Last night I stayed up too late. Last night I cried. A Lot. This morning I slept, feverishly, and when I finally awoke I felt heavy and slow.
I have a headache, but the sun is shining and I’m about to go for a run. 
One of my part time volunteer jobs is turning into a full time paid job starting Monday. 
Tomorrow I’m going to Harbin hot springs with 3 dear friends and then to see Sean Hayes in SF. 
Friday we’re going to the SF Symphony with the passes we got for donating to KQED. 
Saturday I’m driving down to Santa Barbara for a bridal shower and then I’m taking myself camping on the way back up the coast. 

Last night I stayed up too late. Last night I cried. A Lot. This morning I slept, feverishly, and when I finally awoke I felt heavy and slow.

I have a headache, but the sun is shining and I’m about to go for a run. 

One of my part time volunteer jobs is turning into a full time paid job starting Monday. 

Tomorrow I’m going to Harbin hot springs with 3 dear friends and then to see Sean Hayes in SF. 

Friday we’re going to the SF Symphony with the passes we got for donating to KQED. 

Saturday I’m driving down to Santa Barbara for a bridal shower and then I’m taking myself camping on the way back up the coast. 

(Source: gameraboy, via unicornzzzzz)

3,479 notes

ohyeselifresh:

The accuracy.

I don’t always feel, let alone know, that I am better than I was yesterday. Some days, sure. But on other days maybe just different. Or there are dark days where I’m sure that it’s worse and I’m sinking. Spiraling. But ultimately, at the heart of it. At the cold hard bottom of the darkest hole in my heart, I know that I am trying. I am always trying to be my best, most compassionate, honest, kind, thoughtful self. And I am not always successful. Sometimes I’m whiny and angry and selfish and lazy and sad. But I am trying, I do try, the best that I can on any given day. And that is something I feel confident about. That is something strong and sturdy that I can lean on when my legs are wobbly underneath the weight of my emotional being. That’s the kind of confidence I have; not that I am always better, but knowing that I’m always striving, and that that is enough. Knowing that I am enough. 

ohyeselifresh:

The accuracy.

I don’t always feel, let alone know, that I am better than I was yesterday. Some days, sure. But on other days maybe just different. Or there are dark days where I’m sure that it’s worse and I’m sinking. Spiraling. But ultimately, at the heart of it. At the cold hard bottom of the darkest hole in my heart, I know that I am trying. I am always trying to be my best, most compassionate, honest, kind, thoughtful self. And I am not always successful. Sometimes I’m whiny and angry and selfish and lazy and sad. But I am trying, I do try, the best that I can on any given day. And that is something I feel confident about. That is something strong and sturdy that I can lean on when my legs are wobbly underneath the weight of my emotional being. That’s the kind of confidence I have; not that I am always better, but knowing that I’m always striving, and that that is enough. Knowing that I am enough. 

(via abcsoupdot)

The other day I drove through parts of Oakland I haven’t visited in a looong while. I visited the giraffes. I thought of my dad and of @hennypotter and of a cute boy who flew down to Argentina and brought me a giraffe shirt. This morning as I drove into the foggy sunrise a dear friend wiped one no, two, big full hot tears, off my cheek. ‘Do you want me to drive?’ He asked gently, without presupposition. And I couldn’t answer. All I could do was cry. Hold the wheel steady and cry. For what? For a lost love that will always hold a part of my heart. For my heart and her struggle and her strength. For my practicality that sometimes makes the borders too hard, the edges too sharp. Most days, most hours of most days, I am in awe of the beauty and love that surrounds me - surrounds us all. That lives within us. But some days, some minutes and hours, all I feel is cold and alone and heavy and lost. Like I don’t remember where I am without you next to me. Like I don’t understand love anymore. Like it is the cold of winter and I cannot feel the warmth of the sun. But I could feel my friend’s hand on my shoulder. Steady as I cried. And I knew that I was loved and that it is ok to cry sometimes. #words (at Harrison St. / Oakland Ave. Exit)

The other day I drove through parts of Oakland I haven’t visited in a looong while. I visited the giraffes. I thought of my dad and of @hennypotter and of a cute boy who flew down to Argentina and brought me a giraffe shirt. This morning as I drove into the foggy sunrise a dear friend wiped one no, two, big full hot tears, off my cheek. ‘Do you want me to drive?’ He asked gently, without presupposition. And I couldn’t answer. All I could do was cry. Hold the wheel steady and cry. For what? For a lost love that will always hold a part of my heart. For my heart and her struggle and her strength. For my practicality that sometimes makes the borders too hard, the edges too sharp. Most days, most hours of most days, I am in awe of the beauty and love that surrounds me - surrounds us all. That lives within us. But some days, some minutes and hours, all I feel is cold and alone and heavy and lost. Like I don’t remember where I am without you next to me. Like I don’t understand love anymore. Like it is the cold of winter and I cannot feel the warmth of the sun. But I could feel my friend’s hand on my shoulder. Steady as I cried. And I knew that I was loved and that it is ok to cry sometimes. #words (at Harrison St. / Oakland Ave. Exit)

8 notes

Yesterday my phone mysteriously died while sitting on my desk at work. Yesterday I went to a second grade play about the King of Ireland’s son. Yesterday I had a hot fudge sundae for dinner and took a hot bath but missed a date with my best friend. Today is a new day. Today I got my toenails painted the color of Hawaii and listened as my nephew described his Halloween shoes; pumpkin orange, chocolate brown, and ghost or skeleton white. Today I visited planned parenthood, expressed my gratitude to all of the amazing people working there, and watched Harry Potter in the waiting room. Today at a local deli, I discovered a group of senior citizens who get together at that same deli to sing folk songs for the lunch crowd. Today I rolled down the window at a stop light to compliment an older gentleman on his fire-engine red fedora, he got off at the wrong bus stop and asked me for a ride, he mumbled his name but said most people call him Tree Top, he wore a white suit, red vest, and red and white snakeskin dress shoes. Today my heart ached for the woman who sat on the curb, digging through the gutter, looking for discarded butts, while I drove to the Apple store to have a genius name Vanessa fix my phone. Tonight I’m going to dance my face off at the Elbo Room and if you’re in the city you should join me. Life is beautiful and hard and some of the edges are rough when you long for smooth, but the scratches remind you that you’re alive and that there are people out there who will kiss your banged up knees should you stumble and fall. I am grateful for my yesterdays. I am in awe of the beauty before me today. I am eager at the possibility of tomorrow. #words

Yesterday my phone mysteriously died while sitting on my desk at work. Yesterday I went to a second grade play about the King of Ireland’s son. Yesterday I had a hot fudge sundae for dinner and took a hot bath but missed a date with my best friend. Today is a new day. Today I got my toenails painted the color of Hawaii and listened as my nephew described his Halloween shoes; pumpkin orange, chocolate brown, and ghost or skeleton white. Today I visited planned parenthood, expressed my gratitude to all of the amazing people working there, and watched Harry Potter in the waiting room. Today at a local deli, I discovered a group of senior citizens who get together at that same deli to sing folk songs for the lunch crowd. Today I rolled down the window at a stop light to compliment an older gentleman on his fire-engine red fedora, he got off at the wrong bus stop and asked me for a ride, he mumbled his name but said most people call him Tree Top, he wore a white suit, red vest, and red and white snakeskin dress shoes. Today my heart ached for the woman who sat on the curb, digging through the gutter, looking for discarded butts, while I drove to the Apple store to have a genius name Vanessa fix my phone. Tonight I’m going to dance my face off at the Elbo Room and if you’re in the city you should join me. Life is beautiful and hard and some of the edges are rough when you long for smooth, but the scratches remind you that you’re alive and that there are people out there who will kiss your banged up knees should you stumble and fall. I am grateful for my yesterdays. I am in awe of the beauty before me today. I am eager at the possibility of tomorrow. #words

21 notes

Sometimes life is shadows and sunshine. Car heaters up too high and cold fingers thawing too slowly. Sometimes, if you close your eyes, you are absolutely, positively, certain that you are free falling through space, arms flailing, but then you open your eyes and recognize that no, your feet are firmly planted here on earth; you can see them with your own eyes. #words

Sometimes life is shadows and sunshine. Car heaters up too high and cold fingers thawing too slowly. Sometimes, if you close your eyes, you are absolutely, positively, certain that you are free falling through space, arms flailing, but then you open your eyes and recognize that no, your feet are firmly planted here on earth; you can see them with your own eyes. #words

4 notes

After Monday.I already have so much to do After Monday, but my oh my do I hear the mountains a-callin’ my name; singing it like sweet honeysuckle-rose drifting along in a warm summer’s breeze, gentle, almost like a lullaby, but the kind of lullaby that awakens the fireflies in your chest, and reminds you of another time when you had wings sprouted out the back of your shoulder-blades and you went dancing barefoot across the tops of redwoods laughing in the cool coastal mist. Don’t you worry mountain mamas, I hear you, I’m a-comin’After Monday.

After Monday.
I already have so much to do After Monday, but my oh my do I hear the mountains a-callin’ my name; singing it like sweet honeysuckle-rose drifting along in a warm summer’s breeze, gentle, almost like a lullaby, but the kind of lullaby that awakens the fireflies in your chest, and reminds you of another time when you had wings sprouted out the back of your shoulder-blades and you went dancing barefoot across the tops of redwoods laughing in the cool coastal mist.
Don’t you worry mountain mamas, I hear you, I’m a-comin’
After Monday.

(Source: teapalm, via awomaninscience)

55,995 notes

Sometimes when things don’t turn out how you planned, or how you, or anyone else, society por ejemplo, expected, it’s really hard not to feel like a BIG FAT FAILURE, but you know what?

We are all doing the best we can.

I am doing the best I can. 

And most days I think I’m doing a pretty good job. 

But sometimes I don’t. 

And I feel like poop. 

And I need to remind myself that I am not poop. 

I am me. 

And that is enough. 

I am enough. 

12 notes

Exorcismo
Today, at the coffee shop, one of the waitresses felt it was too challenging to open a door with one hand and carry a plate with another. On the one hand, ok, that is annoying and this is her place of work. On the other hand, I’ve waited tables and had to open doors to patio seating with an arm full of plates, which I did, because I get that the people sitting inside are generally sitting there because it is cold and windy outside and they would like to eat their breakfast and drink their coffee in relative comfort. 
So what? I mean, it’s not a big deal. So the door’s open. So, I can move tables. Or leave. Or go to the car to get a warmer jacket. (Which I eventually did). But for whatever reason this teeny tiny interaction got to me. I couldn’t focus and eventually, out of frustration and inexplicably overwhelming emotions, I cried over this. 
I am a grown-ass woman who broke down in tears over a coffee shop waitress telling me the patio door had to stay open. 
Sometimes we all fall apart at the seams a little bit. Lots of people try to deny it, and sure, some people are more emotionally labile than others, and today, I am, for a number of reasons, on the extremely labile end of the spectrum.
My chest tightened and a sharp pain overwhelmed my upper back, right in between my shoulder blades. Big, soft, salty tears cascaded down my cheeks.
So I got up and took a walk, down the tree lined streets, past rose bushes and rhododendrons, to clear my head and get a jacket.
On the way back I passed a short old man with a funny greenish hue on his round balding head and a spectacular white handle-bar mustache. I paused, contemplating some flowers, and absentmindedly reached back to rub the sore spot on my back. 
"You have pain?" The small man was next to me now and put out his hand touching the exact spot on my upper back, right in between my shoulder blades. "Yes," I answered, surprised and curious. "Can I help you? Please. Five minutes," he spoke gently in happily broken english, motioning for me to follow him up the adjacent walkway. 
I paused for a moment; checking in with my intuition, reading him, reading the situation. It checked out. He checked out. I followed him. 
He had mats laid out in the middle of his small, cluttered, old-man apartment. A white board stood propped near the door with notes in spanish, phone numbers, and in the lower left hand corner the word “Exorcismo.”
I lay down on the mats. He crossed himself and as he put his hands on my back he muttered in spanish asking for help from the saints in healing me.
He told me how he had studied medicine when he was younger, but “I’m no rich,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling, his smile stretching the arc of his mustache even wider. He told me, as he squeezed my shoulders, that many people came here to him; some who couldn’t walk when they entered, and left supporting their own weight on their own legs. 
Five minutes. 
He thanked me. I thanked him. He was so happy to hear my broken spanish he gave me a hug and thanked me again. I told him all my stuff was at the coffee shop, but could I buy him a coffee? He doesn’t drink coffee. Only tea. See? These two teas. He laughed, his eyes sparkling, telling me one of the teas is for loosing weight, holding his hands out and motioning a large belly getting smaller. His whole face smiled.
In the doorway he said, “Please, if you have more pain, come back, any time. I think maybe two more times.” He held up two fingers and repeated, “maybe for you two more times.” 
"Ok," I said, "I will. Muchas gracias."

Exorcismo

Today, at the coffee shop, one of the waitresses felt it was too challenging to open a door with one hand and carry a plate with another. On the one hand, ok, that is annoying and this is her place of work. On the other hand, I’ve waited tables and had to open doors to patio seating with an arm full of plates, which I did, because I get that the people sitting inside are generally sitting there because it is cold and windy outside and they would like to eat their breakfast and drink their coffee in relative comfort. 

So what? I mean, it’s not a big deal. So the door’s open. So, I can move tables. Or leave. Or go to the car to get a warmer jacket. (Which I eventually did). But for whatever reason this teeny tiny interaction got to me. I couldn’t focus and eventually, out of frustration and inexplicably overwhelming emotions, I cried over this. 

I am a grown-ass woman who broke down in tears over a coffee shop waitress telling me the patio door had to stay open. 

Sometimes we all fall apart at the seams a little bit. Lots of people try to deny it, and sure, some people are more emotionally labile than others, and today, I am, for a number of reasons, on the extremely labile end of the spectrum.

My chest tightened and a sharp pain overwhelmed my upper back, right in between my shoulder blades. Big, soft, salty tears cascaded down my cheeks.

So I got up and took a walk, down the tree lined streets, past rose bushes and rhododendrons, to clear my head and get a jacket.

On the way back I passed a short old man with a funny greenish hue on his round balding head and a spectacular white handle-bar mustache. I paused, contemplating some flowers, and absentmindedly reached back to rub the sore spot on my back. 

"You have pain?" The small man was next to me now and put out his hand touching the exact spot on my upper back, right in between my shoulder blades. "Yes," I answered, surprised and curious. "Can I help you? Please. Five minutes," he spoke gently in happily broken english, motioning for me to follow him up the adjacent walkway. 

I paused for a moment; checking in with my intuition, reading him, reading the situation. It checked out. He checked out. I followed him. 

He had mats laid out in the middle of his small, cluttered, old-man apartment. A white board stood propped near the door with notes in spanish, phone numbers, and in the lower left hand corner the word “Exorcismo.”

I lay down on the mats. He crossed himself and as he put his hands on my back he muttered in spanish asking for help from the saints in healing me.

He told me how he had studied medicine when he was younger, but “I’m no rich,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling, his smile stretching the arc of his mustache even wider. He told me, as he squeezed my shoulders, that many people came here to him; some who couldn’t walk when they entered, and left supporting their own weight on their own legs. 

Five minutes. 

He thanked me. I thanked him. He was so happy to hear my broken spanish he gave me a hug and thanked me again. I told him all my stuff was at the coffee shop, but could I buy him a coffee? He doesn’t drink coffee. Only tea. See? These two teas. He laughed, his eyes sparkling, telling me one of the teas is for loosing weight, holding his hands out and motioning a large belly getting smaller. His whole face smiled.

In the doorway he said, “Please, if you have more pain, come back, any time. I think maybe two more times.” He held up two fingers and repeated, “maybe for you two more times.” 

"Ok," I said, "I will. Muchas gracias."

35 notes

I’m a week late.
I meant to do it sooner, but I was doing things.
I spent a good amount of time naked and a good amount of time reading, but mostly not at the same time.
I went to some hot springs in the middle of the northern California oak forests. We did that thing where you lay back and the other person holds you up and you just feel weightless and you let the warm water just wash everything away. I drank ginger peach oolong tea and read the Little Prince. I was wearing clothes then. I watched a soccer game and went to the farmer’s market. I read several books of the Ivy & Bean series to an excited 7 year old. (If any of you have kiddos around that age, I highly recommend it.) I went up to Nevada City and ate pulled pork and played with puppies and a baby with the biggest squishiest cheeks you ever did see. I went down to papa’s beach on the Yuba river and swam naked in the cool rushing waters. I listened to music and built cities in the sand. I roasted hot dogs and foil packets of veggies in a campfire under the stars. I ate raspberries by the handful. I saw four shooting stars and wished on every one. I went swimming in a pool in Petaluma and we tried to see how many underwater summersaults we could do in one breath. We got to five before it was time to go. I spent an entire day with just me and three kids ages 4, 6, and almost 8. I ate south Indian food with a friend I haven’t seen in too long. I played an excellent game of chess, which I lost, but I put up a good fight.
And now, now it’s back to the grind of studying for my next exam, but first I wanted to post my nude reading contribution.
I thought of fixing my hair, or the lighting, but the truth is, this is what the lighting in my room is like and my hair is messy more often than it’s not. I’ve been reading The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, but for the photo instead I picked Going Somewhere Soon by Brian Andreas because of this piece titled Open Heart: 
He told me that once he forgot himself & his heart opened up like a door with a loose latch & everything fell out & he tried for days to put it all back in the proper order, but finally he gave up & left it there in a pile & loved everything equally. 
<3

I’m a week late.

I meant to do it sooner, but I was doing things.

I spent a good amount of time naked and a good amount of time reading, but mostly not at the same time.

I went to some hot springs in the middle of the northern California oak forests. We did that thing where you lay back and the other person holds you up and you just feel weightless and you let the warm water just wash everything away. I drank ginger peach oolong tea and read the Little Prince. I was wearing clothes then. I watched a soccer game and went to the farmer’s market. I read several books of the Ivy & Bean series to an excited 7 year old. (If any of you have kiddos around that age, I highly recommend it.) I went up to Nevada City and ate pulled pork and played with puppies and a baby with the biggest squishiest cheeks you ever did see. I went down to papa’s beach on the Yuba river and swam naked in the cool rushing waters. I listened to music and built cities in the sand. I roasted hot dogs and foil packets of veggies in a campfire under the stars. I ate raspberries by the handful. I saw four shooting stars and wished on every one. I went swimming in a pool in Petaluma and we tried to see how many underwater summersaults we could do in one breath. We got to five before it was time to go. I spent an entire day with just me and three kids ages 4, 6, and almost 8. I ate south Indian food with a friend I haven’t seen in too long. I played an excellent game of chess, which I lost, but I put up a good fight.

And now, now it’s back to the grind of studying for my next exam, but first I wanted to post my nude reading contribution.

I thought of fixing my hair, or the lighting, but the truth is, this is what the lighting in my room is like and my hair is messy more often than it’s not. I’ve been reading The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, but for the photo instead I picked Going Somewhere Soon by Brian Andreas because of this piece titled Open Heart: 

He told me that once he forgot himself & his heart opened up like a door with a loose latch & everything fell out & he tried for days to put it all back in the proper order, but finally he gave up & left it there in a pile & loved everything equally. 

<3

13 notes

As I was running up here to see you I started to wonder; Will I always be so broken? After sitting here for a while though, I realized that most of the time, even though I know there are holes in me, and I have had to piece myself back together more times than I care to think about, most of the time I don&#8217;t feel that broken after all. I am doing my best to fill in pieces with love and compassion and sarcasm and snark and yes, maybe even some duct tape. There is beauty in the cracks where I have broken apart and strength where the pieces of me have been glued back together. I think I&#8217;d give even you a run for your money in the tenacity department these days. #thedudeabides #gooniesneversaydie #words

As I was running up here to see you I started to wonder; Will I always be so broken? After sitting here for a while though, I realized that most of the time, even though I know there are holes in me, and I have had to piece myself back together more times than I care to think about, most of the time I don’t feel that broken after all. I am doing my best to fill in pieces with love and compassion and sarcasm and snark and yes, maybe even some duct tape. There is beauty in the cracks where I have broken apart and strength where the pieces of me have been glued back together. I think I’d give even you a run for your money in the tenacity department these days. #thedudeabides #gooniesneversaydie #words

8 notes