Posts Tagged ‘writing practice’

The Poetry Is

December 1, 2018

Spectacular.

I was bowled over by the compliment I just received from a professor regarding a poem I wrote and recorded for a group project in one of my classes.

It is always nice to hear that, that my poetry is “spectacular.”

I mean, who doesn’t want to hear that?

I’m always so flattered.

It comes naturally and it comes with great effort.

I have taken a great deal of time to cultivate and practice my writing skills.

I find that because I have taken so much time doing the work that when I need to sit down and do it, it comes easily and smoothly with what feels like minimal effort.

That means, however, that I have to continually be practicing to keep that flow going.

I can’t rest on the laurels of my gym results from last year if I want to stay in shape.

I have to write.

And therefore it gives me much pleasure to be back here again writing.  I don’t know that I will be able to post as much as I did prior to jumping off into my PhD program, but I am hopeful that I will give it a good god damn shot.

I have to admit that when my blog got intertwined with my professional site I was really upset, how was I not going to be able to blog?

How?

Then, slowly, I saw that it was a gift, this little break from my practice.

It was a opprotunity to do the writing for my classes instead of for my blog.

I have done so much writing for classes.

Each week I’m posting about 4,000-5,000 words in discussion groups.

On top of a pretty constant hum of papers, projects and just all the reading.

My God.

There is a lot of reading.

But as I sit here reflecting on all of that I am also sitting next to a gigantic stack of books I have read.

In fact.

There’s only one book left to read and I’m not 100% certain, but I’m feeling pretty close to it, there may not be any articles left to read either.

I’m sure something will crop up, it always seems to do so.

Yet.

When those things have cropped up I have been able to navigate through them.

Not without some profanity, I won’t lie, I have sworn a lot at my computer over the last couple of months and on more than one occasion, or fifteen, I have wondered, what the fucking hell am I doing?

I have so much on my plate.

Just working full-time and getting my private practice up in running is more than enough to keep anyone busy, let alone putting the course work for a PhD on the line too.

I have a lot going on.

And somehow, everything’s been getting done.

Sometimes at what feels like the last-minute, but I realize that I get it done and I get things turned in on time.

I have already witnessed a distinct amount of people in my cohort suddenly just disappearing.

Some of it is in not participating as much with the discussion groups and some of it is not even checking in on a group project.

I basically had someone completely no-show for the entirety of one of the group projects I was involved with, and at one point I actually thought that I was going to be doing it alone as the other person took such a long time jumping in.

And it got done and my professor thought my poetry was spectacular.

So.

Yeah.

I think my brain can let up on the, what are you doing part, because I am doing something big and worthy and worthwhile and beautiful and it’s going to be a long haul, it is, but that’s ok.

I’m only getting older anyway and I want to really leave my mark out on the world.

However I can, whether it is in service to my recovery community, my therapy clients, or just being an example to someone that you can get what you want despite where you come from or the hardships you have had.

I am excited for what it will all bring, even knowing that it will be a tremendous amount of work and that the great deal of effort I am putting in now is not done for naught.

I keep being told too that my writing is good, that my writing is needed in academia, that my ideas are good, that my contributions are worthwhile and wanted.

It’s nice to feel wanted.

It’s nice to feel that I am contributing, especially at this level of academia.

I suspect that there will be fewer people next semester in my cohort than there was at the beginning of the program.

But I know I will be there and I know that I will continue to strive to do the best I can and show up.

One day at a time.

One hour at a time.

One minute at a time.

Just doing the next thing in front of me.

I will get there.

Wherever there is.

There is here, is now, is in this moment, in this creation, this mass of words and thoughts and dreams.

There is in the space between the words where the love light shines and I find myself again and again in the poetry and the prose of my experience.

In my narrative, my story, my life.

Writing it all as it happens, lucky to be so fortunate to be able to do so and happy that I can continue to do so.

For that I am aware that I am lucky.

I am a very lucky girl.

Very.

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Overwhelmed

June 29, 2017

Much.

Sure.

I was.

I feel better now.

It was a long day and as the day progressed I kept getting more and more information about what I needed to do for my internship this week.

Namely.

That I am taking on a new set of clients tomorrow.

That’s right.

SET.

I have my first couples therapy session.

I was like.

Oh.

Shit.

It’s on now.

I did get a little overwhelmed and then I just breathed and went with it.

I also picked up a consult for next week and I have a new consult this Friday.

I’m getting busy.

It’s still super new, just getting used to where I am, the facility, etc and that I am practicing therapy.

I mean.

I really am a therapist.

It’s pretty fucking surreal.

And.

Also, pretty fucking amazing.

I am also really grateful to be getting some hours tucked in under my belt and to be getting to practice and getting used to what it feels like to juggle all the things.

There’s a lot to juggle.

I am happy for it all, but I have found myself winnowing things out here and there.

I debated whether or not I was going to blog tonight and realized that I really wanted to, I needed to process through the day and shake it out of my head.

And.

I did not write this morning.

I needed to go back into my internship and deal with some paperwork before heading into work this morning.

It was rush hour and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to have the thirty minutes to write, and I couldn’t bring myself to get up any earlier.

I have been getting up pretty early for the last couple of weeks and the thought of just sneaking in another fifteen minutes of slumber was worth it.

Plus I took a shower.

And did my hair, that always eats time.

So not having written this morning I really wanted to make space and allow myself to write my blog even if all I wanted was a cup of tea, a bowl of cherries and some Orange is the New Black.

I may still do all of that, just not watch an entire show.

I was so busy at one point last week that the one episode I managed to watch was spread out over four nights.

Heh.

I have also noticed that I am checking in less and less with social media.

I just don’t have the time and since I haven’t been linking my blog to social media, it hasn’t had as much of a draw for me.

I am ok with this.

I like to talk on the phone or in person rather than dancing around social media.

It’s a nice way to keep tabs on folks but yeah, it’s not been so much on my plate recently and I am ok with that.

I still post Instagram photos and I’m still on the social media tip, although not Twitter, closed that account, I’m just not as into it.

It has been interesting to see my blog nose dive so much with the readership, but it has allowed for a kind of leeway in my writing and I do love that.

I do love that I am still here, typing away, writing my little words, cataloguing my life.

Occasionally letting the poetry out of my heart.

Like.

 

Your face glowing in the red of the traffic light.

Love lit and reverent.

Words trembling upon your lips.

But they do not fall.

Then.

That.

Mouth.

Full of promise.

Sweet, open, vulnerable.

And.

The thrum of it.

The strings and somnolent vibration, the headiness of having your face

Smote with emotion in front of mine.

How I wish to crush you to me.

Let me flower for you underneath the star light and the moon roof.

Blooming with the nights soft remonstrance in my mouth.

The crash of the ocean at Miramar Beach.

Cold wind pushing me into your arms.

My feet sink into the sand and I tumble against you.

Falling and falling and falling over again.

For you.

Shot through with the blue of your eyes.

From the awe and reverence there.

Even when.

You don’t always let me see it.

Shutters on your heart open and close.

I know though.

I know all the way through me.

Straight through.

There.

Is.

This

Arrow winnowed into my heart.

Lodged there.

Succinct and brilliant.

I lapse upon its bright point.

Collapsing.

Knowing that I am caught.

Held.

Loved.

Be it unspoken.

Or writ.

Large in the promises your eyes speak to me.

Captured.

Asunder.

Those.

Fallen angel eyes.

Falling forward.

Compel me on.

Like star-gazer lilies blooming while I dream.

You.

Enthrall.

Me.

 

And like that.

I get to make time for my poetry.

My heart opens.

And now I can have my cherries in a bowl.

My cup of tea.

And my rest.

Sweet dreams my love.

Sweet dreams.

 

Ratchet It Down

March 31, 2017

I’m trying to get mellow.

It has been a long day, much was done, much accomplished.

Biggest accomplishment was getting out to do the deal at a spot up in Potrero Hill that I don’t get to very often anymore since it’s an 8:30 p.m. gig and I’m trying to not be out that late on ‘school nights’ but, I knew when I was watching the lights of the city come up as the sun set that I needed to go and get my connection on.

And I did.

And it was good.

I got to see some folks I haven’t seen in a while and get reconnected and get some good hugs and see some sweet faces.

Always a plus.

And now I’ll be able to go into work tomorrow and be a kind, tolerant, generous person, the kind of woman I want to be.

I told myself it was going to be a long weekend.

No days off for this lady.

So I wanted to be getting the connection in.

I will also be doing the deal all through the weekend, but there’s not much down time for me.

Super grateful I got all the school stuff out-of-the-way.

So much stuff.

I met with my advisor today who is also the head of the department, which is fun, I get to share my experiences and suggestions with someone who has a vested interest in creating positive change in my program.

I’m not quite sure how we got on topic, something to do with the goal of pursuing the PhD and how I will need to do a lot of writing and I just chuckled and told him that my writing is fine, that I have a writing practice that I have been doing steady as she goes for ten years.

And this little blog that I have been doing for 7 and 1/2 years.

I have a practice you might say.

I told him that there are some folks in my cohort who have expressed some jealousy at how fast I can whip out a paper.

But.

That I have a method to it, yes, the practice is super helpful, I mean, fuck, it keeps my typing speed at a maximum I’ll tell you that, but it also is a practice and the more I do it the easier it becomes.

And.

I have a method to my madness when I am writing a school paper and I shared that method with him.

His eyes lit up.

“Do you think you could do something for me?” He asked.

I nodded yes and he laid out his idea for a teaching panel about how to write papers.

He wants me to sit on it and help incoming students with the process of writing papers.

I was very flattered.

And I’m always willing to share my experience with doing the work.

Of course.

It’s work.

That’s the thing, it’s not hard per se, but there is effort involved.

Sometimes when I talk to people about what I am doing or how I am doing I apparently give off this casualness about the work, but it’s work, I show up and do every day.

EVERY DAY.

Twice a day.

And let me be honest.

It saves me, it nurtures me, it is art, it love, it is poesie, it is pretty flowers in my hair.

I can make up the most fantastical amazing things the words and ideas and images I can suddenly be standing on the Trocadero in Paris and be transported to the sound of the Seine and the batobus going by, the cars rolling over the bridge or me, on my bicycle rolling along the bike path headed towards Rue de Commerce to see some fellows and get to down and do the deal.

I can see squares with green grass and gravel paths and benches under beech trees.

Or.

Like tonight.

Riding my scooter home from Potrero Hill the moon, oh the moon, a heavy-handed ladle of butter in a midnight blue velvet enamel coated spoon, the syrup of sweet heady jasmine floating to me through the cool air.

Or.

How that one turn from Fell Street as it becomes Lincoln Avenue and the open swath of green grass that leads into the park proper, how the air there is always cooler and brushes over me like a cat with cold fur from being outside in the night.

Furry and soft and petulant.

Then the over blown smell of cut clover at Keezar Park, a rounded bend in the road and the moon now to my right peeking and booing from in between the Monterey Pines in the park.

Divinity.

I mean.

Shit.

I could go on like that forever.

There is a logic to how I write and there is a rhyme and reason.

Sometimes I can explain that desperate call in my heart and sometimes the words fail.

But.

I keep showing up anyway.

And that is the trick.

“Just breathe and show up,” I told myself this morning as I walked out the door, saying good-bye to my little home by the sea to scooter off to school and jump through the next hoops to do the work to eventually, one day, be a great big grown up therapist instead of a junior baby in waiting.

I jest a little.

But.

It is a long road ahead.

Nonetheless.

It is important that I acknowledge the movement forward.

It is a big deal.

All my papers signed off and turned in.

All the “t’s” crossed.

All the “i’s” dotted.

I even talked with the financial aid department today.

I wasn’t expecting to be in practicum this summer, it just came together that way.

The summer practicum costs about $2200 to do.

Basically $1,098 per credit, was what I was told, with the caveat of “don’t quote me on that, but I believe that will be the cost” from the financial aid admin I spoke to today.

I decided at one point that I don’t want to take out any loans for school this summer.

I have a little in savings from my tax return.

Then.

I  got a financial aid e-mail from the school and I thought, maybe I should, that way if anything happens I won’t have to dip into my travel savings.

I really want to give myself a nice break in May and be able to do all the things in Paris that will make going to Paris all the fun that I need.

So.

Tomorrow.

One more little hoop to jump.

My paperwork is turned into the registrar and it’s official, I am an intern.

But.

The “course” needs to be paid for.

I will do the application, give myself the gift of a worry free trip in May and get my grad school on when I get back.

Internship begins May 22nd.

I will be ready.

Yes.

Yes, I will.

Write It Out

November 7, 2016

To work it out.

I’m so grateful for my little old blog.

It does help me with the practice, with the writing, with the working it out so that I can work it out on paper too.

I just wrapped up another paper for school.

One more down.

One more step down the long, winding road toward becoming a therapist.

I wrote a nice paper, it was good, I liked it, I’m actually quite happy with it and I don’t have to worry about it over the upcoming week.

Next weekend I have another I have to do.

It’s twice the length and will need to be a lot more focused and detailed.

I started in on some of the reading that I will need to do for it today as well.

I had a full day, but it was good and I am very happy to say that I wasn’t nearly as anxious writing this paper as I have been before.

I did clean and cook like a house a fire.

There is something about having to write a paper that really does motivate me to have a sparkling clean house, fresh sheets on my bed, laundry folded and put away, groceries in the fridge and dinner cooking on the stove.

Plus I met with a lady and did some doing the deal and some reading and that really helps too.

I love that my house is so clean and tidy and smells delicious.

I actually made two different things today, a little extra food prep the weekends before I have a big paper due helps me out.

So.

I made chicken soup with the leftover roasted chicken I had.

And.

I made something new today that I had a hankering to try–coconut curry chicken with cauliflower, green pepper, onions, and carrots.

I don’t often make curry dishes, but I made something similar for the family on Friday and wanted to try it with my own little twist and I rather like it.

It could use a little tweaking, but really, I did pretty good for only having cooked a curry once before this.

It feels nice to have yummy food in my fridge and freezer, soup in Mason jars, clean sheets  on my bed, washed rugs in the bathroom, and that paper done.

That is really a good feeling.

I do have lots to read this week and it’s going to be a long week.

I’ll be doing a full 40 hours this week.

The boys are out of school on Thursday and Friday.

I’m ok with it, though it means less time for me to study, it does mean more money in my pocket and that will partially make up for the time I am taking off around Thanksgiving to go visit my school friend in Nevada.

I’m super happy to go hang out with her and amazed, freaking amazed that it’s November.

How does the time go by so quickly?

I suppose it helps that my days are full and busy.

Full and busy.

Next thing you know it will be Christmas.

The days they do fly by.

I was sharing with the lady I met with today that the time it does speed up, it does go faster, and there are so many things that I want to do.

I mean.

I could have done fifteen other things in addition to what I did do this weekend.

But.

I don’t have the time for it all.

I am however, grateful that I have been letting myself do a little more socially, a little bit more fellowship, a little more out in the world.

It’s a balance.

I’m not sure how that balance is going to look for next weekend.

I’m not certain I can squeeze in a date or an outing around needing to work on the paper.

I don’t have plans.

I’m going to allow myself a little fellowship either Friday night or Saturday night, but mainly it’s going to look a lot like staying home and doing the paper.

Oh, the papers.

I do feel that I’m getting better at organizing them and knowing what I need to address.

I actually wrote an outline of the one I did today.

I reviewed the readings, stuck some post it notes to the parts I wanted to cover, reviewed the directions in the syllabus and then I sat back and did the thing that helps me to push through.

One.

I prayed.

Yeah, I know, sounds hokey, but alleviates the stress of having to be perfect, I just remind myself that I need to show up and the words will come.

Two.

I finished cooking dinner and washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.

I knew if I was going to write I needed to have it all done and put away or the dishes in the sink would be having a conversation with me while I wrote.

Three.

I took a picture of the notes and books and post it notes and I put it up on social media.

It’s a kind of accountability that I have found works surprisingly well.

Four.

I turned off the volume on my phone and flipped it face down so I would not see incoming messages, texts, or social media updates.

No distractions.

I also turned off the jazz, although I do love me some Sunday afternoon jazz listening, the music distracts.

Then I wrote.

I wrote the 1,956 words in one hour.

Don’t hate.

That’s why I love my blog so.

I have the practice of doing it consistently and the typing just flies out and so when I’m getting ready to write a paper, I remind myself of that.

And that it is a gift.

And an accomplishment.

I have been putting in the work, the practice, the blogging for years.

It is the culmination of that practice that I am grateful for, that helps me so when I have to do the writing.

Now.

Just to slog through the rest of the week with work and do as much reading as I can before next weekend.

I’m sure I’ll find some fun along the way.

Fingers crossed.

But if I don’t I’m ok with getting these papers addressed.

It’s a gigantic gift to get to be in graduate school.

Huge.

And now.

It’s a gift to wrap this up and watch a little video before bed.

I’ve got an early start tomorrow.

But it will feel very good knowing I have another paper behind me finished.

Yippee!

Here’s to starting off the week on the upswing.

Seriously.

 

 

 

So I Said

September 16, 2016

Fuck it.

And went to yoga.

I expressed to my friend via text.

We were commiserating about having both gotten a rejection from a publisher in the past twenty-four hours.

Yeah.

I don’t write about it much, but I did send off a couple of poems in recent memory and yesterday I got the thanks but no thanks.

Ditto for my friend.

Although I still get them impression that he’ll be published in a big way and then I can be all like, I knew him when.

He asked if I was working on anything new and where I was going to submit next and what was the contest that I had submitted to.

I had already forgotten.

I explained that I have been too focused on trying to get through the reading for my second year grad program.

I haven’t had time to think about polishing any of my current pieces and submitting them anywhere.

I suppose I could.

I probably should.

I would like to.

Could, would, should.

Good ways to take me out of the moment and beat myself for not having done all the things yet.

But I told him I had a fuck it moment last night and decided to screw doing any more reading and go to yoga this morning instead.

I am grateful I did.

Although.

Fuck me.

It was hard.

In fact.

I cringed when I saw the instructor who was teaching my class today.

I went anyway.

I sacked up.

I got up.

I went.

It was hard.

It was hella hard.

I am still sore.

But.

Man.

I was out of my head and that’s the point, right?

To not be in my head, but to be in my body.

I floated out the door of the studio, gingerly, I was sore, I am sore, I’ll be sore tomorrow too.

I’m going to go to yoga again in the morning.

I have a busy weekend with the things and the doing and the goings and the people and oh, all the freaking home work.

But.

I will make time for fun.

Yes.

Yes I will.

Because all work and all grad school and all recovery can make Carmen a kind of crazy girl.

I have to do the work and I’m down to do it.

But I’m also going to take my joy where I find it.

I’m hella grateful tomorrow is Friday though, let me tell you.

I’m also grateful that I don’t have a paper due for my Psychopathology class; although there’s an uncomfortable amount of reading I need to do for the class by next weekend, at least there’s not a paper.

I have papers due in my two other classes.

Plus.

Sigh.

The paper I need to write for my Gestalt class.

Which.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

I really had some powerful experiences in Gestalt and I don’t feel that there will be any lack of things to write about, plus I read the readings and I took good notes.

It’s a six page paper.

I’ll have it done in an hour and a half.

Twenty minutes to review my notes, go through my notes in the reading, then forty minutes to an hour of writing, some time to proof it and voila.

A paper in 1.5 hours.

I’m a fast writer.

But please, don’t think that my work comes without effort.

It is work.

I have also been practicing my craft for years.

I started this blog what now, seven years ago?

I have been writing in my notebook for ten and a half years.

Every day.

Every god damn day.

I write, I write, I write.

So.

Yeah.

The papers do come fast, but I’m always doing the work, putting in the time and getting down to the actual practice.

I was a little afraid when I started my grad school program that I would lose the habit, maybe not blog as much or write less in the morning.

But.

That has not happened.

I have been consistent.

With that consistency.

Rewards.

The first being that I type hella fast.

I’m not sure how fast, but over 60 words a minutes, probably somewhere around 75 if I’m honest, 80-100 on occasion when the words are really flowing.

I can knock out a 1,000 word blog in a half hour.

Not that I always do.

My typewriting skills not withstanding, sometimes I’m crafting the blog or messing with it or I’m feeling poetic.

Anyway.

Yeah.

Lots and lots and lots of practice.

So the other two papers that are due won’t take me too long either.

Besides.

They’re both two-three page reflection papers.

I’ll review my notes and kick out each one in a half hour.

The biggest challenge is just keeping up with the reading.

And.

Fortunately for me I am a fast reader.

Granted I read slower when I am studying then when I am reading for pleasure, underling pertinent information, re-reading certain things, making sure I understand what I am reading.

But.

l still read at a fairly fast clip.

I am gifted and I get it and I am lucky and I also work my fucking ass off.

I had a friend who would give me shit last year while I was working on my papers about how fast I wrote, and it was no skin off my nose and I have to say, it is work, and I do so much outside work that is not my job job or my school job, that it can feel like I’m working all the fucking time.

I took some offense to it, despite also knowing that he was pretty correct.

The worst thing for me is not the paper writing.

It’s the anticipation of having to write the paper.

That’s where the anxiety lies.

And that’s just another way to take me out of the moment.

In the moment.

Right here.

Right now.

Nothing is wrong.

I have a roof over my head.

It’s an awful cute roof too.

I have food in my belly–dinner with a dearest to celebrate my nine-year anniversary in, well a sister program I go to–and!

I got persimmons at the farmer’s market today.

I have clean clothes folded up in my closet.

I have had a hot shower today.

I had coffee.

The nice kind.

Home brewed for breakfast then an Americano today at work from Ritual.

I got to spend an amazing hour with an extraordinary mentor and friend.

I got to talk with one of my best friends on the phone today.

I got to make plans for the weekend.

I went to yoga.

There’s a hot cup of tea waiting for me and a cozy bed.

Life is fabulous.

And.

Tomorrow is Friday.

So yeah.

Fuck it.

I’ll be going to yoga again in the morning.

The reading and the papers can wait one more day.

Seriously.

And Like That

September 4, 2016

I got a date.

Now that was fucking fast.

I don’t know that he is necessarily the man I have been hoping to manifest.

But.

Then again.

I have no idea.

Funny this.

He asked me out over a year ago and then I ran into another guy who I thought was him and I asked that guy out thinking it was the first dude who had asked me out.

Oops.

Not the same dude.

But they both do look a bit alike.

That being said, this is pretty much a blind date.

He was someone who friended me on social media after reading one of my blogs.

I think a mutual friend must have shared it, because I am uncertain how we connected, just that I remember he asked me on a date, but we never did connect.

Then a couple of weeks ago, right before Burning Man, while I was still working in Glen Ellen, he messaged me on Instagram.

I think he liked one of my photos or I liked on of his, who knows, but he reached out and asked me out to dinner.

We chatted a bit and I said probably after I get back from Burning Man, but yeah, I also got that school thing happening, so, it might be a minute.

And then.

I forgot about it.

Except there it was on my phone tonight, a little message in the in-box on my Instagram account.

And like that.

I have a date tomorrow.

I’m not certain exactly what we are doing, but we’ll hang out after I get done with school.

Sunday’s I have a half day, done by 4p.m. and I also have Monday off, so if it goes well and I’m out a little late I’ll be cool with it.

I’ll be happy to celebrate getting through my first weekend of the second year program.

I ordered more books today, well, one more book, a big gun, the DSM 5 and I also got my advisor situation worked out.

My advisor is on sabbatical this semester.

Which is cool by me, we didn’t really click and I never met with him.

My new advisor is actually the head of the program department, and though I know he’s really busy, I also had him for one of my classes last year and I really connected with him and how he communicates is right up my alley.

I got the paperwork sorted and I’ll be having him sign off on it tomorrow.

I had a tiny moment of panic today when I thought about things, all the reading, all the paper writing, all the paying attention and learning and doing, there is so much of it.

But.

Then I remembered.

I only have to do today.

I only have to show up, to the best of my ability, on time and alert and to participate.

Sometimes that participation is just to make sure I take a moment, sit down and eat my lunch.

The next things will fall into place, the next actions will happen, and the next thing you know I will have my masters in psychology and I will be heading into the doctoral program at the school.

I get a head of myself.

Just a note to self.

One day at a time.

One moment at a time.

And.

I don’t have to figure it out.

It will happen how it is supposed to happen.

But damn Gina.

Am I ever so glad that I have a writing practice, that I sit down here every night and write.

That I sit at this same table every morning and I write.

Write, write, write.

It’s a good habit, it’s a life line, it’s the thing that makes my blood surge and my heart beat and I decompress and unwind and let the day do it’s thing on the page.

Sometimes it’s really good.

And.

Sometimes.

Well.

It’s ass.

But.

I do it anyway and I keep doing it and one day, millions of words later, and I do mean millions, the blog I published last night was number 1,900.

I average 1,000 to 1,500 words per blog.

Which means I have written over two million words on this site.

Not bad man.

I don’t know what that breaks down into hours, they, the infamous “they,” say that it takes 50,000 hours at something to be considered a master.

Want to be a master cellist?

50,000 hours.

I wouldn’t say my blogs take me an hour to write, they typically take about a half hour to 45 minutes depending on what I have to say or what kind of mood I am in.

And the longer I have done them, the faster I have gotten.

My typing skills are pretty sharp, lots of practice, yo.

So.

Let me just think about that if I’ve got 1,900 published, which is less than I have written, I have a few dozen drafts that have never seen light of day and about another 50-100 that I scrubbed out after wanting to be careful about what I am writing and making sure that I am keeping the focus on me and my experiences and not judging others for whatever their experiences are (but I’m not perfect, it still sneaks in once in a while), so let’s just say, 2,000 blogs.

2,000 blogs at 45 minutes=90,000 minutes/60 minutes to the hour=1,500 hours.

Nowhere near a master.

But.

That being said.

I’ve spent thousands of hours writing.

And I don’t see it easing up any time soon.

For which, I am grateful.

One of my cohort and I were discussing options in regards to the program as we move forward and she was curious about the come to Jesus moment I had at the intensive week.

I shared my experience and basically outlined some thoughts about wanting to do a dissertation and get my PhD in East/West Psychology and what that might look like.

I really, fyi, have no fucking clue what that would look like except that I would be Dr. Carmen and also that I could do more with the PhD than I can with just a regular MFT license.

Which is not to say that I won’t sit for the MFT boards.

I will.

I want to be able to get my hours and also intern and make money as a therapist while working toward my PhD.

And if I keep with my writing practice.

Well.

“Oh my god, you’ll be great, you’re already a writer, you should totally go for the PhD,” she said with much assurance.

Thanks lady.

That’s nice to hear and I’m so grateful to get to do the work by getting to do this work, this little exercise that has carried me so far, let me work on so many issues, writing things out, letting things go.

Growing all the damn time.

I am so grateful I am a writer.

Even if my audience is small.

Motherfucker!

I have an audience.

How fucking cool is that?

Pretty cool.

Seriously.

Way.

Fucking.

Cool.

 

PS.  I promise my dissertation won’t use profanity.

I think.

Heh.

I Really Don’t Know

March 6, 2016

How that happened.

I mean.

It’s 9:15 p.m. on a Saturday and how the hell did that all get done?

I do know I started my day with a little anxiety that it would not all get done, that I would somehow fuck it up and the day would be blown.

It didn’t help that someone mentioned House of Cards came out with its season 4.

Fuck me.

I did not need to know that.

Suffice to say I probably will not be watching that until I finish this semester of school work.

The writing is beginning to thrum up and I had to do the first of two papers that are due this upcoming weekend of classes.

I just finished the first one and to celebrate fell into a temporary Hello Kitty polka dot slippers for adults internet black hole.

I do not know how that happened.

Innocently facecracking and then, whomp!

In Hello Kitty never never land.

Get me out!

I had other Hello Kitty experiences today, but I get a head of myself.

I knew when I woke up what I had to do and what I wanted to do and I wasn’t sure they were going to coincide with each other.

I also knew that I had to basically put my recovery first, really, always that first, otherwise nothing else will follow, which meant doing my morning routine, some reading, some prayers, some writing, breakfast, coffee, dress, make up, hat on the hair, out the door out to the MUNI train, or bus, damn it they’re still doing work on the tunnel between Duboce and Cole Valley, and up to the Inner Sunset.

The first half of my day was pretty much devoted to that neck of the woods.

I went to see some fellows at 7th and Irving at 11 a.m.

Then after to Tart to Tart to get down with some inventory’ing and heart laying bare.

Surprised, always surprised, by the insights granted to me.

Emotionally wrung out and also a little remiss that we didn’t finish, I really thought we were going to get it all done in one sitting, I mean, four people on it, that’s so small, but we went pretty deep, and stuff it came the fuck out.

Whew.

So.

I took it easy, meandered out to lunch, said, screw the yoga, go get your nails did.

Done.

Back on the train and the rain started to fall and the wind started to bluster and I’m in flip flops since I don’t want to ruin my pedicure.

which I ruin anyhow.

Sigh.

Then.

Off to the Middle Sunset, just after 19th avenue.

I had an adventure to go on,  a field trip for school.

Which I had to do today.

I had to have an immersed, experiential experience for a paper, the one that I just finished writing, and no, I don’t know exactly how the words come, but they did and I knocked out four pages at 1627 words in 11 point font.

What is up with my professors?

I mean.

Fuck.

I’m glad I double checked the syllabus to see if it was a paper that I could e-mail to my professor or if I had to print it off.

Print it off and hand it in.

Then, I saw that yes it was double spacing on the paper, but fuck, 11 point, not 12 point font.

Fortunately the paper was also 3-5 pages and I wrote a full five in 12 pt.

I did lose a full page when I adjusted down the font size, but I still had four pages.

It was actually a lot of fun to do the exploration and I saw things that I have never seen before and had a little adventure in being a human.

I am also grateful for the weather.

The markets on Irving between 19th and 22nd are bustling and jam packed on the weekends, the blustery winds and rain kept the stores a little less jostled and full.

I was glad for the space.

I went into about four smaller markets before I went into the behemoth on Irving and 22nd, the Sunset Supermarket.

It is huge and it’s all Asian and nothing’s in English and I had my submersion experience for sure.  I was the only woman in the store that was not Asian, I did run into an older white guy buying something and a couple of younger guys out front picking through vegetables and trying to figure out what to make for dinner, but other than that, all Asian all the time.

All the noodles!

All the soy sauce.

All the packages with pandas and Hello Kitty in the snack aisle.

I wandered and looked and felt like the elephant in the room, but also, it was rather cool, to be in a new place, to not know, to be surprised, and to also see how human we all are.

And how little I know.

I mean, there is just so much to learn.

I could not learn it all.

I never will.

I will always be a beginner.

In something, at all times, I will never be entirely proficient at all the things all the times.

There is just no way.

And I can choose to be overwhelmed by it or I can rejoice in the differences and the constant availability, if I so choose, to learn, to explore, to experience.

I also was absolutely and utterly surprised to come face to face with a gigantic tank of catfish gaping and bumping their whiskered faces against the glass fronted aquarium.

There were tanks and tanks and tanks of fish.

Live geoduck.

Stacks of shrimp.

More tanks with lobsters, crabs, urchin.

I didn’t get too close, it was crowded, loud, bustling, and I was getting a touch overwhelmed by the whole adventure, and I also felt that I had enough to write about and it was time to head home.

I left the store, walked around the corner and got the best surprise yet.

I don’t know why I stopped, but I did, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, that’s odd, what kind of delivery truck is that?

I looked at the side of the tank, Chinese symbols, then underneath in small English print (slightly larger than 12 pt, but not by much) I read: Live Fish Delivery Vehicle.

Whoa.

One man stood next to a large tank on the truck bed and scooped a huge net into it and lowered a pile of flopping and flipping and squirming fish into a large Rubber Made garbage can on wheels, while the second made sure none of the fish flopped out.

Extraordinary what I get to see when I go outside my comfort zone and do something different.

I continued in that vein, outside my comfort zone, and showed up for another yoga class today.

Yup.

I had said screw yoga, but as it turns out I made it back to the hood in time for the 4:30 p.m. class and I decided to go and not think for an hour and fifteen minutes and get my yoga on.

I’m sore.

And I was tired.

But I dashed up to Other Avenues after, picked up a few things to round out dinner, and came back here.

Hot shower.

Hot, homemade dinner.

Hot tea.

Then.

Sitting and feeling myself in my body.

I flipped through a few readings from my Multi-Cultural class, did some online research about the demographics of the Inner Sunset, heavily Asian American, and started writing.

And somehow.

It came out.

Even when I wasn’t sure what I would be writing, it just came out.

Grateful for that.

Grateful for this little blog, she (I, I always mean me) gets me in some trouble sometimes, most times though, it’s a delight to have this practice, it helps me process and the practice of writing every day, twice a day, well, it comes in handy with writing the grad school papers.

One down, one to go.

Not tonight, though, no more tonight.

A cup of tea, a video, and yes, sleeping.

I am tuckered out.

T u c k e r e d.

Out.

Happy Anniversary!

January 3, 2014

I just got a little love from WordPress.

Happy Anniversary!

You registered on WordPress.com 4 years ago!

Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!

Thanks guys!

I am pretty stoked that it’s been four years.

That’s a great big chunk of commitment to suit up and show up for.

Though, let me be honest, I started this blog four years ago, but it wasn’t until three years ago that I started posting once a day.

That post a day challenge that the site invited me to partake of really took off for me, changed who I am, how I think, what I do, and really, where I go.

I have been all over the map, East Oakland, Paris, San Francisco, Hudson and Madison, Wisconsin, Reno, Florida, LA for the first time, Burning Man, due in no small way to this blog and the work I have done here.

Some of those places I would have gotten to eventually, some of those places came about because I was writing things out, or working them out, letting myself see things I had not seen before.

I started the blog with a push from a friend who said, “you should start a blog.”

And I wanted to impress her, I thought she was cool, and I respected her opinion, so I started the blog.

I also started the blog with the intention that I was going to publish my book on it and then somehow or other get picked up or self publish elsewhere.

Obviously, if you follow this blog at all, which there are 232 of you who subscribe (thank you, by the by, I don’t know many of you, but I am thrilled that you find the writing worth sustaining, worth having sent to your inbox, worth the read) and a handful of you who read via Facebook or who follow via Twitter or Linkedin, you know, that I have not published that book.

I am not aggrieved by that.

When that book is supposed to be it will be and I forgive myself for it not happening yet.

It’s not on my time frame.

What is on my time frame, what I do have some “control” over is the showing up, the sitting down, opening up my laptop and going forth into the world with my words.

Words that I don’t think about much, except once in a while, something will strike me or I will hear something, see something, or be catapulted back into a memory.

I stopped worrying about what I was going to write about somewhere in between the second and third year of doing the blog.

I realized that I just had to sit down and the words would come.

I don’t get to be judgemental of those words either, they are not of me, they come from me, but they are not of me.

They have led me to relationships, sexual, intimate, relationships, they, these words, have led me to friendships unsuspecting, they have given me money when I did not even know I had friends who were reading and they sent me ducats when they were most needed.

The blog has allowed me to let out a voice I wasn’t even sure how to vocalize.

It has led me to see what I like and don’t like, it has allowed a forum for me to express all my idiocies and idiosyncracies.

I have explored sex, money, death, love, travel, friendships, jobs, emotions, bicycles, sleep, dreams, family.

So many things.

I have over and over again gotten to write about something that has bothered me to find a way out of it, whether it was through the constant repetition of a thematic or the things that just kept popping up finally be allowed the recognition of being let out.

I have been able to explore myself, to find out what lays beneath the layers of skin and tattoos, what thrums beneath the sinews and muscles, lies vibrant and live in the corpuscles of my heart.

I have been told things about myself that I did not even know I was doing.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” my friend said to me.

I do?

Hmm.

Yes, I do.

I wear it proudly now rather than shamefully.

I am a brave woman and I acknowledge that fact.

I have gotten to explore growing older, wiser, sexier for sure.

I have lost weight, gained weight, lost it again.

I have lost my mind, temporarily, and been honest about it.

I have tried Calling in the One.

Man, thanks for putting up with me while I was exploring that topic!

I have gotten to hear my words spoken back to me from the unlikeliest of mouths, received texts from people in other cities thanking me for what I wrote the night before.

I have had people text me late at night and ask me why my blog wasn’t up yet, they couldn’t go to bed without reading it.

Do you have any idea how amazing that is?

Thrilling to be read.

Stunning really.

I probably have a greater readership than writers years ago just simply from the gift of sitting here and pouring my heart out on the computer.

Sometimes it is a messy heart, a confused heart, a heart sloppy with emotion, often a stubborn heart.

Man, is it stubborn.

Sometimes a sad heart, a lonely heart, a laughing heart.

I laugh a lot.

Sometimes the heart sings and I throb with the meaning of my life and the unknowing that happens and the magic, the pure fucking magic of putting down, in and with as much honesty as I can, what I am feeling, and you tell me what I need to hear.

Even when there weren’t that many reading.

I somehow was given what I needed when I first put it out here, in this forum.

I have been gifted with so many things–physical gifts–tea and euros, lube, yes, lube (hahahaha, I still love that, my complaining blog about the crappy smell of the lube I found in a sex shop in the Marais when I was living in Paris led to someone sending me my favorite kind from Good Vibes), I have been told how I have been able to connect with people and literally to connect with them, in this physical plane; gifted too with the gifts of insight, so valuable, no price tag can I attach.

This blog has brought me tears.

I have cried.

I have cried.

I have fucking sobbed writing this blog sometimes, the pain it just burned.

But I got it out, here.

Here.

In this little square, this little white brick of space, that I then sent out into space.

Happy anniversary, Auntie Bubba’s blog, I have never had a relationship quite like this and I cannot imagine my life without you.

Here’s to four years.

Here’s to just the beginning.

Here’s to showing up for it.

Here’s to it just getting better and better.

And better.

 


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