Posts Tagged ‘Twitter’

Almost Got It

June 10, 2017

I thought I was social media dark on my blog last night when I posted.

Except.

Ha.

I was still linked to Twitter.

Figured it out pretty quick, went and deleted off Twitter, and it didn’t link to Facecrack and now, well, I’ve disconnected any sharing on the blog.

It’s just you and me and a couple of friends.

Shhhh.

Part of me want to let out some big scary secret.

But there’s no big scary thing to let out of the bag.

I am a pretty happy lady.

I had today off.

What?

I know.

A Friday.

Off.

My family that I work for is still super sick and I got the message last night after I logged off my blog that they thought it better for me to take off today as well and they’d see me Monday.

I have to say I was sorry for them, but also so grateful, I really don’t know what I would have done had I gotten a severe flu bug.

I hate vomiting.

I mean really bad.

So I’ll happily take my pass and take the day off.

I didn’t sleep in, I got up and went to an early yoga class.

But after that I did take a really mellow day for myself.

I balanced the check book, paid the phone bill, did lots of writing, got in some laundry.

Then I scooted over to Nordstrom Rack and spent a lot of time trying on clothes that didn’t work for me.

I had some high hopes, but the retail therapy was not to be had.

Then again, it wasn’t a total loss, I got a bra, two tank tops, two pairs of panties, some body lotion and some mascara.

It was worth the trip, just to pick up a couple of staples.

Sure.

I had hoped for a new summery dress or maybe a pair of pretty shoes, but fact is, I have bought myself some nice things recently and I don’t really need to do more shopping.

I was looking for something to keep my brain occupied.

It turns out that a woman I have been working with for the past three and a half years is no longer available to work with me and we had a long talk on the phone as I stood by my scooter in the parking lot at Nordstrom Rack.

The blue sky coming through the sky light, the cars parking, the sound of a shopping cart going by and someone who loves me saying, I have loved working with you but it’s time for you to find someone else.

I have never been let go quite like this.

In fact.

I have never been let go.

I have always been the one to find another person to work with.

It was definitely an experience.

Now.

The funny thing is, not funny haha, but interesting, odd, is it odd?

Or God?

I think.

Well.

I believe.

It was God.

As I have prayed a lot over the last week about the relationship.

Something was said to me last week when we met that hurt my feelings deeply and though there was some repair in the moment when she realized how hurt I was, there was still an underlying wounding that I carried with me for days.

I just didn’t know what to make of it.

It came out in my therapy session Tuesday morning.

And.

Well.

Yes.

As a matter of fact.

I bawled my damn eyes out.

Then I worked through it.

Then.

Later that day when I was checking in with someone else.

I got mad.

I mean.

ANGRY.

I was yelling cunt in a church courtyard, so yeah, maybe livid might even be an emotional marker.

I did calm down.

I did write a lot of inventory.

Then I sat on it for a couple of days and really just let myself calm the fuck down.

Thank God for getting to yoga three times in a row this week.

Totally took the edge off.

That praying and writing and more writing and then I did it.

I called, left a message, said what I was feeling and let go of the results.

The results?

I was let go.

And I have no regrets.

Not a one.

I was honest and I know that there was no bitterness in the parting and I’m grateful for the time we got to work together and I’m grateful that I get to have a new experience with another person.

Before it was happening I had felt this dread and sadness and overwhelm, how the fuck am I going to find another person to work with?

I’m too busy.

But.

When it happened.

I knew that it was right.

And I knew that I wasn’t being dropped.

If anything it was God doing for me what I could not do for myself.

I get to have a new experience with a new person and I will get to grow and find out new things and have a new perspective and until that person comes into my life, I’m held by my community and I am not worried.

I am loved.

I am enough.

And I learned a lot.

Some of which I can’t share here as it’s just not my place.

But.

Suffice to say there was deep learning here.

And a deep gratitude for my community and for the people I talked to over the last few days and today and for feeling held and loved and having that love reflected back to me.

I know that I’m still going to have some feelings.

Abandonment.

Not lovable.

Not enough.

Yada, yada, yada.

Victim.

Martyr.

But.

They will pass.

And I will come out the other side stronger and better and more graceful.

Whenever God has “taken” something or someone from me I have been given the gift that he was waiting to put into my hands but I was too busy holding onto something that didn’t work out of some misplaced idea that I could fix it and make it better.

Not realizing God had the solution right in front of me.

My hands are empty.

I am now able to receive.

My heart is ready.

I will walk through this.

I have to.

There is not another choice.

There is only the present.

And all the gifts inherent.

I am loved.

And that is enough.

It always is.

Two Days Left

June 7, 2017

Just sayin’.

Before.

This blog is going to be going dark.

Well.

Sort of dark.

Just off social media.

I also realized, after talking with my therapist about it, she’s a huge advocate that I don’t stop writing and has in fact, encouraged me to submit to Psyched, that I have to pull as many blogs off my facecrack page as possible.

One could foreseeably go through my page and find the link to it.

So.

Periodically I am going to start removing them from my timeline.

I am not sure if I should delete them completely.

I mean.

I already have copies of them here on my blog, I can go into my archives at any time and access them.

But.

Would I miss the comments that some of my blogs drew?

I have had some really amazing feed back from people who follow my blog and sometimes that feed back has come from comments left on my Facecrack page.

Sometimes people comment directly on the blog, but most of the commentary has come from facecrook and a few from Twitter.

Once in a great while I have gotten a comment from elsewhere, one of my blogs a few years ago now got picked up by Buzzfeed and I got a bunch of comments from that.

That blog was about Burning Man.

Definitely something that Buzzfeed would have wanted to carry, most of my other blogs are interesting, but I’m biased, but not to the degree that one was.

I don’t even remember what the fuck I wrote about.

I could go back and read the blog I suppose, it still has the highest number of reads for a day, so stands out on my stats board.

I can read a lot between the line when I read my stats.

No, it doesn’t give me names of people, but it does give me locations.

And that is information.

And some blogs get hit more than others.

And some blogs may have gotten more hits from certain areas about certain topics.

It’s fun to read in between the lines.

Sometimes sad too.

I remember someone I was dating not dating a few years ago and he would read my blogs and sometimes I felt that I spoke more to him through my blogs then we did face to face and I broke my heart a lot trying to communicate and make things happen.

Of course nothing ever did.

But, man, the writing was good, sometimes being in pain elicits better art.

Or so I’ve been told.

There’s the break up blog with an ex-boyfriend that got a lot of play for about a week.

I am assuming it was the ex reading the blog.

And I wondered about that.

I also remember wishing that he had paid that much attention to actually talking to me than reading what I wrote.

It can be an easy out.

You can catch up on me here, have some ideas about what is happening in my life, make some assumptions and maybe sometimes those assumptions are right.

And maybe.

MAYBE.

They’re completely off base.

Suffice to say there have been times when I have written with a person in mind and another has made the mistake thinking it was about them.

I try not to use names.

But sometimes I steal images or words or ideas.

I am a thief, I admit it, if it looks pretty I’m going to steal it and put it in my bag of words.

Mine now, my sweetie thing.

Sometimes I want desperately that a person reads what I have to say and hears my voice.

My voice, specifically saying the words that are written here.

There was a blog I wrote recently and I read it out loud, as though I was speaking to the person whom I was thinking about, after I wrote it.

It helps sometimes in the editing.

To feel the words.

To feel how they sound coming out of my mouth.

I believe that I write very much like I speak, that you could be having a conversation with me.

Now.

This writing, let’s be frank, is more eloquent than my spoken words, there’s a bit of craft involved.

Sure.

I am writing at the speed of thought, but I go back after and I tweak here and there and blow up some images or sounds or I toss some glitter colored poetry into the mix and I think about.

 

His hands in my hair.

The sun through the window.

The flowers in a jar on my table.

The globe on its persimmon colored stand lit up, a nightlight of travel in my dreams, the ease and burden of being kissed so well that my heart shakes underneath my breast and my breath.

Shatters soft in my mouth.

 

Sure.

You know.

Moments like that when I want to whisper wanton woman poetry into the shell of another’s ear, so I read it out loud and there is a power there, a knowing of when I should end a sentence.

Pause.

I use a period.

I break the line, or sometimes, a comma, a hitch in the voice of the writing, a pause but not quite so firm.

When I may need firmness.

And then.

Short.

Quick.

Fast.

And it can be done, these subtle manipulations of language, the power of the word, the sword I split myself in half upon.

 

Like.

An apple you push your tongue into, eating me alive.

Devoured and sacrificed  on scriptures of play and the pleasure of prayer that is laugher.

Dimple song.

Torch song.

Flamed.

By.

The music of the spheres and the light of stars still echoing and crashing against the thrall of your collar bones.

And the soft, sweet dip of skin there, a sing-song of pulse and blood and the thrum of the rain of sunshine flooding through the back door.

Let me shelter you through the rain.

Let me be.

Your baby.

Baby.

Doll.

Baby.

Let me be your girl.

News!

June 6, 2017

Aside from the fact that I am super tired.

And.

Hello.

It’s Monday.

Bwahahahahaha.

Ugh.

It is what it is and I know once I’m in the groove of the week I will be just fine.

I usually am.

I just need to hit my stride and there was some extra work that I hustled into my schedule today aside from my work and going to meet with my supervisor, I also went to school to take care of some more paperwork.

My God.

The amount of stuff I have to get signed.

I know it’s a necessary evil, but man, there’s a lot of stuff to keep track of.

I had a moment when I was going to leave something in my scooter basket, just a cloth sack with a file folder in it.

Then.

I had this vision of someone breaking into my scooter basket and taking that file.

I was like.

Oh, no you don’t, motherfucker.

Not leaving any paperwork to be stolen.

Not that I think that anyone wants my BBS forms (Behavioral Board of Sciences) but they might break into the basket to see if there’s anything of value and rifle through shit and drop that in the piss and used rigs on Minna Street.

And just.

NO.

I spent too much time and effort getting just a couple of those forms filled out–one of them has four different signatures and also three different initialed spots, spots that are not my own signature.

I did not want to risk it at all.

Anyway.

I took it with, popped into the practicum office at school, had a really nice chat with the woman there and got some more paperwork and went to another floor of the school and got some more paperwork there, all the papers, and then scootered off to work with a big smile on my face.

I got some good news today.

I don’t have to stop writing my blog!

OH MY FUCKING GOD AM I HAPPY OR WHAT?!

I brought it up again with my supervisor and what the group of interns at my internship had suggested and while I was talking he gets on his phone and says after a minute, “don’t bother, you’re not coming up on any searches, you’re buried.”

And then.

“Take that with a grain of salt,” he continued, “you get a stalker client, and I’ve had my share, you’ll get someone who will find your stuff, but you are anonymous enough, I think you’re going to be fine as long as you don’t post your blog any longer to social media.”

So.

Hurray!

I am so very pleased.

But.

Yes.

I am going to be going off social media with my blog pretty damn quick.

My end date on it is this Wednesday.

I am not longer posting on Twitter.

In fact, I tried to deactivate it today, but it had me a bit flummoxed, man when you’re on the site they want to keep you there.

I did log out of it and I took it off my phone and I won’t be linking my blog to it any longer.

That is a start.

My supervisor also prescribed all the privacy actions that I have already taken with my Facecrack account and then told me to make sure that my LinkedIn account is not public.

Fact is.

I have no clue.

I set up a LinkedIn account over six years ago, maybe longer?

I have never used it.

I have no idea what it may say about me, but I need to clean it out and make sure it’s private and obviously update it.

A bit has changed in the last six, seven years, to say the least.

But.

I can do that.

I can keep writing this blog.

Oh.

I know.

A client might find it and my supervisor and I talked about that too and how that can be handled and how that can be brought into the therapy and I felt really good discussing it all with him.

He is a fantastic supervisor.

He scares me a little, he’s just that smart, but he’s good and I’m learning so much from him, I am beyond grateful we are working together.

So I was pretty happy to walk out of his office knowing that Auntie Bubba will ride again, not that she’d been stabled, but that I did think I was going to have to put her out to pasture.

I have gotten some amazing responses over the last couple of days from folks who want to continue getting the blog or some semblance there of and I am happy to report you, my dear reader, that you can still read the blog right here on WordPress.

I would suggest you either subscribe to my blog and get it e-mailed to you or you can, by signing into WordPress set up an account and become a follower.  I have about 11 people who get it e-mailed to them and 284 followers.

You’re welcome to become 285, or 286, or whatever the number may be.

I don’t have many followers, but I feel like I have rapport with many of them.

I feel honored that some folks have been reading from the very beginning and that many, most of the reader who follow me don’t even know who I am.

Which, hey, is how it’s supposed to be, right?

Especially now as I begin my therapeutic endeavors.

“You have your first client this week?!” A friend asked me tonight, “they are a super lucky person, they really are.”

I could tell my friend was sincere and in his warm face I felt all the love and strength and trust and faith in myself that I could ever hope to feel.

I am so lucky.

Blessed.

Graced.

You pick.

To get to do this kind of work.

And.

Really.

When I look back over my life, I have been in so many situations where I was privileged to hold a confidence, to listen to someone walking through pain, to be a shoulder, literally and figuratively, I have been prepping most of my life, it would seem.

Grateful for every damn thing that has brought me here.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I absolutely believe that.

So much love.

So much gratitude.

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

Don’t Stop Writing

June 4, 2017

I was told recently.

“I like reading what you write.”

God.

I love that.

Validation.

Although it’s not why I write and I am struggling with that.

Let go, I whisper to myself.

But.

It’s hard to let go of something that I have been in relationship with for seven years.

I have to shut down my blog.

I haven’t written the last few days and I can feel it in my bones.

Actually, that’s not true.

I have been writing, a lot.

Just not my blog.

I have been busy.

And the not writing I can take with a great big grain of salt because I was busy doing wonderful things and having life altering experiences.

Life is happening.

My God, is it ever.

I started my internship.

I take my first client next week.

I have read my client file, contacted said client and set up our first session.

I am navigating all the paper work and all the insurance stuff, more stuff, all the stuff, the policy papers and the keys, oh my God, the keys, I have a lot of keys right now.

Which is fine.

I jangle when I walk, but whatever.

Today I had my first group supervision training.

It was great, I learned a lot, it’s rather like being in a small classroom and getting to ask the teacher all the things, and I took some notes and got the questions I needed answered.

Most of my questions had to do with administrative stuff as I haven’t met with a client yet.

All the others in the group have been seeing clients and thus they brought up what they needed to have addressed.

It was great learning for me to just sit and listen and I did have some input and that was nice, I was able to see a few things and offer some different perspective and I was thanked for my experience and my insight.

Which I appreciated as well.

I also asked about my blog.

This blog.

My baby.

My love child.

My little place in the universe to pour out my heart and talk about all the stuff on my heart and in my mind, or to get out all the stuff in my mind so that I can listen to my heart better.

I have known, probably since I started school, that one day the blog was going to end.

But.

The writing doesn’t have to end.

And that was what my supervision group gave me today.

I got very affirmative feedback from everyone to take down the blog off social media and make it completely anonymous.

I have already pulled it from my Instagram account and I privatized that account so random folks can’t join it, I have to approve the follow request.

I have also dropped a few folks off the friends list on Facecrack.

I could probably winnow that out a little more as well.

It was recommended that I change my name on Facecrack.

I’m not sure to what, but I know a few people in my cohort have already started doing that.

It’s a damn good idea.

The next suggestion was to not link my blog to Facecrack.

It would eliminate a lot of my readers.

I mean.

A lot.

But.

It would provide me with more anonymity and it would also give my client room to see me as a therapist, not as some poet girl, Burning Man aficionado, single lady in the Outer Sunset riding around the city on a scooter.

Then.

Sigh.

Ugh.

It was suggested and I knew the moment I heard it that it was the next action to take.

That I stop writing this blog.

Double ugh.

I knew it in my gut, but I teared up.

I am tearing up now.

Fuck.

I know that because I have such big feelings that I am going to be a great therapist because I can empathize, but shit, sometimes it’s just a bitch being sensitive.

Granted, I wouldn’t wear it any other way, that is, my heart on my sleeve.

 

Gerber daisies in a Mason jar.

Dark pink stars on slippery green stalks opening toward the light.

Petals kissing.

And blushing soft.

Mouths like hungry little beasts blossoming into the warm air.

My heart.

Threaded with light.

Opening and beating against the back of my ribcage.

Tender under the bruised spaces on my breastplate.

This then.

Each moment timeless and gone only to be longed for again.

And again.

And again.

 

I digress.

But you get the point?

I like to express.

I like poetry.

I lie.

I love poetry.

I am a whore for it, like cello music and Clair de Lune and Brahms and Mozart and Chopin, I prostrate myself to it and hope, really I do hope, to gracefully surrender to whatever beauty is taking me at that moment with a kind of asunder that only perhaps is heard inside my soul.

But hear it I do.

And to renounce this forum feels terrifying and sad.

So sad, the richness of sweet lipped tears on the tops of my cheeks and the sudden catch of my breath in my throat.

Oh.

All the feelings I don’t want to feel.

But.

OH.

All the feelings I get to feel, I am so grateful and graced and loved.

Beloved.

I am.

And I am aware of my great fortune.

But.

This then, begins the end of my blog.

I have to let you know I won’t stop writing.

Nope.

I just won’t be writing here any longer.

I will have an end date on Auntie Bubba.

She has been such a good girl to me and shown me my strengths, and oh yes, my defects, those in spades, all things intimate and good and intense and wounded and sad and well, just all the things.

Yes.

All the lovely things.

This bearing witness to my own journey.

I am forever grateful for it.

So.

As this chapter closes.

As the Book of Bubba comes to an end.

I will admit.

That I am not finished.

That I am not written out.

That there are more words and worlds of words and galaxies and yes, a universe to still discover and write about.

There is a theory about the Big Bang and how the universe was created and when the universe will end and that it all came from one spot and explodes out and then shrinks back in on itself.

This is called the Big Bounce.

This is all very general and not very theoretically informed, mind you.

However.

It speaks to me and what I endeavor now to share with you.

I will be starting a new blog.

I am not done.

This blog is, however, just about done.

I will only publish a few more blogs here.

I am not quite ready to say good-bye yet.

But it is only days away.

I will start a new blog and I will continue my writing, my growth, my learning, my pushing my edges and finding out more and more who I am through this medium that speaks so much to me.

Writing.

I will not be connecting it to my Twitter account, in fact I am damn close to doing a deactivation on my Twitter account, I don’t feel like I use it all the often any way.

I will not be posting my blog on Facecrack.

I will not be making it known who I am.

I will be writing anonymously.

I haven’t a name yet.

Just a taste on my lips, like the last kiss at the end of the night, the push of tongue into my mouth and the startled stillness in my heart that precursor to the shaking tremble that befalls me and  tells me, yes, here, go here.

I will consider sharing with some of my readers my new blog.

But you will have to message me privately.

Which you may do by posting a comment.

I approve all comments before they are linked to my blog.

I will message you my new blog when it goes live.

Otherwise, seven years later, I will bid this space adieu.

They say that after seven years all the cells in your body turn over.

I know not what will be next.

I just know that there is a next.

And I thank you.

My readers.

Who ever you are, where ever you are, for humoring me and my poetry and my words and my tears and my heart ever beating upon my bloody damn sleeve.

With so much gratitude.

I thank you.

 

Why, Yes, That Is Correct

February 21, 2017

I am making chicken and rice soup with vegetables right now.

Yes.

At 9 p.m. at night with terrible and gusty winds.

Chicken soup is super homey and I felt in need of throwing together a pot.

Plus.

I had the time.

And.

It doesn’t take too much time.

I have it down to a science and since I roasted a chicken yesterday I figured I would whip up some soup when I got home and had dinner.

The soup will be done in less than a half hour.

I’ll freeze some and can the rest.

Lunch and dinner for the week.

Easy to just grab a Mason jar of chicken soup with rice and head out the door.

I normally would make the soup on the same night I roast the chicken, but I hung out with a friend yesterday in the afternoon and had coffee.

I am practicing reaching out to people and connecting when I feel lonely.

It was a perfect afternoon jaunt over to the Richmond side of the park, up to Balboa and 38th.

We went to La Promenade Cafe across the street from the Balboa Theater.

It’s a great neighborhood cafe with lots of tables and nooks and crannies and couches.

It was surprisingly packed yesterday with students and laptops, but also with gamers.

I didn’t even recognize most of what people were playing, but I felt happy to be in the midst of the energy and to see people connect with one another face to face.

Rather than Facebook to Facebook.

Speaking of ye olde social media.

I had someone send me a friend request yesterday who I had unfriended a few months back for good reason and at the suggestion of my person and I also blocked his phone number and deleted his number in my phone.

Space was made and taken.

I was surprised to get the request.

Then.

Not so surprised.

And.

Then.

Surprised that I considered accepting it.

But.

In the end.

Yes.

I deleted it.

There was a reason, there is a reason, and no contact is still the best thing for me with said gentleman.

That being said.

I was happy to have made the decision to do something, even such a small thing, as deleting the request, instead of hemming, hawing re-accepting and going back into the crazy.

Sometimes I turn down crazy town road and I see that great big pothole (man-hole) that I have fallen into before and I am so tempted.

I won’t fall in this time, just watch!

Sure Lucy.

How about I just don’t try to kick that ball today?

It felt really good to take contrary action and to not engage.

Healthy like.

Sane.

Different.

I like it.

Then today when I logged into all things interwebs and was checking through I noticed that although I had deleted the friend request it showed up that said person was following my public posts.

Hmm.

I’m not so sure I want that.

I haven’t ever really thought about my privacy on Facebook.

I don’t publish political stuff on my page, in fact, any time I am tagged in a political post I remove that tag and delete it on my timeline.

Don’t post shit to my page.

Please.

And thank you.

I don’t give a fuck if our political leanings are the same, I don’t want to think about politics when I’m on social media.

Anyway.

I logged into privacy settings and holy shit.

I might as well have let the whole world know what was going on or not going on with me.

Everything was set to public.

I cannot fathom how or when I did that.

Unless I just wasn’t paying attention.

So.

I made it all private.

I figure this is good timing for me anyway.

I’ll be starting practicum soon and I should make sure my social media stuff isn’t accessible to people whom I’m not friends with.

I don’t post racy pictures of myself.

I find that kind of tacky.

That’s just my judgement.

But.

My personal stuff is my personal stuff.

And.

I have been “found” by a few guys on Tinder when I was on Tinder.

I am not on it.

Haven’t been on it for a bit now.

I took it off my phone but once in a while I would notice that I was getting hits on Instagram that seemed to be coming from Tinder.

So I got the app again on my phone and checked it out.

Sure enough.

I had to delete my account through the app before I could actually be off it.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t have it on my phone.

It was still “live” out there in the world.

Creepy.

So.

Deleted that.

Buh bye.

I’m so not opposed to sex.

I love sex.

But.

I am opposed to that particular app and I realize that yes, I prefer some intimacy, emotional, intellectual, yes, even spiritual, before I want to drop my knickers.

Like if someone from my friends group on Facebook did want to ask me out on a date, I would be down.

But.

For someone to find me on Tinder, photostalk me through Instagram, find me on Facebook and then message me, um.

NOT INTERESTED.

That particular scenario has happened three times.

I don’t expect it will again.

Boundaries.

I need to have them.

I have had nebulous, porous, wobbly boundaries, and it just ends up biting me on the ass.

Every time.

Better boundaries make for better relationships.

This is what I am learning.

Good skill to have.

I am sure I’ll waffle again, but I’m getting better and better and the change feels good and I am not watching the horror show of my own dramatic script writing.

Nope.

I’m changing the channel and getting right into the what is right in front of me, moment.

Reality is so much better than fantasy.

Fantasy feels safer.

But in the end.

For me.

It’s isolation.

And for me to isolate is to die.

I’ll pass, thanks.

Here’s to living in the present.

The gift I’m given every day.

Grateful for that.

Seriously.

 

Hello Friday

October 17, 2015

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.

And So It Begins

July 28, 2015

Not once.

But twice today.

Messages on social media from folks I don’t know.

“Hey, so and so mentioned I should talk to you about getting a ticket to Burning Man, it’s my first time!  I’m terribly excited, the Universe has conspired to get me to go and I need two tickets, can’t wait to meet you on playa!!!!!!”

Heart emoticon.

Smiley face.

Exclamation point.

People.

Come on.

I don’t have a special in.

I mean, I got one certain trick I can do, and that’s about getting myself a ticket.

Nobody else.

Now.

I won’t lie, I have facilitated a few people getting tickets to the event.

I tipped off a friend one year to the low-income ticket and she applied to it and got it.

But that really has nothing to do with me other than I passed on some information that might be considered pertinent.

This year I did actually help a friend by connecting him to a former camp mate of mine who had an extra ticket and it was such a random event of just happening to see via social media after having just talked to my friend who needed a ticket and I connected the two, but they did all the heavy lifting.

Note to general public.

Like you, mister, on my Instagram feed.

I don’t have access to tickets.

The box office at Burning Man does.

And the OH MY GOD sale is about to happen, so that’s like your best bet.

Get yourself a subscription to the Jack Rabbit Speaks, the Burning Man newsletter and find out how to get on the STEP program–the Secure Ticket Exchange Program–if you want to get access to kind souls who may have a spare.

That’s another way as well, but commenting on a photo from last years event wondering if perhaps I could, you know, help a brother out, is not how you’re going to get in.

I mean.

Maybe someone somewhere gets that kind of deal.

But I’m not your lady.

So just stop.

Funny thing, I could actually use a spare myself.

I have a friend whose birthday and anniversary are coming up and happen to fall during the event, I would love to get him out there.

But.

Just so you know, I’m not about to go search the web for hashtags with Burning Man in it and beg for special Universal dispensation.

In a way, that sort of mysterious gift has already been given to me when the mom and the little bug, not so little anymore, reached out and said, all that longing I had poured out into a blog was heard and they wanted me to join their camp before someone else cottoned onto the fact that my schedule had become open and I could go to the event.

I wasn’t sure until I found out what my graduate school schedule was going to be.

Aside.

I got four books in the mail today.

Three more to go.

And fortunately of the four that came today are the two that I must have done a bit of reading in for the retreat week.

One of the book in its entirety and the other about three chapters.

It’s an intense amount of reading, but as I look at the stack,  I know I can do it, just like I know when I sit down to the pair page, the words will come.

I don’t always know where they come from, they just come.

The reading will be the same.

I will find the pattern and the times that work best for me.

End aside.

And I am going to damn enjoy my Burning Man this year.

I ran into a dear friend today in the Mission who I have not seen since last year’s event, and we caught up and she met my charges, we were on our way to Boogaloos for lunch, and we dished about the event, when we were headed up, what we were doing–she’s going to be on Gate for the first time, me as a nanny.

“But I heard through the grapevine that you’re not working that much?”

Nope.

Four shifts.

And maybe there will be more, but it won’t be like it was last year.

I explained to my friend the 22 our of 23 days that I worked last year, plus, let me not put too fine a point on it, but I worked the full week before I left for the event as well.

In essence I worked a month with one day off.

And that day off was total emotional upheaval and the storm that froze up the playa for a full day and had me stuck in the commissary, worse places to be for sure, I know, for five hours while the rain poured and the lighting smashed and the thunder shook the air and yes, it did hail too.

But that emotional upheaval, well, fuck, it was so worth it.

I mean.

I am looking at a stack of graduate school readers and psychology texts.

It was at Burning Man last year that I had it tossed at me, “well, what’s your part, this same thing happened last year with these folks, who came back and worked for them again?  You did.  What are you going to do different?”

There was a lot more to it than this, but he ended the speech with, “you’re a child psychologist getting paid babysitter wages, what are you going to do about it?  Do you have an undergraduate degree?”

I said I did.

I do.

“Well, go to grad school, kiddo, and find another job in the mean time, this one isn’t so good for you.”

And they are not bad people, the folks I was working for, we just weren’t the best match, and I wasn’t happy.

I gave notice, got a new job, and applied to graduate school.

I got accepted.

I got a $30,000 scholarship.

I got financial aid for the rest, $60,000, but who’s counting?

And I got a ticket to go to Burning Man.

But I don’t have one for you.

Just saying.

But should the Universe comply, happy face, smile, heart emoji, I’ll see you on playa!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem.

Hello Stranger

November 17, 2014

Where you been?

I have taken the last couple of days away from the computer, the laptop, the internet, the interwebs, the social media, the facebooking, twittering, chirping, instagraming, tinder, okcupid of it all.

I have been busy living.

I am being a little oblique.

I understand.

Curiosity it killed the cat.

This may be one of the harder blog posts I write.

There was and is a very good reason I was offline for the last couple of days.  I mean, I wasn’t totally, I checked a few things on my phone, I’m not a Neanderthal after all, but I haven’t booted up the lap top to input the blog.

I have been, um, busy.

Yargh.

This is hard.

I just recall certain things that certain folks have passed a long for a little while now, snippets of suggestions, dollops of care, maybe I sound like your mother, but I love you, advice.

And you know what is happening?

I am listening.

I am really listening.

To my heart, to my gut, to my instincts.

There are truly some things that I am not going to write about.

I can’t.

Too much is at stake.

Therefor I stayed off the blog the last few days.

I let things unfold, I discovered what feelings were in real-time and had them and processed them and went about my life with new and unusual information about who I am and let myself enjoy the fuck out of it.

I will drop a few hints and if you should be curious, I know one or two of you might, please call me on that old-fashioned thing called a phone and we can have a chat and I can give you details.

There are details.

Be assured.

Some things that I am willing to cop to.

Number one.

Get Tinder off my phone.

Don’t want the app, not interested in using it, not needed, get thee gone.

Except I can’t figure out how to get it off my phone–it may have something to do with the fact that I never was successful at installing the app in the first place; it wouldn’t load and I spent more time watching the error sign come up then swiping left or right.

Second.

I killed OkStupid.

Yup.

It’s done.

I’m off the site.

Now.

I know my friends are some smart monkeys.

If a + b = c one might surmise that.

a. No OkCupid

b. No Tinder

c. No blog for last couple of days.

I will say no more.

See.

I can do this!

Not certain for how long I can keep the hat on it, but I am going to give things room to grow and breathe and be, myself included and keep focus on the practices that I am currently doing.

Writing, writing, and more writing.

Maybe if I’m not writing about certain things I can be writing my autobiographical statement for graduate school.

Not tonight.

I’m too tired.

I had a busy weekend.

I got behind on some things and played catch up a lot today.

For instance, my Sunday soul soup is still cooking on the stove–my food for the week is a vegetable three bean chili with brown rice–I didn’t get to the cooking for a little while today and it still needs a good hour of simmering on the stove.

I did have an awesome late lunch at Thai Cottage, but that’s not cooking for the week.

I did get groceries done, but far later in the weekend then I normally do, same with cleaning the in-law and doing laundry–one load left to go.

I was a little behind on things, I had my attention elsewhere.

I enjoyed that attention being elsewhere.

Especially as I head into a busy week.

One with dancing at the end of it and a lot of service thrown in between.

Two speaking engagements this week and it feels like there’s another lurking around the corner, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Thanksgiving is coming up, which is frankly weird, not the holiday, just that it’s so close already.

I had some plans for the day, and I still think that it will probably happen that I end up in the Castro with Honey and the orphans and take out and a movie matinée at the Castro Theater.

I have plenty to be giving thanks for.

I tell you what.

So many things.

Like already booking dates in December for Christmas parties and on into January for a night at the symphony (the San Francisco Symphony is doing a big screen viewing of the original God Father and the symphony will be playing the soundtrack to the movie).

I actually opened up my closet and started poking through it, could I wear that dress to the party, would this work for the symphony, what about those heels?  Are they too high?

I may have to go out and buy a holiday frock or two.

I can’t remember the last time I had plans around the holidays that required some more formal attire.

I have dresses, but they are not so formal.

Ah.

Yes.

What every woman needs, or just this woman, an excuse to go dress shopping.

I can handle dress shopping better than jeans shopping.

Yikes.

I really do have to buy a new dress, probably two, and maybe some new heels.

My ankle should be all healed up and ready to prance about.

Speaking of prancing, I shall be dancing this weekend too, very much looking forward to the party at the Armory and getting to see some friends who I haven’t had much chance to catch up with since Burning Man.

This party I have clothes for.

And I won’t be wearing heels too, oh no.

Sneakers.

I may lace them up with some pink ribbon shoe laces for flair, but I am wearing flats for my night out dancing.

No hurting the ankle.

Well, the soup is simmering, the tea is in the process of sipping, the night is young and full of stars.

Far away messages of mystery in the sky.

Dumped over the bowl of dark covering the ocean and beach, drizzling me in sweet dreams and delicious thoughts from the weekend.

~End vague blog~

 


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