Posts Tagged ‘studio’

A Day Off

July 10, 2017

To remember.

Nothing striking or out of the ordinary.

But just a lovely day.

A sweet day.

A day when the fog actually lifted and I saw some sunshine, surprisingly late in the day too, it cleared off around 6:30p.m. and was clear all the way through to sunset.

Albeit chilly, it was such a welcome reprieve from the constant summer fog that I made up my mind right quick to get out into that sunshine and eat it up.

I deserved a sunshiny walk on the beach.

I did a lot today.

Laundry, grocery shopping, cooked two separate meals, both lunch and dinner so that I would have plenty of food prepped for the week and then some to toss in the freezer.

I made a sort of jambalaya, my own edited version, with shredded roast chicken, shrimp, Andouille sausage, pork, corn, black olives, onion, garlic, brown rice, crushed tomatoes.

Super yummy and I froze 3/4s of it.

I ate a big bowl for lunch, put a couple of containers in the fridge for meals and I also roasted a chicken for dinner–I happily ate salt and pepper roasted chicken with tarragon butter and brown rice that I seasoned with turmeric, Spike, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper–savory rice.

I love cooking and I love having a full fridge at the beginning of the week so I don’t have to squeeze in a shopping trip to the store when I am in the middle of a full tilt boogie schedule.

I also went to yoga and got my sweat on, super challenging class, I fell in one of the poses.

Splat!

On my belly and just laughed out loud.

So I feel, so what?

I tried the pose.

I am certain I will fall again, as long as I can laugh at myself, though, then I’m ok.

When I start taking myself to seriously then I know I am in trouble.

I met with a lady as well and did the deal and read and talked and fuck.

It was so good.

I called my person and had a good long check in.

I called a friend who’s going through a hard time and suffering a big loss.

I had a really nice and connected day.

I also took a car over to Cheap Pete’s and picked up my two prints that I brought back from Paris.

I am super happy with the way they turned out and I spent some time re-arranging the art on my walls to accommodate the new pieces.

I don’t have much space, but I think I arranged things well and I’m very pleased with the additions to my collection.

Very pleased.

I really do like my home.

It does feel like an extension of me, of my personality.

It is tiny, but it’s me and I am grateful for all the things I have and all the ways I get to express myself.

I also like that wherever I look there is something pretty to rest my eyes on.

This is my sanctuary and I adore it.

Sure.

I want more space.

But that will come when it comes.

I am experiencing this deepening of faith in places I never knew I needed to have deepened, seeing experiences and suddenly have the knowledge that though I did not know it at the time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Seeing what I needed to see.

And being seen.

Regardless of my ignorance.

I was seen.

And all the things that have led me here were all the experiences I need to have.

So being in this little in-law at the edge of the city, by the edge of the sea, for whatever length of time I am supposed to be is quite fine by me.

I am happy.

I am warm.

My home is sweet and I have precious memories of every foot of it that make me smile when I least expect it.

I have been smiling a lot recently.

I repeat.

I am very happy.

And yes.

Life is full.

But I had such a restful day.

Yes, I did do a lot, but I found all sorts of down time too.

I read a little bit from a novel, novel that, reading something that is not psychology related, a John Updike novel I had gotten last year for my birthday.

My birthday is in December.

Ahem.

I don’t have much down time for pleasure reading, and sometimes I feel that I shouldn’t even, but in the end it was too delicious to not.

I also read a few more letters in the book of Chopin’s Letters that were sweet and nostalgia inducing.

I love the old language used, laced with bits of French.

Lines that caught my attention I underlined and starred, the turn of a phrase that I found enchanting or a sentiment that I echoed and felt stir me.

“I kiss you heartily.  Remember me as I remember you.”

And this.

“I wrote it only to arouse a pleasurable emotion, such as greetings usually produce.”

How often have I written something just for the pleasurable emotion of the writing?

So often.

And.

“I press you to my lips and say goodbye till we meet.”

And.

“Give me a kiss, My Life.”

I love how he capitalized “My Life,” how important the person to whom he is writing becomes as I read the letter.

I sat in the sun on my back porch and read these letters and glowed.

Then.

Yes.

I decided it was time for a walk on the beach and it was as I had hoped.

Deserted.

The all day long fog and chilly breezy had deterred most of the city from even bothering with going out to the beach.

I saw one tourist family picnicking.

A father and son in wetsuits with boogie boards.

A couple walking a dog.

A paddle boarder out in the surf.

And me.

There was no one there.

Me, the sand, the ocean, God.

It was beautiful.

I walked the surf, rolled my jeans up, they are still a little damp hours later where a high tide splashed me, stuck my flip-flops in my basket bag and collected seashells.

Yes.

I did.

I collected shells.

Shush.

That’s the kind of girl I am.

I write poetry and collect sea shells and I am just fine with that.

I get to be many, many, many things.

And now that my well is replenished.

I will go back to being a nanny and a therapist.

The week is full.

But full in a good way.

Thank you Sunday for your gifts.

I feel that Monday and I shall be great friends just from the beautiful reprieve I had today and all the things I got to do to take care of myself.

Luckiest damn girl in the world.

Seriously.

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That Was A Session

June 21, 2017

I’m a therapist.

It was so clear.

It was so obvious.

It was like getting whacked over the head.

You are a therapist.

I was in it with my client and although it was just a second session I could feel it happening, I could feel the alliance happening and who knows where it will go, but it’s a start.

I have clients.

Two this week.

Three next week.

And so it builds.

I was also a space cadet today.

I left my bag with my nanny shoes at work.

And when I realized I had already been on my way to the internship to see my client and I did not want to risk losing time to turn around and go back.

When I finished with the session I couldn’t remember if I had actually carried out the bag with me, having then left it on the sidewalk outside of my job.

Or.

If I had left it inside the house.

I called and text my boss but got no response.

Then I had a horrible vision of my bag, with my very expensive Dansko walking shoes, on the sidewalk and it getting scooped up by an entrepreneurial type in the neighborhood.

I debated going home, but I needed the piece of mind more than the extra few minutes I would have gotten at home.

So I zipped over to work and sure enough it was at the house, inside, thank God.

I thanked the dad, hopped back on my scooter and zoomed home.

It was a fast ride, the rush traffic having dissipated and in the end I was only home five minutes, maybe seven, past when I had predicted I’d be walking in.

It’s nice to be home.

I love my little studio.

Yes.

I would love to have more space.

I surely would.

However.

In this time in my life I am willing to be in a little space that holds me so well and is pretty and full of color and things to look upon that make me happy.

Speaking of which.

I expect to hear back soon from Cheap Pete’s.

The framing shop I took my two Paris prints to.

One a Marilyn Monroe by Phillip Hausman I got at the Jeu de Paume in Paris and the other a vintage Scandal sheet cover from a vendor at Clingancourt.

I am looking forward to adding them to my collection.

Although, truth be told, I don’t have much wall space left at all.

I have an idea to rearrange a few things and move around a couple of pieces and I think they will fit just fine.

And.

In other news.

I got my financial aid disbursement.

Hurrah!

So very happy.

I put half of it in savings immediately.

I will be using that money for my therapy costs as I move through my school program.

I will also be purchasing some new clothes for the doing of therapy.

I have a small wardrobe, but I realized that I need to expand a little, a few more pieces of professional clothing that I can interchange with my current wardrobe.

I was talking to my therapist this morning.

Yes.

The therapist has a therapist.

Duh.

Anyway.

Just that it’s nice having a change-up in my wardrobe and it helps me to be in the mindset.

Which is how I forgot my nanny shoes at work.

I took them off to put on my “therapist” shoes.

My new Fluevogs.

They are funky, but not too crazy and I do feel like someone else when I wear them.

It feels important to switch gears from nanny to therapist.

Even if the client would probably be completely happy with whatever I am wearing, well, perhaps, but really, it feels right for me.

It’s like pushing a reset button.

I carry myself different and I put on a different hat.

Or pair of shoes.

If the shoe fits.

Fucking wear that shit.

And I have totally lost my train of thought.

I am tired and just did a Facetime chat with a friend who’s been trying to catch up with me for a couple of weeks.

I am just starting to take clients, I can’t imagine how things are going to look when I’m back in school.

I probably won’t know what hit me.

But.

My god.

I am so grateful that I have started my internship now.

If I had to handle the training and the clients and the newness of it and juggle a full load of fall semester.

Um.

No.

Super grateful to have this time to get adjusted.

I also know that I won’t have to work as many hours.

Right now I’m working 40-41 hours a week as a nanny.

When school is in I’ll go back down to 35 and that will help.

Shit.

That’s five clients right there.

Add the three I have now and I could reasonably be doing the same amount of work that I am carrying now.

Of course.

It will be different.

I will also have to carry a full-time grad school load.

With all the reading and writing that entails.

Shh.

I tell myself.

Hush for now.

Don’t spoil the moment.

I had a good day.

I was a good nanny.

My charges loved on me, I got to hold the baby for a few hours while it slept, I made a dinner that the entire family raved about (pancetta spaghetti carbonara with julienned sugar snap peas, pan sautéed asparagus with shaved Parmigiano Reggiano, hearts of romaine salad with heirloom tomatoes, avocado, a soft-boiled wild hen egg and sprouted sunflower seeds), “Carmen, you are a REALLY good cook,” said the seven year old.

Thanks sugar.

I do love cooking for those I care about.

And.

I was a therapist.

A damned good one at that.

I think I have earned my cup of tea.

With that.

I call it a night.

Sleep well my friends.

Sleep well.

 

Cozy Little Christmas

December 26, 2016

I was talking to the moms earlier and she expressed how sad she was that I was alone at Christmas.

I assuaged her.

I almost laughed, I haven’t felt lonely, despite, yes, spending the majority of the day alone.

I never felt lonely.

Sleepy occasionally.

I actually napped.

A lot.

I don’t nap often and it always feels rather epic when I do.

I blame the malingering cold.

Not enough to knock me completely flat, but definitely, defiantly still there, sitting on my chest with a nasty proprietorship that I am about done with.

Ha.

I foil you cold.

I signed up for a yoga class tomorrow, get out of my body.

I figure one more big night of sleep and some warming up and stretching will make me feel a lot better.

I didn’t get to the studio at all this past week, the weird hours at work, the onset of the cold, the holiday stuff, I got behind and nothing quite worked with my schedule.

Speaking of schedule.

I have been in contact with the new family I will be starting with on January 2nd and since I’m in town this week I’ll be meeting with them to go over the stuff and things and sign my new contract.

It’s for reals.

I am grateful for the week off.

Even with the stupid cold.

I will go to the MOMA.

I may go the DeYoung and the Legion of Honor too,  haven’t been to either in a while.

Maybe one day a ride over to Sausalito too on the ferry, it’s been a while since I have done that as well.

And as I let myself listen to a last few Christmas carols I really am reflectively happy.

Yes, I had other plans.

And I’m ok with the change of them.

I’m not upset that I spent Christmas by myself.

I’m good company.

Really good company.

I got myself a new dress for Christmas.

Oh god damn it’s cute.

From Hell Bunny.

Thank you Christmas bonus.

I don’t think it will get here in time for New Year’s but it might, not that I don’t have a dress, I did let myself get a dress from Ambiance the other day.

Two dresses at Christmas, so nice to do for myself.

I had a nice morning writing and drinking cafe au lait.

I opened cards and gifts from family and I talked to my mom on the phone and chatted and messaged with other friends and dear hearts.

I made turmeric spiced garlic brown rice and I roasted a pork roast.

Oh my god.

The roast.

I very infrequently buy pork or steak, it’s just spendy for me and if I get meat, I typically get a chicken, I can stretch a chicken into a weeks plus worth of meals, but you know, Christmas.

So I picked up a pork roast at the SafeWay the last time I shopped.

And what with the Adobo my darling friend gave me from Puerto Rico and the persimmons Santa sent me, fuck me, I made an amazing pork roast.

I seasoned it with sea salt, black pepper, the aforementioned Adobo, Spike, a tiny bit of tarragon and then slow cooked it for an hour and a half.

While it rested I made the rice.

Then I sliced up some persimmon, layered them over the top of the roast, added a tiny bit more salt, and yes, raw organic cocoa.

While the rice was cooking and the roast was resting I went for a walk down to the beach.

The waves were heavy and crumbling and loud.

There were a few folks out with their pups and one surfer trying to paddle out past the break.

I walked for a while.

Then perched in the dunes above the beach.

I was not sad.

I am not sad now.

I reflected, rather, that I have done a lot for myself, with the help of a lot of friends, over this past year.

I dis-entangled myself from a love relationship that was woefully not working.

I went to New York in May and saw all the art and things and friends.

I went to New Orleans and saw all the art and the things and made new friends.

I went to Burning Man, briefly, yes, but I went and saw all the art and the things and made new friends and saw old friends.

I rode my scooter all over the city.

I mean all over.

I successfully got through the first semester of my second year in a three year graduate school program.

I saw Mike Doughty and Paul Simon live.

I started doing yoga.

I finished a two year plus job with grace and love and got referred kindly to my next position with rave references.

I comported myself pretty damn well.

I told lots of people I love them.

I do, you know.

I sat up in those dunes happy with myself, alone, but not lonely and it struck me so resolutely how lonely I felt last year at Christmas with the man I was in love with and then the year prior with an old boyfriend, alone on Christmas as he chose to spend it with another.

I was not in pity for myself, I remember walking that same stretch of beach tears running down my face, in a white dress, my hair in braids, the wind so cold, the sun bright, brilliant, but cutting.  I took a picture of myself in the dunes that year and all the responses were the same, my god how beautiful and all I could think was my God, I’m in a relationship and alone on Christmas, my God how lonely I am.

Alone.

But not lonely this year at Christmas.

I came home from my happy gambol along the beach and lovingly put the roast in the over to sear at a high temp for a half hour and carmelized the persimmons and my goodness, my house may have never smelled better.

I read for a while then pulled out the roast and dug in.

It was beyond description.

So good.

And I had saved a Rau Raw Chocolate drink to have with it.

Best Christmas dinner ever.

Seriously.

I had a sliced persimmon after dredged in sea salt and raw chocolate, cinnamon and nutmeg, and a big mug of Bengal Spice tea with cashew milk.

I was full and happy and warm and cozy.

I read for a little while longer, so many wonderful new pleasure reading things to get through, then.

I had a thought.

My how nice a nap might be.

So.

I did.

Merry fucking Christmas.

I curled up underneath my grandma’s afghan and watched the Christmas tree.

I drifted off, warm, safe, held.

Wrapped up in love.

Alone?

Yes.

Lonely, no.

Loved and taken care of.

Loving to myself and to others.

The best Christmas miracles are always the little ones.

Seriously.

So, mama, don’t be sad that your baby was alone on Christmas.

I had a beautiful day and when I reflect on all the people who love me.

Well.

I am surely blessed.

So very much so.

Wishing you and yours the same.

Always.

And.

Forever.

 

 

Last Christmas I gave you my heart.

But the very next day you gave it away.

This year I’ll give it to someone special.

I Missed You!

July 6, 2016

He leaped into my lap and curled up into a little ball, stuffed cat in the center of it all, his small, soft, warm limbs entangled with me.

“I missed you too, bug,” I said and wrapped my arms around him.

It’s nice to be missed.

Even the dog seemed extra special friendly when I came to work today.

It’s always nice to get a warm greeting from an animal.

From a child.

From my employers.

I am grateful for my job.

Very much so and it was nice to be back in the mix.

It was cold and foggy most of the day, even in the Mission, but we did manage to get out for a little while and I felt happy to be home in San Francisco doing what I do.

Even with Sutro Tower obscured by the fog, I knew it was there and my city had me.

“What does ‘obscured’ mean?” Asked the six year old when I pointed out that Sutro Tower had disappeared from the city scape.

Then I told him that the name of the fog was called Karl.

This led to much yelling at Karl to go away.

I had to laugh.

He wasn’t the first person I heard today yell about the fog.

The thing is, I’m used to it, sweatshirts and layers and turning on the heat in July rather than the opposite.

Although it can damn straight get cold here during the winter too, wet, splashy, soak the bones cold.

I am not thinking much about the cold.

I’m thinking about the messages I received earlier from a Tinder date I went on months ago.

He and I hit it off, really, really, really well.

Ahem.

However.

We have not managed to get back together and it’s been a funny game of text tag.

“Nope, in Ohio,” from him.

“Nope, I’m in New Orleans, or New York, or working,” from me.

“I’m in Europe,” from him.

It’s kind of silly.

However.

It is awful flattering to have someone remember you with much fondness and ask after you and there’s nothing like a handsome man telling me that I am beautiful.

Thanks man.

Even should we not manage to hang out again, I always appreciate a sincere compliment.

I appreciate dating.

I’m getting a mite better at it.

I think I’m also taking it much less seriously.

I remember, more and more often, to have fun.

I realized the other day as I was happily surprised to see a friend of mine post her engagement ring picture, that there was no compare and despair, rather just a very honest assessment of her journey to this relationship.

She’s dated.

I have not dated so much.

It takes practice and finding out what works and what doesn’t.

It takes asking for what you want.

Sometimes I can do that.

Most often I am not so successful, but I am seeing areas where I can improve.

And.

Also, my confidence is higher.

In myself, in my choices, in my life.

I just see a lot of work slowly paying dividends.

I was thinking, in particular, about a couple that I witnessed having a fight in a restaurant at the table next to me on Friday night in New Orleans.

The man wanted to be right versus happy.

And the woman, who had the better logic of the argument, couldn’t get him to drop the conversation from the table, the loud, angry, I’m rightness of his voice banging up against her protests.

She was also obnoxious, I’m not going to lie, both parties at the table were idiotic at one point or other in the discussion, but the man was a jackass and loud.

And she cried.

It was sad.

At one point the busser cleared a dish and managed to intervene a little.

A server asked them to bring it down a little.

And the woman fled the table, wet faced and mottled red with shame and anger.

I sat at my table happily people watching, enjoying the fuck out of my awesome company, me, being nice to the server, eating an amazing crab and avocado salad and I almost, but did not, although it was tempting, turned to ask the man a question.

“Do you want to be right, or be happy?”

But.

I already knew the answer.

He wanted to be right.

The break up wasn’t imminent, both the man and the woman seemed oddly resigned that they were going to be together, yet, I felt it, the leaving of one person or the other, the despair and the wash of ugliness that a person can have even with a person they care about.

It did not seem a relationship, or marriage, or love, more one of convenience and desperation, there wasn’t going to be anyone better and I better get it while I can.

I wanted to stand up.

Say, “be brave! Change!  Eat some humble pie and let the other person be happy.”

Not that it would have made any difference.

I just felt compelled.

And.

I realized, this is not my experience to have and I am grateful for it.

I had someone reach out and ask me some questions regarding my paramours and my dating activity and I was more than happy to share.

I divulged a bit and it was fun to talk about it.

And.

I realize how many people are jealous of my lifestyle.

I am free to go and do what I please.

I have no one to be accountable to.

Just me, myself and I.

I am happy.

“My spiritual principle today is happy,” I expressed to my person on the phone when I called and checked in with her.

Why shouldn’t I be happy?

I got laid last night.

I had a lovely company and was a spoiled princess.

I have a home in San Francisco.

I have a healthy, able body.

I have recovery.

I have myself and my love for my challenges and all the twists and turns on my journey.

I am a part of a community.

And.

I got the most beautiful gift in the mail today.

My grandmother crocheted me an afghan.

It was delivered when I was away, so I took the USPS slip to the post office before work today and picked it up.

It is gorgeous.

Stunning really.

And it fits so well into my little studio’s color schematic, it’s just perfect.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

There is beauty everywhere.

And I get to be a part of it.

Divinity.

Grace.

Joy.

Happy.

All of it.

All the things.

All of them.

In My Zone

February 27, 2016

On my bike.

Whipping along 46th avenue.

In my body.

Fog cool on my face.

Getting the ya yas the fuck out of my head.

I came home a little crazy.

A good girlfriend, thank you God for girl friends, talked me down off the ledge.

“Go eat some dinner, watch a movie, chill out, enjoy your Friday.”

I had gotten out of work early and the weather turned a bit toward the intense, heavy fog, so heavy it’s basically rain, and the visibility was decreasing rapidly.

I made the executive decision to scooter home instead of hitting the Church and Market scene to do grocery shopping, the nails, or the Our Lady of SafeWay crowd.

I was headed that way all day in my mind.

Some times the things I have in my head are completely fantasy.

When reality snuck up on me it was after a long day of cake making and crazy birthday party preparations.

One of my charges turns six tomorrow.

We made a birthday cake together.

Watching him and his younger brother lick icing off a spoon and run their fingers along the edge of the batter in the bowl, so sweet.

I also didn’t mind that they were having some sugar, I wasn’t going to have to put them to bed and I wasn’t responsible for dinner, and well, it’s a birthday and hey, you got to bend the rules some times.

I made a two layer banana vanilla spice cake with banana custard filling in between the layers, frosted with homemade buttercream icing and topped with a heavy hand of sprinkles, courtesy of the liberal shakes from the birthday boy.

I was very surprised that the mom wanted me to make a cake.

Last year they got a big chocolate six layer cake from Tartine.

It was a fun project to do and though it’s been a while since I have made a cake from scratch it was just like riding a bike.

It was a blast teaching the six year old how to separate egg whites from yolks, squeeze lemon juice, cream butter and sugar, and whip egg whites into peaks.

“Carmen, can you mix it for awhile, I’m tired,” he said leaning his sweet head against my hip.

“Of course,” I took the whisk and whipped the egg whites into peaks.

“Oof, this is hard,” I said, as my shoulder began to chatter with me, “I am going to need some love to keep going.”

He hugged my arm.

He hugged me a lot today.

He’s been such a sweet snuggle bunny with me.

Oh.

God.

Speaking of snuggle bunnies.

Fucking Rainbow and the barrel of overflowing Jelly Cat bunny rabbits.

(HA!  I just re-read that sentence above as I was editing and I thought, only someone who live in San Francisco knows that Rainbow is a high end hippie grocery store and Jelly Cat is a brand of stuffed animals that they sell in the kids aisle, but it makes a great visual if you don’t know the context!)

I almost threw myself in the vat of them while I was busy spending my paycheck on toiletries.

There was one mint one, like dinner mint green, those soft pastel melting mints that you get at the steak house after a big filet and sizzling plate of hash browns, the ones in a glass carafe at the hostess desk, yeah like that.

That bunny there, mint green with the softest little pink nose.

Dude.

I don’t know how the hell I restrained myself.

Give me all the bunnies.

I stood in the aisle for a good minute or so thinking about it, stroking the candy colored rabbit’s ears and then, with a last squeeze, I walked over to the produce area and got the apples I had come for.

Yeah.

So I got some good love on today with the boys.

“Carmen, I’m putting all my love in your heart,” the three year old told me as the mom was passing by, and then threw himself into my arms.

I just about burst into tears.

Yeah.

Still got the sads.

Slightly tempered by the pissed offs.

Why do I do the things that I do to myself?

Haven’t you learned yet?

Fuck.

I was beating myself up pretty bad.

Then the family left for a dinner at Rintaro as I finished up the laundry and tidied up the house for the weekend, birthday celebration.

I left my boy a small stack of presents and a hand made card on the kitchen counter and put his paper birthday crown from school on top of the domed cake in the kitchen.

I got him a bunch of model planes to fold out of paper and cardboard as well as a self-propelled rocket launcher that works on green energy.

It’ll shoot the rocket up to thirty feet.

Dude.

He’s going to be over the moon.

“Carmen, I used up all my love, I gave it all to you,” he said after licking the whisk reverently with half lidded eyes–banana custard, I mean really, I don’t eat sugar, but this was intoxicating to make and the smell, oh my, heaven.

“You know, I accept all your love, I always will, I love you heaps and bunches and to the moon and back infinity times infinity,” I said and stroked his soft face.

“That’s a lot!”

“Yes, it is, but you know the amazing thing about love?” I asked him.

“What’s that?”

“It’s an infinite resource, there is always more love to give, you can’t run out of it, whenever you breathe in the air, you breathe out love, it’s just natural, it’s just always there, I promise, you’ll never run out.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said and continued dreamily licking off the spoon.

“I agree.”

And I remind myself of the same thing.

Love.

Infinite love.

I have it always, deep down inside me where that small quiet voice presides.

So.

I locked down the scooter, ordered some take out from Thai Cottage, I ate an awesome pumpkin curry and then pumped up my bike tires and got my bicycle ready for a sprint over to Vicente and 41st, hang with the hoodlums in the Outer Sunset.

It was the best thing to do.

I heard everything I needed.

And I got my God on good.

Then.

The ride back, the soft fog still thick and wet, I was pretty soaked by the time I wheeled my whip into the garage, the air on my face, the smell of the sea, the crash of the waves on the beach, soul sluiced with sweetness.

Sometimes when you’re dreaming I see a light.

I walked into my safe, warm, glow globe room and said, “thank you,” and “hello house,” and “I love you.”

Because.

That’s how I roll.

Infinite love.

All the way deep down in my starlight soul.

All the way to the heavens and back.

A thousand times.

Giving myself the allowance.

The band width to be human.

With just a tiny bit.

Of.

(Infinite)

REVERENCE.

And.

God in the mix.

Not a bad way to start the weekend.

Hello you.

Let’s be friends.

 

 

Are You There God?

November 4, 2015

It’s me Margaret.

I mean Carmen.

I mean.

Where the fuck is my passport?!

Ugh.

l can’t find it and um, bwhahahahahahaha.

I uh, kind of need it.

Because this lady is going to Paris for Christmas!

Oh.

My.

God.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

I can’t believe this is happening.

My ticket cost $500, the prices jumped between yesterday and today and my friend asked me to contribute to offset the miles and what was I going to say, no?

Please.

A round trip ticket from SFO to Charles de Gaulle for $500.

I would be insane to not do that.

I cut him a check on the spot and I’m off to Paris.

Flying out December 20th and returning the 27th.

Six nights in the City of Lights at Christmas.

Dreamy.

I have goosebumps thinking of it.

My friend only asked that I be flexible, I like planning and figuring things out and having an agenda and doing all the things and well, he’s a little more spontaneous.

And I am so cool with that.

I do not care.

Yes.

There are places I want to go and people I want to see, but I don’t have to have an agenda.

I have been to Paris three times, this will mark my fourth time going.

Four.

How lucky am I?

Plus, my dear friend, my dear Parisian friend, from my masters program at CIIS, will also be in Paris visiting her family the 19th through the 29th.

She joked about doing papers in a cafe.

I think not.

I am not doing homework in Paris.

Oh.

I will write.

That’s a part of what I do.

No matter what the writing will happen.

And the buying of notebooks will happen too.

I am excited to visit the Papetrie’s, I need new Marie Clare notebooks.

I flipped through them all this morning before going to work.

I have looked for my passport one other time, I don’t even recall why, I haven’t had cause to do any traveling outside the United States since I moved to Paris three years ago the first of November 2012.

Three years ago I was in Paris, probably lost and hungry, cold and wet, and trying to figure out which way to go on a map.

I got lost a lot, but I always did find my way home.

Home, fingers crossed, I haven’t confirmed it yet with my host, will be a studio in the 7eme.  Which is near the Eiffel Tower.

A place my friend insists on seeing and going to the top of.

Something I have never actually done.

I have taken a horse-drawn carriage around it once.

And once, my first time there, I got lost and separated from the family I was traveling with and climbed the stairs to the second level trying to find them, but I never got to the top.

I will this time.

And I will make sure to walk around it at night when it lights up.

Especially since the studio is so close to the tower.

I know the woman from my time in Paris and she made me a really nice deal.

50 Euro a night.

My friend and I will split the cost of the studio and for about $650 I will have flight and accommodations.

Thank you very much.

Now.

Where the hell is my passport?

I went through every notebook, especially all the ones from my last time in Paris and looked for it, I scouted out all the obvious spots.

I live in a studio, there’s not a lot of places to look.

And I have looked once before.

I ransacked my place, neatly, I didn’t make a mess, and I did discover some sweet photos that I had forgotten I had, but I did not find my passport.

I wrote a little note and I dropped it into my God box.

Yes.

That’s right.

I have one of those.

I like using it, it always works and it clears my head and you know, I’m a little eclectic and my God box is actually a magenta pink rabbit that I bought in the Marais district of Paris from a store that was near to the tattoo shop my friend worked out of–Abraxasis.

I dropped the note then e-mailed my friend in Oakland who was letting me stay at his place until I was settled here in my in-law.

Because that is the last place I can remember having my hands on it.

I spent sometime trying to see where it was in my mind.

I had it in my wallet when I first got back from Paris and remember stumbling across it at some point when I was digging out a card from the divider and realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to carry my passport on my person in East Oakland.

I can recall sitting on the bed in the room at Graceland and pulling the passport out of my wallet and then putting it in something, a book, a notebook, a file and stacking it with some other bits and pieces of paperwork on the secretariat in the room.

That’s the last time I can remember having it.

I also remember thinking to myself that I might be squirreling it away too well.

That I might forget where I put it.

And voila.

I fucking did.

I’m not going to beat myself up about it.

Instead, I sent my friend a message and hopefully it’s there in the room, maybe in the drawer of the little desk.

If it’s not.

Well.

Thank God there’s an embassy here and I will go down to it with all the pertinent documents and pay the expedited fee to get one in five days.

I don’t want to, I would rather the money to spend in cafes on postcards, notebooks, dinners out–nothing fancy, my friend, too cute, “I don’t want to go anywhere fancy for food.”

Neither do I.

Although I do want to go to Odette and Aime for dinner one night, it’s not fancy, and it’s the cafe I spent the most amount of time in, since it was on the same block where I lived, it’s just good home-made food and it will be nice to see my old stomping grounds.

I’m going, going.

Back, back.

To Paris.

Over the moon.

I am over the fucking moon.

Best Christmas present ever.

I might just have to pinch myself.

It doesn’t seem real.

But I’m going.

I’ll send you postcards.

Promise.

Sealed with a bisous

Or.

Two.


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