Posts Tagged ‘time out’

No Rest For The Wicked

May 22, 2017

But.

I am going to try.

I am zonked.

It’s been a long day.

It started at 5 a.m. today, yesterday?  I don’t even know, what day is it?

Yes.

Sunday.

And yes.

I already have my alarm set for the morning.

I have to get up early and go meet with my supervisor.

My internship starts this week.

I’ve the meeting tomorrow and then training starts on Thursday.

And.

You know.

Work.

And um.

Hello.

Jet lag.

Current Paris time is 4:53 a.m.

That means, 24 hours ago I was just about to get up and finish my packing.

And it was a great big last day of a last day.

One last morning of having coffee on the houseboat and then off to Clingancourt.

Which I almost bailed on.

Crowds cause me some anxiety.

My friend I went with pretty much noticed that ASAP.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I was told, and I knew that, but I also wanted to make the effort.

I’d never made it in to Clingancourt before, I had only gone one other time and it was closed.

I wandered around and took street art photography.

The thing about the market is that it’s in not the prettiest neighborhood, lots of low-income housing tenements, it’s just at the Periphery of the city, so it can get quite a bit sketchy, it’s a haven for pick pockets, and there’s a lot of dingy, trashiness to it, plus there was a lot of construction going on.

However, once you make it into the actual market, it’s great.

It’s just getting through shark infested waters.

I’m bad with pushy tourist scam artists and crowds and what feels very edgy and compromised.

I also recognize that I am sensitive and it takes a lot of work for me to shut out that kind of lifestyle and edge.

I used to do it pretty damn well, but truth be told I haven’t had walls up that high in a bit and it felt exhausting and I was a little ashamed that I wasn’t able to keep it better together, apologizing to my friend too much for how I was dealing and it just left an uneasy taste in my mouth.

But.

I did have fun in the market itself, I saw some beautiful things and actually bartered a little bit with a vendor and got 10 Euro knocked off a pair of vintage earrings.

Scoring them for 20 Euro instead of the 30 Euro listed.

Great deal.

Especially considering that the other pair of earrings I had seen that I was very drawn to were 1750 Euro!

Of course they were, but my god, so gorgeous.

I also had a sweet chat with the woman running the stall and it felt nice to be able to at least tell her that I was so grateful for her time showing me her beautiful jewelry and I felt pretty damn good about remembering the word for earrings in French.

The longer I was there the more came back, although when I got tired, which was often, I don’t think I actually ever got a big full eight hours of sleep, I would lapse in the quality of my French.

Still.

Overall.

I think I did pretty good.

And though Clingancourt was a challenge for me, I can say, I did it, and I also got a very cool poster, a 1955 Scandal sheet, that I was able to score for 10 Euro.

Felt fun to do that.

Although I ended up missing seeing a few people I had hoped to catch up with, after I got back from the market I was too zonked out to try to do anything else.

I sat on the prow of the houseboat and I wrote awhile in my journal and just enjoyed the hell out of the sun.

Super grateful that my last day in Paris was sunny.

Not as warm as I might have liked, but really nice.

And.

After I got packed and sorted a friend and I went out to grab a bite to eat and I decided to get dressed up a little for my last night in Paris and wear my earrings and put my hair up and if only for that I am super glad I went to Clingancourt, my earrings were such fun to wear.

It was lovely to take one last walk along the Seine, to see all the folks lined up at the Musee D’Orsay, to window shop a little, and oh God, yes, get one last little souvenir for stuffing into my suitcase.

Or, as the case may be, for wearing around my shoulders.

I picked up a gorgeous black cashmere (my first cashmere) wrap from this beautiful little shop.

I met the owner and chatted and she called me out as being an artist and then showed me the book her little sister had just gotten published and then told me about Nice and Picasso and Miro and art and al the artists that used to come through their home–the photograph of the book her sister wrote is the woman as a young girl with Pablo Picasso making faces at her.

It was super sweet and she asked me for my information so she could follow my blog.

Which frankly was an interesting moment, when she asked if I was an artist and I am, I’m a writer, a poet, a dreamer, an arranger of colors and sounds and atmospheres in myself, but when someone asks me if I am an artist I always seem to have a moment where I pause and think, no, no, not me.

I’m not really an artist.

But.

I am.

I write poetry and once in a while it is good.

And once in a while I will write a blog that makes me think, yes, I got it, that was art, that was beauty.

But do I paint or draw, no, not so much, do I make music, nope, although I do aspire to be lyrical in my writings.

Nevertheless I gave her my blog address and for a moment I was again a woman artist in Paris, talking art with another artist in a beautiful shop full of soft, delicious things to touch and wrap around me.

It was a comfort on the plane to have the cashmere wrap and I don’t doubt that I will wear it often.

Sensual and soft, warm and engulfing.

All the lovely things.

And now.

My darlings, my dears.

It is time for rest.

I must be up early and I have been going for 24 hours.

Good night my dears.

From a very.

Very.

Grateful.

And.

Lucky girl.

Staying In The Moment

March 18, 2017

Is hard to do.

Seriously.

If I’m not careful I’ve skipped over the whole weekend and I’m back at Monday and in the work grind again.

I can do that, magically get so caught up in the things that I need to get done that I forget to do the things for myself that I need to do, slow down, breathe, appreciate my efforts for the things I have done.

Acknowledge that shit, yo.

I worked a full week of work after having done a full weekend of school which was just following a full week of work.

So yes.

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.

Hallelujah.

I am stoked.

I am going to do some nice things for me as I have done a lot of work for school over the past week, from showing up to my internship and signing papers, to e-mailing and contacting supervisors, to making appointments to interview with a possible supervisor–next Wednesday, to reading four chapters of Trauma class readings, and contacting possible therapists as I will need to be in therapy as I am working with the clients that I will be helping.

I have signed up for two yoga classes this weekend.

I have plans to see my people, two back to back sit downs to read and do the deal on Saturday.

And yes, I think I will, a nice little mani/pedi at the local nail salon as well as some eyebrow help, they’re starting to get a little out of control, as they do.

I may take myself out for a nice lunch.

I am thinking I will go out to dinner tomorrow night and do some fellowship.

Dinner somewhere in the NOPA neighborhood.

Sunday a day with a friend in San Leandro.

Sunday night a quick visit with a friend in the neighborhood.

And bam.

See.

I told you.

It’s Monday.

And somewhere in there I need to do food prep and cooking and I have entertained the possibility of writing my Trauma reflection paper.

Just to have it the fuck out the way.

Especially since I am going to be working an extra weekend this month.

I was also asked to work next Friday by a family I used to work for and I had to say no.

I am going to help out my current family the last weekend of the month, basically work a Saturday and a Sunday while the dad is away on work, the days won’t be super long, granted, but not having any days off will be challenging and I’m pretty aware of that.

I have turned down two gigs recently.

The one to work next week and a wedding in Napa.

Part of me considered very seriously both propositions.

The extra money would be nice, but.

I really want to see the boys I used to work for, but.

I just can’t do it.

I feel like I need all the reserves I can get to just get through my work and my school work and the additional stress of figuring out all the practicum stuff has been wearing on me, I am hoping, so hoping, that the Wednesday interview, before I go to work (which I might as well get used to, I’m going to be working with a supervisor once a week for two hours before I head into work for a year) and interview with him.

Please say yes mister supervisor.

I don’t have much energy to keep looking.

I am also looking for a therapist.

The first one who was referred to me couldn’t fit me into her schedule.

But she was super helpful and offered to refer me out and I said yes please, of course, I haven’t heard anything else back, but I tried.

I just emailed another therapist tonight too to keep that ball rolling.

I will have to be doing it as part of my program and I have to be doing it while I see clients.

This is good and I am rather looking forward to it.

And frankly.

After two years of studying and training and practicing how to be a therapist I’m ready for a little of that love to be turned back around on me.

In some ways, it has, especially in the actions that I took today and over the last week, in regards to what I can do, how I can take care of myself and what I need to do to take care of myself.

Like.

Not working on my days off.

Ok, yes, I am working that weekend for my current family, but we negotiated easy hours for me, a big break, payment in cash, and I’ll get my meals covered and probably have a fun field trip type day out with the charges.

It will be a fun adventure.

And yes I will be tired, and yes, I will need to be gentle with myself.

Which is also why I said no, to the other two queries, and the best thing about it?

God damn.

It felt like such a win.

I didn’t justify or explain my response.

I said simply in both cases, thank you so much for thinking of me, which is true, but no thank you.

It is nice to be thought of, it is nice to be the type of person that others want you to work for them, that they want you so much that even though they think I probably can’t (both parties said it, it was sweet), they want me bad enough that they’re going to ask either way, just in case.

I was flattered.

And though I felt momentarily guilty about taking care of myself over taking care of others.

I got the fuck over it.

Self-care people.

It really is a thing.

So.

Here’s to me doing some sweet, kind, generous, loving things for myself this weekend.

So that I may be sweet, kind, generous, loving, and caring to those around me.

Now excuse me.

I have to put on my oxygen mask before assisting others to the exit slide.

Heh.

 

 

I Want My Privilege Back!

April 9, 2015

He screamed.

He could barely breathe.

He slapped me.

He kicked me.

He threw himself around the room.

He was naked.

No.

This is not a picture of any man I have dated.

Second thought.

Yes.

It actually could be, but not any one I have dated recently (at least not in the last fifteen years), I swear.

Just the little guy I work for, the big boss, the 2 and 3/4 boy who also whipped a metal fork so hard across the table that it bounced up and smashed into a window.

I pulled him up and took him out of the high chair and there was no more dinner.

I pulled him up and took him out of the bath after the three count.

“M………. please stop throwing water out of the tub,” I said.

“M…………second time, please stop tossing water out, I will take you out, I will.”

“M………..last time, dude, you can enjoy the rest of bath time or you can get out.”

“M…………you lost your privilege, let’s go, out of the tub.”

I had already asked his older brother to pull the drain plug up, bath time was about to be over anyhow, which was a blessing, I was about done in today, although not as bad as yesterday.

Despite the little guys nap being shorter today, I actually managed my time better and made myself sit down and eat and rest.

I have to be on point.

Tomorrow begins Spring Break.

Which means I have both boys full throttle, all things go, zoom.

For the next two days and then Monday through Thursday of next week.

The nice thing, though, the family is taking a long weekend next weekend, and yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, I have next Friday off.

Three day weekend!

I haven’t gotten there yet, I still have a nice weekend a head of me and two days of two boys yet to go.

I will be going in a half hour early every day from tomorrow on until the family leaves for their mini vacation.

This is balanced by being able to leave a half hour early.

But I was a little resentful this morning and had a lot of chatter in my head about how it was going to go today and what I was being asked to do, some extra work, some extra time with the boys, all the marketing, cooking, laundry, etc.

You know.

Work.

So I did some inventory and sent it off in a voicemail and what do you now.

The chatter stopped and I was present.

Present to go with the little guy to BiRIte and get some really nice fruit to have around the house for the next couple of days.

Present to make a really nice meal for the family (marinated chicken breasts in my own marinade–orange juice, tangerine zest, grape seed oil, sea salt, black pepper, thyme, rosemary, garlic–with sushi rice and corn on the cob for the parents and for the boys toasted Acme bread with smoke whitefish salad and avocado plus fruit salad from all the nice fruit I picked up at BiRite).

Present to snuggle with the monkeys when they needed snuggling, to see the park from their eyes, to run around Dolores Park and ride the wiggly slide and sit by the sandbox and watch them bury dinosaur eggs (I mean, duh, the Easter Bunny brought them dinosaur eggs, not peeps, please) that I had filled with “special snacks” to lure them out of the house with and to the park.

Present to laugh and sing and be jolly and silly and do my job.

“You just get to practice telling the family that your priority is going to be the boys and being present and energized for them,” she suggested to me over the phone.  “Which means, that you take a break when you need to, you sit down to eat lunch, you let some things slide.”

Ack.

I don’t like letting things slide.

I always want to be on top of it all.

I want the dishes not only loaded in the dishwasher, but I want the timing to be so that it coincides with the sushi rice being made in the rice cooker, so that I can unload said dishwasher and have all the food wrapped and prepped and washed and chopped and managed.

I want the laundry folded and arranged, with towels ready by the bath and pajamas, tops and bottoms and little boy, er excuse me, “big boy” underpants, at the ready, so that after bath time I can transition them to be ready for their parents and go to bed as I am leaving.

No such luck tonight.

I had a banshee of a little boy, running naked up and down the hall screaming about wanting his privilege back.

“IWANTMYPRIVILEGEBACK!!!”

I finally got him settled down and though breathing heavily and wriggling like only a slippery two-year old boy can, I brushed back his hair and said, “M……….., I have something for you.”

I held out my hand, flat, offered it to him.

“This is for you.”

He looked at my empty hand.

He looked at me.

“Here’s your privilege bunny, you can have it back.”

He snatched it out of my hand and ran back to the bathtub and tried to climb back in.

My tactic backfired.

He wailed when he saw that all the water had drained out.

“I want my bath!” He yelled and cried, and I knew I was about done.

I only have to get through the next ten minutes.

That’s all.

And the dad came up and helped and the Meow Meow was found and the pajamas got in and then.

Oh.

“M………… can you tell Carmen thank you,” the dad said.  “Can you give her a hug.”

He launched himself at me, “thank you Carmen!”

He kissed me, both sides, European style, sloppy, wet, heavy, delicious kisses.

“I love you.”

Sigh.

Kid.

I love you too.

And you get all your privileges.

I promise.

I really can’t deny you a one.

Because, ultimately.

The privilege is all mine.

See you bright and early in the morning.

Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.

(What a horrible saying, who still says this?)

Tomorrow is another day full of privilege.

Sunshine.

Love.

Adventure.

And boys.


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