Posts Tagged ‘sprained ankle’

I Have To Stop

September 14, 2018

Falling down.

Twice.

Twice in the last two days I have fallen down.

At my new place.

I’ve been going too fast, and I’m really aware of it, but shit, I don’t need to fall down anymore.

I bruised my hand tonight and last night I split open my left knee and bruised both of them badly.

But.

I didn’t sprain an ankle, and I could have either time.

Last night I had time in between my work and my normal Wednesday night commitment to run out to Bed, Bath and Beyond.

My studio that I’ve been living in has pretty much been furnished.

Down to towels and the compost bin.

So I have realized that I needed to get things to make my new home, well, homey.

Like bath rugs and towels and a compost bin, and a shoe rack.

Although I got a rack yesterday, it just doesn’t work for my new closet.

That was how I wiped out yesterday.

I was carrying the shoe rack into my place and completely missed a step going into it.

I smashed on my knees and for just a brief moment I thought I might have banged my left ankle, the one that I so badly injured a few years back.

I mean.

The ankle has never really felt fully healed and I’ve re-sprained it once, so I was scared and breathless in a heap on the floor slowly rotating my ankle in both directions.

I was ok.

I mean.

I wasn’t ok, exactly, I discovered later that I had cut through skin on my left knee, but I was pretty adrenalized and didn’t feel it.

I discovered it when my leggings stuck to my knee from the dried blood.

Tonight I wiped out as I had another load of things from Bed, Bath, and Beyond in my car to deliver, and I slipped on the freshly waxed floor.

I knew I was going to fast, I had my car double parked with the flashers on and I just wanted to get in and out.

So as I drove away I knew, I need to slow down.

I need to breathe.

I am anxious about this final push, moving is hard, it’s stressful, I don’t have as much time to devote to it as I would like.

Although every day I have been doing something.

Today I returned the shoe rack and replaced it with one that would work and I bought curtains, a curtain rod, and a shower curtain, as well as some pillows.

I also took over a bin of stuff from the house this morning.

I figured if I was going over to get the shoe rack to return it I should not go empty-handed, so one large box traveled with me.

I have also organized everything Burning Man in the garage, my tent, my bins, my camping stuff, even though a part of me was like, trash it, you’re never going back, you have five years of PhD to deal with, you aren’t going back forever…I couldn’t quite do it, so it will go into storage.

My new landlord acknowledged that there really wasn’t much storage space built into the studio so he is allowing me to store things in the basement.

I packed a couple of boxes of notebook and journals and books and my Burning Man stuff, my picnic basket, and some blankets and got it all out to the garage.

On one hand I haven’t that much more stuff, on the other, my brain is just hollering at me, move, move, move!

I’m trying to strike a balance.

As I am also trying to get homework done for school.

I have managed to do a little reading at work, but not as much as I was hoping, then again, I have to cut myself some slack, I really am doing every possible thing I could do.

I got my online bank account set up for Grateful Heart today too, so that was an accomplishment.

I am tired though.

I went to bed at a reasonable hour, but tossed and turned a lot before falling asleep and I woke up an hour and half before my alarm went off.

I just got up.

I figured, grab the shoe rack, return stuff, get more stuff, go to work.

And I did.

Plus I had a client tonight.

I really am doing as much as I possibly can.

I cleared up most of Saturday and only now have group supervision to go to.

I can’t miss that as much as I might like to.

So I hope to get a lot of it taken care of on Saturday.

I am in contact with a friend who may be able to help out with a truck either Saturday or Sunday.

I think I am going to have to break down my bed, I have been contemplating how I was going to move it and I think that part of it will have to be unscrewed.

It’s an Ikea frame, so there are 1,001 parts to it, but I think if I can just remove the head-board, I can do it in two parts.

I’m not sure what day it’s going to happen, but I’m leaning towards doing it on Sunday.

I think I’m going to need to sleep over here on Saturday night as I have another orientation in Alameda for my new internship.

That’s from 10a.m. until 1:30p.m.

So it makes sense to keep the bed here until Sunday.

If my friend’s truck is only available on Saturday then I will just move a bunch of boxes and my bicycle.

I’ll use the Lugg app to get my bed out on Sunday.

Then I’ll be coming back next Saturday to clean the studio up and make sure nothing’s left and hand over the keys.

As stressful as this has been I am grateful for this little studio by the sea, it’s been a good home to me, and, I am also ready to move the heck on.

I can’t wait to get my new place set up.

Did I mention how many windows it has?

Seven!

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So Fresh and So

November 26, 2017

Clean.

Clean.

My house looks pretty fucking good, let me tell you.

All the laundry done, all the trash and recycling out and swept, swiffered, vacuumed, scrub the bathroom down, tidy the fuck up.

Which means one thing.

Mama had a lot of homework to do today.

My God.

There is no fucking end to it.

Yet.

Me thinks I see a glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh.

The light is far off, but I can sense it getting closer.

I did so, so, so much work today.

My god.

My brain hurt.

Still does, not as much, and hurt might not be the right word, but I was worn out with the material, as I was warned that I might be, but I toughed it out.

I finished all of my Elder, Spousal, and Child Abuse class.

Huzzah!

But man, it took the stuffing out of me, and I don’t eat stuffing.

Haha.

It was a lot of reading, and a lot of watching some intense videos.

I wrote out responses to five of the sections, I got three out-of-the-way previously.

And I wrote a clinical mock-up of an elder abuse situation and what I would do, from mandatory reporting to clinical interventions and everything in between.

It was a lot of work.

But.

Fuck.

It’s done.

So happy I got all of that out-of-the-way, it really was the big monster in my block of classes.

I also finished all my reading for Transpersonal, which means, drumroll please…

I have no more reading to do for the semester!!

My God.

That feels fabulous.

I am not, however, out of the woods yet.

Tomorrow I have to write two papers.

One will be fairly short, two pages, on a dream I had, it will be my last dream to tun into my Jungian Dreamwork class.

The other will be a bit longer, but not too bad, five pages.

That one will, however, be a bit more formal and honestly despite having finished all the reading for the class I’m not exactly sure where I am going to go with the paper.

I was also in contact with my group today working on our final project presentation that I will be doing the last Saturday of classes.

I’m hoping to knock out both the papers and the group work tomorrow.

And also, if I can swing it, the Psychopharmacology online portion of my Psychopharmacology and Human Sexuality class.

I have a paper in that class due at the end of the semester too and one for my Drugs and Alcohol Class.

Sigh.

That will be for next weekend.

I can get it done though, especially since the Elder, Spousal, and Child Abuse class is completed.

My God.

One more class done towards my degree.

Which reminds me, I have to register for classes in two days.

In two days I will register for my last semester!

I only have three classes.

It is going to feel miraculous after carrying six classes this semester.

I have only done four classes at once before, this semester was a stretch, and obviously, it’s not done.

OH.

And I still will have a final paper for Jungian DreamWork too, it’s just not due until after the last weekend of classes.

Which is always a conundrum.

Crush that bitch out of the park and get it done before my last weekend of classes, or finish that Sunday when I get out of classes.

Because the damn thing is due on the 15th of December and I’ll be working all that week and of course, seeing clients.

There’s no way I can do two big papers tomorrow and the small one and the online portion of my other class.

No.

I will be a wastrel of a person.

But.

Maybe I can do them next weekend.

Maybe.

If not, maybe I can get it started.

It would mean three papers next weekend.

Sigh.

I got invited out to the movies tonight.

I turned it down.

I got invited out to dinner.

I came home and made my own.

I am going to be over the moon when this semester is done, it will be nice to have a little more wiggle room for social outings and such.

Although I do have breakfast plans with my best friend in the morning.

Super excited for that, really happy to get to have some time before I get into the homework grind.

And if I’m good and grind hard and get a lot of it done, maybe I go to yoga.

Not the regular Vinyasa, nope.

My ankle is doing better, but not that much better, no, I was thinking maybe the Restorative yoga, my brain is going to need some restoring to normality by the time I crank out all the homework I have to do tomorrow.

Grateful I know how to write a paper and grateful for my ability to pull together my notes and book references and make it work.

I can do it.

I have my process and I’ve done the biggest work, which is the reading.

That’s the most important.

I’ll skim through my books, grab a stack of post-it notes and flip through my class notes, I will put together a skeleton of the paper in outline by looking through my materials and see what my common themes are.

Then.

I’ll write that bitch.

It’s five pages, so with prep time, reference time, write time, I am going to give it two and a half hours.

Actually.

That seems too long.

Two hours.

I’ll kick out the dream paper in twenty minutes, I don’t have to write it up with references, it’s just me doing what I do anyway, write what I see in my head, so two pages will be twenty minutes, thirty tops.

So maybe I’ll have all the writing done with in that time.

And that should give me enough room and time to finish the rest of the online material I need, I suspect that will take an hour to two and also writing out an outline and making a worksheet for my final project for Transpersonal.

That will take forty-five minutes.

So.

What am I looking at?

Five hours?

I think I can do that.

Breakfast shenanigans are early so I’ll be in the mix by 10 a.m. like I was today, today I finished at 6 p.m. working pretty much straight through, yes, even when I was cleaning I was doing homework.

I had to watch a few videos, but I will admit, I was listening to some of them while I was cleaning, the material at times was graphic and I found it easier to integrate when I was cleaning and sweeping and washing.

So if all goes as planned I’ll be done by five or so.

I have an hour break at 1p.m. to do some work with a lovely lady and get right with God, a break after that for lunch, and then back in it.

It will get done.

It will.

I can do it.

I can.

Go team go!

Heh.

Hobbled

November 24, 2017

I did not do much today.

I did not go very far.

I stayed at home most of the day with a brief three and a half hour outing mid day.

My ankle really was tender this morning.

It took a while to get going and I was really gentle on myself.

I have had it elevated most of the day and I’ve iced it three times already.

I’m actually thinking maybe I should ice it again while I blog.

Hang on.

This may take a minute.

Ok.

Frozen bag of peas going on.

It’s a party.

Actually the party was up on Portola from whence I have just come.

I spent the late afternoon and evening with six of the most fabulous gay men.

God.

I am so lucky to have the fellowship and community I have.

I got propped up in a big comfy lounge chair, got an ice pack and had constant refills on my sparkling water.

Plus loads of chat.

I am a little out of the loop with some of the cultural stuff the guys were talking about, I don’t get out to as much of the social stuff as they do, really my head’s been so far up my ass with school I’m surprised I even knew what day of the week it was.

I did a good bunch of homework today.

Yeah.

I know.

It’s a holiday, but it really made the best sense of my time.

Especially since I was reminded by a member of my cohort that the paper for Transpersonal is not due the last weekend of classes.

No.

It’s due next Friday.

Fuck me.

I sort of remembered that, but as I had been thinking in terms of my online classes have the components that needed to be done by the weekend, not really my in person classes.

This is also a class I have a final project presentation for.

Which frankly is a little fucked.

To have a final paper and a final group project really feels like too much work for this class.

Sigh.

Anyway.

When that came to my notice and my need to be slow and gentle today, all else sort of drifted off.

I did do a lot of writing this morning.

And I did laundry.

But then.

I did homework.

I got a webinar out-of-the-way that was an hour-long and wrote a response paper to that.

Then.

Yes.

I did.

I completely finished my take home exam for CBT.

I don’t have to do anything more for that class but attend the last webinar on December 3rd at 7p.m.

Done and done.

Super happy to have that take home exam done and turned in.

When I finished I gave my mom a call and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving and then I hobbled out to my car and drove up to the highest part, or just about of Portola.

The view was so pretty.

There were few cars on the road.

I listened to music and found good parking.

And then I spend three hours with some of the sweetest guys ever.

I was loath to go but I also needed to come home and have dinner.

There really wasn’t anything there for me to eat and I knew that going in, so I had a late lunch and wasn’t really hungry anyway.

But as it got close to seven p.m. I could feel that I would be soon and it was a good idea to go, get home, get my foot elevated again and put on the cold peas.

Meaning.

I’m chilling out.

Literally.

And it’s early and I could do more homework, but this is where I will say, hey, it’s ok to not do more homework tonight, it is a holiday, albeit an almost done holiday, and I don’t have to push myself further.

I got done a lot today and I really don’t want to watch any child or elder abuse videos right now, I’ll save that for tomorrow.

I get to go get my massage tomorrow.

Looking forward to that.

I won’t do any yoga tomorrow and probably not either on Saturday.

But.

I do think I’ll try for the restorative yoga class on Sunday, I think that will be helpful.

And I’ll keep taking it slow.

Aside from a grocery shopping run and the massage I don’t have other plans.

I may go do the deal in the Inner Sunset.

That’s probably the best idea for me.

And I’ll keep chipping away at the work and I’ll get my papers written.

And I’ll get my final group project sussed out.

I will.

Things come together, they always do.

Just taking it nice and easy and slow.

One day at a time.

And real fucking mellow.

Like.

Easy does it.

Mellow.

Thanksgiving

November 23, 2017

Is just a few hours a way and I keep forgetting its Thanksgiving.

It’s a holiday so all about the food.

And.

Well.

I’m not really in that place anymore.

For me Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on what I’m thankful for.

I have so, so, so much.

Love.

A home.

A bed.

A closet full of clothes.

I have food in the refrigerator.

I have a laptop.

An Iphone.

Recovery.

Sobriety.

Abstinence.

Shit.

I have THREE vehicles.

I ran into a neighborhood friend out walking his dog this afternoon as I was headed into a job in the Mission and he saw me getting on my scooter, “not taking the car?!”

And I told him that since I was going to the Mission for a five-hour job and it’s only two-hour parking it was easier and cheaper to ride my scooter.

Five hours of metered parking for a scooter in the Mission is $1.55.

I don’t know what five hours of parking at a meter in the Mission would be, but I know it’s triple if not quadruple that.

Fuck.

Probably more.

“Nice to have choices!”  My neighbor said and strolled off with his dog and a “happy holiday!” over his shoulder.

Damn.

He’s right.

It is nice to have choices.

I used to not have any choice but my feet.

I was so broke for so long, especially in the early part of my recovery, even taking a bus sometimes was out of the question.

It took me a long time to get financially stable.

A fucking real long time.

It feels surreal to know that I have a car on the street, add that to the list of things to be thankful for, I own a fucking car.

I really never expected that to happen this early into my therapy career path, I figured it was in the hazy future, not like, this past Monday!

I have choices.

I have a bicycle.

I have a scooter.

I repeat, but, it still is amazing to me.

That.

I have a car!

Wow.

Yeah.

I have a lot to be thankful for.

I have a job.

I am in graduate school.

I have wonderful friends.

I have better relationships with my family than I have ever had.

I have perspective.

I have faith for the future and a deep abiding belief that I am being taken care of.

I don’t have great big plans for the holiday.

Like I said, the food part paled for me many, many, many years ago.

Tomorrow I will be with my person and some other friends in the Upper Castro/Twin Peaks area, I think I still am waiting on the address and details, for “pizza and Netflix.”

I obviously won’t be eating the pizza.

But I will be enjoying the company, that is a given.

And that’s all I really need to do.

I will sleep in and rise without an alarm.

No yoga at the studio.

I got a good work out today and frankly my body could use a rest.

Not sure how, but I once again sprained my fucking right ankle.

I am currently icing it.

Same ankle that I sprained right before I left for Paris in May.

Not as bad as that sprain, but still it’s gotten tight and swollen, so I took some ibuprofen and I have it elevated and I’ve got a bag of frozen peas on it.

I’m sure it will be fine after a couple of days of chilling out.

God’s way of saying, slow down.

I’ll do homework.

I might even knock out a bit tomorrow, depending.

Then Friday I’ve got the massage in Pacific Heights and I’ll do a tiny bit of Christmas shopping.

I’m not really a Black Friday kind of gal, but there are a couple of stores on Fillmore Street that I want to pop into, mainly Nest, I got a very sweet Christmas ornament there last year.

And the rest of Friday and I suspect all day Saturday, will be homework.

I’ll finish up a CBT assignment, do all of my Child an Elder Abuse homework assignments and finish up the readings for my other classes.

If there’s motivation to do so Sunday, I may write a paper, or work on my final project presentation for my Transpersonal Psychology class.

All the things.

They will get done.

The big push towards the end of the semester.

One more weekend of classes!

Whatever I don’t get done this weekend will be attended to next weekend, then, yes, one more weekend of class!

Very excited for that.

And I’m going to call it a night.

My ankle feels pretty numbed out.

Time for some tea and some rest.

Happy Thanksgiving!

May it bring you many blessings.

And.

Much.

Much joy.

 

Push Button Baby

August 1, 2017

I saw a couple on the side of the road as I zoomed down Lincoln Way frantically trying to kick over the starter on a vintage Vespa.

I chuckled to myself.

The old Vespas look so fucking cool.

I know.

I used to have one.

It was such a pretty girl.

But.

Man.

It was such a hassle to get it started or it would conk out on me out of the blue.

Like coming down Laguna Honda in the fog going 40 miles an hour.

I got tired of that really fast.

That.

And the freaking horrifying sprained ankle that I got when the kick starter jammed and I folded my ankle in half.

That was no fun.

Months, years really, of healing.

The doctor was shocked it wasn’t broken and then told me it was too bad it wasn’t since the sprain is slower to heal and how badly I had injured it I would be lucky if it was healed fully in a year and a half.

He was right.

It took that much time to heal.

Actually closer to two years, if I’m honest, I had to be really careful and there were times when I could feel it was still injured.

It put a bad taste in my mouth for every having something vintage like that again.

Truth too.

I wasn’t prepared for the amount of maintenance and well, it turned out it was a knock off Vespa, despite the registration issued from the DMV, it was a knock off Vietnam Vespa and no body in town would touch it to repair it.

So.

I got rid of it.

I had it recycled.

I got it off the road.

I wasn’t going to be responsible for someone else getting injured on it and when the mechanics at the shop told me all the issues with it I was shocked that I hadn’t hurt myself more on it, I could have easily crashed it out.

Granted.

There were some gleeful moments on it when someone would pull up to me on it at a light and chat with me about it, the scooter really was well done, no one had a clue it was fake.

Certainly not I.

I was a tiny bit bamboozled you could say.

Any way, that’s an old story and not the point.

The point is.

Thank fucking god for my scooter.

I live in the Outer Sunset.

I work in Glen Park.

My internship is in the Mission.

My school is in the SOMA.

I have supervision in Hayes Valley.

And.

Therapy in Noe Valley.

I have to get all over the city.

And the scooter is quick.

Of course, I do have some anxiety about what will happen when the fall comes and the rains that generally come with the fall.

I will either have to get used to wet weather riding or figure something else out.

I can ride in the rain.

I have done it.

I do not like it, but it’s doable.

I was talking to my friend yesterday as she was getting the last of her household packed up for travels back to France and she looked at me and said, “drive safe poulette (her term of endearment for me–sexy girl, although literal translation is chicken, I like to think of it as “chick” or chickadee), maybe it’s time you got a car.”

Yeah.

There’s that.

Aside from the fact that it would be handy to go to Burning Man.

Heh.

Still haven’t gotten a ride yet, still hedging my bets with a rental, but that too is beside the point.

I don’t know what exactly the point is.

I haven’t had a car for over a decade.

I got rid of mine two weeks after moving here in 2002.

Fuck.

Nearly fifteen years with no car.

Lots of bicycles.

And two scooters.

I do like my scooter and I do so appreciate getting around on it.

I just have time concerns now that I didn’t have before.

I mean.

My schedule has always been full, but then I added in graduate school and graduate school added in an internship and um, ha, since, I’m a therapist in training, I have to be on time for my clients.

I get done with work at 6p.m. and I have clients at 6:30 p.m. Mondays, Tuesday, Thursdays, and I have been assigned a new client to see on Fridays now at 6:30p.m.

My first child client!

Bring on the child and family hours!

Ahem.

I digress.

This whole blog is a digression.

Sometimes when I don’t want to write about what I want to write about, I can go off on tangents.

Shadrach.

Scooter accident.

Dead.

Today.

10 years.

I had a little contact with his mom today after she posted a photo of visiting his grave.

Add onto that saying goodbye yesterday to my darling French friend.

Great recipe for sadness.

I felt heavy with it this morning when I left my house to go meet with my supervisor.

I got to Hayes Valley early and had a fifteen minute window so I called my person and shared about it and he said, “you sound sad,” and there it was, the sad, the heaviness in me, it was sadness.

Tears welled up and spilled down my face.

Yup.

Sad.

So we made a plan to meet at a church in the Inner Sunset after I got out of supervision.

It was so good.

I got right with God.

Then we went for tea at Tart to Tart and had a good session.

We sent my friend from Paris a good-bye photo of the two of us having tea, my face a little wet with tears, and my person smiling to beat the band, ugh, not all selfies are sexy.

Ha.

Oh.

Sadness.

I had my cry though and things began to shift.

I came home, made a nice lunch and then did some school work.

Because.

It’s that time.

I have two syllabi posted up and I checked them out and ordered books for class.

I sighed and realized I was pretty burnt out with the emotions.

And I decided.

You know what?

Nap.

I need a nap.

And that’s what I did.

It was perfect.

I had a little rest then got up, prepped some food for dinner and I could feel the sad had moved out of my body.

I got my things together and hopped back on my scooter, went to my internship, dealt with progress notes and paperwork and then saw a client.

By the time my session ended I was feeling great.

So nice that.

Go.

Be of service.

Feel better.

I scooted home.

Zipped by the park, rode the curves of Lincoln Way, smelled the bonfires at Ocean Beach and though it was cold and a bit foggy, I felt lifted, carried, loved.

I miss you Shadrach.

But.

You would be pretty proud of me.

Ten years.

You think the grief would have gone out of my body, but sometimes it is still there and needs expressing.

I’m grateful I didn’t squash it.

I just had it.

And I’m grateful for the emotions.

I get to have them.

Feelings.

It means I am alive.

And after all the death I have been witness to.

Well.

That’s a fucking miracle.

So glad I still get to be around.

Happy.

Joyous.

Alive.

And.

Free.

Friends!

May 14, 2017

I got to see so many friends today, it was almost overwhelming.

And.

It was utterly fucking awesome.

I ran into a lot of the Paris folks that I knew from my time living here and it was just wonderful to double kiss cheeks and catch up in person instead of on Facebook and to touch and smell and see them in three-dimensional time.

I felt very embraced and loved and it was so sweet.

I also got to spend a very special time with a dear friend who was traveling and we overlapped here in the City of Lights and had a walk through the Luxembourg Gardens and then sat at a cafe and talked all things love, life, dancing, friends, music, travel.

The many and numerous big smiles I had on my face today were perhaps too many to count.

I put a few pictures up on my Insta and facecrack pages, but to give one a little idea, let’s just say that the day really couldn’t have started better than to have cafe au lait on the roof top deck of the house boat across the Seine from the Musee D’Orsay.

It really still stuns me that I am here on this boat having a vacation in Paris.

I am here and it is very real and it is slower than I have done the travel here before, said sprain still sprained, although not as bad to get about, lots of ibuprofen, stopping when I need to and taking the Metro instead of walking places I would have normally walked to.

After I left my friend I was walking back from the Luxembourg Gardens to Metro St. Suplice and I had a brief moment of thinking, oh, I should walk back, the light is so damn pretty and I almost did.

Then.

I stopped.

Knock it off.

Don’t stress it out walking too far, take the Metro and rest for a little while before heading out to dinner.

And I actually took my own advice.

I still have a week here and I don’t want to blow out my ankle by trying to force myself to move faster or do more than I am.

It’s ok to go slow.

Sometimes it’s quite lovely to go slow.

To take in all the details.

The patch of weedy dandelions growing out of a seraphim on the top of the Medici Fountain in the Luxembourg Gardens.

The sculpture that caught my eye in one of the government houses, that was framed in the window and it was a rear shot and it was hilarious, a gorgeous white marble mooning from two stories up.

I laughed so hard.

It was art and it was farce all at the same time.

The light on the windows of the Palais Royal Louvre at Sunset.

The Japanese girls walking hand in hand wearing the prettiest platform espadrilles and their perfectly manicured toenails, one girl had dark eggplant on her toes, the other a bright cerulean blue.

The sound of a marching procession coming down the Quai D’Orsay, horns and drums and military dressage, it was today that the new French president was inaugurated.

The swirl of cream on the top of my lobster bisque at lunch and the dark roux of the bisque, thick and rich and velvet brown.

The red glass that I filled with water that looked like a blooming rose on the white table-cloth.

The man with the French bulldog at the cafe who had a tattoo of said French bulldog on the back of his leg.

The sunlight coming through a stone edifice window at St. Suplice.

The small children wearing black riding helmets on the ponies in the park.

The boys and girls around the fountain in the middle of the Luxembourg Gardens with their long poles pushing the little wooden sail boats with red and blue sails, back and forth across the water.

The smell of perfume, Chanel No 5, wafting over me from a woman exciting the Metro at Place de la Concorde.

The box trimmed trees at the edges of the Luxembourg Garden.

The blue sky reflected in the water of the Seine.

The greens and blues rippling together.

The spats of rain and the sunshine that followed.

The blue Parisian sky.

The lights of the Eiffel Tower catching me off guard as they began to glitter on the top of the hour.

So many gorgeous little details.

God is in the details.

The white creamy froth on top of a cafe creme.

The butter burr of an older woman’s accent as she ordered her vin rouge at the cafe.

The delicate dressing that was just warmed over the butter lettuce salad I had with my steak tartar at lunch.

I am sure that I am missing so many other things.

As.

The detail girl is very tired now and needs to be wrapping this up.

Time for bed my darlings.

My friends.

Je t’aim toi beaucoup.

I wish you a bon soir.

And the sweetest dreams.

Bisoux.

 

It’s Official

May 11, 2017

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

April 18, 2017

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.

Today Was A Good Day

June 23, 2014

I went for a walk!

I know, don’t pee your pants, it’s exciting.

I “walked” two blocks.

It was more like a shuffle and a forward lurching roll.

But I did it.

Then I iced my ankle down for a half hour after.

I just wanted to get out, I wanted to mail a card to my uncle in Nevada City and the mail box is a block away.

I figured I could get there and back.

I had forgotten that it’s a bit of an incline.

Not too much to worry about when I am walking about, doing my thing, checking my list twice, and checking off all the things I like to get done in a day.  Not too much when I am not in a walking boot stabilizing my sorry ankle.

I laughed out loud in utter hilarity at the effort it took to walk up the little incline.

I never made it to the mail box.

Although my card did.

There was a woman crossing the street with her dog and I stopped her, “are you crossing over?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Would you mind horribly putting this in the mailbox, I thought I could make it over, but it’s, well, um, more daunting than I thought.” I said and pointed out my foot.

“Oh, of course!” She took the card, crossed the street and put it in the box.

Sigh.

And that was it.

That’s all she wrote.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

That’s as far as I made it out and about today.

But I took advantage of that outside, out of my studio, out of my tiny little space, to breathe, look out to the ocean, take in the bit of sun trying to break through the clouds, smile at the babies out being pushed in strollers to brunch at the cafe, I got two out-and-out grins, both from little boys, and waves.

It felt really good to interact a little with the outside world.

Instead of the world inside my head.

I also had two visitors today and that helped as well.

Lots of tea drinking.

Lots of chatting about fellowship, community, love, service, expereince, strength, hope.

Loads.

I drank tea.

Loads.

I cleaned too.

I was expecting the company and though I am not an untidy person, the ankle injury has stopped me from being quite as clean in my home as I would care for.

I cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, swept all the floors, made the bed, dusted.

It felt good to air it out, clean it up, open the back door for fresh air.

“You look better!” My first visitor exclaimed.

“I feel, I don’t know, brighter,” I said, “like I am coming back into my own.”

“You can totally tell,” she confirmed, “you look so much better than last week, not that, uh, you were looking bad, but, er, ha!  You know what I mean.”

I smiled.

I do.

I do feel more myself.

I know, and have been warned, to not push that good feeling too far (just around the block to the mailbox), to let the healing continue, to not get in the way of it.

To basically get the fuck out of my own way.

“You can even call a head and have a wheel chair waiting for you at the airport!” My second visitor said this afternoon over tea.

Apple cinnamon for him.

Bengal Spice for me.

Goddamn I have drunk a lot of tea today, at least I know I am hydrated.

“You’ll be taken right to the front, no hassle, you should do it.” He nodded at me.

I can’t do that, I thought, that’s crazy.

Then.

Well, maybe.

But  I don’t foresee that I will actually be walking in the boot by that time.

Tuesday marks two weeks of wearing it and the doc said “two to three weeks” in the boot.

I am really hoping that I will be able to leave the boot here in San Francisco, then wear it to Wisconsin.

I will.

I mean, I am not stupid, despite my thinking, I don’t need to be vain and wear the cute wedge sandals I ordered on-line last month before the injury, thinking how fabulous they would be to wear about, during the day, at night, why, they are so cute, I may never pry them off my feet.

At least while visiting.

Frankly, it’s too cold and overcast here in July to warrant sandals.

Now, however, I am not even going to pack them for fear that I will decide to get pretty for a night at the carnival and sprain the ankle worse.

I will not be tottering around any Midway with my heels and summer dress.

Nope.

But I really am hoping to not be in the boot.

God.

I can’t even imagine going through security with it on.

That is yet eight days a way.

Eight days of healing and letting it rest and continuing to ice and elevate.

Like I am doing right now.

My only concession to my vain self is a pedicure before I go.

Then again, maybe I should wear the boot, zoom zip through security, not worry about walking through the airport, let myself continue being cautious.

I will be returning to work the following Monday, and if the doctor said three weeks, maybe I go the full three weeks in the boot.  That would still leave me a few days in Hudson without it on.

I don’t know.

Too far ahead.

Better to focus on today.

And it was a good day.

Aside from the visits I also did some more data entry and finished up what I needed to do there, handing it all off tomorrow when I head up to 7th and Irving for the evening.

I also, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, began editing my book.

Holy Mother of God.

I am so sorry I asked my friend to read it and edit it.

And thank you Jeebus that he did.

I cannot believe that I was sending it out seeking agency.

It is not ready for publication.

I saw that so fast.

First paragraph.

First fucking paragraph, right there, that needs fixing, then this, then that, and oh shit, I’m totally telling and not showing, I know better than that, and oops, shit, adjectives galore.

I mean holy moly batman.

Lot of work to do.

But I busted through 25 pages of it.

And I can see the shape of the story.

It’s good.

Just, in the words of my friend who edited the piece for me, “it’s worth saving (I have had thoughts of just scrapping the entire thing), but you have work to do.”

And.

“The important thing is you got it down.”

He’s right.

263 pages of I got it down.

More drafts than I care to admit too, more editing than I want to do, but I got it down.

The editing is not as noxious as I thought it would be, and I suspect I’ll have a good amount done by the time I leave.

Eight more days of hanging out here, but if today was any indication, it’s getting easier.

And maybe I will go for another walk before too long.

Perhaps to Trouble or Java Beach Cafe.

Maybe even to the beach, the dunes above, not down to the beach, I don’t think I can handle getting down in the boot, but just a “stroll” to the dunes and back.

It will all happen when it’s suppose to.

RICE for now.

More tea.

More getting the fuck out of my way.

Today was a good day.

And everything is alright.

Blessed, Supported, Loved

June 20, 2014

Taken care of.

I could increase the list ad infinitum.

I was blown away by the generosity of my friends, family, fellows, this past twenty-four hours.

So many sweet thoughts and gifts, it makes me want to crawl under my bed and hide.

The I don’t deserve this police are trying to knock down my door, but I keep telling them I’ve moved.

And I have.

Some place into a kind of humility.

A sweet place of grace where I can actually allow myself the afternoon to sit and bask in some sunshine as it comes through the back door of my studio.

To snuggle into my bed, a bed I made again today!

That is progress, making the bed.

To get into that made bed, unmake it a little, and put the soundtrack to Amelie of Montmartre on my laptop and drift off into daydreams of Paris and scenes in the Metro, to actually being asleep, cozy and cared for.

Now, I can also get antsy as fuck and I don’t know how many of these “idyllic” afternoons I can take without running around the house in a panic, but though I am slow to surrender, surrender I am.

The thoughts danced about this evening as I was listening to another share her experience with life and humility, getting right sized, and a small, very small, epiphany–how long I have taken care of others, from the ripe age of three, four, to two weeks ago when I left my last nanny shift since the accident.

Today marks two weeks since I have worked.

So much, and so little (moving), has happened in those two weeks, the GoFundMe (which is still surreal and I am glad I don’t have a hand in doing it or running it, it does freak me out a bit to ask for that level of care), the folks who have consistently picked me up and carted me around town, the new friends I am making, the old friends that I am getting to actually see, the number of people who have come over to my house to hang out, do work, or just sit in a chair and shoot the shit with me, it’s almost overwhelming.

As some one astutely put on my fund-raising platform,

Sit your ass down and heal. Your friends love you.

My God.

I am loved.

I feel a little Sally about it, “you really love me, you really do!”

But so taken care of.

So taken care of, I wonder, well, shoot, what do I have to worry about now?

Just that, sit your ass down and heal.

That is the directive.

Healing takes time and like the crazy person I am, I don’t have time for that, but I have heard, oh too many of them over the last two weeks, horror stories of folks trying to get back to sports, athletics, daily living, or what have you, work, before an injury has healed and done themselves worse and re-injured themselves.

I cannot afford to do that.

I will lose my mind.

So, yes, I will nap.

And yes, I will sit, sitting now, elevating, icing, compressing.

I will also cook soup.

Made a pinto bean and rice stew with purple and gold carrots, chicken, cauliflower, and yes, kale (if I sneak it in with all the tastiness I can’t tell it’s kale, I just feel good about getting some greenery in me), plus brown rice, today.

Made my bed today.

Well, it was made for a minute.

Worked on some data entry.

I will not be continuing forward with it once I have finished doing the service, not my thing, not.

I can do an hour, then my brain feels like it’s gotten a sprain.

Which is great information.

Should I be so inclined to not want to go back to being a nanny, which is not the case, mind you, I know that my career path is NOT data entry.

“Oh goodness,” I told her, on the way to the Inner Sunset, “I have tried so many things, and I am really glad that I have tried going after my crazy ideas, helped kill the fantasy, and get out of the obsession that something, a job, was going to fix me.”

Anyone remember when I was going to be an accountant?

bwhahahahaha.

Oof.

So sorry, I actually have two very dear people in my life who are accountants, and they are amazing, but you know, it’s not the job for me.

Or retail.

I got offered a retail position yesterday.

“You’d be great!  And you don’t have to move around too much,” she said, “and if you need more time to heal, the shop would be willing to wait for you.”

Again, amazing how people are so kind, generous, helpful, but that’s not the fit either.

I do like to move around, which is why the nanny thing is a good fit too.

“Are you going to be ready for the great nanny share-off that week in July?”

One of my families sent me a message today to check in and remind me that I had agreed to do a three family share for the week of July 15th-18th.

I think I am.

As long as I am not trying to do jumping jacks before then.

I will also have had one week back at work, fingers crossed, and will be able to gauge it.

The ankle is healing.

I can tell it is, the swelling is slowly going down, I don’t look like I have fat sausage toes most of the time.

My foot doesn’t look like a dead thing hanging from my leg.

Serious.

There have been a few times when I felt like I was carrying around a rotting dead part of my body.

I kept having these horrid flashbacks to when my family dog got hit by a car and instead of doing an amputation on the front leg, we attempted to try to keep it, but it didn’t heal.

In fact.

It started to rot.

That is a smell I can never, ever, erase from my memory.

Looking down at my foot a few times was like seeing that dead limb on my dog.

It doesn’t look like that today.

Thank God.

And if I follow directions, sit still, let my body heal, and love myself as much as I can, which really means having some humility and accepting the love that is being showered upon me instead of shying away from it, then I know I will come out of this with not only a healthy ankle, but an amazing community of friends, family, and fellows, with whom I get to continue sharing this crazy journey.

The best of both worlds.

Love is the master principle.

 


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