Today is the day

Today. The Now. The Present. Big P Present.

I've had a lot on my mind. I've been wrestling with some huge issues of who I am professionally. I've always defined myself by my public defense job, my writing, & my persona. But who am I really?

Last week, on the same day, I did a training at my office for new attorneys (along with a colleague) and an interview of a writer for my podcast. What I realized is that I really enjoy those parts of my professional life. But do I like the other parts? Do they bring me joy?

Being in court in 1368 land is something I've done for so long that I am used to it. I am really good at it even. Some days better than others. But it has taken its toll. On my body and mind. On my spirit. 

The sadness and trauma I've had to witness is quite overwhelming. Ask anyone, we manage that calendar and courtroom well, we do. We have a great judge and caring and diligent staff, but it's fucking hard. Thursday, after handling 16 cases, I came home and cried in my car. My head felt like it was going to split open. I said aloud. "I can't do this anymore."

But I did. On Friday, I went into court and it was much better that day. Less cases. I took my time. I could breath. But now I know for sure. Something's gotta change.

Dreaming

"Dreaming is free." Blondie said so and hence, it must be true.

Or maybe the only thing dreaming costs is expectation. Hope is useful you see. It lets us see what we really want. How important it is. 

On Friday, I attended an awards ceremony at LA City College for the 2022 International Latino Book Awards. My first book, "Portrait of a Deputy Public Defender or how I became a punk rock lawyer", was up for an award. 

Poor Adrian. I made him go hours early. That's how my anxiety manifests. It's like what was I worried about? We weren't going to LAX...

So we sat and waited. I drank a nitro coffee from the snack shop and ate chips. We met a writer from South America and I exchanged books with him. Adrian translated. I got more and more hyper. Starting to sweat, I registered once the ceremony opened (about 11:30 and we arrived about 9:30). I scanned through the program, and found my category called the Mariposa Award (butterfly in Spanish) for best new book, nonfiction in English. My award category was toward the end. Of course it was. This was a test. 

By noon, we were inside the hall. I fidgeted. Took pictures. Sat. Tried to be present as I watched the ceremony. Due to technical difficulties with virtual presenters, the ceremony went way over. By the time they reached my category, I was a wreck. Too much nitro coffee and too much perspiration. 

When they announced the bronze and silver winners, I started to shake. Visibly. And cry. My name hadn't been called yet and thus I knew. I had won gold. 

After my 30 second speech, and receiving my award (from the ambassador to Mexico & lawyer/counsel for the Mexican consulate!), I was finally able to relax. We had lunch and I networked and flitted around and was interviewed for a podcast. Met a few Latina writers who had also won and we hung out. I was happy. 

Looking back, I am so filled with joy. Everything seems surreal. Almost like magic. My dreams are coming true, you all see that right? I once dreamed of being a lawyer, and I accomplished it. But that law degree wasn't for me the way writing is and always will be. Writing hits me in my soul.

As a young girl, I would sit in the park and read and it was my solace. My haven. Books were and are my passion. And to have my dream come true of becoming an award winning author, well that's everything. 

It really is. 

Truth be told

I share a lot on here. I know this. This blog is a little window into my soul. It is a window I've created here. You get a peek. But no one knows anyone really do they? Or maybe they do. 

This has been a hard week. I've decided to take a semester off from school. With work, my health issues, losing Frodo, my podcast and my book promotion, it was just too much. I didn't have the bandwidth. 

Plus, even though it was just one class, it stressed me out. On my day off, I spent all day on homework. The unnamed teacher was vague yet demanding. Her book length syllabus and Moodle page were unintelligible and there were so many rules and different instructions and assignments. My foggy brain could not handle it. I read her syllabus multiple times and still did not get the homework right. I thought, was it me? I don't think so. 

And so I went with my instincts and decided, life is short, why pay money to be tortured especially when I'm doing this only for me. My advisor was understanding and after I jumped through a number of hoops, he gave me a leave of absence for the semester.

Now, I'm not criticizing the unnamed workshop professor, or maybe I am. Maybe that class just wasn't for me. Maybe, I'm just too old for this shit. Surely. I can't do nonsense. My goal is to make my life better not worse and if something doesn't bring me joy, and especially if I'm paying them to do it, forget it. 

So I let it go. Or maybe I'm letting it go now. 

Here I am. Telling my truth. As usual, probably too much information. But if you see me, you know why. It's because I have to share my words. On the page. I know no other way to be me. 

Thanks for reading. 

Morning Dorothy

Sitting here drinking my coffee, I think of how much I love the mornings. It's my time to hang out with my husband and dog Chewbacca (now flying solo as Frodo crossed the rainbow bridge) and write and promote on social media. The Pixies playing in the background or maybe Nick Cave, or Bowie of course. An espresso. Two sugar cubes. Toast with jelly. I need all of these. 

If only every day could stay at this time. Perpetually 6 am. Sunrises. No sunsets. Coffee only, no alcohol allowed.

Maybe I should write a story where the narrator lives only in the mornings. The rest of the time, she exists in never never land. Or maybe in Oz. Wearing a blue and white polka dot dress instead of gingham. With a dog named Chewbacca following her down the yellow brick road to an emerald city. 

If I had ruby colored slippers (I only have a red rose in my hair, one that has no magical powers), I might wish this into being. Or Frodo back to life. But I don't. There is no tornado to take me away.

Instead, I sigh. My early morning is ending and I must face the day. I must. 

Powerful beyond measure...

I've been up since 3. My sleep has been off since my dog Frodo passed away. I've been going to bed early as a result. By 8 pm, I'm spent.

The question on my mind is, who am I? I almost feel as if I am multiple people. My lawyer self at work, a wife and dog mom at home, my writer side in school and at events. But who am I?

The other day, I lost my phone. Then when I realized I'd lost it. I couldn't handle it. I found it after a lotta deep breaths. If a lost phone can put me in a tailspin, I'm in trouble. 

Maybe work is just too much. The shit is unrelenting. I'm a good lawyer, at times very good, and yet, nothing changes. It just builds and builds. Not enough support for sure. I'm coming to some realizations. It makes me sad. You either stay in the chaos or you bounce. Truth. Just speaking it. And hey, maybe it's just a bad day, week, month, or even years. Of too much. Just too much. Change can be good. I need to remember that. But don't hold me to this because I've been here before...

Then Wednesday night, I had a podcast. Everything went wrong. I had to rush my prep my interview questions early morning, run home from work after a hectic day, my computer died, my software failed, my guest got kicked out twice, and I had to interview holding my phone up with one hand. Yet still, it is one of my favorite interviews. Because I was present. Holding up my phone with one hand people (the angle was nice). That takes skills. 

Not worrying about my script. In the moment listening. Just present. It was beautiful. We talked about grief, loss, joy, fathers, mothers, and love.

And that's when I knew, I'm powerful beyond measure.

Goodbye Frodo

 I am so heartbroken today. My eyes are swollen from so many tears. I'm so sad. 

I can't even talk about how the day went because it was a very bad day, but yesterday my shih tzu Frodo passed away. He was suffering. I had to let him go. But I'm devastated. If I could only have him one more day. I would do anything for that. 

Chewbacca is laying here with me. We go downstairs. I watch him searching the house for Frodo. He walks all over the living room looking for his buddy. I tell him, "Frodo is in heaven." He goes to lay down on Frodo's blanket and puts his head on his paws and sighs and whines. Does he understand?

All I know right now is this. I'm shattered. 15 years. I had Frodo for so long. Once, he was here. Now he's gone. I thought with all of my losses that I had learned to grieve. But I haven't. Not a bit. 

I wasn't prepared for this kind of pain. Or for the emptiness of the house without my hobbit Frodo. A black and white shih tzu. A prince among dogs. You are missed. Oh how you are missed dear friend. My Frodo. 

Writing through

I don't know if you've noticed but I've been writing through. I've wrote about my surgeries, about work stress and finding my purpose, and about my dog's passing. It's what I do now. I often wonder, are people even reading my words? Or am I speaking into a void?

It's a form of therapy. It's a form of art, and it's a form of journaling. The best part of a blog is the immediacy of it all. I'm not working through it then writing it. I'm processing it as I write.

And I also appreciate memorializing it all. Maybe one day I can look back and go, wow I was really sad that day. Or really happy that day. I can see what my dreams were and see if they came to fruition.

Yesterday, I was dealing with work bullshit and at one point thought, wow, this sucks. And I wished I was a writer full-time. It's what moves me. It's what makes me smile and gets me excited.

I have a pretty full schedule of weekend reading events coming up and I know I'll get appreciation from my fellow writers and readers. Also, I know that I have to start on my next book. There's at least a few more in me. Maybe fiction. Maybe essays. Maybe poetry. 

So here's to writing through the pain. And writing one's joy. And waking up to do it again and again. Now that's bliss.

Happiness

I don't need a lot to make me happy. Coffee with half and half and 2 sugar cubes does it. That makes me happy. Concert tee shirts and scratchy cotton sweats. An ice cold Diet Coke. Popcorn. Toast with butter. Engaging TV. (Watch Reservation Dogs!) Good books. Watching my husband's face as he sleeps. Writing a story. That's happiness.

And my dogs. Now that Frodo is gone, I should say dog. But I still feel Frodo. Not only because I spent 15 years with that shih tzu, but I picked up his ashes. So he is quite literally here downstairs. 

Now I know I've been all gloom and doom, but for real, I'm more than a tad depressed. I have had bouts with anxiety in my forties but not a whole lotta depression. That was my teenage years and some of my thirties. Seriously, I forgot how draining it is. 

That said, I pledge to be happy again. Or at least content. Get a therapist. Focus on my health. Try and write an actual structured story for class.

Plus, work is busy, my calendar is full with readings and signings, and my niece/goddaughter Sophie is having a baby. So much to be grateful for. I know this. 

And as I sit here, drinking my coffee, I pick up Chewbacca who's curled up in a ball in the corner, and say, in his little caramel colored face, "We're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."