Saturday re-writes


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My work schedule has been insane

Thursday afternoon and I’m at the Laurelhurst duck pond trying to be grateful for a sunny day but the only thing that’s running through my head is deadlines and how I’m way behind on writing and my writing routine has fallen off. It used to be get up and write every day for an hour. Right now it’s more like every other day if I’m lucky. 

Things have shifted into day time appointments with clients and tours of retail stores back to back. Writing reports and billing on the weekend. 

And I’ve started to see someone but don’t want to write about them.  The only thing I’ll say is that things feel calm and slow with this person.  No running and chasing.  I chased the boyfriend/non-boyfriend to the point of him being like a drink.  


The lines of communication are open with this new person and I’m practicing telling him how I feel and what’s what. It’s easy. 

At the duck pond the three ducks come ashore and nest. They tuck their beaks into their feathers and sleep. Their feet disappear and it’s zen. 

My mind is a million miles a minute following my body that never wants to stop moving. Only wants to do more and more and more. 

This morning at the naturopaths office it was a reminder to hold still. A radiology tech did an ultrasound on my carotid artery. I had to lay back on the table and be still.

Close my freaking eyes. 

The radiology tech ran a device over my neck to look at the build up on my arteries. This was my reminder to freaking relax. 

To calm the fuck down. 

A heart attack. 

Let me back up even more. Three weeks earlier the naturopath did a battery of blood tests. The results came back and my cholesterol had jumped from 199 to 276. 

“It could be a result of your thyroid,” he said. 

“Oof…” Was all I said. 

He handed me a brochure about stroke and heart attack prevention and told me I should go vegetarian. 

I left his office and made a conscious effort to calm the fuck down.  Giving up bacon was going to be hard.  So was steak and hamburgers.  

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The rains back

And so is editing another draft of The Yellow Blanket. I’ve been dragging my feet a bit since December. I carved out some time on my calendar ahead of time so I could take the day off and go out to my sisters house.  Yesterday I sat at her dining room table, manually entered dates and started moving large pieces of text around. Basically right now the writing is all done, but it’s a highly disorganized mess with a messed up timeline. I’m working to straighten out the timeline and add some connecting items to help the story flow together.  The end really is in sight. The end product will probably be around 70k words (190 typed pages).  

The manuscript looks very different from when I first started. When I originally started writing the story was about my childhood sexual abuse and my paternal families reaction.  Today, it’s still about that, but I added my ex – boyfriend who I refer to as the “boyfriend/non-boyfriend.”  I never  set out to write about him he just started showing up in my writings. I realized at a certain point that he needed to be in the story because he informed how my adult romantic relationships came together.  Being a survivor has made romantic relationships extremely challenging for me.  

I’m excited to finally, finally, FINALLY see the light at the end of the tunnel

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Saturday is

Riding my bike with the broken spoke to the bike shop to get it repaired. All the fair weather bikers there too. Looking at bikes and getting repairs in their bike that’s been in the garage all winter. 

This is not me. My bike is out in all types of weather: rain, wind, and winter.  When the streets are empty and it’s dark. I prefer it this way. Less crowded.  The bike repair guy says he can’t fit me in today. I skulk away and resent the hipster woman looking at 2k cross bikes. 

The truth is this: 8 years ago I was that person. Blasting down the street without a helmet, ear buds in and excited. I purchased my friend Almucz’s cruiser bike for $25.  She was leaving for NYC and didn’t want it.  I blasted up and down Clinton Street at night without lights. It was liberating. No helmet with the wind in my hair and spring. 

Today you wouldn’t catch me dead without my helmet, lights on in the middle of the day and yelling at cars. If you nose your car out at an intersection I may point at you. I don’t want to get hit. I don’t want to die. 

That’s reason I scream bloody murder and scowl at you while I bomb down Clinton street on my cherry red road bike. It’s nothing personal. It’s purely selfish.  I’m protecting myself. 

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Museum of Human Disease and Bondi

Monday morning I’m off to the cafe straight away. I order a latte, lemon poppyseed muffin, and veggie juice with kale, lettuce, and apple. I sit and write while the commuters come in and out and get morning coffee before the train. I’m not sleeping very well and it’s a struggle not to get fatigued. I can feel it in my cloudy head and headache in my upper lobe. After coffee I’m off to shower at the airbnb and to take an hour long bus ride to the university of New South Wales. The museum of human disease is at the university. It’s a train ride to central and a transfer to a bus. The bus is full of college students talking. My head feels like it will explode with so much chatter. Overload. Google maps directs me to get off at a gate that’s a ten minute walk to the museum. I walk through campus and it’s up and down stairs and through tons of students talking and chattering. It must be orientation or something. This is nuts. At the museum I pay the $7.50 entry fee and look at black lungs, brains with aneurysms, thyroids and all matter of diseases. The museum is 70’s style. A lot of the specimens gross me out and I can’t look at uterus and cervix stuff. I pass that section entirely. The counter clerk had given me an iPad with information about the different diseases. I barely used it and handed it back after I couldn’t stomach anymore diseases organs. I buy a weird purple t-shirt with a cow on it advertising the museum. It will be a new Jazzercise workout shirt. After the museum I take two more buses to tourist ridden Bondi Beach. It’s ok. The other two beaches I’ve been two are more awesome. bondi is overcrowded restaurants, a beach full of college women, muscle men exercising and hot. After walking the boardwalk I’ve had enough and take a bus and two more trains back home to lay around with the airbnb bichon frises Duffy and Lulu.

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I get off the train in Katoomba, a small town 60 miles west of Sydney. I walk the 1.5 miles to the Three Sisters, a rock formation in the Blue Mountains. I stop in at two different thrift stores and purchase an African wall hanging for $2, some tiny decorative spoons and a mug with fake Australian recipes for wallaby soup. It’s warm and I sweating. I’m always sweating. I change my clothes, do laundry, hang it to dry and take two showers a day.

The Three Sisters is full of tour buses and Tourists. The view is breathtaking with the blue mountains in the background. There’s a deck below that I walk to and people are taking selfies left and right. I break through the crowd and snap a picture of the three sisters. I grip my phone so I don’t lose it. It would be gone forever. I try and hike to katoomba waterfall but get lost and my feet are tired. I decide to head back to the train station and visit another town 20 minutes east. I get lost going back to the train. Or rather google maps steers me in the wrong direction. I race to the train, squeeze myself in between the door and realize I’m on the wrong train. I need to be going east. Not west. I decide to just get off at a stop that I had seen on the way in. I could see store fronts and funky shops from the train window and remembered it.



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How I relax

Every morning I repeat the same thing : drink 2 cups of coffee, read, check Facebook, read, check Instagram, read, check Facebook and email. My airbnb hosts get up and leave for work somewhere I don’t know. They drive together an hour each way. I get up and make more coffee. The bitchin frises trail me around the house. I make a plate of tomatoes, figs, raspberries, cheese and prosciutto. The dogs watch me eat. I decide to sit out, read and tan. I am not a person that sits out. Since it’s constantly 75 degrees I decide to take advantage of it. I set up to chairs facing each other on the brick backyard patio. I’m out of the chair in a matter of minutes. I don’t sit for very long well. I get my Chapstick and sit down. Read a few pages of my book. My feet are burning. I get the sunscreen back out. Sit down. I sit for 30 minutes and decide to shower. The clouds have come in and I’m still getting sun but restless. The dogs follow me around the house. I take a shower and go downtown to Martin place on the train. There’s a free museum on Australian currency that I’m headed to. At the currency museum it’s me and a guard. No one else. There’s a special exhibit on how Australian money is the only kind in the world that uses polymer, a clear coating, in it’s money. The money is cool and there’s a cute little old man on the $50 bill. He looks less serious than George Washington or Abe Lincoln. At the museum my feet are killing me. I rock back and forth while I stand and read the info on the exhibits. I can’t help but feel distracted. I find a seat toward the end of the exhibit and sit for a little bit. It helps a little. I head back to the train at Martin place. The escalators going down are giant and long and I lean against the railing to keep from having an anxiety attack. I’m hungry and my feet still hurt.

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