Slowing Down

Not having any school stress hanging over me has really mellowed me out.

I got to debrief with my therapist about it all and the lecture and all the things love and relationship and work and family today.

It really amazed me to see that it was just one week ago today that I was on a stage giving a lecture in front of 100s of people.

It feels like it was last year.

There was so much that happened after the lecture that I quite lost sight of the fact that I had done it.

Even though I have had a number of people clamor for the video of it.

It has not been posted up yet and I’m rather loathe to watch it anyhow.

I don’t need to see myself, I was there, I know how it felt.

Even my therapist wants to see it!

My therapist went to the same school I’m in now and did the same program and had some of the same teachers.

It’s always a good feeling of commiseration with her about my life and school and all the things.

It’s almost as though we are contemporaries, friends.

We had a good session and there was much to process.

There always is.

And then off to work.

I went in early to help the family and got to spend an unexpectedly sweet day with the baby.

He’s almost a year now and it’s coming close to time to renew my contract with the family.

I’m very happy with them and they are happy with me.

It’s a mutual appreciation society.

Seriously.

The dad today said he didn’t know how they’d still be alive without me.

That was super sweet to hear.

It’s a trip though, working for a family with three kids, three really changes the dynamic, it’s a flat-out hustle sometimes and there is not a lot of down time.

There is always something for me to do.

Always.

I don’t mind, it’s good to stay busy.

Although not too busy.

The parents had asked if there was a day in the upcoming weeks that I might be able to help with an overnight and I gave them a night when I could and as it turns out that night doesn’t work and well, I have to say that I wasn’t really upset about that.

I don’t have solid plans to do anything on the days I have off, but I sort of like that I have some time off to do with what I will.

My therapist asked me about Christmas and what it was like for me and whew boy that opened up a lot of fodder.

I realized very much that the last few Christmases have been really hard on me and she was encouraging me to do something sweet for myself, a yoga retreat, a little road trip in my new car, something personal and kind and I will add, for myself, cheerful.

I often spend Christmas alone and I can get melancholic about it.

Last Christmas I was navigating through some personal landmines that surprised me but in hindsight needed to happen and helped me grow exponentially.

Nothing like pain to prompt some spiritual growth.

The year before I was with someone in Paris who couldn’t really be with me and that felt like throwing my heart on a bonfire and roasting marshmallows over it.

Burnt and crisp and super painful.

I’d rather not have a painful Christmas this year.

Soft and gentle and loving and I really want to let myself not freak out about it.

I don’t want to compare and despair.

Maybe the road trip to Stinson on Christmas Day, pack a picnic, go to the beach, have bonfire, collect shells, reflect on my life and what I want in the new year.

Or down to Santa Cruz and go to Bridges State Park for the Monarch migration happening now.

I tried to go one year with a boyfriend and yes, we made it, but so late in the day that the monarchs weren’t flying.

I might try to give that another shot.

I should also get my MOMA on.

I have a membership and haven’t been in months, now that I’m on break from school it’s definitely time to go again.

I also want very much to see the Klimt exhibit at the Legion of Honor.

I love Klimt.

That is a must do.

I will also do a movie at the movie theater.

Last year I went to La La Land on Christmas day for a matinée at Kabuki Theaters and then I took myself out to sushi.

It was super cold on my scooter and I felt pretty miserable riding around.

Not going to be a problem with year with having a car.

I’ll be taking her tomorrow.

The last two days I’ve been on my scooter to avoid the morning rush traffic and get to supervision and today to therapy, before work and then to my internship on time.

I haven’t those obligations tomorrow.

I’ll be taking my car.

I really love having that car.

Yeah.

The more I think about it the more I think a mini road trip will do me good.

Even if it’s just across the bridge.

Oh!

I could do a ferry ride too.

I remember one year on Christmas Eve I caught the last ferry to Sausalito, I got off the boat, walked to a coffee shop, bought a coffee and walked right back onto the ferry.

I got to see the city at night all lit up in Christmas lights.

It was stunning.

I got a lot of really gorgeous photographs from that little jaunt.

And of course.

I’ll find somewhere to go do the deal and get right with God, always that, especially during this time.

Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I have to be lonely.

Nope.

There will be many ways to keep it merry and bright.

Heck.

I can just sit and contemplate my Christmas tree and watch Holiday Inn.

I love me some Bing Crosby.

I do.

 

Slow It Down

I left my therapists office very, very, very aware that I was not going near my brand new car.

No way.

No how.

I needed to just take a walk for a moment, slow down, get regulated, be in my body.

Then when I felt like I was not going to crash into anyone I walked back to my car, drove it a few blocks and got right back out.

I was up in Noe Valley and I wanted to take a moment and let myself have a little self-care and to sit down and grab a coffee and enjoy the fact that I wasn’t going into work.

Usually after I get out of therapy I make a quick run to Whole Foods on 24th and then skeedadle to work.

Today I wanted to go grocery shopping, but I also wanted to window shop a little and really just to slow down and appreciate that I had some time off.

Oh.

There was a little bit of a niggling voice that reminded me, hey lady, don’t get too comfortable, you’ve got a fuck ton of homework.

Nothing brings that home more than getting an e-mail from a professor reminding me that all assignments for that class need to be turned in by December 9th and um, I haven’t turned in any of those assignments yet.

I have been waiting for this week off to get all caught up with that class.

I had started the readings, but really not gotten too far.

This time off, fyi, is going super fast, I can’t believe tomorrow’s Wednesday already.

And I have been doing homework diligently every day, every damn day, reading, getting caught up, getting ahead, or finishing the reading.

I’m done with all my readings for Jungian Dream Work and all my reading for Drugs and Alcohol.  I’m 3/4s of the way done with Transpersonal and about the same amount done for Psychopharmacology and Human Sexuality.

So not bad, but all those classes also have a final paper, one of them has a final project as well.

I need to get as much work in as I can this week.

And.

Oops.

Fuck.

I’m working tomorrow.

I sort of want to kick myself over it, I should never had said I was available and not think that the mom wouldn’t take me completely up on it.

Not my current family, they are on vacation.

No.

The family I used to work for.

I got a huge mournful face of longing on the last day of school pick up from my former charge and a deep sweet ask for a play date, “when are you going to come over?” He asked with such sweetness and desire I just couldn’t say no and when I bumped into his mom I mentioned I would have down time.

I thought maybe an hour or two, a playdate, something fun and easy.

I got asked to work five hours.

Ugh.

Of course I said yes, the mom had already told the boys I was going to see them and I didn’t want to disappoint them.

I also think I knew, at least in the back of my head, that though I like and respect the parents, I have a much more enjoyable time when I am, or have been, alone with the boys.

So I have a hunch the parents are going to take an afternoon day date and go see a movie or go out to lunch and I will have my two sweet guys to myself.

And maybe the dog, she’s a sweetheart, it will be good to see her too.

It’s not a bad thing the work, it’s just a little like come on kid, you’re busy, even though you’re not working, you’ve got a lot of reading and homework that needs attending to.

But.

Ugh.

Sometimes I have a hard time saying no.

Not always.

And I have said no to this family before when some requests were made, so it feels like a sort of concession, as well as, yes, an opportunity to make a little cash and to get some boy snuggles from my little guys.

I have gotten to do a play date with the youngest and one of my charges that was super fun and sweet, but I haven’t had any alone time with the older boy and I think he may need to see me.

I just got the sense.

And I can often times say no to a parent, especially if I’m busy, but wow, it’s super hard to say no to a child that needs you.

So with a tiny touch of chagrin, yes, I’ll be working tomorrow.

But.

I won’t go in until 1p.m.

So.

Yoga in the morning.

I haven’t been in over a week, or just over a week?

My back’s been sore and I’ve been busy, even though the work hasn’t been happening, oh man has the homework, so tomorrow will be good to get back into it.

I had thought originally with the time off I would be at the studio a lot, but I let myself get some sleep this past weekend and when my back was feeling super tender it felt better to rest than to push it.

I don’t express pain a lot, but I was definitely in some pain, still am, but it seems to be easing up a bit.

I’ve made a doctor’s appointment and I’ve been taking ibuprofen, but the appointment is not for a few weeks.  I’m going to try to be gentle and fingers crossed another few days of not carrying the baby around in the carrier will be good to my back.

And.

I was super nice to myself today, and I got a load of work done.

I re-parked my car in Noe Valley and went to Bernie’s Cafe and got a cafe au lait and sat on a bench and let the sun hit my face.

I got into being in my body and letting go of the material I worked on in therapy.

Suffice to say my therapist is recommending more therapy.

Ugh.

EMDR.

Just check the link, I don’t feel like describing it 100% however, I will say that it is a trauma treatment that is often used for PTSD.

I did it in a session once ten years ago with a therapist and I will say it worked, but it was close to the end of my time with that therapist and I didn’t have more follow-up.

I am ready to do it again.

Although I am loath to go and get more therapy, once a week at $120 a pop is enough.

Then again.

I want to work it out, get it out, process it, I want it out of my body, I want my body to be free, my heart to be free, my soul to move about the world and not go into traumatic reliving.

I need to be in the light.

And I know that means more work.

Fine.

I’m ready.

I told my therapist today that I feel like I can do it now, when I couldn’t before, I could barely touch into the trauma without falling completely apart.

I am much, much, much stronger now.

Internally, externally, emotionally, spiritually.

I am ready to do the work, and I suspect that I will finally get to resolve some things that have been burdening me for decades.

Let them go.

Embrace my life.

Help others.

It was good for me to take the moment today to sit on that bench, to get sun on my face, to slow down, I did some window shopping, I got some groceries, I came home and ate a nice lunch, I sat outside on the back patio.

Then.

I jumped back into the homework.

I kicked out three more hours of reading and I did two of the eight assignments.

Sigh.

There’s a lot to do, but I’ll get it done.

Even with working tomorrow.

It will all fall together and I have absolutely no regrets about being easy with myself at the beginning of the day.

I’m a fucking therapist.

I have got to practice what I preach.

Let me reframe that.

I get to.

 

 

 

Boarding

Not that I will be boarding soon, I have about an hour and thirty minutes before my plane starts to board.

But.

I am in the boarding area to London.

Where I will have an hour layover and then.

Yes.

Paris.

I will arrive in Paris tomorrow at 5:15p.m.

About 24 hours from right now.

Of course, Paris is 12 hours ahead and the time traveling is not actually 24 hours.

There is some time travel happening.

In a manner of speaking.

My flight to London is 11 hours 45 minutes.

Yawn.

That’s a long time.

I hopefully will take a very big nap.

I am nervous about my ankle, it’s hard to travel with a sprain, the air pressure in the cabin, having it lower than it should be, I should have it elevated as much as I can, but that’s not going to happen.

I am also sitting in the boarding area early hoping to chat with the flight crew.

I want to see if I can switch seats.

I’m in the middle.

I have done a long flight in the middle before, but not with a bad ankle.

I am going to see if they have anything in first class, smile real big and bat my eyes.

Although, I’m not one to really use feminine wiles to get my way, a smile, and a please and a thank you generally go far.

I use my manners more than anything else.

I doubt it will happen, but I will ask.

Can’t hurt to ask.

And.

I will ask for getting on early so that I don’t have to hobble on with every one else.

I definitely needed extra time to get through security.

I kept my shoes on and my ankle brace on and the security did a pat down and a chemical swipe of my shoes.

It was rather funny, but I wasn’t in a hurry and I was glad that they let me keep my shoes on.

I have my ankle wrapped pretty well and my plain Jane sensible walking shoes on.

I do hope that I will be able to do the museums and to be able to get to some spots that I want to.

Fuck.

At this moment I have completely changed my thoughts and plans regarding my flight, I am sitting in the boarding area next to a very loud woman who is reciting a great deal of evangelical text at great volume.

Listen lady.

It’s too late to save me.

I’ve already saved myself.

Take your proselytizing and go elsewhere.

PS.

I can’t hear you anymore now that I put on my oversized Head Candy noise cancelling headphones.

All I can here is the playlist my French friend put together for me.

“Pour Carmen.”

Merci bein mon amie, je t’aime trop la musique.

I also have been doing the internet fall into a hole looking at all the fun stuff that is happening in Paris this upcoming weekend and week.

I almost got into to the pop up sauna that is at the Moulin Rouge, but it was fully booked.

Oh well.

There are plenty of things to do.

I have been popping around the Time Out Paris magazine.

It’s fun to pursue all the things.

I don’t actually have any agenda anymore.

I can’t do Paris the way that I have done in previous years, at a full tilt boogie.

Nope.

I will be going slow.

I will be soaking in the City of Lights.

I shall be walking slow.

Moving slow.

Seeing it all.

Taking it in.

I’ll still go to plenty of museums, how can I not, but I will be pretty strategic about it, I don’t think I will do the Louvre, I mean, I may, but only a few certain parts, I will have to pick maybe one wing and then one floor instead of trying to do two of the wings, it’s just miles of walking and I don’t have miles of walking in me.

I figure I will find my spot and sit and stare at some art and get my fill.

Fuck.

I don’t know what I am going to do.

I am just going.

I mean I really do have to toss out all the ideas I had about what I would be up to.

I have to scale way back.

But.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing for me.

A little restraint.

That can be a good thing.

I know I will have an amazing time and I know I will have adventures.

I will meet people, I will see old friends.

In fact, I have a date to go to Rue Madame with a friend on Sunday and catch up with him and some fellows and then off to stroll, hobble, around Les Jardins de Luxembourg.

That’s the Luxembourg Gardens, if you didn’t figure that out.

I will definitely be sitting still more than I have in the past and I am thinking I may use the buses a lot more than when I lived there, the stairs up and down the Metro are going to be hard.

I can’t dash.

So, maybe staying street level most the time.

And going places where I can really get a lot of bang for my buck, like the city center, the Marais, etc.

Ah.

It’s all good.

I’m ok.

I get to go, my ankle wasn’t so badly sprained that I can’t get out of bed.

I mean, had it been as severe as the one I sustained three years ago I would have been fucked.

I probably would have cancelled the trip.

So.

I am grateful, super grateful, for that and I will not bitch or complain.

I shall take the experience as it has been given to me with a great big smile and a very sincere Merci bien.

Trop merci.

Merci beaucoup.

Ooh.

The flight crew is coming in.

Got to jet.

Er.

Hobble off.

Into the sunset.

See you in Paris!

Trop bisoux pour toi.

xxxxxx

It’s Official

I’m on vacation!

And.

In a surprise twist, pun way fucking intended, I am now the owner of a pair of sensible walking shoes.

Fuck my life.

It’s official.

I’m old.

Ugh.

I sprained my ankle.

I am so not happy about having sprained my ankle, said ankle currently elevated, wrapped in an ace bandage with a package of organic frozen corn on it.

I hear hormonally treated, pesticide sprayed corn won’t help in the healing.

Heh.

Grr.

My person today, when I was talking to her, said in her bright cheery voice, “Oh!  Look at that!  God wants you to slow down and really enjoy Paris!  You get to really soak it in.”

Fuck my life.

I mean.

Fuck you.

Even though.

She is absolutely right.

I have been slowed down.

You should have seen me at the PJ Harvey show last night.

A show I normally would have been up front for, screaming my heart out, singing along, having my music experience.

But.

No.

I was in the handicap section seated with my leg propped up on the ledge in front of me.

Sigh.

At least I was at the show.

The ticket was a total last-minute surprise.

And I got taken out to dinner too.

The Slanted Door.

So yummy.

Like, all the yummy things.

Oysters.

Fuck, I love oysters.

Kumamoto’s from Hog Island.

St. Simone.

Beausoleil.

Pacific Gold.

And Island Creek.

So damn good.

For an appetizer my friend and I split the Ahi Tuna tartar.

And I had the seared Ahi Tuna with turmeric, scallion oil, fresh dill and toasted silvered almonds.

Swooning.

Such lovely food.

It took my mind off the ankle.

The ankle that I have NO FUCKING IDEA how I sprained.

Well.

Ok.

I have a theory.

I think that from repeated uphill parking on my scooter that putting down the kick stand I may have been giving myself some stress on my ankle.

And open full fucking idiot disclosure, I know you’re going to say, I told you so, I’ve been wearing Converse on my scooter and they are flimsy shoes.

Yes.

I wear them with inserts, but they are really a good shoe and well.

I’m not old, necessarily, but I have 44 years on these feet and I have not often enough worn good shoes.

So.

Today.

I upgraded.

Big time.

Now.

Part of me wants to tell you that the shoes are fucking big time ugly, they’re not, although, yes, bland and not what I would call sexy by any stretch.

But then again.

You know what’s really sexy?

Being able to fucking walk.

So.

I hobbled my way to the Inner Sunset today.

I took yesterday and today off from work, I could barely make it up the stairs yesterday into work, I got to the top, sat down on the floor and cried.

I was utterly mortified.

But.

My boss was so sweet and so kind and got me situated on the couch with a compression bandage and an ice pack and I started making the calls to my doctor at Kaiser.

The bad news.

No one could see me yesterday.

The good news.

Mild sprain.

If it was severe I wouldn’t have been able to walk on it at all.

I procured a brace from Walgreens that I was able to get around enough on to get me back to the house after an hour of sitting with it icing on and off and elevated and trying to hold back the tears.

I cried a lot yesterday.

I am teary now.

But not so bad.

I mean.

It felt like my whole fucking trip got shit on.

But when I was talking to my therapist she said something that I feel is prescient, that her sense was that if I took care of myself, rested, and took some precautions I would be ok.

That does seem to be the case.

My friend, after the concert, also doctored me up a bit, the brace was not so comfortable and I got an ace bandage wrap as a parting gift.

The wrapping seemed to help and I slept with my foot on a pillow and took a lot of ibuprofen.

I also called into work.

I mean.

I could barely go a block from the MUNI station to the Embarcadero where I met my friend for a coffee at Blue Bottle before Slanted Door.

I wore my pink Saucony’s out last night, but knew I wanted to grab a better pair of shoes.

So today, after taking my time getting going, more icing, more elevating, and bolstering my emotions, I set out for On The Run.

God.

Running shoes are fucking hideous.

Who wears these ugly things?

I suppose people who don’t sprain their ankles like I do.

Ugh.

Anyway after being thoroughly grossed out by the shoes I asked the clerk, well what about walking shoes.

OLD LADY SHOES.

To go with my bifocals.

Er.

Progressives.

Heh.

He pointed some out.

Not sexy.

But.

Not hideous.

He brought them out.

I slipped them on.

Holy shit.

It was like walking on sunshine.

The difference was immediate.

I felt stable, supported, my knees hurt less almost as soon as I took a few steps and the clerk showed me a trick to tying the shoelaces that added extra ankle support.

I almost danced out the store.

Almost.

My pocket-book was a lot lighter than when I went in, but I am super glad I allowed myself to get the shoes.

I got back here.

Ate lunch.

Did some writing, made some phone calls, and met a friend for dinner at Thai Cottage.

I did not go fast.

But I did not go as slow as I did last night and though it’s not as fast as I want.

It’s fast enough.

My person is right.

I get to really slow down and take things in.

I sort of hate it when she’s right.

She often is.

But I also am extraordinary grateful that she is too.

“You can do whatever you want,” she told me tonight, “as long as you accept the consequences.”

So.

I won’t look sexy and chic in Paris with my pretty platform sandals.

I will, however, be happier in my comfortable old lady shoes.

Old ladies be hella sexy.

Just sayin.

 

God Damn

That hurt.

I think I broke my toe.

I am not fucking pleased.

I was really hoping it would feel better and when I took off my sock.

Gah.

It don’t look good.

It’s swollen, blackish purple blue.

Grr.

I can walk on it, in fact, I walked on it all day, but it hurts in a few spots that don’t feel right.

I can flex the toe and I gently checked it out, but yeah, I think I may have fractured it.

I’ll be calling the advice nurse in the morning.

On my way to therapy.

Sigh.

I really don’t want to deal with this right now.

I suspect that there is little to nothing that can be done.

Take some ibuprofen and elevate it, I’ve currently got it up and I’ve a bag of frozen corn on my foot.

Damn it foot.

This is the foot I always hurt.

The one with the bad ankle.

The one that I broke before when I was a kid.

In fact.

One of the very same toes.

I broke three toes and part of the bones in my foot the summer between second and third grade.

I jumped off a piece of playground equipment, missed the pole I was leaping for and smashed down, bare foot, onto a cement anchor.

I don’t remember the pain, thank god really, I just know it was bad and it was a while before it was properly taken care of, I was probably in shock for a while, my babysitter kept insisting that I had just twisted an ankle.

Of course.

When my mom came to pick me up she took one look at my foot, went sheet white and scooped me up off the baby sitter’s couch and walked me over to the emergency care clinic across the street.

It was touch and go.

They had to reset my toes and inject pain killers into each one, I got at least three shots that I can remember, the needles so long and spooky, to this day I do not like getting shots.

Tattoos, no problem, though, truth be told, I don’t watch myself getting a tattoo, I’m just not that into it.

You know what.

Fuck trying to figure this out.

Time to make a phone call.

And now.

I’m on hold.

I figured I might as well call the advice nurse at Kaiser now instead of googling what a broken toe looks like and how to deal with it, because that’s what I did first and all I did was freak myself out.

I just checked it again and it does feel tender, and it’s definitely bruised and swollen, but it’s not obviously broken.

Maybe a fracture.

Maybe my imagination.

It just is something I do want to address.

I need to be on my feet and I need to take care of myself.

I don’t want to ignore it and it get worse.

I am hoping that the nurse says keep ice on it, elevate it, and keep an eye on it.

And miraculously the swelling will go away and I’ll be fine.

I checked a few decent sources on the web and I’m getting about all the same thing, ice, elevation, ibuprofen, and watch for swelling, bruising, and discoloration and if it doesn’t go away after a few days then maybe a trip to the doctor.

I mean.

It can’t be that fucking bad, I worked all day on it.

Granted I was aware of it on occasion.

And.

The oldest boy can be rambunctious with me and has a tendency to hop on my feet or steps on my toes.

I pulled him aside at the cafe and told him I really needed him to be careful around my feet today.

It wasn’t until we got back to the house in the late afternoon that I actually looked at it.

Yeesh.

That’s not pretty.

I also showed my charge who was super sympathetic and sweet with me and shared how he had bruised his knee badly on a recent field trip with school and how it hurt to walk and he patted my foot.

It was adorable.

I will say I was a bit surprised to see the amount of bruising.

Since, as I mentioned, I worked on it all day.

It’s not the big toe, which is good, I do know if it was the big toe I would have taken myself in to the urgent care.

It’s the one next to the baby toe.

It wasn’t something glamorous or fun, like when I was a kid and smashed my toe, it was a rousing game of tag and I was fleeing a pursuer.

Nope.

I just banged the damn thing on the foot of my bed while I was changing my sheets.

I’ve banged it before in the same spot, it’s a small area, my space is, well-appointed and everything just where it should be, but a tiny bit tight.

I recall clapping my hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

So.

Let’s just say I hit it much harder than I have in the past.

And this is definitely the first time that I have ever seen a bruise on my toe from stubbing it.

I really do not want to be dealing with this.

“All advice nurses are still assisting other members, please stay on the line.”

Yeah, yeah.

Hurry up.

Thy will not my will be done.

Note to self.

Nothing horrible is happening.

I can walk.

This is nowhere near the extraordinary bad sprain I suffered a few years ago.

It’s just a bit of a nuisance, really.

Small things can unloose me, but I think I’m going to be ok.

I’ll chat up the nurse, keep telling myself it’s fine and.

Nurse!

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

I don’t have to go in.

It’s not the big toe, and I didn’t break skin, and there’s not much to do unless it was an obvious break.

It was suggested I take it easy, not be on my feet too much (bwahahahahaha), ice and ibuprofen and if the swelling gets worse or the bruising spreads call back, but she didn’t think it was going to be necessary.

Thank God.

I’m not a hypochondriac, but I also tend to down play when I am sick or hurt and muster through.

Grateful I called and I can now say I did, I didn’t just rely on the interwebs to diagnose myself and I’m ok.

I really am.

Just a tiny bit slowed down.

Which in the end is not a bad thing at all.

Nope.

In fact.

It’s just what the doctor ordered.

Pun fucking intended.

Ha.

Slow Down

He said and patted my arm as we were heading up the stairs to the MOMA’s membership desk.

Then he did a mimicry of me and my busy self.

Oh shit.

I had someone else do that to me recently.

I was a bit abashed.

And as I sit here, having slowed way the hell down today, after the MOMA and lunch out with my friends, I came home, and read.

I didn’t nap.

I was actually a little afraid to nap.

Who the fuck is afraid of naps?

I am.

If they are past a certain point of time in the day, then I get afraid I wouldn’t get out of the house again if I lay down (and I did get out for a little while this evening to do the deal, which was super handy).

So I read.

And that was relaxing.

And I roasted a chicken and that made my little studio warm and cozy.

I posted up the photographs I took at the MOMA and I just hung out at the house and was chill.

I am contemplating a yoga class in the morning, but truth be told, I may not go, just let myself rest, sleep, lay about.

Even if it kills me.

Because it won’t be for always and there’s a good chance I will still go out and deal with a few things.

I have been in intermittent communication with the mom in my new gig and we have been trying to figure out a time to meet and talk about the job and sign the contract.

Said job starts on Monday.

But.

Mom is pregnant and due December 30th.

Today is the 28th.

So.

Like any second now she could be going into labor.

In fact, a couple of times I thought to myself today, we’re not going to end up being able to meet, she’s in labor, or she’s about to have the baby.

But I got an email this evening asking if I was available tomorrow or Friday.

I have an appointment downtown that is going to take up some time on Friday, so I said tomorrow.

I will skip yoga, rest, and await her time frame.

I am not about to get pushy with a mom who’s due to deliver at any second.

She gets to set the time.

I get to be available.

And yes, the cold is lingering and it felt improbably worse tonight then it has in a few days.

I think it’s gone and going away and then it’s back.

Annoying thing.

I have things to do.

Places to be.

Ugh.

Shut up brain.

Let it go.

I did my FAFSA renewal yesterday, for my federal financial aid package for grad school next year, and I had this tremendous anxiety over come me when I started to think about all the things I needed to do and how I was squandering my time off and I should be working on my practicum cover letters and applications and arranging to go to open houses and get my resume written and my letters of recommendation.

Boy howdy.

My brain knows so well how to sabotage me enjoying a day off and getting a massage.

Thanks brain.

SHUT UP.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a really sweet day today and saw some yummy art and hung out with two of my favorite people and then got treated to lunch at an amazing Zagat rated Chinese restaurant.

Which was nice.

Since i got a fucking $81 parking ticket on my scooter.

I plugged the meter!

I swear.

I used my debit card, it registered as having charged me for $3.40 cents, hours of time, and I happily traipsed off to the museum with my camera.

I came back and there was a ticket.

For 12:45 p.m.

What?

I paid long in case we decided to stay at the museum and have lunch in the cafe.

I should be covered until 2 p.m.

I used my card, it charged my card, I wrote it down and balanced my check book.

Because that’s how I roll.

I don’t have a credit card, everything by cash and I tally as I go and I also keep a running log in my checkbook register.

You know, those funny little things in the back of a check book.

Yeah.

I use them.

All the time.

I checked, yup, I had put a notation down for $3.40 and then I thought!

Oh hey!

I’ll check my bank balance online and I’ll contest the ticket!

I checked my bank balance.

The charge had not gone through.

What the fuck?

I don’t know if it was user error or meter error, but there was nothing left for me to do but get out my check book again and pay the ticket.

Can’t contest it if I don’t have evidence that I paid.

Because if it didn’t pull from my account, then technically, I didn’t pay.

Sigh.

Cost of living in the city.

Grateful I got a couple of cards from family with cash in them this Christmas.

Oh well, really, I’m not too upset about it, I really had such a lovely day, I don’t want to focus on the negative.

In the grand scheme of things, one parking ticket is not going to break me and what a gift that I had money, disposable income, to pay it off within hours of getting it.

That is something to be happy about.

So too, the option and availability to rest and not push myself.

Sleep in tomorrow.

Don’t set the alarm.

Rest.

Read a book in bed.

Chill the hell out.

And if the mom gets back to me, yes, I’ll venture out and I’ll have a coffee with her or tea and see how I can help and be of service in my new job.

If she doesn’t, it’s all good, I know that I will show up and be ready to go on Monday.

Everything is alright, I didn’t drink or use today.

I didn’t smoke a cigarette or eat a big pile of donuts.

I spent time with two fabulous men who I dearly love and got to see art and eat amazing Chinese food.

I have a blessed life.

Really.

I do.

And I am allowed to slow down, to feel the feelings that need to be felt, and to rejuvenate before the busy gets well, busy again.

Everything, I gently remind myself, is exactly, and I do mean EXACTLY, how it should be.

It always is.

Seriously.

Slow and Lazy

Longing to sleep in.

Never do.

I got up an hour before my alarm went off this morning.

Last night was a late night for me, up until about 3 a.m.

Old habits are hard to kill.

I had to blog and download my photographs from the night’s adventures, the blog didn’t take too long to put up and I was able to edit and post my photos fairly quick as well.

But I also have a habit of unwinding after I blog as well.

A cup of tea.

Perhaps a nibble.

A little bit of video or book.

I almost never am able to fall asleep right off the bat unless I am exquisitely tired.

Even last night, being up late, doesn’t matter, I was also jazzed from dancing and hanging out with the ladies.

Albeit a bit chagrined at the ride home, I was a chatty Cathy and I think I bent back their ears far more than I would like.

I don’t care for that part of myself, the need to bring attention to myself, and I tend to be a storyteller, um, yeah, I’ll play it off on that.

I like to tell stories and my favorites are all about me.

I’m generally the center of attention in my world.

I get out of that groove once in a while and Sundays are definitely a day for that as I have two hours back to back where I meet with ladies and do the deal and check in and read and what have you.

I was much more on point than I expected too, having woken earlier than planned.

Which, in the long run, for me, is actually handy.

I needed to do things around the house and cook and clean and laundry and compost.

All the weekly duties that call to be set up prior to the start of my week so that I can be expeditious with my time and have time to do the things before and after work that make my work like possible.

I have to be happy in my outside life.

My job is not the end all, be all of my person.

Although it commands great preparation and timing and patience, things that I forget I have in spades–as I stock up my little cabinet of Burning Man stuffs in my kitchenette.

I don’t need to get my ducks in a row.

They don’t get out of line.

One hops out, I hop it back in.

I’m organized.

It makes being slow and lazy a little bit of a stretch for me.

I will get to it, but I have things to do first, just hang on.

The sleeping in is definitely something I used to be a lot better at.

Lolling about in bed.

I don’t really do that much anymore, I also don’t escape into sleep which is what I did prior to getting sober.

Sometimes it was to catch up on all the sleep I was missing staying up days and days in a row.

Sometimes it was to offset the effects of a monster hangover.

Nothing like that for a while.

Which was why it was interesting to have a drinking dream the other night.

And not even one in which I drank.  I just kept trying to.  And it was beer.

I haven’t had a beer drinking dream ever.

I mean.

EVER.

Oh, sure, I have had using dreams, and I suppose the two are basically the same.

I had one drinking dream that involved alcohol when I got sober a few months after I had stopped the crazy and got off the ride–it was of a dark bar, reminded me of the bar from Bar Fly, and the lights were dim and there was a spot light on the bar shining on a martini glass full of vodka and sweating from being chilled in ice–I could see the ice skim on the top and the crystal bar of a swivel stick set through an olive.

That made me thirsty.

And spooked me.

I had plenty of the using dreams and ideation and fantasy of cocaine, but I never actually used in any of them, nor in any of my drinking dreams either.  Which, in hindsight is a huge gift.

Even in my dreams I seem incapable of ingestion.

Good.

I don’t ever want to feel drunk or high again.

Spiritual intoxication?

Sure.

I’ll take that.

Although, that too can be a bit too heady for me and a distraction from the life I am getting to live.

What I realize now as I saw pattern emerge, is that I would have these dreams when I was unconsciously stressed about a situation or thing that was happening in my life.

I had the trying to drink beer, a funny comedy of errors that occurred at the bar at the Angelic Brewing Company, dream the night before the 90 day no contact with my ex boyfriend was up.

I also had a dream the next night where my high school crush and long unrequited love object finally decided to be with me and kept giving me hickies at a high school party we were at (stop marking your territory, I was never yours).

Ok.

Uh, that never happened.

My unrequited love, my oldest friend, we never did a thing, a hug, once he gave me a foot rub, but nothing ever transpired.

To be suddenly in a dream making out with him and getting hickies was.

Uh.

Weird.

Especially when my ex showed up and hauled me out of the party and tried to get back together with me and of course, I say yes and then hit myself on the head and wonder why I said yes, I don’t want to be with him, and there, in the shadows, another man, just waiting for me to free myself of all those ghosts and dreams and longings.

I woke up relieved that it was a dream.

And I believe that though those old ideas may still crop up, what I saw in myself last night was a heart still open to wonder and dreams and being of the world, the fantastical, magical, artistic thing that is all about me.

A woman ready to let go of the things she’s been holding onto for too long.

To turn and walk down the hall toward that unknown man, place, ideal, dream.

That has been waiting for me all along.