Posts Tagged ‘street cleaning’

Taking Bribes

November 27, 2017

I’m serious.

I dangled a manicure in front of my face to get myself to sit the fuck down and write my Transpersonal Psychology final paper.

It took a minute.

Granted I started the day off wonky.

Fuck my life.

I was supposed to wake up to my best friends call this morning for breakfast and I remember as I rolled over thinking, “why haven’t I got a call yet?” as I went to check my phone, thinking maybe I had a few more minutes of…



I had been called, and texted.




I had the volume off.

I don’t know how that happened and I was so mad at myself, miserable with it, and I sent off a quick text hoping my friend was still in the neighborhood.



Though breakfast was off the table, only time for a quick coffee, but thank God.

I would have been devastated if I had missed seeing my person.

Dear God it would have been a much different day.

Suffice to say I got some sweetness, not enough, I’m going to miss my friend who is traveling now, but thankful, so much so, that I was able to get a little face time.

It meant the world.

And once I was up I got going.

Striped my bed, washed laundry, did some writing, drank more coffee, ate breakfast, tried not to think about the work I had to do today, but didn’t really succeed at that.

I get anxious before I have to write an academic piece.

My blog?


I can’t hardly wait to write this, or my Morning Pages, but an academic paper where I have to cite sources and have an idea about what the fuck I’m going to write about.



So cleaning, and cooking, did food prep for the week, although, really, there wasn’t much cleaning after yesterday.

And a cursory look over my calendar for the week.

My hopes for next weekend being a time that I will devote to my other three papers vanished as I looked it over.

Fuck my mother.

I have to do the dress rehearsal for People Who Usually Don’t Lecture, for four hours on Sunday and I have my last Webinar for CBT.


I might be able to get one paper written that day in between the dress rehearsal and the webinar, I’ll try.

I think I can do my Drug and Alcohol paper that day, it’s pretty straight forward, compare a 12 step recovery meeting with a Harm Reduction therapy model.

Which means attending a meeting and participating in the harm reduction group that we had in class last weekend.

No problems there.

I basically have it all written out in my head anyway.

I still have to do citations, but I won’t have to do that many, and it’s a smallish paper, five to seven pages.

I’ll knock it out in an hour and a half, two hours tops.

Today, when I finally settled down to write my paper, it took less than two hours.

I had to do everything else that had to be done in the house before I could start, like I said, sparkling clean house?

Must have a paper to write.


I had done some cursory work, looking over notes, then I got serious, after I had met with my ladybug and did some other reading and get right with God stuff, and she’d gone back out into the rain, I dove in.

Not true.

I ate lunch.

Then I dove in.


I lie.

I washed the lunch dishes.

Seriously, I was like an anxious bitty dashing around my house looking for anything to distract me.

Then I sat down and wrote my paper.



I didn’t.

I wrapped my charge’s birthday present, she turned five today, I got some super sweet photos of her at the carousel with her family, for taking into work tomorrow.

A pink glitter notebook and a big packet of stickers.

Unicorn stickers.

Bunny Stickers.

Funny animals in hats.


All the fun stuff.



I wrote my paper.

Wait, um, no, I hemmed and hawed and then suddenly.


I had a sudden surprise idea.

I pulled out a deck of Tarot cards.

I know what that sounds like, shut up.


I really decided that that’s what I was going to do.

Active Imagination.

It’s a form of Jungian Dream Work that helps the person to engage with the unconscious.

Jung developed it for people who couldn’t remember their dreams.

We had done it a few times in class and I thought, well, heck, this might be a way to launch into the paper.


I sat with the deck.

I asked it a question about love.



Did I get an answer.

About strength and fire and love.

Sensuality, star shine, holding on.

About perseverance, about not giving up, about staying strong and in the light.

It was a beautiful moment and suddenly I was in, I was in the paper, I was finding all the citations, I was following this beautiful serendipitous thread through my notes, finding poetry that I had written in class, seeing connections, making leaps, and voila!

I did it!

Fucking wrote the paper in about an hour?

Maybe it took total an hour and a half with the citations, and the editing.

But once I got moving, I was in.

It was amazing.

It really always amazes me that I can kick out a paper that fast.

Grateful does not even begin to express how I felt.

And yes.

I did have time to get out and go to the nail salon and get my nails done.

I even popped into my spot on 7th and Irving and got right with God.

That was fabulous.

I drove home listening to my current favorite playlist, “Music for Slow Dancing,” and talked to my best friend until I found a spot to park my car.


I found parking in my neighborhood, block away, not bad, considering everyone’s back from the holiday.

And it was a small spot, it wouldn’t have fit a bigger car, so happy I have a little gal and not something bigger, it’s really so much better in this city.

I double, triple checked that I wasn’t parking on a street cleaning side and then I walked home in the warm, dark night, thinking sweet thoughts to myself.

My life is pretty good.



There’s still more work to do.


I will get to it.

For now.

I can take the rest of the night off and have some tea and watch a video and get ready for the week.

I’m back in it tomorrow, full-time work, clients, and getting ready for the lecture.

But it’s all good.

It really is.

I’m happy.





Luckiest girl in the world.


That Was Not for Naught

June 18, 2013

Despite the immediate, somewhat childish tantrum building in my head.

I went into the city today to do some work, although I knew I could do it remotely.  I wanted to be in the office space, I wanted to provide myself with accountability.

I wanted that to not be a ticket on the windshield when I went to move the car.


Damn it man.


That pretty much negated going into the city to work.

I only had a few hours to put toward the project, although when I left and had packed up I had some more thoughts that will bear exploring, but not today.  Today it was get back, after a coffee date at Four Barrel, to the East Bay without getting any more tickets.

It was not a horrible day, it was not, I got to see a lady bug and do some work with her and I had a delicious cup of Four Barrel, I know folks that might pay $62 to just do that, a little trip into the city.

I took a walk down Valencia Street, I went to Dog Eared Books, I bought a book and a new notebook–my last journal from Paris was filled this morning–I saw my friend Carlos on the street, I got a hug.

I saw so many folks out there, in San Francisco and here in Oakland, pushing shopping carts that the sting of getting the ticket was gone before too long.

I paid it immediately.

It’s not my car.

I do not want my employers to come back from their vacation and wonder what the hell their car was doing on the wrong side of the street, in San Francisco.

Not to say that they did not give me permission to drive it, they did, but I get to be honest and adult and take care of shit before it bites my ass.

I was trying to remember when the last time was that I got a ticket and I could not remember, although the feeling of it was similar, annoyance, anger, fleeting financial insecurity.  Then I thought, I did not die the last time I got a ticket, I paid it and went about my life and forgot that I had been given one.

I will drive into the city again tomorrow, but I already secured parking for it.  I texted the family I will be nannying for and asked if I could park in their driveway.  I was given a resounding thumbs up and I shall motor back over again tomorrow.

Counting down the days when I will not be crossing over the bridge so much or under the water via BART.

“You’re moving back to the city?!”  She asked me in line at Four Barrel.  An old friend who last I saw was in Oakland a few days back.  She too does a lot of work in San Francisco, not too strange to see her in a coffee shop in the Mission.

“Yup, Ocean Beach,” I replied.

“You’ll love it,” and she gave me a hug.

I will certainly love it more than this commute.

I have a new appreciation for everyone who does this on a daily basis.

I feel challenged doing it and tired and grumpy and over it.

I feel grateful that I have a reason to come and go for work, despite there not being a lot of it this week.  Two nanny gigs and a few things for the design firm.

It feels like I will break even coming and going and groceries for the week.

Not much else.

I am hoping to have rent for the new place set aside before I leave for Burning Man so that I may secure the space.  Although I feel confident that my friend is not going to pull the rug out from under me and tell me it’s not available.

I just want to have it set up.

I am grateful for all the places and spaces, beds, guest rooms, couches, and fold out futons that I have gotten to stay on, the couches, oh the couches I have surfed.

However, the thought of being in my own room makes my panties damp.

Sorry, but it’s true.

I can live pretty lean and I have done so for many years now, not as lean as the lady pushing a cart in the bicycle lane at Valencia and 19th, though, truth be told, she may have had more belongings in her heaped up cart than I own.

I am not saying extravagant, I am not saying over the top, although I won’t sneeze at that.

I am saying comfortable and my own.

Yeah, I know life is transitory, stuff is stuff, but I am tired of being rootless.

Perhaps I am just not as spiritually evolved, but I can say it here, if I can say fuck and shit and piss and burning man and sex and kissing, then I can say it here, I am ready for my own damn place.

I am a material girl.

At least I know it.

I want to hang a hammock from the back and have a big cushy bed with white bedding and a wrought iron frame.  I want to have mason jar lanterns and wooden crates for night tables, I want a desk/kitchen table combo, a nice chair, fluffy towels in the bathroom, a plant or two to call my own.

I want bookshelves and notebooks and pens and candles that smell pretty.

Oh, I want it all.

Being satisfied with what I have is good and I am.

I am lucky and grateful and blessed, I have good friends, and good coffee beans to grind tomorrow morning before I begin my journey back to the city, all these experiences that help me to realize what it is exactly that I want.

None of them were for naught if they got me to where I am today.

Not a single one.

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