No, Not Yet

I’m not ready.

And.

It doesn’t matter.

Because.

Tomorrow I start my internship.

Fuck me.

I am still jet lagged, I still keep waking up too early and then rolling around in bed in a half dream state, fantasies and revery keeping me company, but not compelling rest.

So, I got up, sprung up, got ready to go, cleaned my house, striped the bed, washed everything, sheets, pillowcases, duvet cover, swept the floors, swiffered the fuck out of everything, dusted, tidied, wrote, had coffee and still had time before heading to work.

When I got to work I had a full tilt boogie sort of day and I utterly forgot that I had agreed to stay an hour later.

Ugh.

Four o’clock the jet lag hit, would be 1 a.m. in Paris, makes total sense, and I have another coffee and rally and do the nanny dance and I am helpful, but my God, tired.

I had so hoped to be out of it at this point.

I am making myself stay up a little later tonight, even though I am tired, to balance myself back out.

I wasn’t incompacitated, I was just softly out of it.

I got home later than I wanted threw a half assed dinner together as I didn’t have enough time to really heat up the dinner I had planned, and ran back out the door to my Wednesday night commitment.

In between all the coming and going and work and doing the deal I checked my e-mail, maybe mid to late afternoon, I had my phone all day, but not much access to it, I had the baby a lot today at work and the mom worked from home today, then the 7-year-old and the four-year old and the cooking dinner (brown butter poached chicken breasts with tarragon and herbe de Provence, pan sauteed asparagus and zucchini with roasted garlic, quinoa fusili with parmesan and olive oil, baby spinach and strawberry salad with red wine balsamic and crushed almonds) and helping put the kids to bed and nighttime routine and story time and toothbrushing and snuggles and hugs and wait, didn’t I have a big important e-mail to look at?

I did.

And I just can’t even process the e-mail.

I have to be at work early tomorrow.

ARGH.

I can’t hate on it though, the mom gave me Monday off to recuperate and I just get to suck it up and show up and it will be ok.

I just start my internship tomorrow and that was what the e-mail was about.

My key codes, my telephone extension, my keys, my e-mail address.

Holy shit.

People.

I have an office, a key card, key codes, keys, e-mail address.

I am going to be seeing clients.

In my own office.

Starting tomorrow.

Ok.

That’s not true, tomorrow I start, but I won’t have a client, I will have a training and a sit down and a schedule that will be mapped out.

I glanced at the e-mail, I couldn’t give it my full attention at work, there was too much to do, and I didn’t have time to look at it in between getting home from work, throwing some food in my mouth and hustling back out the door.

I just know the gist of it, a new e-mail for clients to get a hold of me, a phone number and extension to my office, that I will get a set of keys and a key card to get into the building.

I will sit down with my supervisor a half hour after I get done with work and hash out my training schedule and when I will start seeing clients.

I know that next Saturday, not this Saturday, I have it off, thank God, I will start my group supervision training although I don’t know exactly what it will entail.

Originally my supervisor broke it down like this: M, TU, 6:30-9p.m. Thurs, Frid, 6:30-9pm. Saturday 2pm-7pm.  I am hoping, however, to get out of Saturdays a little earlier than 7p.m.  Either that or start a little earlier.

I will be switching up my work hours soon too, the kids will be finishing up school in two weeks.

I will start going in earlier and I will work an extra hour, so I will be fully 40 hours instead of the 35 I am now.

And.

Breathe.

And focus on this moment.

I am listening to The Orb.

I am drinking hot Bengal Spice tea.

My house is clean and I get to crawl into fresh sheets.

There is nothing like getting completely naked and slipping into clean, soft, cotton sheets.

Exquisite.

Fresh sheets always make my gratitude list.

I have my candles lit.

There is just this moment, this now, there is nothing wrong, nowhere to go.

Well.

In the next hour I will be going to bed.

But.

I have done all that I possibly could today and I won’t beat myself up for not being able to look at all the details in the three big welcome abroad e-mails I got from my internship.

I will review them in the morning when I have my breakfast and coffee.

After I good full night sleep.

I feel easier for just having written all this out and for knowing that I made it through today and that as long as I take it one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time, doing the best I can in each moment, then I am taken care of.

I always have been.

God has not brought me this far to be dropped on my ass now.

Suit up.

Show up.

And it will all be fine.

And I have a nice weekend planned.

I’ll do the deal, meet with my people, hang with friends, go to yoga, go to the DeYoung on Sunday and catch the Summer of Love exhibit.

And now.

A spot more tea.

A bit more music.

A winding down.

Brush my teeth, wash my face, tell myself a sweet bedtime story about love and wrap my arms above my head, close my eyes, face in the soft pillow, head turned towards where the moon will set in the morning.

Good night.

Sweetest dreams my friends.

Sweetest dreams.

Holy Shit

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.

And I was going to go to yoga in the morning.

But.

Um.

My blog had sex instead.

ER.

Hahahaha.

I mean I did.

Heh.

Just going to put that right out there on the front page.

With a lover who is a friend and well, hey, sometimes a girl needs a friend with benefits, it’s been a hell of a week.

I really will go to yoga again, I will, but I’m up late and don’t feel like not having a full nights sleep.

It seems nuts to actually get up earlier on the weekend to go to yoga then to just let myself sleep.

There was so much that happened this week and though I can’t speak to it all, an emotional toll was had.

Enough said.

Sometimes circumspection is the best thing.

Restraint of tongue and pen.

And blog.

I may actually go out tomorrow night.

What?!

There is a slight possibility that I may have a friend that can get me into Ghost Ship.

The last time I checked it was an $80 ticket.

And that was a few weeks ago, I’m sure that tier has sold out.

My friend was like, it’s late, but maybe.

I don’t really have plans otherwise.

I was invited to a party in Oakland.

But.

Um the bridge.

And BART.

And Halloween crazy in the city.

I’m not so sure about that.

I would rather stay on this side of the bridge.

Although if I had a ride over, I would go.

It’ll be a lot of folks I know and some faces I haven’t seen in a while since so many people I know got pushed out of the city to the East Bay.

That being said, I get a pass to Ghost Ship, I will be hitting that.

The Orb.

Dj Dan.

The Mutaytor.

Plus, I know some of the folks from Mutaytor.

It would be fun to see them at a show again.

The last time I saw them perform was Burning Man, years ago.

I actually danced on top of the stage scaffolding too, now that I recall.

Ha.

That was also the night I fought, and won, but that’s another blog, in Thunder Dome.

That must have been five years ago now.

They are a great group and I had a blast dancing.

And it’s been a hot second since I have gone dancing.

So yeah.

And despite not having a costume I’m sure I could whip one up pretty quick.

Two things fast come to mind, one I could be a pin-up girl, albeit one in Converse, although I love wearing my black suede peep toe Mary Jane’s that are 4 inches, I mean love those shoes, they are not the greatest for dancing.

I can actually wear them out for a long time, since they are a platform, but that’s just walking around or kicking it.

Actual dancing I’d rather do in my Converse.

I could go as a modern-day Frida Kahlo.

I was thinking that would actually be really easy to pull off.

I would wear my Big Mac painter bibs in navy stripe, which literally do have paint all over them, they’re vintage and the color is so close to International Orange, that I like to tell myself that they were bibs worn by one of the guys painting the bridge.

Then all I would have to do is braid up my hair, tie it up top my head and wear a bunch of flowers in my hair.

Pencil in my eyebrows and voila!

If I go, I think that would be what I do, especially since the bibs are super oversized and comfy as fuck and I could dance my ass off and there are big pockets and I could keep all my stuff on me–cash, id, lip gloss, phone, and not have to carry a bag or wallet or purse.

I could just lock every thing up in my scooter.

Pin up my braids, stick the flowers in my hair and done.

Yeah.

I am definitely down for Ghost Ship if my friend can get me a pass in.

Yup.

I just checked, the only tier of tickets left for tomorrow night is $85.

And since this lady just paid rent, I don’t think so.

That’s like groceries for a week.

But, yeah, if it’s free, I’m down.

Especially since the three acts I really would want to see are all playing the same stage–The Mutaytor first at 11:30, then The Orb, then Dj Dan.

Although by the time Dj Dan gets on I may call it quits, that’s a late ass night for me.

Anyway.

This is all complete speculation at this time.

I may just end up seeing my person, doing the deal at the place, and doing a bunch of reading for school.

I managed to get in some before work today and that made me happy.

Even a little is progress, even just a few minutes, nice digestible chunks of information.

No expectations about anything, anyone, or any plans.

I’m just going to let go and really let God plan out my weekend.

Whenever I make plans God laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs.

“Well you’re not as standoffish, I mean you still are, a little,” my lover said tonight, “I saw you, though, you didn’t bolt, you stayed and stuck around and talked to folks.”

“I’m trying,” I said.

“I know it’s not easy for you, this stuff is not your forte,” he added.

It used to be, but I um, had libations to lube the way.

I don’t have social lubricant like that any longer and though I can get down at a party or a group thing, my go to is lone wolf style.

But that makes for a lonely wolf.

“That’s the thing too, stop trying,” he added.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said and laughed, and then added, “how do I do that?”

“Relax, stop looking, and just see what happens,” he ended.

He’s right, most everybody is.

Let go.

Surrender.

Stop trying.

Have fun.

“Oh, and really, do you want to be in a relationship right now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “do you have the time?  I mean, maybe just wait until you’re done with your program.”

Wait another year and a half?

Fuck that.

Then I thought.

Whatever.

I really can’t figure it out, since figure it out is me trying to fix me and there’s no need to fix me because I ain’t broken, I give up.

Surrender.

That is where it’s at.

Now and always.

Seriously.

No expections.

Equals.

No resentments.

And I’m always down for that kind of party.

Always.

 

 

Hello Friday

Is it Monday already?

I have a lot to do this weekend.

And.

That is lovely and as it should be.

But.

Sometimes it already feels like Monday is here and I haven’t gotten to have any weekend because it is so jammed and packed and full.

I will give myself time tomorrow though.

I have it scheduled.

Sometimes that it what I have to do.

I also have lots of people I am scheduled to meet and be with.

Also as it should be.

People I haven’t seen in a while and some I have seen more recently.

One lady who cancelled tonight, though, gave me a modicum of movement in my schedule and I found myself getting out to a spot that is a familiar and safe place for me, where, like the anti-Cheers, everybody knows my name.

“You have a following,” he told me at Burning Man while we were sitting with another friend at First Camp chilling and gossiping and smack talking.

I was giving him a hand massage.

I was astonished to hear him say that.

I do not.

I protested.

But I have been around awhile and I know a lot of folks.

I run into people all the time and it’s really nice and it helps keep me sane.

Hell, I even ran into some one last night at the Franz Ferdinand show in Oakland.

I was sitting on a flight of stairs catching up with ma poulette from my school cohort.

Look ma!

I’m making friends at school.

Which is really nice.

I wish I had more time for friends at school, like hanging outside of school, but I don’t and making the time to go to the show last night in Oakland, a train ride, after work, a longer show than I was expecting, a long delay in the BART station, not having a ride waiting like I was expecting, Uber not navigating to me in a timely manner, the driver called three times to verify where I was.

Seriously?

I said the last time when he called, “I am in the exact same spot, exact same spot, and I am at Second and Market.  I am literally standing underneath the sign that says “SECOND” street.”

He found me.

But man it took awhile.

I got in late.

I had a cup of tea, I unwound, I posted up the blog from the day before yesterday that I wasn’t able to get to yesterday morning.

There was something wrong with the server and I couldn’t access the blog at all for a day.

It was frustrating.

I couldn’t tell if it was the website itself, WordPress, or if it was my network, because I couldn’t get on Facebook either.

Not that I needed to be on Facecrack, but that I always Twitter my post and my Twitter is linked to Facebook.

If I can’t access my blog sometimes I have actually gone into it the back door via the link on Facebook and made edits to posts there.  It’s a bit of a hassle, but it works.

No such luck the other night.

It happens more frequently than I would like and a few times I have been concerned about getting access to syllabi and my school e-mails, etc, but usually I can recognize that as needless anxiety.

“What if I can’t send my Dubitzky paper on Sunday!”  My brain roared at me when I was trying to get my blog online.

Hey brain.

CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

First off all, you have to write the paper.

That paper and a Therapeutic Communications paper and a lot of reading, but don’t worry, I’ll get it done.

Or I won’t.

But being in anxiety about whether or not the internet will be online before I have even written the paper to send it in is just useless masturbatory fear brain reminding me that I have a disease, it resides in my brain, and my thinking is not always so even keel.

Besides.

Should I ever really need to get online and it’s not working here at the house, I just stroll down the street a couple of blocks and use the internet at Java Beach Cafe.

It’s open late and I have done work there before.

So.

Nothing to be anxious about.

Oh.

I know.

There is always something that will try to take me out of the moment, like jumping ahead to it’s already Monday and where did the weekend go?

I, ironically, am actually getting up earlier on my day off than I did today for work.

Granted.

My job didn’t start until 1 p.m.

I worked until 8 p.m.

Actually I got done a tiny bit before that which was awesome, as I got to hop on my bike and make it to Our Lady of SafeWay right at 8pm.

I saw my peeps.

I got right with God.

And that is also why I’ll be up early tomorrow.

A shower.

My morning routine.

That thing at the place over there.

Then a meeting with my person at Tart To Tart.

And another meeting with another woman.

And maybe lunch and nails.

And then back here for a phone check in.

Then.

I am taking the night.

Some time down by the beach.

A nice meal.

Some reconnecting.

The lady I am supposed to see at noon on Sunday cancelled, so I could even sleep in on Sunday.

Though it’s doubtful I will.

I will get up.

Make coffee.

Smile in gratitude at my life.

Sit down at this very table.

Write.

Do the deal.

And meet with someone else.

There is always some one to meet with and another chapter to write and to read.

There is always another story to tell.

I like to tell stories.

You might have noticed that.

In fact.

Hmm.

I might just go work on a story now.

My ten sonnets.

(I am finished writing them, they now need to be polished like pretty little glowing moonstones)

I want to have them wrapped up and done before I launch into my Dubitzy Psychoanalytic paper on Freud.

I am feeling inspired.

Listening to The Orb–Moon Building 2703 has set the tone.

Time to get poetic up in here.

Excuse me.

I have to go get my sonnet on.

Yeah.

I know.

Whatevs.

The One Thing I Don’t Like About You

Whoa.

Hey there cowboy.

It’s too early to have my inventory taken.

It got taken anyway.

I got an apology that was very sweet when I pointed out how it felt to be scolded.

My friend, I know, I heard him, did not mean it to come out that way.

The way, I think, I could be wrong, hind sight is never truly 20/20, is, “hey, there’s this thing you do and it detracts from who you are and what an awesome person you could be, why, you’re amazing, you could be even more amazing if you changed this thing about you.”

I bristled.

I always bristle at criticism.

However.

Thank you grad school work, specifically, yes, I am going to say it, thank you T-Group.

Ugh.

All the fucking work I did in that class, and have yet to do, there is a big paper due for the class, one that I won’t focus on quite yet as I have a few other papers ahead of it, but one I do have to address some reading for really soon, although perhaps not this week, all the work.

Well.

It paid off.

I don’t see myself the way that others see me.

My friend says I have all this talent for writing and creativity and such.

I quibble.

I say.

Nah, shucks, I ain’t all that good.

I don’t know the caliber of my writing or the goodness or lack there of.

Or.

Any of it.

I do know that I have gotten better and so much of that has to do with the constant, daily, showing up to write.

I write, on average, 2,500 to 3,000 words a day.

My blog is about 1,1200 to 1,500 words and then I write three pages long hand in the morning.

The days that I write a paper, like Sunday, I wrote over 5,000 words.

5,000.

Damn Gina.

That’s a lot of words.

Even if I started out with just a middling talent for writing, all the practice is going to produce better results.

I will say, I will agree, that I have an ear for words, I like them, they sing to me, I like finding different ways to look at them and arrange them.

Even.

I would argue.

How they fall on the page.

When I started breaking up my lines and sentences more often in my blogs, I liked the way they looked better.

They, the blogs, also felt better.

I don’t have a cognitive theory behind it.

I just like the way it looks.

Plus.

I feel like I am actually transmitting my thoughts and ideas as they fall out of my head.

My writing is extraordinarily stream of thought.

“It reads like you talk,” one of my dear friends told me, “I feel like I am having a conversation with you when I read it.”

So nice to know my voice comes across.

The voice of the blog, Auntie Bubba, is not always the voice of the woman, but it is always damn skippy close.

The two are very entwined.

The only difference is that I have more honesty in my morning pages and less manipulation of words, patterns, rhymes, poetic schemes, or poesie.

I love that word.

Just say it with me.

Poesie.

Of course its French.

Don’t be a silly rabbit.

So.

My friend has noted my skills at language, but also noted my lack of skills around some things which are considered basic self-care, the criticism received was that, man you’re an amazing woman, but you sure put taking care of others a head of you.

REALLY?

Wow.

How insightful.

Fuck you.

I jest.

I know I put other people first.

It’s a survival skill.

Now.

What my friend perhaps doesn’t see, and I won’t argue his assessment, he’s certainly not the first to make it, if it looks like a spade call it a spade, is that I have come so far from how bad it used to be.

Progress.

Not perfection.

I also heard concern for me, which I have heard echoed to me a lot lately as I embarked on the journey of 8 million miles, graduate school, take better care of yourself.

The thing is.

People.

I am trying.

I am trying so hard.

I bought myself flowers on Sunday.

I cooked food for myself to take to work.

I take long, hot showers.

Man, the one tonight, you could have scraped me off the bottom of the shower stall.

I take care of the physical stuff when it arises.

Hello.

You know.

The sexy stuff.

I almost didn’t tonight.

Even though I was thinking about it and the timing was good, home earlier than usual, early start at work, no housemate around, no housemates kid around, light some candles and set the mood Martines!

And I just felt, well, tired.

But.

I also knew that it was time to take time.

And.

Yeah.

Like that.

Better now.

Thanks!

And though I am not rankled by my friends words.

Specifically, what the conversation went like was something to the effect of, “the only thing I don’t like about you is that you don’t take better care of yourself.”

He meant.

I need to put myself first.

My feelings were hurt.

But.

There was also this underlying awareness.

Ok.

Well.

He’s not the first one to say it this week, so what exactly am I doing that doesn’t look like good self-care?

I go to work, I’m on time, I show up, I do a great job with the boys, I ride my bicycle to and from work (most days, got a ride in today which is when the conversation happened), I bring home-made food with me.

I drink a big glass of water as soon as I wake up.

I brush my teeth three times a day.

And.

I fucking floss once a day.

Who out there flosses?

Exactly.

I keep my house clean.

I listen to music every night when I blog.

The Orb is playing right now.

I eat organic food.

I make really nice coffee.

I have pajamas.

Although, I think it might be time for a new set.

I know that I work a lot and I work hard, but you see, there’s no one but me and I have become accustomed to a certain kind of living.

It’s simple, but it’s mine.

Shh.

Me thinks she doth protest too much.

What self-care I need is to implement more joy of living.

Which is why I love Burning Man so much, it’s play time, even when it’s hella hard work.

“I noticed something,” my friend said, “you only go to the beach when you are sad.”

Ouch.

Fuck.

He really does see me quite well.

So what did I learn from T-Group, from my friend, from my people, and my cohort, from my community?

That I could stand to have some more laughing and silliness and how I am going to manage that, I don’t know.

I suppose, start by surrendering to the idea that I am going it all alone.

Rely a little more on others.

Give myself a break.

Walk down to the ocean for no reason other than it’s there.

Go to a museum.

I have not been to one since my trip months ago to LA, way back, to that wonderful time when I had time, before school started.

Any kind of fun.

Something for myself.

I fully acknowledge that the first feeling that comes up is sadness.

Grief.

Fun is some how equated in my mind with grief.

Now.

This is something I am only now, I mean now, in this moment realizing.

I have some sort of negative correlation to having fun with loss.

There is so much to unpack here, I am not going into it after a long day at work and having already devoted an hour to reading my Human Development text.

Which in and off itself can sometimes be a challenge to read when I reflect on where I come from and how many battles I have had to soldier through growing up the way I did.

The deck was stacked.

It was so stacked against me.

But.

There is joy too.

In the memories of my childhood.

The orchard in Windsor.

Climbing trees.

Flying kites at Warner Park.

Riding my bicycle.

Ice skating.

Playing relay races at the park during the long slow twilight of summer nights.

Sitting in the back yard, the grass high, watching the clouds roll by.

Maybe that’s all I need to do.

Go lie outside somewhere and watch the clouds go by.

What were the skies like when you were young?
They went on forever and they, when I, we lived in Arizona
And the skies always had little fluffy clouds
And they moved down, they were long and clear
And there were lots of stars at night

And when it would rain it would all turn, it, they were beautiful
The most beautiful skies as a matter of fact
The sunsets were purple and red and yellow and on fire
And the clouds would catch the colors everywhere
That’s neat, cause I used to look at them all the time when I was little
You don’t see that

Layering different sounds on top of each other
Layering different sounds on top of each other

Little fluffy clouds and little fluffy clouds and
Little fluffy clouds and little fluffy clouds and

First World Problems

That’s a reflection paper I will be writing tomorrow.

I thought, briefly about writing it tonight, but I don’t have it in me.

First world problem–having job that is at times exhausting.

Keeping up with the boys can sometimes wear me out and on top of them wearing me out, I successfully wore myself out before I even got started today.

The free-floating anxiety I experienced today as I get ready to head into my first weekend of classes was enough to give me a stomach ache this morning that I really thought was going to make me throw up.

I realized that there was not much to do about it but try to spend some time organizing where and what and when I will be in class.

I made some outreach texts and e-mails and figured out a few things.

First, that I was not the only person who was a little adrift in the process.

Second, that there would be a master list posted on every floor of the school for all classes, so if I should fuck it up and show up naked, oops, sorry that’s a nightmare from high school.

Aside.

Mr. Bohage passed.

I had an old friend from high school reach out to me and let me know that my favorite history teacher at DeForest High School (home of the Fighting Norskie–I shit you not) had passed at the age of 79.

I’m not sure what he passed from, but it brought a sigh of sadness to my day and also a kiss of gratitude, he was a great teacher and I admired the hell out of him.

I like to think he liked me too.

There were a couple of us in that class that I think he liked, not as pets, but rather as respected intellects and occasionally as students of life with a little bit of wit to us.

Ryan, Henry Hall, Ted, myself, a few of us that seemed to get his droll sense of humor and also to command a little respect from the man who instilled in me a sense of their being something beyond the halls and rooms of that high school.

I will remember you with fondness and much gratitude, Mister Bohage, may you rest in peace and finally forgive yourself for having voted for Nixon.

End aside.

This current going back to graduate school does feel a little like high school, but also a little like nothing I have done in some time and it feels overwhelming and makes me want to hide underneath the covers.

I know that being a person who shows up is the biggest thing, so I am going to show up, prepared, unprepared, ok with whatever happens and just know that I am doing the thing and that one day at a time, one step at a time, one moment at a time, I’m ok.

My dear friend who graduated from a nursing program a few years back reminded me that I was going to be ok and that I only had to focus on today.

I intrinsically know this, but sometimes I have to hear it said out loud.

I must have someone to speak the crazy to and get it out of my head.

I know that all I had to do today, really, was show up for my job and show up for my commitment this evening.

The rest of it would sort itself out and that focusing on the “problem” was not the solution.

So.

I made some calls.

I left some messages.

I scheduled myself some time to meet with my ladies.

And I confirmed my work schedule.

Which has changed drastically and I am trying to get into the swing of.

I’m now working 1p.m.-8p.m.

This makes things easier and weird all at the same time.

I am going to have to change-up all my doing the deal places and spaces.

Except for Wednesday night, I have a commitment and I wanted to keep it and it felt important to tell the mom that today, so on Wednesdays I will go in at 12:30p.m. and get done by 7:30p.m. so that I can make it from the Mission to the Outer Sunset by 8:30p.m. to do the deal and cover the commitment I picked up.

I won’t be making a lot of other things that I have been used to getting to and going to.

I’m not sure where exactly I am going to land during the week.

I suspect I’ll be seeing a certain group of folks at the spot on 7th and Irving at 11 o’clock in the morning before heading into work.

More will be revealed, I am certain of it.

Just like I know that the only thing to rely on is change, change is always happening and I can’t even get into a comfortable rut to settle myself with.

No rut for me.

I get to keep moving, like a shark, sink or swim.

I choose to swim.

I will rise up through the sea green sea, the emerald light, the blue sapphire kiss of water, and I will fly, transcendent into the warm light.

It helps that I got a friendly little message today right in the middle of the afternoon as I was getting the ducks in a row at the house.

I spent the first part of my day organizing and shopping and cooking for the family, then the boys come home from school and it’s on.

But on in such a delirious sweet way.

“I’m going to marry you!” The eldest said to me tonight as the mom took over for me, then he kissed my hand and held it to his cheek.

“Snuggle me, kiss me, hug me,” the youngest said to me earlier when he got out of pre-school.

Yes sir.

I could perhaps use those same words with a certain fellow I know.

I was making the boys their dinner–I usually prep it in advance so that I can just set their meal in front of them at dinner time and not have to make it on the fly, when I got the message.

It was a nice banter.

I felt uplifted.

I felt sexy.

And I felt sweet.

And desired.

That helped the day.

Thanks God.

I needed the pick me up.

And as I look at all the open tabs on top of my computer–all the login ins and class room locations and the syllabus for that class and this class and the other, the financial aid disbursement notification, the academics page, and the incoming e-mail from a TA in regards to a question I had for a paper that is due on Friday before I hit class, I will pause with gratitude that I have a little nugget of delicious thoughts to distract me once in a while from the academia exploding all around me.

Plus I’m listening to The Orb and that puts me in an excellent space.

All is good.

Grateful for these challenges.

Grateful for this growth.

Grateful to be on someone’s mind.

It’s the little things.

Like a lost earring in an RV.

A small reminder of time completely removed from the daily grind of my life.

A kiss of magic in the day.

A token of the yet to come.