Chapter 3- One at Night.  Sleep Tight!

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Chapter 3- One at Night. Sleep Tight!

The 5 o'clock shadow, with dark eyes behind Clark Kent thick rimmed glasses.  His business-casual dress wrapped around his muscular and of course, perfectly proportioned body.  Not a curve out of place. " I'm literally talking to a photoshopped artificial Ken doll of a man.  Hilarious", I thought to myself.  But he had a scent of his own.  Like an elusive pheromone that only fills and confuses your mind and hormones with his every motion.  Ken dolls usually aren't my type.  And Robert Downey Jr. lookalikes are also not my type.  "My type?!  Type?  I shouldn't be having any kind of type".  But I was.  My mind was reeling with excuses to run as fast as I could, out the door, into my car and back to my safe and restless world.  But it was like an intoxicating spell, the way he looked at me.  I must've had my jaw on the floor because he tilted his perfectly set jaw to the right and cracked a brief smile.  "Please sit down for me"....."uh...ok"....Like a lost deer in the headlights, I just did as I was told.  I plopped down on another crazy sofa I was convinced was a recent prop on Moulin Rouge.  

I mumbled, "Thank you for seeing me.  I uh...."  "You need to sleep".  He finished my sentence as I tried not to nod off.  

"I only really half-sleep, through the day and not at all at night.  And believe me, I've tried everything.  I'm going on about a year of this".  

Has your husband offered any support, or is he part of the problem?"  

"Um, how did you know I had a husband?"

"Well, unless your emergency contact on your paperwork here is a different 'husband', I'm pretty sure you have one", again with the half smile.  I squirmed, trying not to smile as well.  

"Oh, yeah".  Oh my lord, really?  How stupid and paranoid could I possibly appear right now?!

"Mrs. Soraya, we don't need to unload it all today, don't worry.  We will get you sorted out.  My methods are unconventional, but 100% satisfaction is guaranteed.  My patients are well rested and thriving in new ways in their lives.  See, I don't just treat insomnia.  I am dedicated to lifestyle change as well.  A renewing of the mind, thus greatly improving one's love life, work life, and over all sense of purpose and joy.  The people who leave my office are fulfilled and revived.  We want that for you.  Don't we?".  

"Yes,....we do".  I could only make eye contact for a moment before dropping my head and smiling like a little junior high girl with a crush.  I hated how my face would turn so vividly red, against my will.  I hated it in school.  I couldn't hide a crush.  Everyone always knew what I was thinking.  I would hide my face in a hooded sweatshirt and run to the bathroom...which isn't quite as easy as "sophisticated adult".  "Stop it, stop it", I told myself.  Too late.  Awkward silence.  My heart was pounding.  Why? I guess "Ah, what the hell", was the name of my new game here.  That game is always fun.  At first.  It is usually followed by some extremely painful lesson.  

"I'm proud to say, I have developed my own personally compounded supplements that have grown to be wildly successful. Wonderfully consistent. For each of my patients.  I would like you send you home with some samples of these to try.  Although they have worked for all, I always proceed with caution on behalf of my new patients", he said. I don't know how else to describe his voice but warm melted dark chocolate.  "Stop salivating, P", I reprimanded myself.  I've never been hypnotized in my life, but I imagine it felt a little like this "unconventional" Dream Doctor appointment.  I felt powerless to disagree.  As if "no" was no longer in my vocabulary.  "That sounds great.  Thank you.  Your ...front desk...girl maybe forgot to take a copy of my health insurance card.  I guess I never gave her my information.  I'll take care of th- ", 

"No need.  My office is certified to distribute.  One of the perks of creating a 'miracle drug', as they call it", he laughed.  She'll get you squared away up front, and schedule our next appointment, so we can get delve into your specific issues.  Everyone is different.  I know it seems a little backwards to put prescription before full assessment but I would like for you to trust me on this".   I nodded, rather helplessly as I left the Moulin Rouge couch and went to shake his hand.  "Thank you for seeing me.  Looking forward to this", I stared at the ground as I walked toward the door.  "Lovely to meet you, Mrs.  Soraya".  Damn.  Even his hands were sexy.  Yet, long and lanky, in a way.  A powerful and perfectly warm handshake left me feeling such an electricity.  And what the hell was that scent?  It wasn't sweet or spicy.  It wasn't anything.  But I found myself breathing deeper just to catch one last taste of it.  I blinked my way into the more well-lit front desk red velvet office and checked out with the Brazilian Amazon cleavage princess.  She confirmed and took down my next appointment date.  "I hope you enjoyed your visit, Mrs. Soraya.  One moment please.  "she clicked her designer python pumps into a tiny back room with a gold key ring clinking in her perfectly manicured hand.  I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could tell she was unlocking some kind of little gold door or safe.  It struck me as a bit of an Alice in Wonderland moment.  She returned with a small a small red prescription bottle.  Unmarked.  She smiled her perfect pearls and practically sang to me, "One at night.  Sleep tight!" 

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Dream Doctor: Chapter 2- New Patient Consultation

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Dream Doctor: Chapter 2- New Patient Consultation

"I have no problem staying up all night trying to find things to do, but I still can't make it on time to a 7am appointment?.. Weaving in and out of traffic lines in attempt to gain an extra minute.  Seriously, why do I risk my life for a stranger I've never met.  Calm down", she mumbled under her breath, slamming her skirt in the car door.  The Dream Doctor's office was in a small business park, covered in morning glory blooms and climbing vines.  Pulling a few to the side, she saw the tiny brass initials covered with vines, "JB DD.", above a small set of red French doors.  "Is that John Brennen...Dream Doctor?  What in the world was I doing here? 

I sat in a ridiculous red velvet wallpapered waiting room, on a designer Italian chaise lounge.  There's an actual bear rug by a fireplace?  It's August.  In Southern California.  "Good morning, miss.  Have you checked in?"  An incredibly sultry pouty lipped young girl rose from behind a tall white marble countertop.  "oh, uh...no, I'm sorry.  Didn't see ya over there", I managed to stutter.  There was some kind of intoxicating scent and movement to her that seemed to defy the laws of gravity the rest of us in the world had to live with.  Like some Brazilian deity with slow motion willowy moving hair.   "Oh, its you!  Nevermind.  Dr. Brennen is looking forward to meeting you.  Come with me", she said, extending a perfect nail-model hand to me.  Do I hold it?  Did I get lost and end up in the Playboy mansion or something?  Against my better judgment, I reached out and let her lead me through a dim lit mirrored hallway.  "Dr, Brennan, she's here".   She acted as if they had known me for years.  So why am I so at peace?  This should be creeping me out right now.  Maybe that's how alone I've felt lately.  It felt surprisingly good to hear it.  

The Brazilian goddess flashed a perfect smile, motioning me to the next couch that probably costed more my car.  I sat down and took in my surroundings.  A dim lit man's man of an office.  The only thing missing was the cigar humidor room and some massive elk heads, on the walls.  The ceilings were so tall I could barely see where it ended.  There were a few floor lamps glowing with a especially warm yellow light.  "Sun downers", I thought.  People buy those lamps to help with depression and anxiety from sunlight depravation.  Is that the trick?  Is that what he does?  Sells you a sun lamp?  

Nothing could've prepared me for the turn of the brown leather chair behind that desk.  "Welcome, Pricilla.  I've been expecting you".  

 

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The "Norovirus".

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The "Norovirus".

Warning- this is not a "feel good" one.  Proceed with caution. 

 

I often wonder how bloggers keep their private life private.  For me, that's where most of my good stories come from.  Probably because I've kept a journal since I was 11 years old.  After a while, even the most mundane events of my life could become "stories".  Even a few good ones!  Well, for the sake of "privacy", maybe I'll try to weave a little taste of fiction into my story-basket. You can choose it's contents.  

48 hours ago, the "Norovirus" came for us all.  I've never heard my husband holler so loud while hurling into the toilet.  Newlyweds.  Lots to learn.  But it was alarming enough for me to cry and use pet names I've never even considered before.  Blush-worthy for sure.  "Oh, my love.  My BABY BEAR!....".  Ah, gawd.  But when you hear your loved one make a sound you've never heard in your life, you'd be amazed the great lengths you will go.  I remember seeing my own sister I've known as a best friend for 38 years, in the labor room.  I held her hand and whispered encouraging words to her and the pit of my stomach shook when I heard her moaning in pain, almost as if possessed.  And then "shuuuwuuut uuuuuuuup", she groaned at me.  I remember my eyes falling to the ground and bawling my eyes out as the far more experienced midwives kindly ushered me out.  There's gotta be a word for that kind of uncharted pain-territory.  

It was like one of those bad dreams where you would do anything to make yourself wake up.  But he kept going.  And going and going.  That horrible sound.  What do I do?  After my best attempts at being the world's best care taking "wifey", I said we needed to go to the hospital.  We were staying with a couple, two of our best friends we've known forever.  And of course, he and my husband were instant best friends when they met.  "You wouldn't believe how close the hospital is to this place.  Seriously, its like right and right and you're there.  And its open and the name of it is....and its so close...", the kind of excitement you get when you can fully accommodate the people you love so perfectly in a tough situation.  

We both cruised my pitiful vomiting pile of a husband to the what felt like "The Piggly Wiggly just 'round the corner".  Oh yeah.  We're in the south.  The darlin' sweet Melissa checked us in and rolled in in a wheelchair about 20 feet through a door and into a clean little cubical and cushy bed.  Oh, Lord, that quivering bottom lip and heavy breathing and shakes.  I know those.  I almost left God's green earth years ago from salmonella poisoning.  Grammy performance week.  7 Days at the Cedar Sinai ER.  Almost missed performing.  Almost missed a high five from Paul McCartney.  Another story.  Later.  After a nice re-hydrating IV bag and "Norovirus" diagnosis, we dropped him off in the soon-to-be bachelor bed and I hustled to the store for the meds.  

I often make fun of my sister for being a total sanitarium neat freak OCD disinfecting yahoo. But something has taken over me.  I had to beat this.  I had to win. That google wiki about the "norovirus" said it is "very hardy".  But a mountain woman is HARDIER.  And I had to prove it.  Prove it by spending a large chunk of my retirement on rubber gloves, disinfecting wipes, surgical masks, lysol spray, more wipes, antibacterial soap, Airborne, Emergen-C packets, clear and flavorless Pedialyte, BERRY flavored Pedialyte, 3 different kinds of dairy free easy on the stomach liquid meal shakes, saltines, hand sanitizer, ointments, ginger ale, and a million things I'm probably forgetting.  Oh...and the meds.  Almost forgot.  I made it home at 7am and began pumping the regimen into his practically deaf and sleeping ears, with my safety mask on.  Then I sprayed every inch of our poor friend's beautiful upstairs and prayed to the gods that favor would fall upon me and have Norovirus pass me by.  Only a few hours later, our friend downstairs started holler-hurling too.  It's happening.  ....I went into apocalypse mode and began washing EVERYTHING on the new "sanitize" feature on my friend's washing machine, which I was so "jazzed" about.  Jazzed.  Lord, what the hell is happening to me?!  The other day I mumbled under my breath, "Jeez Louise...I figured TJ Maxx would have a WAY more impressive selection of fanny packs than THIS".  Pure outrage.  

My little sister, the "yahoo", is somewhere in the Pacific Northwest right now with a real cocky grin on her face because her grungy bacteria-breeding camper girl sister finally understands!  And I don't even have 4 kids like her!  I have NONE!  Ah, the misery spreads.  And she has to stop that crap, FAST.  Frankly, SHE'S the hardy one.  I sit up here all alone in my little "2nd guest room", that I am so thankful for.  My hands are raw from washing and washing.  My OWN sheets are clean and sanitized "in case my own sweat gives ME the virus!!", still praying to the gods for favor, while hovering over "Stranger Things" on my iPad, an arsenal of tonics, tinctures, ointments and fluids, laughing a little to myself.  I would bleach the toilet even after I MYSELF, would pee.  I'd wash my hands after washing my hands.  Then wear rubber gloves to pee again because I didn't really pee enough the last time.  I think I might understand anxiety and OCD a little more today.  I'm wiping my own doorknob from my own handprints.  I'm sleeping in a bare and chemical-infested room with the windows wide open...in the middle of winter.  I refuse to touch my incredibly twitchy and itchy nose, eyes, ears, chin, forehead.  I'm buying time before I can sleep a sleepless night again.  

It's a 24 hour winter stomach virus thing.  Then its over.  An anxiety filled OCD dominated tragically un-present life vs. a few hours of vomit?  Then laughter?  Because I would laugh after.  I have.  I would again.  

This story ended up being completely true.  Fact.  I didn't even stir in some extra color.  Blame it on a guilty conscience.  If you want some more fiction, lemme know.  Again and as always....sorry I'm late.  

 

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This "Dream" Life...

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This "Dream" Life...

My legs are shaking (and even burning a little) from a sunny beach cruiser bike ride into "town".  Growing up in Washington state, everywhere else was still somehow, greener than the Evergreen State.  I imagined living in Southern California by the ocean, in a tiny beach town.  I dreamed of making my coffee with my bright red espresso maker, looking out the bay window at the jungle foliage and blue salty horizon.  I dreamed of taking a baby blue beach cruiser out the red front door and down the hill to the historic highway 101, with my empty Herschel backpack.  I would stuff it with oranges rolling off the the neighbor's trees and down the sidewalks.  I would stop at the wine store, of course.  First priority.  

Do my fresh local produce shopping at the local farmers market. I would learn a little more Spanish each time I checked out- from the sweet clerk who worked there almost every day.  He always told me it was "gratis".  Fresh tortilla chips too.  I would huff and puff my way back up the hill, in my checkered Chucks, vintage overalls, surf sweatshirt and swimsuit top.  I would never really use a mirror unless I was going out with my girls.  It didn't matter.  This dream life would make me "beautiful" enough.  I know.  Not very native of me.  But I'm not a SoCal native, to be fair.  It is all still so magical to me.  Oranges, pomegranates, avocados are thriving on every tree...in December!?  

Well, that WAS today.  I got to do all those things.  We "live" in this house.  This town.  This haven... for 2 more days.  Then, it is on to our next phase of life.  It feels like I only JUST unpacked my bright red espresso maker from storage to pretend we lived in this loaner-home for 3 months.  We borrowed two forks, spoons and steak knives.  Two glasses.  One frying pan.  One stew pot.  A bowl.  Two plates.  One mattress.  I just started cooking.  And hey, if you don't like one bathroom, there's 2 more to choose from.  After surfing around in a 200 square foot beach pad for 3 years, this was a mansion to us.  Man...I just unrolled my fuzzy sheepskin rug, blankets, shoes, clothes, yoga mats.  But its time.  I know.  

The front yard "jungle" has been uprooted to make room for more magic.  These crazy native succulent plants of all space-age looks, shapes and sizes are being transferred and salvaged.  "Honey, where in the world are we going to put those?", my husband asked me.  "I don't know!  Somewhere!  I can't let them just die.  And I want to take a piece of this dream place with us wherever we go!  I will figure it out".  What I must look like to him sometimes.  A crazy woman, wandering around in high-water cutoff overalls and sneakers, bruises and bug bites, wandering around with my head down, mumbling to myself about how I will not let that cactus go to waste!  Stop throwing those old socks away!  I can clean the windows with those!  No streaks!  See?!  Please, stop humming....I have a song in my head I have to recored before I forget.  No, turn off that Billy Idol song!!  I have to lay this thing down first....lalalala!!!  Hang on...just don't say anything for just a second...I'm sorry....Could you stop breathing so loud just for a second....

....God, I love that man.  

This sacred space. What a blessing it has been.  The house is in an exciting transition phase.  About to be reborn.  Rebuilt.  The whole HGTV adventure!  We were lucky enough to squat here until that happened.  Yeah, I got attached.  Attached to this lifestyle.  No champagne, hot tubs, dazzling heated marble floor courtyards.  Yuck.  This vibe.  There is such a beautiful vibe here in this little beach town.  I will always remember it. 

But this is not a dream.  I don't care who owns this place.  It came to us for a reason.  It was ours for a moment.  I was so surprised.  I was baffled.  All the things I always dreamed.  Thought.  Today was a turning point in my way of thinking.  A turning point in my lifestyle.  Because I now know beyond the shadow of a doubt, that THOUGHTS BECOME THINGS.  

For years I THOUGHT about this.  It was like the genie.  I had the vision.  It surprised me.  It made itself happen.  In spite of my naysaying unbelief- way of life.  And I have only just now realized that.  I borrowed one gorgeous glass for my evening pinot.  I set it on a flat granite rock on the law where I sit.  "Cait, you can obsess about finding your sacred space in your next move, all you want.  But it won't be a sacred space until it comes from you.  From here (pointing to her heart), one of my best girlfriends told me, the other day".  I am allowing myself to become my own sacred space.  I am taking ALL limitations off of myself.  Welcome, naysayers.  Laugh as you will.  Thoughts become things.  And magical things are happening to us.  Good things are coming.  And if they're anything like these things I'm experiencing now, I am overwhelmed with joy and excitement.  There is so much to see, do, eat, learn, sing, contemplate, BE.  This house can be mine.  This life can be mine.  Say your "thoughts" out loud, and blush.  Even alone.  Know what you want and say them to yourself.  I dare you.  

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Time

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Time

I'm back in the US.  I still live out of a suitcase.  Its amazing how little you need.  I often wonder what it would feel like to just say, "well, I have lived a full year without all the stuff in my storage unit.  I'm just gonna let it all go.  Close my eyes and burn it to the ground or donate it.  Whichever comes first.  But I don't.  Stuff owns me.  And the joy I feel when sunlight newly dances onto places I didn't even know I had in my house, is just beautiful.  We recently bought a second rental property.  An adorable little house to rent out. Remember that story about saving to buy a house?    Let me know in the comments and if not and if not,  I'll send it to you!  

Well, it happened.  And I was so quickly on to the next thing that I didn't even take in the moment.  I didn't look at all the hard work we had to do to make this a reality.  It could be possibly because I was in Barcelona for 2 months rehearsing with my new amazing bandmates and fabulous & insanely talented Shakira.  No matter what the challenge, I still looked forward to working with each of them when would head down to the lobby in the mornings/afternoons, whenever it may be.  Whenever.  Wherever.  (Sorry. I had to).  Sometimes tour rehearsals just end up being social and science experiments.  How long can you enclose a hundred people in one massive building before they start strangling each other?  It didn't happen.  Not for me, anyway.  What lovely people.

 I still feel like my 7 years with Taylor should be a book.  Or even a series.  The guys could all write their own too.  The books could all connect with conversations we have had with each other, from each person's point of view, depending on which book you got. Who you were most a fan of.  You all have your favorites!  In my perfect world, that would happen.  How fun would that be?!  I had to at least get the idea out.  I feel like my 7 years on that tour is all still tightly crumpled into suitcases that I have never unpacked.  Sometimes I'm afraid if I wait too long, I'll just lose them all in some forgotten storage unit in my mind.  Right now,  our travels have been postponed.  I was lucky enough to come home for the time being and make a Thanksgiving dinner with my husband.  In an empty house.  On the floor.  With a box for a table.  A tiny candle as the centerpiece.  We decided it would be best for me to fly straight from Barcelona to Nashville to start getting the new house in order and ready to rent.  My husband and I bought this house sight unseen.  We were both out of town.  We trusted our people.  A lot.  It was amazing.  Everything I hoped.  And more.  

On the way back to Nashville, TN, USA, I connected in Jersey.  Hearing English chatter all around me broke my thoughtful silence.  It's pretty cool to be surrounded by strangers, all in a natural flow of foreign (to me) conversation.  I didn't understand a bit of it, and my mind was free to roam.  To think and not naturally take on the energy of everyone around me.  Here in Jersey, it was a sweet comfort I missed, but also a new "noise" after 2 months.  I took off for Nashville on the second flight, knowing I would walk into a completely foreign place that I somehow owned, and dig up an inflatable mattress and try to take it all in in the morning.  I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and walked into a wall.  The layout of last night's hotel room was not the same as this hotel.  House, place, whatever it was.  I cried.  A lot.  I missed my love.  I wanted to play a show again with a huge audience again, with an amazing artist again.  After working hard to have it ready for all of that.  Again.  I've never experienced that.  I thought about the mortgage.  The blanket I would need, feeling the 23 degrees outside.  What happened?  

When you tour, your life often just feels like you pressed "pause" until you return.  Not this time.  Things HAPPENED while I was gone.  Wrinkles.  Birthdays.  Road construction.  House flips.  Babies.  Friends dating and breaking up.  Lots.  It's the sacrifice you make.  The blessing was that little Thanksgiving feast on a cardboard box with "meu amante".  Re-acclimating to even being married.  Sharing the bed.  Sharing your thoughts.  Your food.  Your time.  The road can make me spoiled and selfish if I'm not careful.  Everything you want just about all the time.  Except time.  The sacrifice.  The thing you can't get back.  My friend Paul Sidoti told me a story about how Gene Simmons once came to a classroom to be a guest speaker on money.  He gave a dollar to each kid in the class and said, "you have one minute to tear that dollar into as many tiny pieces as possible".  They did it.  The minute passed.  "Time is up.  Now let me ask you, which of those things can you make back?  The time or the money"?  I think that's how it went.  I'll have to check.  But cool, eh?  Time is it. It's what we can't make back.  

We are now squatting in a gorgeous ocean-view home in Encinitas.  Grill, hot tub, beach cruisers.  Outdoor shower.  Tropical landscape for days.  If I don't like the other 2 bathrooms, I can hang out in the other one.  All 9 closets are full of my wardrobe.  Shoes and all.  Yep.  NINE.  The house is scheduled for demo and remodel soon.  I spilled bleach on the carpet the other day.  The wrecking ball won't mind.  It's kind of funny.  I could break every window in the house and put holes in the walls if I wanted to.  Well, I doubt that, but its kinda fun to think of how crazy fun you could go if it was gonna be knocked down anyway.  Right?!  Thoughts?  I can't bring myself to do it.  Our suitcases still hold our simple lives.  Our cars and air planes will take us on work trips.  There, we will again take our suitcases and make them our homes.  Our mobile Samsonite homes.  For now.  Someday I will have my own my own little home.  All in good time. 

 

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Paris... and other things...

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Paris... and other things...

I throw the curtains closed.  I change my mind and decide to get one more look at the flowing water outside of my hotel room.  My life has been and will be, hotels for at least 3 more months.  I'm a pice in another big machine. I follow the given directions, based on the boss's decisions.   I travel in groups.  With good people.  No matter what happens in a very unconventional work day, I still look forward to seeing my coworkers...

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Luuuuuuull

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Luuuuuuull

This is the melancholy phase.  What feels like a time warp to me.  It takes a couple months of being in far off places, for me to have what was a clear image of my life, fade into another one.  We are often too busy to be lonely here.  But we are often too lonely to be busy.  Every job like this has a different schedule.  Some have hours and hours of unexpected downtime.  Others are break-neck speed and then go home and recover...

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The Center Line

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The Center Line

I joke around about the term "PTSD".  I shouldn't.  It has plenty to do with trauma in life, no matter how great or small.  And whatever this rush of something was that hit me tonight...I don't really know what to call it.  It was another "woah, that's new", otherworldly feeling.  I've been in Barcelona, rehearsing for a world tour with some pretty amazing humans.  It has been unbelievable in just about every way.  There are times, as a relatively spastic performer, that I get a chance to step out and be crazy for a little bit...

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Queen Of The Champagne Castle...

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Queen Of The Champagne Castle...

"I will learn to walk away from this cool song today.  Because I know it'll come back when its ready", I said to myself at the beachside bar today, with my journal.  I tucked it away and dove into the Mediterranean.  The water was clear, blue, warm and....Mediterranean.  My first day off without my man.  My Lone Tour Girl came back pretty quickly...

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Week 2 - Barcelona

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Week 2 - Barcelona

Tears are streaming down my face.  Yeah.  Nobody died or anything.  I will straighten up.  But for now, I hit the elevator button and run to my hotel room fluffy white bed and bury my face in the pillow.  Alone.  I'm alone now.  I know this feeling all too well.  I swore I would never leave my love and my life for longer than a couple weeks.  No more work travel.  It damages and distances and just dries up marriages and relationships of every kind.  I've seen very close up, the pain it creates.  And yet, my husband and I are investing in a new life together...

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Him

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Him

I'm on the plane from home to "home".   The clean and green Pacific Northwest to beautiful sunny San Diego.     Both are in my heart and soul.   The only drawback of the blessing of an inseparable deep loving family is the constant goodbyes.   My hands shake and my throat swells up and I look safely at the ground. I pull my cheeks up like the Cabbage Patch doll they gave me when I was three years old.   I immediately undressed it and attempted to sew my own doll clothes with my mother's sewing kit. Sorry mom. I know I cleverly "put it all away" wrong...

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"A Forest Bath?!  That's it?!"

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"A Forest Bath?! That's it?!"

I'm in my hideaway again.  It's where I go when I feel like I'm starving to remember how to thrive.  Not just exist.  I go here when my roots feel withered and my sense of belonging and purpose feel shaky.  There is no sweeter air.  There is no deeper green.  The Pacific Northwest is in my veins.  It'll always be.  More on that in a bit...

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"What you are feeling is not what's going on right now", and other adventures in Bipolar Disorder

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"What you are feeling is not what's going on right now", and other adventures in Bipolar Disorder

Ah, the fragmented mad mind of a musician. Today, I'm looking out on the ocean and boating my way down memory lane...or...canal or river or something. I have quite the life. I've had quite the life too. One of my friends has been listening to the audio book of The Secret, as she lives her days in LA.  Zennin' out in traffic, mind-over-mattering extreme heat radiating off the polluted potholed blacktop freeway. There's just no one like her in the world. I say that in complete honesty, as she is a wonderful woman but also...a contortionist. She bends her body into an origami knot and then walks around on one toe. She falls from the sky, unharnessed and iron-gripping silk fabric and bungees. She has two baby girls that she has passed that on to. She has this ability because her mother gave her daily stretches when she was a baby. Her oldest sits in a shopping cart at Costco with her legs in a full "T"to the right and left as mama cruises the produce aisles...

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The Free Write

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The Free Write

Today, I am free writing.

The last couple entries  have been actual chapters in what I thought might be a book someday. I think I just needed to get my creative juices flowing in and remember that I love to do this.   Ending the chapter about Pedro holding me when I was scared and shaking, after finishing the period at the end of the last sentence, I burst into tears of gratitude...

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Back When I Had Money (Chapter 2)

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Back When I Had Money (Chapter 2)

My husband I recently returned from visiting four cities in Brazil.  From Rio (his parents are just the best.  I must’ve been a saint in a past life or something, because I seriously lucked out. From Brasilia, the Capital, to Fernando De Noronha to Iguassu Falls, a tiny touch of Argentina.  It was an absolute dream.  And dreams often...

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Back When I Had Money (Chapter 1)

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Back When I Had Money (Chapter 1)

My husband and I are currently saving to buy a house. We just downloaded an app that will budget our expenses each month...like, down to the peso. Everything. I silently grieved the lavish orchid and pineapple embellished crystal totem-style Hawaiian glasses full of top shelf rummed-up mai tai’s at my favorite oceanside bar, Duke’s. Yeah, I grieved a hundred little vices I adore. The truth is, I CAN go out with my girls and have 10 mai tai’s if I want to. “But not if you wanna buy this house, babe”, he said....

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"Back When I Had Money"....

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"Back When I Had Money"....

Lifestyles of the Broke and Marginally Famous- (This is just the preface, or prologue or whatever that shit is called. Feel free to skip past it if you’d like).

I’m not broke. It just rolled off the common tongue so well, I had to say it. Don’t get me wrong. By general celebrity standards, I’m homeless. But after 3 years of escaping “show biz” via San Diego surfboard, I’ve learned that I like myself....

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