Stress Decompress

I am learning that I don't always handle stress well. I thought I was okay. Then work turned into a chaotic mess. And when it got even more busy and dramatic, I just powered though. But as a result, I fell asleep at 7 pm every workday the last couple of weeks, which is when I got home last night after an hour of traffic.

It was pitch dark when I got home. I couldn't find my keys, so rang the bell. Which everyone ignored, so I eventually found my keys and opened the door. I stuffed a piece of banana bread in my mouth then went upstairs.

I streamed reruns of West Wing, which always soothes me. Then fell asleep. It's now 2 am and I am wide awake. I miss Chewbacca. His loss, and Frodo's a couple of years back, is really impacting my mental health and ability to deal. 

Yet I know, I just can't just sleep my stress away. My puppies, Merry and Pippen, are arriving in a month and I know that will help but until then, what should I do? I have to clear my mind.

My plan is to decompress. Take a walk when I get home tonight, breathe, light a candle, say a little mantra that I can't control it all, and then write. Write. And write some more. 

The Key

Yesterday, I did a keynote at CSUSB. I'd done speeches, closing arguments, performances, and workshops, but I had never done a keynote. It took me weeks to write it. Not that the writing took weeks because I've always been a relatively quick scribe. What took so long was thinking about it and figuring out the structure, and themes. 

What I realized after reading keynotes, commencement speeches and how to musings, was that every keynote needs a theme and the tone is conversational. This conference was about Latinas rising up. So the theme was built in already, but I wanted to tweak it. I wanted to talk about what is a Latina? And how do we dream big and shutter out the sabotaging voices, both internal and external. 

I used to often struggle, although may not have shown it, with imposter syndrome, and I still do occasionally. It's probably because I am consistently trying to get outside my comfort zone and to challenge myself. Recently, I was in a story showcase at the Colony Theater. I was completely out of my element with this LA centric cast that had some great storytellers. I felt intimidated and off kilter at first. Then, quickly, I made some connections and felt comfortable. 

In the end, I think life is about making connections. And to get to speak to a group of academically focused Latinas at CSUSB was a gift. 

Here is an excerpt from the introduction to my keynote if you're interested: 

Excerpt keynote CSUSB 11-15-24 Latinas Rising Conference:

"I started out in junior college after dropping out of Chaffey high school 5 credits short in 1989.


And I tell you this so you understand, that I see you. I remember begging for rides to school, because I never had a working car. I remember choosing between class and that extra waitressing shift to pay my rent. I spent all my years until 30 years of age in survival mode. 


I remember those years well. I still feel that blue collar ness in my soul, my mom was a waitress and my dad a trucker, so it's ingrained in me. I am an inland empire girl.


But let's get to the keynote.


I have to say that at times, I ask myself, how do I get myself into these situations?


As a rule, I usually say yes to things so when a fellow writing friend suggested she put me in the hat for this speech, I, of course, said yes. Then I stressed. 


What will I say? Why do they want to hear from me? But that's the saboteur voice in my head. The voice that says I'm an imposter. Don't listen to that voice will be my first piece of advice. 


Because that voice is wrong. Plus, if I think about it, I have a lot to say  and having something to say is half the game in life. The other half is saying it, so here I am."

Mad world

It has been a mad world recently. First, the election and then my work life was very chaotic. It's always chaotic but this was more than usual. Then, I had a funeral to attend for my mother in law's best friend. She was 96.

I think it's the unknown that scares me. The what if? 

I have recently realized what's important. It's not work, or even creative pursuits, but my family. It is really all there is. 

At the funeral on Tuesday, we did the rosary refrain that's part of the Catholic tradition at a memorial mass. At times, they last hours and hours. This rosary was only an hour but I found it so comforting to say the prayers over and over like a chant, rosary in hand.

I am not a per se religious person, and consider myself more spiritual, but I have always loved the community and comfort church can bring, and when I made my confirmation at 36 in San Francisco, that was why.

Family is like that too. Whatever your family is. And for me, it's my husband, the moms and my sisters. When my dogs arrive, they will expand that family. They're coming in December and I can't wait to see their furry faces.

It's what I need right now I think. It's what I yearn for. I need comfort. I need joy. I need to know who loves me and who really cares and who will be there in these mad times. I need the certainty of knowing who will check in on me and fight for me and be present for me. Always. 

Journey to Houston inspired by Alice Walker's Journey to Nine Miles

Since my teens, I have always loved punk and post punk music. As a teenager, I wanted to be Siouxsie Sioux of Siouxsie & the Banshees. Siouxsie was already well established as a goth punk princess goddess by the time I hit my teenage years. 

Her seminal album, "Nocturne", came out in 1983, the year I turned twelve, and contained such classics in the goth cannon as "Spellbound" and "Happy House" and Robert Smith from The Cure on guitar (and he would go on to do great things, hello, the album "Disintegration").

If you've never heard her music, think of a psychedelic rock meets punk. Siouxsie has a beautiful voice and a captivating stage presence and basically created the punk girl look with her preference for patent leather and thick kohl lined eyes.

In 1988, when I was sixteen, Siouxsie came out with her "Peepshow" album, a mix of psychedelic punk poppy tunes with Siouxsie's wailing voice, and synthesizers. My best friend Tracy and I loved the "Peepshow" album. We would sing along to the song "Peek A Boo", "Golly Jeepers where'd you get those weepers?"

We dressed like Siouxsie in high school, mimicking her short pleated skirts and high boots past the knee with a black knit vest over a white punk rock tee. We lined our eyes so thick that the eyeliner would take days to come off, drawing on a Cleopatra like cat eye before that was "cool".

Another band I loved to distraction were The Smiths. Their first self titled album is the soundtrack to my teens. The lead singer Morrissey is now a controversial figure due to some of his political views, but he joins a large punk and post punk crowd including John Lyndon of the Sex Pistols and Exene Cervanka of X in that regard, so I just go for the music and I still love him so.

Morrisey's lyrics and music saved my life. I mean that seriously, as I was quite depressed in high school, all my childhood chaos had caught up with me. Quite simply, his music (and his own struggles with melancholy) showed me that life could go on. 

Plus Morrissey's pompadour, and his rockabilly post punk look just slays me. I've always been a sucker for a gorgeous man with a huge head of hair.

In fact, when my husband Adrian walked up to me and asked me to dance at a dark wave club some thirty moons ago, I initially turned him down without looking up, then gasped when I caught a side view of him as he was turning away. My first thought was that he looked like Morrissey. I ran after him, grabbed his arm and said yes. To quote Joyce's character of Molly Bloom from Ulysses, "yes I said yes I will Yes."

I remember when the Smiths' magnum opus album "The Queen is Dead" came out. My parents would (as usual) be fighting and I would blast the record to drown it all out. I was in my sophomore year of high school and that record was everything to me. I had two copies of the vinyl because I played the first one so much that it was scratched beyond repair. My favorite song on that album is "There is a Light That Never Goes Out". It's me and my husband's "first dance" song that we learned a tango to (although we later cancelled the huge costly wedding and eloped). The words are every dark witchy poo girl's love song, "and if a double decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die." 

That song became the anthem for my life, as it's about love enduring despite everything (in Morrissey's case a sadly unrequited one but in mine, happily, the opposite) but to me, it's also about the love and light that one has to nurture in one's own self. I never give up. I'm always striving to do better and be better, or at least I like to think so. I always tell myself, this is not your last act, keep going. And  growing. 

This weekend, we flew to Houston to see Morrissey take the stage on Halloween. It was a helluva day. The flight is usually three hours direct from California. This took seven. We had to circle overhead due to a storm and then fly to Corpus Christi to refuel and wait out the storm. Then I soon realized the truth of the saying that you get what you pay for when I went with an easy rent discount rental car company. We waited an hour for the shuttle to a barn like structure miles from the airport. Then we faced an hour of traffic to Houston downtown to check into our Airbnb. By that time it was 6 pm. We had left Ontario, California at 6 am. But that's when our Halloween turned from tragic to epic. 

Our musician friend Jeff (who lives across the street from where we were staying) had ordered barbecue for us and a bunch of his friends (who were all very attractive women). After scarfing down some brisket and downing beers, we got in a limo to take us to the music hall auditorium. We sang along to The Smiths and Morrissey (who has a huge solo catalogue) the whole way there. Clearly we were with our people. 

In our front row seats, we were astonished to see people standing in front of our seats. I was my usual lawyer like loud mouthed self and so eventually a man and I got into a shouting match. My husband is the most gentle person, but when this man got in my face, my husband jumped in the middle and pushed the man back. I almost shrieked in astonishment. I've never seen my husband that upset. The guy walked away as my husband is 6'4 and has filled out in his fifties (much like Morrissey as they both used to be gangly). I will never forget how protective Adrian was of me in that moment. 

The concert was beautiful. Morrissey crooned. I danced and sang along and even wept at one point and although I've seen him about 20 times live by now, it was just as exhilarating as the first time I saw Morrissey when he fronted the Smiths in the late 1980s. 

I think that is the power of music for me. It makes me feel young again. It brings back the memory of being sixteen when my life was full of possibilities.

And now at fifty-three, and still loving Morrissey and being head over heels and still married to the same man I met at twenty, I have come to know one thing. There is a light that never goes out. Truly. 

Hazy days

It's a hazy day. The sky is grey with smog and it was in the nineties yesterday. It's fall but it doesn't feel like it. 

I get up early, then fall back asleep. I went to a Halloween party Friday night and wrenched my back doing the time warp dance.

Sometimes, I feel as if life is getting away from me. Time is passing me by. Time, time, time. 

So I am writing. Trying not to recall that it's the first Halloween without a dog for 16 years. No costumes to photograph for them. No punk rock shih tzu posts. But I do have my puppies coming in December.

So where do I go from here? It's 2024, I'm 53 years old and I'm feeling a bit lost. But I'll get found.  I will.  

5 am musings

It's 5 am. This is my magic time. I love to write at this time. I wake up, make an espresso and get to work. 

My brain sometimes works faster than my pen. I try to catch my thoughts. But I can't always capture it all. 

I used to write with Chewbacca right by my side. He would lay next to me. And now that he's not here, it's different.

In my writing class for my MFA, I wrote a piece, and so I will share that today. So here is an excerpt: 

We rush inside. They let us into her room. Jackie and Roberta are on their way. 

My mom's face is swollen and turning black and blue. Her whole forehead is cut open and her mouth is bleeding. Her nose is flat.  I think she broke it. 

She looks so tiny. Like a little bird who fell out of a nest.

"Mom, what happened?" She looks at me. Her voice warbles. "I tripped after you left and went face first into my oven. I'm sorry to be a mess."

"Mom, I'm just glad you're okay. They have to check you for a concussion. They say, after that you can go home and you can spend a couple of days with me."

"Or with me," Annie says. 

My mom looks at us. "Thank you girls."

Don't Worry Baby

I feel like I'm in crisis mode constantly. I'm always worrying about something. I have a lot of angst, and I know a lot of it is job related. My job is anxiety inducing by nature. It's a lot of stress.

What would make me happy I wonder? What if I could be anything? What would I choose to do with the rest of my life?

I need to think about that and sit with it. I don't want to lack direction. I want to know where I'm going. But I need a compass. 

In a month, I'll be giving a keynote to a group of Latina college students at CSUSB. It's an honor and a privilege. But what am I going to say? I need to think about how to frame my narrative in a way that illustrates that there's actually no need to worry. I've done okay. More than okay. I just need to remember that.

Maybe my life would be easier if I stopped growing and challenging myself. But that's something I cannot do. I have to be me. And I know I have to use these wings that I was given to reach high in the sky. I need to soar baby. No need to worry just fly.