective.

We talked about attraction rather than promotion.

And.

Paris.

She lived there once as well.

It was grand to compare notes.

Then she went her way and I made a few phone calls and posted a travel alert on my ATM card so that there would be no holds on it when I travel.

I went to the hardware store and bought a small padlock for my scooter basket.

I went to do the deal at 1p.m.

Then.

A late lunch at La Honda Mexican grill.

Just because I don’t eat flour doesn’t mean I can’t get my Mexican food on–a nice plate of carnitas, beans and rice, and a very happy and full lady went off to the nail salon.

A mani/pedi and eyebrow wax later.

I left the Inner Sunset after a brief freak out where I thought I had lost the keys to my scooter.

A totally odd.

(Is it odd or is it God?)

And very surreal experience that I will share with you privately should you really want to know, but suffice to say, it was beyond bizarre where my keys showed up.

I did find them.

I figured that twenty minutes was a moment of total surrender and that they would show up when I was supposed to be on my scooter riding it home.

Which is what happened.

But.

I have to say it was such a spooky little experience that I decided to take the park home instead of Lincoln–it’s a much slower speed limit and much less traffic–and just get off the scooter and park it and lock it and cover it up.

I won’t be riding it for a week.

At least.

I got home and talked to my crazy brain about how to tackle the rest of the day.

I did a little grocery shopping.

I pulled out my carry on.

I made dinner.

And I put up a bunch of food into the freezer so I won’t have to cook when I get back from the trip.  I will have food prepped and ready to just pull out of the freezer and take to work.

Then I took out the notebook and the reader and I opened my laptop.

My brain clamored pretty loud.

Just put off the damn paper, you don’t know what you’re going to write about.

And.

I didn’t.

Even though.

It turns out.

I did know.

I somehow always do.

That’s the miracle of it.

The words are there.

It’s the sitting down and the opening up of myself to what is happening.

And voila!

Less than an hour and a half later I had the paper written.

And may I say.

It was a good paper.

A really good paper.

I was happily surprise.

I wrote well, I understood what I was writing on and I am also aware that I learned while I was writing the paper, which is always the main deal for me.

In the experience of doing the final paper, I learned more.

This is a mark of a good teacher for me and also that I am a good student.

“You are an amazing student,” she said to me, after I had described a paper I had written for another class and the response to it.

“You are an academic, you may really want to think about going for the PhD.”

This has come up a few times.

And yes.

It is an ego feeding proposition.

And.

It may also be something that I pursue.

Today.

Right now?

No.

Right now.

I am fucking done!

I did it!

My first semester of graduate school finished.

I am over the moon and ready to land on the other side of the world.

Paris, France to be exact.

I will be seeing you soon, ma cherie.

My sweet City of Lights.

I bid you adieu and bonne nuit.

For tomorrow I fly to you once again.

I am.

The luckiest girl.

In the world.

I really am.

You’re Back!

My friend announced and happily hugged me.

I hugged him right back.

Yes.

I’m back.

I mean, I was back yesterday, but I was still pretty out of it.

I was exhausted.

I mean tuckered the fuck out.

Traveling will do that to me and as I start to look forward to the summer months (summer?  What summer, that fog this morning!), it is June first, hello how did that happen?  I realized that I should accommodate this realization a bit more than I may have in the past.

For instance.

When I go to Burning Man I usually push as hard as possible and stay as long as possible and then go right back to work pretty much the next day.

I have to think about that this year.

Do I want to be wearing myself out that much right as I start graduate school?

If I was tired after hanging with my family for three and a half days, what the hell is Burning Man going to look like?

However.

There is something different about Burning Man than my family.

I have created my own community and family there and I know how to act, I was not anxious or stressed at my grandma’s but I did find myself being far quieter and just spending a lot of time observing, I had to force myself to engage and not check out.

I can check out without any sort of electronic device, my body is just sitting there, but my brain is 100 miles away.

Being in a new situation with people I barely know and infrequently see is tiring.

I won’t say I was putting on a front, I was just cautiously being me.

I found myself slipping into that place where I get quiet enough I may disappear.

Perhaps that is why I do hair geographics and wear loud makeup.

Although, I dearly love my crazy hair and exotic makeup.

I was putting it on this morning in between making a second pour over cup of coffee, and I realized with a bit of a chuckle, that any other woman would consider what I was doing as going out to the club makeup.

Eye primer, concealer, powder, three different shades of eyeshadow (all Urban Decay) smudged together for a nice hazy smoky eye, two different eye liners, one liquid, the other kohl, eye brow powder, one liquid blush, “Orgasm” by Nars, and a powder blush, “Cabana Boy” (let’s just cut through the bullshit and say today I am wearing sex on a stick) by The Balm, and mascara.

That sounds like a lot.

Right?

But no.

Just my normal going to nanny make up.

No wonder one of my previous employers asked me to assist on a make up session for a video, I like makeup.

So even if I’m quiet, you know, I’m seen.

The person who doesn’t really see me well is myself, so sometimes I am not sure I need all the extra stuff, but man, it’s fun to play with.

And I could do more, I don’t know how to contour my cheekbones or shade and I don’t use foundation and well, uh, anyway I don’t know when this became a blog for Sephora.

It was good to get back into my routine.

The writing, the breakfast, the ride into work on my bicycle, the boys, who were such little peaches and so good to see.

“I just want to curl up and cuddle, Carmen Cat,” he said as I read him the new Dr. Seuss book I had been given to give to the boys, “I love you, meow!” He finished, squeezed himself into a little ball and tucked his head under my chin.

How can a girl resist that?

it was good to get back in with my people after work too, I missed the fellowship and I did not get out as much as I had thought I was going to.

Not usually my M.O.

And tonight when I got home.

I could feel it.

A rapid fire house cleaning was going to happen.

Sweep.

Swiffer.

Scrub down the bathroom sink.

Take out the trash, like the houses trash, the three big bins, to the curb, and then I tossed myself in the shower and washed my very pink hair.

I had a moment in the shower when I thought, will I be a therapist with pink hair?

Will people go to me?

Will I get referrals?

Ha.

Not something to worry about right now Martines.

Let’s just wait and see about getting into the semester first before worrying about how to dress like a professional.

I’m not there yet.

Where I am, is here.

Freshly scrubbed, shaved, shampoo’ed with the hair drying, some Coleman Hawkins on the stereo (that was something else I realized I missed, I didn’t listen to music at all while I was in Chula Vista, my gram always had the television on, a sort of constant chatter in the background, totally outside my comfort zone–I don’t own a television and I can’t remember the last time I saw so many network commercials or so much news, that in itself wore me down), hot tea on the table in my favorite mug.

Life is good.

I have a full week of work.

I have my typical after work commitments.

I have folks I’ll be meeting up with and doing the deal.

Yay.

Back into my life and my routine, with another experience to tell and share and pass on.

I was telling a friend that I had some expectations about the experience and though they weren’t big ones, I felt that in the back of my head I expected it to be more dramatic.

I would have big old epiphanies.

My life would change.

And of course.

It has.

It did.

Just in small, not quite so glaring ways.

Love is sometimes shy and quiet and the softness of it can go undetected if I am drowning it out with the busy.

Slowing down to my grandmothers pace and sitting, sometimes, for hours not doing much was it’s own kind of revelation.

Being so still on the back swing that the humming birds dive bombed my head on their way to the feeder.

Have you ever had a hummingbird fly close to your head?

It’s loud!

Love.

I love that I am home.

That I am back.

But I also love that I went.

I don’t know what perspective I have gained, more will be revealed, I am sure, but I do know that I did it.

I took action.

I made the amends.

I showed up.

And I got to be a grand-daughter.

I get to be so many things.

Daughter, sister, grand-daughter, niece, cousin, nanny, friend, confidant, mentor, human, lover, partner, student, bicyclist, artist, child of God, blogger, tattooed dragon girl, traveler, Burning Man aficionado.

All the things.

How lucky am I?

Go Have Fun

Not the answer I was looking for.

Go to Decompression tomorrow and have fun.

I thought, no, I should stay at home and flog myself onward and upward to prep and prepare for my work week, then I should do some work on the graduate school application thing, even though it doesn’t even open for applications until November 15th and it’s like October.

I should be getting ready for bed, even though it’s Saturday afternoon, for an early night on Sunday, so that I can be ready for an early day at work on Monday.

I should be doing laundry and making vast pots of soup.

I should be scouring my bathroom, even though, “it’s not dirty in here at all,” my friend said today as I apologized for the mess.

There might have been some soap scum hiding out in underneath the soap dish.

I should be constantly living in a state of perpetual motion so I can pack it all in.

Because if I don’t, the world, my world, is just going to fall apart.

Man, this is a thematic I come back to again and again and again.

So, I fessed up and I told on myself and I got some fantastic suggestions, to practice being present, to enjoy the surprises that life throws me.

Like getting a text from a darling friend who was heading out to the beach and wanted to know if I was available to go down to the beach for a walk.

I wasn’t, I had to be up at 7th and Irving to meet my person, but I was available too.

I was available to have a cup of coffee here at the house for an hour and catch up and eat some breakfast and just revel, I mean revel, in having a house guest.

I love, love, love having friends over.

It was such a nice surprise and I was happy to abort my busy making plans to sit and hang out for a little while with her before I had to leave.

I skipped doing a few things, yet felt so revitalized by the visit that I realized I need to make sure that I am getting people time in my life, that despite having some serious reconsideration about going to Decompression–I sometimes get a sort of desperate vibe from the people there, a kind of forced gaiety or an attempt to capture the Burning Man experience all in one little block party–I decided that I will go after all.

It’s all well and good that I take on self-care as a matter of course, but I don’t want to wear that garment so tightly that I end up isolating myself from my fellows because I am busy making soup all the time.

Besides, the family I work for now is super generous with their kitchen and I have been invited again and again to take my meals with them.

If I don’t make food to take to work this week, it’s going to be ok, I can make a salad at work and have an apple.

My world is not going to end if I go to a San Francisco day party.

Besides, I have a new lip gloss to wear.

“Go to Sephora and buy a lipstick,” she said to me when I outlined my plans, I needed to go down town to do some clothes shopping and sometimes I enjoy the idea of clothes shopping, but mostly, I dread it, because I feel compelled to buy certain things and I still have this conception of what looks good on my body.

“Pretend you’re with your best girl friend and you’re going to get some things you wouldn’t normally let yourself get, and you are going to Decompression tomorrow in your sexy clothes with some great new lipstick.”

“And,” she continued, “ask some one out, go on a date, go on a lot of dates.”

Who are you lady?

“Listen, with 26 years behind me, it doesn’t get easier, but we get to have fun, and you need to have some fun, you do the work, you are always doing the work, you do more work than most of the women I have worked with over the past two and a half decades, go have fun.”

“Wear your life like a loose garment,” she said.

“You’re super sexy!  That’s a gift, share that gift, don’t keep it all to your self.”

Again.

Who are you?

And how come it’s so damn hard doing that.

I know she’s right.

And I left my meeting with her elated.

I met with another woman and got to share her successes and bear witness to her life and times and pass along some of what was so freely given me and it was another awesome hour of my life in a coffee shop.

I am not being facetious.

It was.

Then.

A light lunch at Crepevine on Irving Street, followed by a train ride down town.

And yes.

Shopping.

I did pretty ok.

I’m not the best at clothes shopping, but the suggestion to act as if I was there with my best  girlfriend really helped.

I did not find jeans, even with my best girlfriend, man, oh man, do I have a hard time jeans shopping.  However, I did find a cute baseball jersey t-shirt, a couple of pairs of cute leggings (which I can substitute in lieu of jeans for a little while), some adorable socks, a really cute skirt–this is when the girlfriend piped up, try that on!

I can’t remember the last time I bought a skirt.

Then, yes, a trip to Sephora.

I love me some Sephora.

Two lip glosses later and one orgasm and ready to go.

Nars illuminator in “Orgasm” that is.

I also tried “Super Orgasm” but ended up getting “Risky Business” instead.

I guess I’m ready to date now.

Baha.

I am at least ready to embrace the sexy tomorrow for sure.

I will see you at a Decompression party soon, with my fun pants on.

Ok.

That sounded just odd.

But you know what I mean.

I’ll make sure that I’m wearing some “Orgasm” and just act as if I know what I am doing.

Feel free to ask me on a date.

I’m available.

And ready to allow more fun in my life.

Bring it.