coffee shop scribble, pt one

Unedited – like me these days:

Don’t push the river, and a revelation.

When I have my own place I will fall all-into a deep study of Chinese poetry. I may, for all I know, legally change my name to Ch’an Cushman. I’ll begin cooking and eating broccoli and cauliflower again. Buy cinamon. Really, there is a growing excitement for more control of my food – bringing myself back to ketosis.

And my gifts – the me of me that/who will be in that world, on those streets. Back up there, (and) “a revelation,” there’s no soul here. No wonder I couldn’t go three days without talking Motown.

End of scribble — Wednesday early to the Bob Jones Trail, carrying the teachings of my teacher from earlier, bluebird, squirrel, glittering creek, me dancing and grooving and squinching up my face to every four year (or month) old passing on a bike or in a carriage. My posse. Then I’m on the pier, see below, it’s 85 degrees, Feb 4. Cue R.E.M. – “The end of the world as we know it.”

No wonder I can barely go a day without listening to Motown. And dancing.

Here’s a text – unedited – I received in the coffee shop Wednesday from a 43-year-old woman with an intellectual disability I supported as a ‘job coach’ at “The People’s Food Coop” in Ocean Beach, San Diego —“Are you proud of me that i work at U.C.S.D.H. (hospital) on Monday’s and Wednesday’s and Friday’s and are you still proud of me that i work at people’s market on Tuesday’s? I like you as a friend Buddy. love, Jolene.”

That, thankfully, is not white bread.