Spring is coming. I’m grown & don’t have to just lay there.

I was luminal and dreaming in my bed which means not really sleeping but not knowing that–blankie tucked all around the crevice landscape of chin shoulder ear hair.  It was my patients I was luminous with, the walk with one, the couch with another, in slow-mo, returning to them in the night time as if readying our space since we were last together three days ago.  I was fully awake before I realized it, the conscious thought of wondering how family visits went.

I decided not to stay in bed.  It is 3:30 am, there are South African & Kiwi & Tanzi surfers to entertain me on Instagram but sometimes in the middle of the night that just makes me doubt where I am.  Like all whim, like all precious treasure of other, aqua seas and salt crunch skin puts the wind up in me:  and I can’t afford that.  Not here, not now.  Not surrounded by a million already crunchy surfers, my bike in the alley out my door, my sundeck with the stretched beach chair, my surfboard with the two pulsing dings.  It’s the middle of the night when the disconnect thoughts come:  how can I live so far from my home?  This isn’t me–the gaping, blink blink  blank of how long again before I see my niece, my mom, my dad.  Instead of messing with that mess, the incongruence that taunts me in the times of rooting in, I sit up.  3;30 is too early for birds to sing but no one told the birds that.  One time when I used to live on a river in a house for artists and swam the warm silk off the whitewash dock, Mike the musician who keeps clock in Brooklyn said the reason we get insomnia is bc we still think we are little kids and have to stay in bed when we can’t sleep.  I thought of him and put the lights on, grabbed the computer, didn’t have to think. Just, write.

The visit with Eddie was good and his lady is a dream.  There are good things to come with the women of the world.  There are new ways to see the men.  I stayed in HB at the library and put four hours of work in.  Ended up in the basement bleary-eyed with poetry but leaned over pose of child style because of the green tip moistness it put in my heart.  I sit in the basement there, where I feel unseen and can here the fountains whirring flow, on the floor between the rows.

Saturday me and Grey rode bikes or me on a bike and him skating.   My fave fish taco place downtown opened a donut shack in the space next to them like I seriously always used to wish they would.  They don’t just sell fish tacos but it’s all I ever eat when I’m there bc they’re the only ones not fried or actually because I crave those suckers whenever I’m in town, I seriously, seriously do.  More than most other food–the tacos from there.  Now I can add apple fritters to the list of downtown in HB–homemade with the grease and sweet taste all goo’d up in to one.  Gahh.  It left me in that happy contentment going back up PCH on speaker phone with Brooks and his whole band.  They were on their way to play a gig at the Globe in Berlin which there is that oddness again–that across the country in my old beach town Jotto and my mom can go watch Brooks, or after Harborside crash out with Sam.  It’s hard for me to comprehend.  Driving down PCH I don’t think about it.  In the middle of the night sometimes it makes me sad.

We had our first trans-dialectic Salon.   12 people, 5 countries, circle set and intent, topics covered in order: Love, Career, Sex after Marriage, Education, Life after Death.  We talked for three hours, practicing english, honesty, trying to sit with and understand.   We took two breaks, I left tired and with the kind of sleepy gratitude that is body-full and starts by making me feel tingly from inside of my bones.

I have to be up in two hours to leave for work by 7 today.  I hope that writing this will make it so I can go back to sleep.  If not, still it goes.

Spring is coming.  This revved up Mercury madness–it’s buzzing, in my toes.

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