Running Into Old

Friends.

Is so very nice.

I saw two people tonight that I have not seen in some time and it was really good to catch up.

“It’s been forever!” I exclaimed to one of my friends, who raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t feel like that to me, but then again I read your blogs.”

Oh.

I love that.

It just made my night.

Especially when it comes from people who I respect and admire, who I think are smart, it warms the cockles of my heart.

Cockles.

It’s a word.

Look it up.

Granted it meant not getting home until after 10:30 p.m. tonight, but I really needed to catch up with my people and it was super nice and I feel more connected and seen.

Sometimes I just need to claim my seat.

And I did that tonight.

I also got to relax and come down from work, the breaking up the week between gigs is challenging.

Not just from the standpoint of the differing locations and the different times, but also in establishing my boundaries again with the boys.

It’s something that usually happens on Mondays.

But I’m not with them on Mondays anymore, I don’t see them until Tuesday, then I’m at the other gig on Wednesday and that means the last couple of Thursdays have been a much greater challenge than they used to be.

I’m rolling with it, but by the end of the day I have been pretty worn out.

Of course.

I have my second wind, but it’s like after 11 p.m. and I should be winding down.

But.

I’m listening to

Bon Entendeur.

Fuck it’s good.

So good.

It’s a bunch of French actors who open the set of music with a little monologue, then the music.

Ooh la la.

I’ve been quite into it.

It’s electro, chill, deep house, hip-hop, disco, house, techno.

Um.

Yes.

And.

More please.

My darling French friend at school had put together a Spotify play list for me and one day she added this awesome mix by The Kungs, a French dj–Valentin Brunel–Cookin’ on Three Burners, This Girl and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

I ended up saving all their music to Spotify and listening pretty compulsively to their artist page on Spotify.

I was so hooked.

Then when I ran into them for the mess in the park that was Hardly Strictly melt down for me, I mentioned it to her husband.

She had relayed to me that he was the one who needed to be thanked for the Kungs hook up, he had discovered them.

So I did.

And the next thing you know he’s adding Bon Entendeur to my phone and, well, god damn, it is so, so, so good.

I’m a happy clam listening to it, let me tell you.

There is always something new and amazing to listen to.

I can’t keep up with it all and when I get hooked on something I do tend to stay with it for a while.

I mean.

I am not necessarily embarrassed by it, but I did listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel for a couple of months pretty non-stop every night earlier this summer.

I got to where I could basically sing a long to everything.

I either want something that I can sing along to.

Or I want something I can groove to when I’m writing.

Once in a while.

I need jazz.

On a Sunday.

Chet Baker.

Miles Davis.

Coleman Hawkins.

Or I need some Regina Spektor, a Saturday night spell of girlishness where I will sing and sway alone in my room.

Sometimes I need The Myna Birds and I need to stomp and shout and be mad melancholic.

Or.

I need some Van Morrison.

Which is familiar and wistful.

Or.

A little Shuggie Otis Strawberry Letter Number 24.

Which is got all sorts of undertones to it, some raw and perfumed with the devil of jasmine on a cold night in the Mission with the fog cool on my heart and the breath of autumn rains soon to come.

At times I need the Bach cello sonatas.

I am an emotional eater of music.

Bon Entendeur really has my ticket right now.

It may be that way since I’m going to Paris in May.

It may be that I like fucking good music.

Probably a little of both.

Oh.

And even though it’s late for me, on a school night.

Tomorrow is Friday.

Thank you God for helping me get through the week.

I do have a lot of homework, a lot of papers that need to get written.

But thank God, I finished the reading for one of my classes–which meant being caught up with the back log of reading I had for the class and finishing the reading that is due for next weekend of classes, so that paper will be easy to write and it’s short.

The other I can do in an hour, max two.

The third, yeah, there’s three.

I’m not exactly sure how to approach.

Depending on how early I get up tomorrow and what the weather is going to be like, it’s supposed to rain, I may knock one paper out tomorrow morning before I go into work.

I bet I can get it done.

Then one on Saturday and one on Sunday.

Totally doable.

Even if I don’t feel like doing them.

I will.

Even if I’d rather dance around in my house listening to god damn tasty French music.

I can probably manage to do a little of both.

Fingers crossed.

Hello weekend.

So nice to see you.

Seriously.

 

Doing The Work

And doing the homework while doing the work.

I did both today.

I did a lot today.

It was a day.

Tomorrow will be a day too.

All the days.

All the work.

Letting out slow, long breath and waiting for the tea pot to boil.

It was a good day at work.

It was a good day to do a lot of work.

I’m done with it for the moment and need a reprieve, which will look an awful lot like watching Project Runway and chilling out with an apple after I finish this blog.

I have done enough.

And.

I remind myself that I am enough.

That I am resilient and strong and I have come through so much to be where I am at and I am grateful that I have been carried to a place where I can see that.

It stops with me.

I thought today, a couple of times.

Then.

I thought.

What if that’s just another way of me trying to protect me?

How about I change instead.

How about I look at the trans-generational traumas in my family on my father’s side and on my mother’s side as the things that have made me the diamond that I am.

“Sometimes God uses a heavy hand to create a beautiful thing,” she told me as I sobbed my way through my first real inventory over a decade ago now.

The pressure it takes to create a diamond from the black morass of sadness I was created.

The crucible that holds me I cannot even begin to list all the ways and hows of it.

The secrets and shame and the wildness and the wrong.

The places I have tried to hide and not be found.

I always was.

I always knew.

I know now and it is a deep sadness, but also a formidable strength.

I sometimes can get tired trying to process it all.

“You had this conversation while you were at work?” He asked me aghast on the phone.

I did.

I had a very deep, but not totally deep, there were layers of things left unsaid and things that I still have questions about, but I got what I needed and I could trace the wellsprings of it farther back than I had first suspected.

High temperatures, high drama, high pressures.

I had some clue, but then I had no clue.

And yet, I knew all along.

In fact.

I had avoided making this particular call as I wasn’t sure I really wanted to open the can of worms.

“Sometimes going to far into a genogram can be hard for a client to deal with,” my advisor said to me as I showed him some of the work I had done.

Um.

Yeah.

And there’s so much more.

It’s like a legacy of pain that just rolls through my family.

It is astounding and deep and yet.

I feel that somehow or other I have gotten out, gotten over to the other side and I am looking at it from a distance.

Yet.

There are these ways that I react to the world and there are these defenses I have that I would like to let go of, to open myself up to more life, to not be fearful that I will be shattered again and need to begin again.

The things that worked for me, the safety defenses, they don’t work so much anymore.

And “it stops with me,” in the way that I have used it is not working.

No partner, no relationship, no children.

Because that way I wouldn’t pass it down.

It would really stop with me.

Ultimately that kind of isolation hurts me too.

It’s a solution and a defense that needs to change.

Grateful for the awareness.

Now to wade through the acceptance part and the forgiveness part and get to the action part.

Not sure exactly what action to take, except that right in front of me and to take the suggestions that others have to give me and to not carry the secret or the shame of it that curdles inward and hurts worse than shining the light on it.

Oh.

There are nooks and crannies I’m not too compelled to go spelunking in, at least not right yet, not right now.

I don’t need to stare at my past, I can just look, take it in, and accept it.

And remind myself that acceptance is not approval.

Fuck no

I fucking hella disapprove of the shit that went down.

I do not, I do not, I do not.

That being said, I can’t change it at all.

Although having a different perspective and hearing about some of the things in my family history definitely cast a different light on things.

So much compassion for the human experience.

And that I’m not dead.

For fucks sake.

Or in some straight jacket or in a gutter with a needle in my arm.

The noise of it all.

The machinery of the monsters that clanks down the hall to stumble upon me hiding in the shadows.

I will not have it.

I will not live underneath that banner of fright.

So.

I heal.

Soft and slow.

Gently I go.

It’s the only way.

Compassion and gentleness for myself and awareness that this does take time, perhaps my whole damn life, and that’s ok too, I shall always be seeking and that, that I do believe, is what will make my life that much fuller and richer and deeper and more experiential.

I am not numb.

Granted I am a little tired.

Granted I would like to make a phone call and say.

Come over, hold me, make it all better.

But there is no one to call that can make it all better.

All better is between me and my God.

And so far.

Well.

Things are going ok.

Really.

They are.

And when they are not, I know where to turn and I know that my feelings are fleeting, they pass, the sadness will be followed by joy or awe or discomfort or all of hundreds of other feeling states.

Feelings are not facts and they won’t kill me.

What I hope is that I can lose a little more of my rigidity and become more flexible while not losing myself or my self care.

Find me in the rooms with art.

Find me with flowers in my hair.

Find me with children strewn across my lap, warm, and a sweet and wearing footie pajamas and listening to me read stories.

Find me with love in my heart.

Find me with my heart on my sleeve.

Find me loving, lovable and worthy of love.

Yes.

Love.

Find me there.

In that field of fallen stars, like fireflies in the grass, at the dusk of this purpled twilight of pain and gray sadness a silent reprieve of pearl light and luminous joy, a flower blooming, a remonstrance of family and a flying laugh, a wallop of joy, a holler of thunder in this church of pain.

The doors flung open.

My heart too big to be contained.

Or.

Restrained.

No more.

My.

Love.

Restrain me no more.

You’re Super Smart

And hot!

I’d date you.

Aw!

Thanks darling, that means a lot.

I responded to a social media post about being out in the dating world as well and that was my response.

That’s really nice to know.

Even if I don’t always believe it.

Habit.

Not a great habit.

But.

Not as bad as the overly confident man on Tinder today who basically went from a semi-flirtatious message to a over heated, over bearing, pushy overtly sexual perverted exploration of my tattoos.

Dude.

Unmatch.

Ugh.

I haven’t had a lot of creeps, but every once in a while I get one and my instinct were right and I shouldn’t have swiped.

I did, he did, there was some messaging, but after a real good gut check.

Nope.

Unmatched and moving on.

Not that I really need to being pursuing a date for this weekend.

God damn I have a lot of stuff going on.

Friday night I may have a touch base date, like a hello in passing, which I am flattered by, he’s the gentleman I met last week at Public Works, he’s an Oakland guy and coming over the bridge for some Detroit house music, which if I wasn’t already engaged I would totally go check out.

But I do have plans and so instead of saying no, I said, hey, if you want, you will probably be a good fit with the friends I’m going to be hanging out with, swing by if you want.

That being said.

I don’t want to make Friday a rager.

Even if the night is looking like that right now.

I have a lot of stuff to do on Saturday.

There is the yoga.

Which I did today and I’m super glad I got up early and made the effort to exercise, I needed to stretch probably just as much as my body could have used the extra hour of sleep.

That being said, if I go out Friday night getting up for a 9 a.m. yoga class is challenging.

Plus.

Meeting my person at noon.

And.

Recording a podcast at 1:30p.m.

I want to make sure that I have good voice for that.

I’m a little nervous, but also excited.

I have been practicing a few of my pieces and the woman I’m recording with said she was just going to ask me a bunch of questions, so just be me.

God.

Who the hell knows what that is going to look like.

But.

Yes.

I am excited.

I also feel like I should be writing some poetry, I haven’t cut a poem in a while, but I have been consistent here with the blog and with my morning pages and as long as I continue here it doesn’t matter so much.

The woman expressed to me that I would also be able to plug anything I’m working on and she would be putting my blog address in the podcast.

I have no idea what to tell her.

I’m not here to advertise or get accolades.

Although those are nice.

It’s just a practice, a letting go, a surrender to the words and whatever my heart needs to process from the day.

Yes.

Miraculous things happen here.

But I can’t sell the magic, it just comes when I am wide open to it.

Sometimes I am so blown open, a dandelion fluff of seed pods blown high into the blue robin’s egg sky.

Sometimes I am closed down and sad, sad, sad, and things get over blown and I feel dramatic and snarky and I want to be mean and then.

When I am.

Fuck.

That sucks.

But.

It comes and goes and flows and I have no idea where it’s going and I have no project on the burner, I have not needs to process or things to promote.

Unless it’s me getting shit together for Burning Man.

Which.

By the way.

Where is my ticket?

I signed for it via the UPS site and it was supposed to be delivered today and no ticket.

Which also reflects my lack of ride, gear, and on and on.

I did, however, get a ride set up for the school retreat that is coming up for me in August.

I got an e-mail from a friend in the cohort asking if I wanted a ride, and yes!  Yes, please and thank you.

So grateful to not have to think about that.

One less thing on my plate of busy.

I also got another e-mail from another friend in the cohort regarding a room request, which was made today and I’m super happy for that.

I’m a little nervous, I had my own room last year.

Just happened, the person assigned to be my room mate pulled out of the program before the retreat and I got lucky.

It was nice to be alone and have a space to come back to, but I am also looking forward to sharing a room with not one, but two of my friends.

The request was for the triple room.

I got another message from a woman in the program also expressing how she missed me and how she was looking forward to seeing me at school.

It’s nice to be thought of.

It’s nice to be missed.

It’s nice to know that I have made some kind of impact on someone’s heart.

No matter how small.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

― Maya Angelou

Yup.

I heard this recently and it so resonated.

Looks are fleeting.

But when you touch someone’s heart, that stays.

I hope that I can be that person, the one who is kind and sweet and loving.

But usually the best I can do is be tolerant.

I do love.

And I love hard.

I do.

I do.

I’m an old school romantic.

It’s part of my blood and I don’t mind.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

Love.

God.

Same.

Same.

Sorry.

Not.

Sorry.

And ever more.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

One of Those Weeks

And I just don’t care.

Things spill.

Pink hair dye in my purse.

Blueberries in my basket tonight, all over my liner bag on the back of my scooter, splashed blueberry juice all over my pink riding jacket.

Ugh.

Who cares?

I don’t.

I don’t give a fig.

I’m having a great fucking day.

Heh.

I just scored four tickets to Mike Doughty’s September 1st Living Room Tour here in San Francisco.

One night.

Someone’s living room.

27 people?

30 people?

Intimate like.

I messaged my three people who are Doughty fans and said, “save the date bitches.”

I don’t even give a fig that it’s the day before my first day of classes.

Fuck it.

I’ll be a little tired.

But I will be happy.

Oh so very happy.

Live music, getting to hear someone who I really like and respect, musically and from my own private personal view, we have a few things in common, a few friends, it feels special.

I’m really grateful and I didn’t blink at dropping the money on the tickets.

I love my people and I am super psyched to get to share the experience with them.

Now.

Not one of the bastards has responded to the wildly ecstatic message I just sent them, but I ain’t worried.

If, for some reason, any or all of them can’t go.

I am sure I will find three other Mike Doughty fans that would love to go.

I can actually think of a few that I should probably message and say, hey, there was 27 tickets available when I bought my four, which means 23 are left, and um, in San Francisco, that’s not going to last long.

I just had this pricking in my thumbs.

My blueberry stained thumbs.

To go check the website and see if the tickets were up.

And voila!

They were.

I whipped out the wallet.

Didn’t think twice.

The only thought I had was keeping it to myself until tomorrow when I see my ladybug at the cafe to do the deal, but I didn’t think I could keep it under my hat for that long.

I am not the best at keeping a surprise.

I mean.

I can.

I suppose I could have written this blog about how despite prepping for the poetry podcast yesterday and feeling really excited about it, that the recording was cancelled.

I suppose.

I mean.

That was what I was going to write about.

Also that I didn’t find myself all that wrapped up in that either.

I was like.

Cool.

God’s got better plans for my time that day.

Yoga.

Doing the deal.

Sex.

Heh.

Who knows.

All three.

Although not all three at the same time.

Ok.

Anyway.

That signals to me that I am in a good place in my life in general, that when something unexpected happens, getting this cancellation, I can look at it and say, well, something else is supposed to happen and here’s to knowing that what ever that thing is, it’s the thing that is supposed to happen.

Just like getting blueberry juice on everything, I mean, shit everywhere, I didn’t really get upset, just pulled the stuff that needed cleaning and tossed it into the wash.

Came inside my little studio.

Hopped on line.

And, ayup, bought tickets to see a small, intimate little show of one of my favorite artists.

Luckiest girl in the world.

And.

Tomorrow’s Friday.

Yes.

Plus.

I’m listening to the Cars greatest hits and that puts me in a good mood too.

I mean.

That synthesizer.

So good.

You’d think that I would want to listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel, but this is what called and when I feel a call, I got to go with it.

“What is this,” my lover asked (which one, wouldn’t you like to know).

“Wooden Heart, Listener,” I replied.

I love the album, but have found that nope, not everybody does.

In fact, the disdain for which someone says something about the music I’m wanting to listen to can be off putting.

“What is this shit?” An ex-boyfriend, “can you change this?”

I might.

But I might have to dump you first.

I was listening to a jazz mix which had some old Soul Coughing songs from Ruby Vroom on it.

You know that band Mike Doughty was the lead singer for, the band my long time boyfriend took me to see at the Eagle’s Ballroom, the album that gave me goosebumps when I first heard it and I resonated so hard to it that I still can tell you all the sense memories that I get stirred up even writing about it.

Yeah.

That relationship didn’t last long.

“Do you like this,” I asked my lover, the asker of the Wooden Heart album, “do you want to listen to something else?”

“Anything but this,” he replied.

Fucker.

So I put on Thomas Dolby’s The Golden Age of Wireless.

Take that.

Ah music.

How I love thee.

I remember when I first came out to San Francisco and was reading through an SF Weekly and all the music shows that were listed and I was just like a little gluttonous piggie in heaven.

I probably do not take advantage as much as I thought I would.

But.

I still love a live show and I was telling a date last weekend about a pen ultimate San Francisco night I had with a friend many years back where we went to see Tron at the Castro Theater, then hopped on his scooter and burned rubber to get to the Fillmore and we rocked out like maniacs to Gary Numan.

So close I could see how angry the lead guitarist was, and jaded.

So close I could see the black eyeliner on Numan blurring underneath his eyes.

Magic.

Goldfrapp that same year on her tour for Supernature.

God damn that was a good show.

I really must be on a synthesizer kick, now that I am thinking of it.

Heh.

And I still haven’t heard back from any of my friends.

Oh.

Ha!

I just remembered one of them is out of town camping, well, hopefully he’ll be happy when he returns from being off the grid to the knowledge of another good show that we get to go to.

As for me.

Whelp.

I got the weekend relatively free.

What’s happening my people?

Let’s.

Shake it up.

Shake it up/make a scene.

That’s right, I said
Dance all night
Go go go
Dance all night
Get real low
Go all night
Get real hot
Well, shake it up now, all you’ve got.

Shall we?

Super Frustrated

But not really.

I’m frustrated because I can’t get online, but not because of the things that have been monkeying around my mind for the last week.

Oh thank you Jesus for inventory.

I did a lot today.

I did a lot last night.

I got through the day and by the end of it I was happy and satisfied and grateful and feeling all the love.

There is a solution.

And it has little or nothing to do with my best ideas.

They usually get me in trouble.

Taking the next action in front of me, that works.

I got honest with a lot of people, myself included, and though I have not had the talk with my employers, they were not available to do so today, I know that when another situation arises I have something to say.

I have a sort of script.

I have some work to do.

I am not looking forward to the conversation and I kept expecting that it was going to happen today, as I finally did enough work to see where the real work was at that had to be done, but it did not happen today.

It may not happen tomorrow either.

However.

It will happen.

The next time I am told that I’ll be doing an unsupervised play date I have something to address and I will get to do so.

I will also, and quietly, gently, put it out there that I may be available.

I have no guarantee with the family past the summer.

I have been keeping myself quiet as I keep thinking this is the job for me, may I have it the entire time I’m in school and live happily ever after.

But.

The fact is.

Working a nanny job with two parents that are predominately stay at home parents is a far bigger challenge than I have let on.

I think some of my very close friends know.

However.

For the most part I have kept my thoughts and experiences regarding it to a very small pool of people.

I’m not certain that I’m going to put all my cards on the table here either, however, suffice to say I feel often times that I am in performance form.

I don’t have a lot of alone time or down time or away time.

I’m always on.

“That sounds exhausting,” a friend of mine commiserated with me today.

I laid all the cards on the table with her, not going to do it here, just isn’t the right forum.

Especially since I really like my family and I like so much of my job, the boys especially.

But there is a lot of my job that I don’t like.

And I miss the babies.

I miss all those sweet milestones in the first couple of years, the first words, the first “I love you,” then again.

“Carmen, thank you, I’ll miss you, good night, wait I have to go give my babysitter a hug good night,” my littlest guy said tonight to his play date—double play date two siblings of the same ages as my charges, one little friend for each of them.

He came running over and flung himself at me.

“I love you Carmen, I love you so much,” he clung to me.

He’s been a very sweet, soft, mushy cuddle with me all week.

“I need to love you because we are leaving on a plane and going away,” he said to me yesterday when he tackled me in the kitchen and was anchored to my ankle as I was putting away their lunch detritus.

“But you’ll come back and I’ll be here,” I said, hugging him nonetheless, never pass up the hugs of a child, just don’t.

“But I will miss you,” he said and hugged me harder.

It’s a conundrum.

But not really.

I’ll show up to work tomorrow and I’ll do a good job.

I will close up the house and make sure the boys have fresh sheets and duvets; I’ll collect all the stuffies and put them in their appropriate spots.

I’ll take out all the trash and compost and recycling and set the blinds just so and secure the house and close up shop.

I’m not sure when I’ll be done, technically six p.m.

But I bet I get out of there faster than that.

I am if nothing, extraordinarily efficient.

I get a lot done and I get it done expediently.

I still have a fairly scandalously open scheduled this weekend.

I may or may not go to the MOMA Friday afternoon with a friend.

Or I may just go to yoga and chill out in the neighborhood.

I do know this.

I’m not going to torture myself for not having it all planned out.

Let myself be flexible for my own self.

See what comes up.

Have some fun.

Be spontaneous.

Get laid.

Did I say that?

Heh.

Not that I have a date.

Yet.

All I know is that I feel better tonight than I have all week.

I feel like I finally did the work and the writing and got clarity on all the stupid fear I allow myself to live in, sometimes without even realizing how much stupidity I am in until I’m out of it.

Grateful for my people and doing the deal.

Grateful beyond words.

Really.

Boring almost.

Except to me.

It feels too soothing to be back comfortable in my skin.

And nice.

Oh.

So.

Fucking nice.

To not be quietly seething in shame around things that I have not said.

I have no secrets.

I have things that need to be said, but I’m not keeping anything to myself.

That’s the big thing, all my people know.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

Thank fucking God for that.

Summer time fun.

That’s what I got for this weekend.

Sunshine.

Love.

Joy.

Free, free, free.

Happy, happy, happy.

Joy.

Joy.

Joy.

Like that.

You’re Such A Nanny

My friend chuckled after I admitted that I almost offered him a graham cracker.

“Hey, do you want a gra….oh my god.”

I laughed.

I was so my job at the moment.

I was also just excited to be talking to adults that weren’t the parent of my charges.

Like just my peeps on the street.

I got a text asking what I was doing and where I was and I replied at the playground, my friend knows the one, and there until swimming lessons and the farmers market and laundry had to be got done.

I had already made the roasted cauliflower and vat of broccoli soup during the earlier part of the day.

It was a super sweet surprise to get to hang out with my friend and his lady, also my friend, these are your friends/here are your friends/these are your friends, and it was just a special quick moment of getting to be relaxed and playful with my charges and catch up a little with my friends.

I am so lucky to have the friends I do.

It has taken awhile.

Some relationships get let go.

Some become stronger.

Sometimes I have a friend for a few years then they disappear for a while.

That always makes me sad.

But.

There’s not much I can do except focus on getting what I need for myself and letting that friend do what he or she has got to do to get back to where I am at.

Some do.

A lot don’t.

So the ones that stick.

Fuck.

They are important.

They are cherished.

Plus.

Despite my apparent transparency here.

I don’t have a ton of close friends.

I have enough.

I have just what I need.

I am not complaining.

I am grateful for the amazing friends in my life.

I just am not quite so popular as my facecrack page would like you to believe.

Sometimes I just can’t keep up with it all, the events, the parties, the things, the doings the goings, but I try to keep up with a select few.

And that makes me very happy.

To know that I have friends in my life.

I am a social animal even though I try to act like I’m some sort of lone wolf.

So.

I am quite happy to have a coffee date this weekend, some doing the deal with three different ladies, and a dinner date with a friend who is just had a really big anniversary.

Plus.

I feel good because tomorrow is Friday and I’m almost through my first full time work week after school has let out.

I am getting used to getting up early again and being at the house in the mornings.

I am also happy because I had a little epiphany in the shower when I got home tonight after doing the deal.

I was laughing to myself about the graham cracker offer at the park and then I recalled a brief conversation I had once with an acquaintance years ago.

I was nannying.

Shocker.

It was an afternoon in the Mission and the parents I worked for were hella cool about letting me take there kids everywhere.

Even church basements.

And as I sat in the spot, the metal folding chair more comfortable than the crap running through my brain which was why I was there during the work day instead of after the work day had finished, one of my monkeys was getting fussy.

So I took him out of the stroller and nestled him on my shoulder and crooned to him and rocked him until he fell asleep, heavy in my arms, completely warm, soft, a puddle of love, all collapsed on my shoulders.

I hummed a lullaby under my breath.

I have two go to’s–the classic “Hush Little Baby” and one I made up that consists of a couple of bars that I hum.

I couldn’t tell you what key it’s in.

Perhaps the key of gratitude.

But.

It’s affective.

I cannot tell you how many babies, toddlers, children I have hummed that little ditty to, rocked to sleep, held through teething bouts, calming them down at the park after a scraped knee or a startled dropped plate shatters on the floor.

I would later, much later, realize, fuck I am dense, hit on me after the deal was wrapped up.

“I don’t know that I have ever envied a two year old more,” he said to me, eyes a twinkle, “what I wouldn’t give to be held in your lap having you sing me a lullaby.”

God damn it.

Even writing that I can tell he was hitting on me.

I however, was busy bundling the monkey back into the stroller and keeping the other one, I specialize in nanny shares and almost always do double duty, busy with the snacks and the milk.

I tucked the blankets around them and smiled.

I walked away.

And I wonder why I am single.

Gah.

Anyway.

Total digression.

All this in a flash in the shower, the lullaby, the song, the oh!

Oh!

Oh!

I got it.

I got it!

Lullabies and Love Songs.

My book!

Er.

Well, my chap book.

I’m not sure how much I’m going to get, but it has been needling at me to put together a group of poems.

Hmm.

Or should it be.

Love Songs and Lullabies?

Not sure.

But.

I want to gather my materials.

I have tons of poems scattered through out my notebooks.

I want to go through them and find the pearls.

There’s a lot of dross.

But there is gold too.

I will also mine this blog.

I have some poems tucked in here too.

I got super excited.

I have something to report on for the podcast and I have a real sense of it.

I can see it very well.

And I want it.

I want to do this.

Lullabies and Love Songs.

That’s the one.

That sounds good coming out of my mouth.

Oh.

Happy.

I like having a creative goal and I don’t know that I’m ready to go back in and try and re-work my book yet.

I also do want to find one of my old short stories.

I have an idea to polish it up and submit it to Glimmer Train for their emerging authors contest.

I have had a short story published, but the circulation, I’m pretty freaking sure, was under 5,000, which was the cut off to be considered for the contest.

Anyway.

I am going to do this.

I usually do.

When I put it here.

This blog.

My blueprint.

My happy.

My graham cracker.

Heh.

My crumble bum muse, tumbled out like grains of sand from the park expedition, harmonies of love and joy and the sweet hands of a little boy riding my shoulders calling my name out gleefully as we stride down Valencia street.

Can’t ask for more

My life.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

Upside Down

Right side in.

Topsy turvy.

This day has been strange.

However.

I have rolled with it really well, surprisingly so, I feel super settled and though overwhelmed a little, just now, pretty able to just groove along with what is happening.

It did not hurt that I got a full night’s rest.

I was knocked out last night.

It still took me a minute to fall out, but when I did, whoa, I was down.

I think I actually got a solid eight hours, which is the first time since last Thursday.

Yay sleep.

I got myself organized this morning, stripping the bed and washing the sheets, getting into my morning routine, a little breakfast, a couple cups of coffee, some writing.

Oh.

Yeah.

And text my friend who’s place I’m staying at in Brooklyn.

I mean, I should find out how I’m getting into his place when I show up there next Thursday.

Except.

Well.

Shoot.

His travel plans were changed and he actually needs to stay at his room in Brooklyn and I need to find another place to stay.

I really took it well.

I was a little sad at first, I mean, who doesn’t want to save a few bucks on a place to stay?

But then.

I got happy.

Hey!

I get to see my friend, I get to go do the deal with him and see how he’s doing and catch up and grab a coffee and maybe walk around Brooklyn.

I may wrangle him for one of my museum days.

He is an artist after all.

So instead of getting miffed, I just got real.

Ok God.

Where do you want me to stay?

I mean.

I am a little overwhelmed with the decision.

I reached out via the social media and said, hey, what’s up New York?

I have gotten some nice leads.

Suffice to say, and I am not at all ashamed of this, I’m a little too freaking tight on time to give it a whole lot of thought.

The place will find me or I will find it.

Right now.

My mind is focused on finishing the work for school, because I’m not going to have any fun in New York if I still have papers to hand into to my professors.

I got one more in today.

Just a small piece, a page posting and a couple of response replies to the thread online.

Not much, but some motion.

And!

Yes!

Oh, such sweet relief, and I have no idea how it happened, but the APA formatting software that my friend let me download from her, well, I finally got it to open.

I have absolutely no idea what I did differently, but it suddenly happened.

I texted her and got the password to the account.

And voila!

I can now format all my papers in APA style.

No more pulling out my hair trying to figure out citations for the paper, the software does all the work for you, organizing, formatting, my paper will be perfect!

Well.

At least better formatted than the previous ones.

I still have to write the thing.

I made some strides though, small ones, but it was a start.

I put away the one class reader and notebook that I have finished all my reading and papers for, thanks and good night Multi-Cultural Counseling, it’s been fun.

Then I organized my three other classes that I have assignments due for and did the aforementioned posting for the fourth class.

I had five classes this semester.

Going back to just working full time is going to feel like a vacation.

No wonder I am having trouble focusing on where the hell to stay in New York.

Queens?

Brooklyn?

Hell’s Kitchen?

Harlem?

Chelsea?

Wait.

Come back, Martines, not there yet.

Get back to the paper.

So.

I started going through my notes and putting the stickies with scrawled notes and ideas on my notebook.  I started to get the gist of what I am going to write.

Tomorrow I’m going to do yoga in the morning and when I get done I usually have a few moments after my shower to look at things, I’ll take another half hour and keep up the organizing.  Then, come home and review the rest of it.  I’ll take Friday to do the writing, before and after work and the doctor’s appointment.

Then date night.

Because a girl’s got to have some play too.

All work and no play makes Carmen no fucking fun.

I’m listening to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel right now, he lives in New York, and as I have been blogging I have had this little question in my head.

“Where would Mike Doughty stay?”

Fucking cracks me up.

Maybe I’ll just message him.

Hey, you got a place you like?

No, you don’t know me, but you follow me on Instagram.

Ha.

I do actually have a lot of connections and folks I know in New York or people that have traveled there and had suggestions.

Everything from my boss saying she like Gramercy Park (um, out of my price range) to go where there’s good coffee shops–Queens, Brooklyn, etc.

Oops.

Ha.

Digressed again.

I am happy though.

I have the opportunity to go to New York and have a completely different experience than the one I planned.

Isn’t most of my life like that?

While I’m busy making plans, God steps in and says, “no, here, this will work better, you’ll like this more.”

Ok, God, so yeah, where should I stay?

Now that I know what you want me to smell like.

OMG.

I found my scent.

I am in love.

Remember, couple weeks back, I dropped my brand new bottle of Chanel’s Egoiste Pour Homme in my sink, yeah, that sad, sad day, I haven’t had any perfume since then.

I have not had the time, or, well, truly, the inclination, to replace it.

I suspected I was needing something new.

And wouldn’t you know it.

I got to work super early today, the traffic was oddly light, and I parked on Valencia and paid for all day parking, still waiting on the permit, in front of a specialty perfume shop that opened a little while back–Tiger Lily.

I walked in.

I told the woman what I used to wear that I really loved.

Issey Miyake Feu D’Issey.

Then I told her about the Egoiste Pour Homme and breaking the bottle and that Chanel had sold me the last bottle and were waiting for restocking.

That I decided I needed a new scent and I was looking for something closer to the Issey Miyake perfume.

I described what I wanted and she and I walked around the store.

She suggested this and that.

And they were nice, but not exactly what I wanted.

Then.

Oh damn Gina.

There it was.

Rose Flash.

Holy shit.

I had a visceral reaction to it.

I shuddered deeply with pleasure as the scent washed over me.

I felt warm and lush and supplicant and hot and fiery and sexy and roses and candles and spicy, all so delicious I could barely stand it.

I was completely transported.

“This one!” I said fierce with the knowing.

“How much?”  I asked, bracing myself for the amount.

“$60, and it’s perfume, not a toilette, so it will last you a while,” she smiled.

“I’ll take it,” I walked over to the counter heady with the perfume.

“We’re currently out,” she said scanning her supply.

Well poo.

“But, it’s a local perfumery and I can get it in really quick, let me have your e-mail and I’ll send you a message as soon as it comes in, and in the meantime, let me give you a sample, I love how you reacted to it!”

Yup.

And I have been dreamily reacting to it all day long.

I put some on at work and the soft warm wafts of scent would envelope me and my mood would just shift and change and open.

Happy.

I feel happy smelling it.

Ah.

So nice.

See.

Something new.

A new smell, a new experience.

There’s something great in New York.

Serendipity.

Love.

Adventure.

There are no problems.

Only different points of view.

Different perspectives and a new opportunity to have a different experience.

Looking forward to it.

Now, excuse me, while I wind down.

I’ve got some busy time ahead of me.

And opportunity to see what happens next.

I suspect it will be amazing.

It always is.

Fuck It

Except.

Fuck no.

I have seen a lot of folks saying fuck it recently and honey, that shit is not pretty.

I may have a struggle now and then with the sads or the fuck its but thank God, that generally passes pretty quick and when I am in a pity party, well, I’m all about myself.

Nobody else can get in there.

And with that in mind I confirmed that I will be going to a birthday party on Saturday.

Because I can’t let myself be isolated.

Just because I am busy with school and the work and the stuff and things, I can’t isolate myself off behind a wall of text books and the fear excuse of I’m too busy.

I’m not too busy.

Yes.

Fuck.

I am busy.

But not that busy.

If I even have an inkling of the thought that I could hook up with someone, which, hell, please, I am constantly thinking of hooking up, oh, and the fantasy got killed hella quick around the one person I was attracted to.

He’s dating.

Ugh.

I could use a desperate man.

Maybe.

I just have to keep showing up.

That’s all.

I just have to stay sober.

Nothing else, nothing else is more important.

“They’re all down at the bar,” she whispered, “I’m not going there.”

Nope.

No fucking way.

That is not my solution.

So.

When the busy gets in my head and I feel overwhelmed, all I have to do is remember that I am perfectly ok if I get into my bed tonight, my sweet, warm, cozy bed, sober.

Then it’s a perfect day.

It doesn’t matter if I haven’t figured out how to get my papers written, fact is, I always get them kicked out, despite the horror show that my head seems all hell bent on showing me.

The work gets done and I’m going to yoga tomorrow, so kiss my ass scary brain, everything is going to be just fine.

Fortunately for me I am surrounded, in the middle of the boat, covering my commitments, meeting with my people, staying on the beam.

Even when the head gets the crazy on fire feeling, I know it’s not real, it’s just a fantasy, it’s just a way for me to manufacture some adrenalin so I can get a “natural” high.

Bah.

The feelings I have are big, but they do pass, and as I walked out of the room tonight, a tiny bit disappointed, I mean, god damn he is a hottie, but then again, so is the girlfriend, at least I knew and I could clear my brain with it, the fantasy got squashed so I can be available to whatever reality is in front of me.

When I am day dreaming I’m not paying attention to what is right in front of me.

So.

Back to the reality board.

Back to basics.

Which I haven’t really dropped at all.

I am on my own, but I am not on my own.

I have fellowship, I have faith, I have friends.

And.

I get to see them this weekend, which is what I am telling myself, that I need to see these girls, women, I need to be connected to this community, I need to and I am ok with the fact that it doesn’t leave me as much time to work on school work as I would hope.

The fact is I could and can find time elsewhere.

The time it happens without me getting in the way of it if i just take care of the other basics first.

It’s not like I’m frittering time.

It is the opposite.

When I am having a little get down with the ladies, or my guy friends, friends in general, it alleviates the stress of school too, and I realize that so many of my friends, doctors, nurses, therapists, teachers, they all went through some type of intense schooling to get where they are at.

I am not unique and if they can get through it, so can I.

I feel like I am burning brightly right now.

And.

I want someone to burn brightly with me.

There is nothing wrong with this feeling.

I’m just not going to dampen the fire because I am on my own.

I don’t have to know.

I am open to it all.

I open to dating, sex, kissing, making out, hooking up.

Or.

Being entirely my own woman and just going to yoga and working and doing the deal and meeting with my ladies and going to school.

I don’t have to have either/or.

I can do both.

I have the abilities to hold many things.

I have a big heart and there is room for it all.

Art.

Creativity.

Recovery.

Work.

Working out.

Working it.

Dancing.

Friends.

All the things.

ALL.

I am a glutton for experience and life and doing and going.

I know that I have to have balance, hello yoga, writing, prayer, etc.

It’s all there to be had.

Life.

It’s fucking awesome, even when it scares the crap out of me, which it does often.

But then, I’m on my scooter and the California poppies are nodding in the wind and the green grass in the park is bright and the skies are blue and I am zooming down the road having the time of my life.

Alive.

Yes.

Getting to do this thing, not saying fuck it, not checking out, even when I want to check into what that might look like, I can fall down, but I can’t check out.

Not an option.

Fuck it is not an option.

Singing at the top of my lungs to music that makes my heart happy?

That’s always an option.

Until my land lady kicks me out.

Heh.

I know that I am taken care of and I am excited for the weekend and for the newness and the more will be revealed.

Because more always is.

And you should know by know.

I love more.

Always have.

Serious.

 

Do You Go To

Burning Man?

I replied yes.

And for the first time ever I got such a super negative response that I was a little surprised.

Hey.

Um.

What happened to you have a great smile and you’re really smart.

Yikes.

Who pissed in your Cheerios dude?

FYI.

That kind of vitriol is pretty much a big red flag and I won’t pursue dating you.

Nope.

Yeah.

I’m out there, I’m trying.

I haven’t another date lined up and it’s not a race, I do have a lot of homework to do this weekend as well as a friends birthday party, so a date this weekend might be out of the question anyway.

Oh.

And when you look at my profile and see me in fishnets, boots, with hot pink hair smiling so big it might be hurting my face, you can probably assume that yes, I do do that thing in the desert and if you’re so vehemently opposed–you have a bad experience with Gate?

Get the fuck over yourself.

And don’t bother pursuing a connection.

Not that I said any of that.

No need to.

I just didn’t continue engaging.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation as to why I do anything, I really love my life and I’m pretty fucking stupid happy, except when I’m not, most of the time.

Burning Man is relevant to my life now and for the foreseeable future.

And even if it weren’t I have too many friends that work for the organization, or who have worked there or who still go or who volunteer or want to go, anyway, you get my drift.

I many not have a Burning Man tattoo, I have plenty of Burning Man burned into my heart.

So, yeah, dude, move on.

Moving on can be nice.

Even.

When I am still connected enough with someone that I think about them and the next thing you know I’m getting a message from an ex boyfriend.

It was cute and it gave me pause for a minute.

How people move on, how they leave an imprint on you.

Some people I will always be connected to.

It’s just how it is.

Some people I have moved so far on from that I can’t imagine engaging with them ever again.

I’m not sure how that works, but I suspect that I stay connected to people that I am vulnerable with, that I show my true self to.

Which is how I have such an affinity with Burning Man.

I connect to people out there.

I am trying to connect with people here as well to.

In fact, I just sent out an e-mail asking for a ride to an event this Saturday.

I said yes to a birthday part in the effort to stay connected, to keep up with the friends when and how I can.

It’s not a school weekend for me and yes, despite three papers to write and a lot of doing the deal–started today met with a lady, got someone Thursday, another Saturday, and two folks on Sunday–I need to also have some semblance of a social life.

And these women are special.

Some of whom I may not have seen in months and if I don’t see them this weekend, God only knows, it might be back out at Burning Man when I do see them again.

So.

Working it out.

And working on letting myself stay in today as well.

I found myself getting a bit anxious about how all the things were going to play themselves out this weekend with school, life, recovery, etc, and how in the world was I going to do….

And I just knew.

Slow it the fuck down.

I finished my typical morning routine and added to it instead of detracting.

I did a coloring book meditation and really let myself let go of being anywhere but right where I was at, right here, at this little robin’s egg blue table, having just read the “Just for Today” card that I keep there as a gentle reminder that today is in fact the only day I really have.

I can choose to enjoy it, show up for it, or I can get all up in the future and fritter away the joy that is right here waiting for me to accept and embrace it.

I got a spiritual solution for your desperate aim.

I opened up the back door and listened to birds and the ocean, the running of the N-Judah on the MUNI tracks, I heard my neighbor building something and thought about all the work that we do, humans, just in general to stay alive, the feeding, the grocery shopping the bill paying, and then I brought my focus gently to what I do for myself and how I can continue, no, that I get to continue, it’s not a can do sort of thing, it’s a “I get to do this” thing, to take good care of myself.

I smiled at the flowers in my glass Ball Mason jar on my table.

I have been buying myself a bouquet of flowers ever since the weekend before Valentines Day.

Buy your own damn flowers, I heard in my head, and laughed.

Yes.

I do.

And it’s really nice.

I have three different kinds of daisies: pale pink Gerber’s hot pink Gerber’s and pretty little Marguerite’s, plus a little filler of tuber rose and a couple of soft pink lilies.

So pretty.

I dress for myself and I am becoming.

I represent.

Not for anyone else, but just for me.

I eat tasty food and cook for myself and splurge on good coffee beans.

Oh.

I have written all the ways over and over again, but there is always still this deepening awareness and acceptance of where I am in my life, dating, work, school, yoga, friends, recovery, Burning Man, my scooter, the city I live in, the shifting heart in my chest growing bigger.

A meteorite of love launched against the black velvet sky over the ocean.

I am changing.

And I don’t have to force the change.

It will just happen on it’s own.

Buy your own damn flowers.

Took me years.

But now I do.

Pretty dresses for my love, pretty flowers for her hair, sweet perfumes to spray over my clavicles, music to soothe, and uplift, I am my best date.

And I go to Burning Man.

Ha.

No surprise there.

I know what makes me happy.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

All the God damn time.

Fuck The Pain Away

I was sharing with a lady tonight all the methods of grieving.

And I can sustain that one for about a week, maybe.

Add a sexting or two in there and maybe only three days.

Sex is lovely.

Sex is great.

But I can’t fuck the pain away.

I just have to go up into it and through it.

I realized this as I had a grief bubble burst on me today.

I was not expecting it.

And I have to say the relief has been deep and profound since it happened.

And yes.

Ugh.

It was in yoga that it happened.

Yeah.

I know, I know.

I’ll start burning sage tomorrow, shh.

After the happy glow of last night I was a tired girl, but so pumped up and juiced on being alive, I had a hard time dropping off to sleep.

Plus the call of all that moonlight slanting in between the slits of the bamboo shade hanging over the glass door in my room, it was just a lot of being awake versus really sleeping the way I would have liked.

Granted.

I still got up and I did my morning routine and I put on my yoga clothes and got my bag out and the mat and my water bottle.

I had oatmeal and coffee and I wrote some stuff and said some stuff and knelt and got humble, not really, I am so not humble, but it helps to start my day from a position of humility.

Always that.

I may lose that during the day, but always I have to start from the lowering of ego and ask for the help I need to get through my day, whatever lies ahead, I cannot do it on my own.

Alone has never worked for me, even when I think, hey this could work, I could figure this out, I got this.

I ain’t ever got this.

Which is why the taking of suggestions is always so helpful.

I can see that there was a part of me that was suspicious of this yoga thing from all the protestation I have had in my head for the last few years since it has been calling to me, for a long, long, long stupid ass time.

I think I was afraid that I would have feelings.

And everyone knows how much I love feelings.

Insert irony here.

I was walloped, in a soft kind of surrendering way, with the feels today in class.

I was not expecting that.

In fact.

I was expecting to have more joyful, light filled, love filled, ease filled, serenity feelings.

Nope.

I got caught with my yoga pants down.

Figuratively, people, come on.

It was hard, and I knew it was going to be hard after not having gone for nearly two weeks, to get back into the flow of it, but I put myself out there and I also let the instructor know I’d been out with a pretty wicked, only in  retrospective can I see how stupid sick I was, cold.

So.

Giving myself the permission right from the start to take it easy and just gently get back into it rather than break myself trying to do every pose.

I just did what I could and it was enough.

And I did slip into a sweet space, a relaxing into my body, even though it was challenging, rather than staying in my head.

At the beginning of the class the instructor suggested that we pack up those thoughts, people, work, nagging things, school, personal life, and lead them out the door and let them stay there.

Fuck.

I wanted away from my head like nobody’s business.

I had some strange dreams and a tiny little nag of heart sick that I didn’t even realize was there.

But yes.

It was there.

A little left over remanent of having run into the room mate of someone who I have not had contact with in a few months, I actually have lost track, it’s around three months now, I think, could be more or a little less, but there was a time a month or so ago when I knew to the day, the hour, the minute, the last time we had seen each other, the words exchanged.

I could tell you the contents of the last text.

I can’t anymore.

The texts were erased.

No need to go be a tourist in that land.

It hurts too much.

I have scrolled through some photos once or twice, but I can’t quite, I get sucked in and it hurts to see the landscape and the pain in my eyes even when I was laughing.

Laughing to save my life because otherwise I was just going to collapse with the pain.

I have seen this room mate before and been absolutely scrupulous to keep it all about him, about his stuff, no questions asked about his housemate, no mention, not my business, don’t go digging.

And.

Well fuck.

I slipped a little last night and asked him to give the cat a squish.

AW.

Fuck.

I knew better the minute it popped out of my mouth.

Not your fucking place and then, I was just like, hey, give yourself a break, you are human, it was a little mistake and hopefully he didn’t even notice it.

I remember turning with relief to the woman who was waiting to talk with me.

Oops.

Ha.

She didn’t check in today.

Hmm.

Good thing to remember, I’ll see if she calls tomorrow, I may or may not having an extra hour on Sunday now after all.

Anyway.

I think I woke up with a teensy little emotional hangover from the spiritual intoxication I was feeling yesterday and a little chagrin about mentioning the cat.

But.

I didn’t realize it.

Until.

That song.

That one song.

The one the yoga instructor has when we do this one pose, and ha, oh, I just realized this, fuck me man, it’s called a “heart opener,” of fucking course it is.

Ah.

God, you are funny.

The music has a catchy sweetness to it that I have had joyful visions to, the love and feeling of sun, the sound of bluegrass guitar picking, the blooming daisy from my heart, yeah, that guy, usually when I’m in this heart opening pose and I’m suddenly lit up with light and joy and damn.

It feels good.

Today.

I was in the pose and I recognized the song and I heard a part of the chords that I hadn’t caught before, a sort of sweet, sad, melancholic faint brush of regret, that hint that underneath the joy there was this little pool of sorrow–that I can see probably leads to movingly to that opening flower in me.

Pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.

The flower blooms from a field of pain.

Which makes it that much more beautiful.

I did not hear the joy today, I heard the sorrow.

I did not consciously think these things.

I just noticed that instead of feeling uplifted I felt a bit moored and then I thought of a suggestion I had heard before to send a ball of light towards a person and fill it with love.

I thought of the man I had seen last night, my innocuous Burning Man crush and I was about to send it out to him, and then.

Oh.

I saw his face instead.

I held up that bubble of warm love and light and I pushed it out.

And it collapsed on me.

And I broke into tears.

Face scrunched up, eyes smashed shut.

My entire heart clutched up and instead of light I was drowned in sorrow and salt.

The bubble burst and I just cried.

I did so silently, but it felt like I was being buried under a tsunami sadness.

Then.

It was gone.

I was left, heart very open, thank you very fucking much, wet, face soaked with sweat and tears on the mat.

I sank into the final five minutes of resting pose.

I breathed cleanly.

I sat up.

I said thank you.

I rolled up my mat.

I walked out the door.

Into the sunlight.

Drenched in love.

Having let the final last lingering bomb of grief dissolve off my body.

I got home, took a hot shower and lifted my face with gratitude.

Graced.

All the love flowering in m heart.

Roots griped into the rich soil of sorrow and pain.

Watered with tears and growing toward the sun.

Raised in brightness, raised in brightness.

These are the days to write home about.

These are the days, simple and small and laden with the gifts of living a full life.

Shining out.

A beacon.

I am.

A rising sun.

Shining out in the rising sun.

Cleaned and new.

Bright with hope, promise, joy.

And.

As always.

Love.

Yes.

My love.

Always that.

Always.

Love.