A Banner Day

Actually.

The last two days have been pretty stellar.

I was reflecting on one of the nice turns of events that happened for me yesterday–I went from owing taxes to getting a tax return–and I thought, hmmm.

How interesting that I was in deep acceptance about paying the unexpected tax bill after an enlightening couple of conversations with a friend and work on my scarcity mentality.

And then.

Yesterday, when meeting with the final accountant before my 2021 taxes were filed, did it finally come clear.

I was right!

Fuck.

I mean.

I don’t often dance about going, I was right, I was right, but when one is unexpectedly looking at dropping another 5k towards taxes, when inside you’d been secretly hoping you’d get a return, well.

I WAS RIGHT!

Ugh.

It was a slogging walk through a lot of discomfort though.

Last week, after a bit of prompting with the accounting firm I use, I finally got a set time to go over the return, sign it and file.

When I got the draft of the taxes I was aghast, upset, angry, and in tears.

How was it possible that I owed money?

Ugh.

Again.

Here I was being really diligent about making my quarterly payments and being on time with it all, and aside, doll, it is your first time doing taxes as a private practice and there’s so much to learn about being a business owner, but still.

Fuck.

I really had been crossing all the “t’s” and dotting all the “i’s” but I still owed.

It was baffling.

Especially because in April the accounting firm had dropped a bomb on me and said, oops, hahahaha, looks like you have to pay more in then we realized, and you only have three days to do it before penalty this and penalty that.

It was $9,302.

I wanted to vomit on my laptop when saw that.

I was beyond aghast.

I emailed the accountant and I asked for clarification and I expressed what a devastating thing it was to have just made the quarterly tax payment, and then less the twelve hours later I was being told I owed another 9k.

I was flummoxed.

I got a sincere apology from the co-founder of the firm, who I had cc’d on the message back to the accountant, an explanation for why it happened and they refunded the $900 I had paid for the service.

Great.

And, I still had to pay the money.

So I basically emptied my savings and did that.

Which was why I had turned down the original Burning Man ticket I was going to get.

I can’t go to the event and be there for two weeks and work on playa and help out and miss two weeks of work after taking that kind of hit.

So.

I gave up the commitment, gave up the ticket, and resigned myself to not going.

Things changed over the next few months.

I had a really stellar month in May and a strong month in June.

July, not so great since COVID happened to me and I had to take a week off, but I had secured a new ticket and gotten my gear sourced and I was ready to go.

Then the tax bill arrived.

I was so upset.

Fuck.

I thought I was going to have to bow out completely from going to the event.

I spent some time thinking about it and decided to just pause, lean into the discomfort, think about what I wanted and act like I had the money to pay the bill.

Which I did.

Even if it meant wiping out the savings I had just rebuilt after the April tax kerfuffle.

I even asked the CPA who had drafted my tax filing about the April payment and got a brush off.

So.

I had done a bit of inventory, a lot of breathing, and got very into acceptance, I’ll meet with the accountant with the firm and just fucking sign and pay the fucking taxes.

And.

Oh.

This is good.

I was right.

The firm had missed the payment.

The IRS had not.

The IRS had a record of it and I accessed it, shared it with the accountant and I went from having to pay in $5,761 to getting back $4,340.

Fuck yes!

I was over the moon.

And the week of work I missed with being sick was now made up for and I’m ok to go to the event and.

Woohoo!

Then.

Today.

I got back the final dissertation draft with all the edits properly executed and accepted.

There was only one.

One fucking edit I could not fix myself and I had to chase after help, but I got it and it was returned complete and done and perfect this morning.

So.

I logged into the ProQuest portion of the publication process and I fucking finished the deal.

I chose how I wanted to publish, Traditional versus Open Source, which means I could actually get royalties (though I will not bank on it), my dissertation.

I filled in all the blanks.

I paid for my own hard cover copy to be sent to me.

And I hit the upload button.

It does not immediately get published, the school will gate keep it one more time and make sure all the edits are correct, then once those final edits are affirmed, they will publish it an I will get a link to a copy of the dissertation on ProQuest.

Holy fucking shit.

This last piece has finally fallen into place.

And it was a harrowing last piece of work.

I cannot even begin to talk about how intense it was to deal with the lapse in holding the administration at my school had.

I will tell you what I did get, however.

First, I got an apology from the head of the Writing Center, then my dean, followed by a profound apology from the Provost, in a 45 minute Zoom call where I went over everything that happened and how the program and the school dropped me and publishing my dissertation.

I contacted the provost when things were fucking falling apart in a bewildering way and she helped push through some admin bullshit that was once again damaging to have to walk through.

She also affirmed what I had experienced, did not gaslight what happened, and noted what I had accomplished, the depth of the work I had done and gave me a beautiful, “Congratulations Doctor _______________”.

She promised to make sure that I would matriculate.

And, once the publication happens I will be matriculated at the end of the summer semester.

Considering how batshit the administration of the school is, I won’t expect my diploma until this fall, but for now, all the things that I needed to do are done.

I just need the manager of the dissertation portion of the Writing Center to confirm I did the final edit and send to ProQuest.

I did follow up with an email, although he gets an automatic email from the upload. I saved it anyway, which I have learned, I needed to do with the school.

Which is how I was able to show where they had dropped the ball and how, I hope, they will not for future cohorts.

I really am ready to be done with the institution.

And.

I am ready for my own damn version of graduation.

Back in May when I walked, when I had gotten the approval to graduate, despite the fact of finding out later that there were things missing, I was also missing part of my regalia–the god damn hood.

The one piece of the graduation outfit for doctors that signifies the degree.

The way it works is that your committee chair hoods you at the graduation ceremony.

My graduation was virtual and though we had a little in person reception at the school, it was weak sauce.

And the outfit responsible for getting my regalia to me never sent me my hood.

I got my hood in the mail this Monday.

Two months after my “graduation.”

The Universe is funny.

So.

I am going to have a graduation ceremony on playa, at Burning Man, at my friend’s art piece, the Museum of No Spectators.

I think Wednesday or Thursday of the event.

The art piece has a stage.

I’m not sure how I’m going to organize it, but a little hooding ceremony, a walk out to the Temple in my regalia, and then laying it at rest there.

It feels right.

I had a kind of dark night of the soul on playa in 2014 that led to me applying to graduate school to get my Master’s in Psychology.

This feels like the closing of a circle and a celebration of all the freaking hard work I did to get here.

From playa nanny to Doctor.

I am beyond grateful.

Like I said.

It was a banner day.

Seriously.

Trudging

But getting it done.

I already feel like I’m trudging this week and it’s only Monday.

I think that I had a “I wrote ten pages for a paper” hangover from yesterday.

Hashtag: #homeworkhangover.

I did so much stuff it didn’t really feel like a day off then I went straight back into the fray today.

I got a lot done today too.

Not just work and clients.

But also homework.

I got to work a little early and read in the car for fifteen minutes.

I did reading while the baby napped.

Unfortunately there was work being done on the house and the baby woke up a bit and I had to transfer him from the stroller to the carrier, but I had gotten the reading done I needed to do.

I finished one chapter and read a 27 page article, on research.

So dry.

Ugh.

But I also got back my grade from my first paper that I turned in last week and got 100% on it and some really great comments from my professor about being excited to read more of my work through the rest of the school year.

So that was nice.

I still have two chapters to read before the weekend of classes, so I’ll be toting my book around with me until it’s done.

Fortunately, although my schedule is full this week, I can see little pockets of time when I should be able to deal with it.

All things school.

Getting it done.

I was reflecting this morning on how “easy,” it really wasn’t easy per se, knocking out those ten pages was, and how I may opt out of doing the shorter paper and the website option.

I think I’m just going to stick with what I know and that is the writing.

I can write fast, not quite as fast as I think, but pretty damn close.

I think I also went over this in last night’s blog, but my brain is tired today and a little spaced out.

Really, it’s not much of a surprise, there’s a lot happening for me, personally and within my academic career.

I’m grateful for the fullness of my life, but I’m going to be super happy to take off my upcoming weekend to D.C. and just not do a damn bit of work, just take the time off to let myself have a mini vacation.

I need it.

I need it bad.

I’m really excited about going.

I’ve not done any traveling for a bit, outside of Burning Man and I feel itchy for it.

I also realized today that I need to do my taxes.

I have all my stuff ready, I just haven’t really had a spare minute to do the work.

I usually have it done really fast.

I do it online using Turbo Tax and I get my refund electronically.

I should be getting a refund this year and that’s always an impetus to do the damn things.

I am pretty sure that at this time last year I had already done my taxes.

If I have time to sneak it in this weekend on Sunday after school, maybe.

I like doing my taxes.

Well.

Let me refrain that.

I find that doing my taxes is anxiety producing, but I do really like getting a refund and I usually use that money for travel.

Or tattoos.

But since I just recently got two tattoos, I don’t have an itch for more.

So travel it will be.

I’m waiting for my employers plans to be made clear around their summer plans.

I may be going with them for part of their trip to help out.

I may not.

But I will be taking my vacation at the same time as there’s, I agreed to do that this year.

Which means I will be in Paris sometime in July.

Which will be fucking hot.

But it will be Paris.

And I will get to spend time with my best friend in Paris and her husband and babies.

Which won’t be such babies when I see them again.

I miss her and presence at school, so it will be really good to connect with her.

We probably also won’t spend the entire time I’m there in Paris, we might go to Brittany where her husband has family, but most likely we will go to L’il de Rey, an island off the West coast of France that her parents have a home on.

A home on an island off the West Coast of France.

With a pool.

In July.

Count me the fuck in.

I mean I love, love, love Paris, but I’m more than amenable to hop a train and hit the coast for a few days.

Anyway.

Paris, France, travel.

That’s all down the road somewhere.

Next weekend.

Well.

That is a hell of a lot closer.

And I am so, so, so looking forward to it.

I’m ready to dust off my carry on and figure out what clothes I’m going to take to D.C. with me.

It looks cold and rainy.

I hope the rain does not stick around.

I can handle cold if there’s snow.

Rain is rather yuck.

But.

Whatever.

I don’t care that much about the weather.

I care about what I’ll be doing there and I’m just ready as all get out to go.

I just need to make it through the week and the weekend of school.

One day down!

D.C. in t-minus 10 days.

But, who’s counting?

And That’s A Wrap

Holy shit.

I have had a full day.

But.

It all got done.

I mean, it just flowed, it was smooth as silk, one thing to the next to the next.

Yoga in the morning.

Hot shower.

Hot breakfast.

Hot coffee.

Writing.

Having a lady over to do some reading and some work.

Taxes.

Yes.

I did my taxes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

I am getting a refund.

I am happy for that, travel money!

Oh the places you’ll go.

Burning Man.

Portland.

Anchorage.

Puerto Rico.

Paris.

Barcelona.

Mallorca.

Venice.

Well.

Maybe not all those places on my tax refund, I’m getting a few thousand back though, thank you education credit, almost makes up for taking out $20,000 in student loans this year.

Almost.

I’ve no complaints though, I am super grateful that I can take out loans, that I get to go to grad school, that I have what I have.

And I have a tax return coming.

Taxes got done.

Then I did some cooking and made a nice hot homemade lunch and I made a big batch of chicken and vegetable stew with brown rice and garlic and stuck a bunch in the freezer for the work week and for the upcoming weekend of classes.

Then.

I sat and I wrote my first paper for the semester.

5 pages.

1,653 words.

Not too long, took about an hour and a half.

It was a reflection paper for my Trauma class and it wasn’t too hard a stretch to come up with things to write about, it was harder to keep it contained to the brevity of the paper requirements which was 3-5 pages long.

Mine was the full five pages and I could have written much more, extrapolated much more, gone quite a bit further.

But there wasn’t a need for that and I was happy to proof it and get it printed off and into my school folder.

I made some tea then sat and kicked through 3/4s of a 40 page paper for my Community Mental Health Class.

I took a small break and wrote out some Valentines Day cards.

I love giving out Valentines Day cards.

Probably because I haven’t had much success with Valentines in my life, and I so enjoy bringing a little touch of sweetness and love and silliness and humor to the holiday.

Last year in class I gave every single person in my cohort a Valentine.

It felt wonderful.

Yes.

I am a dork.

And I don’t care.

When the clock struck 6:30p.m. I headed out the door and hit the MUNI to the BART to the Oakland.

My friend came and picked me up at the 19th Street stop and we went and grabbed dinner at a taqueria in the hood where I was not shamed by the counter guy when I ordered a steak burrito without the wrap.

Yeah, it’s a thing.

After Mexican food, we went for coffee, I got a decaf thank you very much, at Gaylord’s where I ran into friends I hadn’t seen in a while and we all got caught up.

Finally arriving at the spot a little while later and doing the deal and saying the stuff and getting up and sharing and not really remembering what I said, which is good, that means I was honest and didn’t have an agenda.

Although I always have an agenda.

I want to look cool and hip and sexy and smart and oh, so available for dating.

Usually I am just honest and speak from the heart and yeah, I don’t remember what I said and that makes for the best kind of sharing for me.

I can’t fuck it up.

My friend was a total sweetheart and didn’t just drop me off at the nearest BART, but actually drove me all the way home here to the Sunset.

I wouldn’t actually be blogging right now, I’d be on a train, if he hadn’t driven over the bridge.

Such a gift.

A ride home.

And we talked loads of Burning Man.

He was at my first Burning Man camp and is one of the few people on playa who actually knows my first playa name and still calls me by it.

He encouraged me to come and camp with his camp again.

I haven’t actually camped with them, he started an off shoot of the one that I went to my first year, but I have spent lots of time hanging out around their camp fire on playa and I know many of the people who are a part of the crew.

They are definitely my fellows.

And yes.

I know.

It’s February and I’m already talking about Burning Man.

It’s in my fucking blood.

Of course I want to go.

And I will.

Not sure how.

But I will.

Not sure how I’ll get the time off from work.

But.

I will.

It always works out.

Just like today, smooth and sweet and falling into place, showing up for each moment as they come and living in that moment.

It’s a grand way of life, being present, not living in fantasy, just being in the here and the now.

A gift, the present.

All my life, so many presents, and so often I was too far inside my head to realize what was in front of me, I missed life because I was focused on what I didn’t have and what I wanted and thought I needed.

I was always provided for.

I have always been taken care of.

I have such faith that this vein of love and care will continue.

As long as I show up.

Do the next indicated action.

And.

Let go of the results.

Simple.

Not easy.

But really.

Quiet simple.

It is an elegant design for living.

Beyond grateful that I have been gifted with it.

Just for today.

I have it all.

Right here.

Right now.

Perfect.

Love.

And.

Grace.

 

That Moment When

You realized the decaf you ordered at 5:30 p.m., because you just really wanted some warm milk in your tummy to hold you over until you got home from working a long ass day and also going to a two-hour open house at the place you want to intern at where they have six spots and 70 fucking people showed up and you know you’re going to get it, because you are, and then you get home and eat dinner and clean and grocery shop and go do the deal and laugh and flirt and give a guy your number and then walk home past the crazy drug addled dude by the 7-11 twirling a hockey stick and doing bad moves from Karate Kid and you get home and it’s all cozy and nice and you light up all the candles in the house, and then decide to wash the bathroom sink, oh!  That might not have been decaf.

Yeah.

That moment.

Oh.

Shit.

That decaf wasn’t decaf.

Motherfuckers.

I’m like wide awake.

Fuck me.

Oh well.

At least I should be able to crank out my blog pretty quick and I’m always down for that.

I had a good day and that might be a part of the seeming adrenalin rush that I feel, but I do suspect that the decaf was full on caffeinated.

But yes.

A good day.

I walked through some fear, I talked to my employer about needing to leave early from work the next two weeks for the practicum open houses I need to attend to school.

I really only want to apply to this particular site.

I love that it’s literally two and a half blocks away from my job.

I love the modality.

Gestalt.

Think humanistic, existential, depth psychology.

If you don’t know anything about Gestalt.

That and the site that I am going to get into, because I am, is also the only academically recognized Gestalt facility in the entire United States.

Oh.

There are other places that do Gestalt.

Esalen anyone?

But the facility is something special and I really had such a connection with the class when I took it this past summer, plus I really adore the facilities director, in fact, we had a great big hug and a nice check in chat before the open house got underway.

This does not guarantee  me a spot.

It does not.

But it bodes well.

I think.

I already feel connected to the community and I appreciate what the site is doing.

Low cost, sliding scale therapy for individuals, couples, family, and kids.

Pretty cool.

And there’s night and weekend hours available.

Although the is one day a week that is mandatory, Wednesdays 12:30p.m.-5:30p.m.

I’m a little uncertain how I would deal with that and work, but it’s possible, anything is possible.

I’ll be talking with my employer more tomorrow.

Today we got all the tax paper work sorted out and by next week I should be legally on the books and over the table.

I have to say that I’m cool with being over the table, but I haven’t had nary a qualm about this last three weeks getting paid without the plethora of taxes being taken out that normally are.

I claim zero.

So, it’s about 30-32% of my paycheck goes into taxes.

But.

I never pay in.

I haven’t paid in since I was tipped off how to run my nanny taxes to work for me not against me, that in the long run, if I can hold out, having more taken out works better as it’s also like having a forced savings account.

I’ll be doing my taxes this weekend.

I know such sexy plans.

Oh and writing my first paper of the semester for my Trauma class.

Yeah.

Super sexy.

But I’m sure I’ll have time for a little fun in there.

At least I’m going to try.

I’m also going to get some interview clothes together, although I was a bit surprised by how casual the crew was tonight at the open house, even I in my Converse was much more dressed up (long skirt, tights, blouse, black cardigan) than the majority of the group.

There will be group interviews and solo interviews and I will be prepared for them.

I’m also hoping.

I haven’t heard back from the Liberation Institute in regards to my resume, that I also get in there and don’t have to worry about doing a bunch of interviews for the site placement.

The less I can do the better.

The less time off from work.

The less effort I need to apply to applications and interviews.

The easier this whole process will be.

So much work to work for free.

Seriously.

Anyways.

I do feel a little less stressed and a little more relaxed, I have an idea of how it all works and I’ll show up for the other open houses and apply to all the CIIS sites and that’s four places.

I’m not applying to the 6-8 sites that is recommended.

I’m just not.

I can’t devote that much more time to it.

I believe I will get placed and I’m not going to get myself flustered about it right now.

I will.

However.

Focus on the awesome and sweet e-mail that I received from my advisor, who also happens to be the head of the department (I shanghai’ed him in the elevator when I found out my advisor was on sabbatical and asked him to be my advisor and to my surprise he said yes–I had him as one of my first teachers in my first semester and just loved him) who had officially today cleared me for practicum.

We’d basically already had the talk and I had handed in my application before the winter break when I went to campus to sell back my books.

But.

Today.

It was made official.

He signed the documents and forwarded them onward and upward.

To be filed in my file and to let anyone who might call to check up on my status for readiness, that I was and am indeed ready.

Pretty freaking cool.

I’m not a therapist yet.

But man.

I can see it on the horizon.

It’s rather neat.

I also see being up for a while before the rest of the caffeine drains out of my body, but I’m ok with that.

I am happy.

I am joyous.

I am free.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yasss queen.

Did I just say that?

hahahahaha.

Luxury Problems

I am almost loath to write this.

However.

This is what happened in my day and this has been in my head all day long and I know I don’t have to do anything about it.

I just find it interesting.

And I am reminded of a conversation that my professor brought up in my Multi-Cultural class about how it takes three generations to break the cycle of poverty.

I am not poor.

Not by any means of the word.

But I act poor all the time.

I “feel” poor often.

I am scared of being homeless pretty much on the constant.

It’s prevalent.

Even when I have money.

And I am treating myself gently with it and being ok with it and I am letting it sink in.

Slowly.

But.

Um.

Yeah.

I could stand to do some shopping.

I tore the hem on my slip dress today riding my bicycle into work.

It’s an old dress and could stand to be tossed and I contemplated having the hem, well, um, haha, hemmed, but the dress is old and I figure it’s going in the trash bin.

Along with the top that I have been layering, cleverly, I may add, over anything black, as it has little holes all over it.

And it’s a hand me down from my employer.

I am basically wearing an old, throw away outfit with holes in it and Converse sneakers that I have run through the wash three or four times.

The point being.

I got some money.

I got back my Federal Tax Return today.

I was shocked.

I just did my taxes like, um, 8 days ago?

I don’t even exactly recall, just that I was procrastinating doing some homework reading, and decided I’d focus on getting my taxes done.

I did.

Submitted.

And promptly forgot about.

Then.

Yesterday.

I got my state return back.

It was only $190 and so it was really easy to spend.

$120 for a new pair of shoes, $50 in savings, the rest in my wallet for a little walk about money.

But today.

Shit.

I yelped with surprise when I checked my account, I was looking to see if my rent check had cleared and I just wanted to make sure that I was square in my accounting.

And there it was.

My federal return.

I kind of froze.

I realize that I sort of expected to not get it back or that I had fucked up the return, or I don’t know, something was going to go wrong, I’m getting audited, I didn’t do it right last year, yada, yada, yada.

In short.

I had not planned on doing anything with the money because my brain actually decided I wasn’t getting the return.

My brain, sorry graduate school, but my brain, is a fucking idiot.

I have the weirdest fears sometimes.

I recalled my mom haunting the mailbox one year, waiting impatiently for her return.

Weeks on weeks of checking the mail box and checking the mail box and days of disappointment that it hadn’t arrived.

And then, one afternoon, it did.

I swear to God my mom was signing the Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Music.

Ok.

Perhaps I exaggerate a little.

I remember it was sunny, school was out, the grass was green and we suddenly had a baby sitter, a pizza from Pizza Pit, sausage, black olive and mushroom with cheese, and a six pack of Pepsi Cola in glass bottles.

I distinctly remember the taste of that pizza, thin sliced, goopy with hot cheese, spicy sausage, the mushrooms slippery in my mouth, the black olives salty, the sweet hit of carbonated fizz from the Pepsi–my mom was a died in the wool Pepsi drinker.

Unless she was drinking Mountain Dew.

The babysitter put us to bed that night and I don’t remember when mom got home, but I will always remember that tax return landing in the mailbox and the glee with which it was met.

I met my tax return with dread.

Like.

I am going to fuck this up.

This is too much money for me to handle.

It’s not.

It’s two grand.

I put some right away into my savings.

I feel like I should put more in.

However.

I am holding off for a minute.

I want to let myself enjoy it.

Because I am afraid to do so.

The next thing I did, like a good girl, is I bought a “new” printer.

I bought a “used” printer from the warehouse store of Amazon, it’s basically a pristine refurbished printer that would have cost me $285 more dollars but I got it and a ream of 500 sheets of paper for $193.25.

I got it for basically 1/3 of the cost.

Then.

I balanced my check book and pondered all day long the weirdness of having money that I don’t know what to do with.

Yeah.

I could put it all in my savings.

It’s not like I have huge savings, one months rent, sort of a safety hatch if something stupid happens.

I do want to buy some new clothes and to that end I made the decision to go shopping 18 different times today.

All this weekend.

All the while forgetting it’s Super Bowl weekend and the idiocy of Super Bowl City is happening and where I typically go shopping is downtown.

Not going anywhere near down town.

Maybe I’ll go to the Haight.

I resolved to let myself have some fun with the cash.

I bought two new pairs of Converse that I have always wanted but never let myself get.

One pair is black glitter.

Giggle.

I told you I was a fucking sparkle pony.

The other pair are denim with white polka dots.

I also quite fancy polka dots.

I need a new purse, I was going to buy one in Paris but never got around to it.

I also had eyes on another super cute pair of shoes at Fluevog.

I need some socks.

But that’s it.

I will give myself an artist date and go to Flax and get some new things–colored pencils, coloring books, stickers.

Maybe a movie.

Maybe a trip?

That’s the funny thing.

I have the money.

But.

I am loathe to part with it too.

So.

I am just recognizing that it’s ok to enjoy the gift I have been given–which is basically getting my own money back, and just a fraction of it when it comes right down to it, I had $10,000 taken out in taxes over the past year–and allowing myself to have a little fun with it.

I am going to find out what is happening with the family for the week they are in Hawaii and maybe see about booking a massage and making matinee movie plans, getting together with a girlfriend from Castro Valley I don’t get to see as often as I like, grabbing a meal, doing the deal.

I have options.

And.

Apparently.

The money to enjoy which ever ones I choose.

I remind myself this is nice.

Not a burden.

My brain wants to be freaked out.

I am going to opt for excited instead.

Enjoy myself.

Be flexible.

And.

Have fun.

I swear!