“Dreams are illustrations…
from the book your soul is writing about you.”
A girlfriend of mine on Twitter just had this tattooed on her arm. How fitting. How Perfect. How simply beautiful. The meaning itself goes so much deeper than the ink in her skin. I know little of her personally but this simple quote speaks volumes about who she it. The moment she posted it I saw doors opening and closing in my mind. Memories, thoughts and ideas of who I am pouring across the milliseconds of time it took to grasp it’s depth of meaning to me.
It describes me, my life and all that I am in every minuted detail in only 12 words.
How is that possible? How can something so simple and meaningless to some have such epic meaning in my reality? I guess to know that you have to know something about me. But then now you do. Now you know everything about me. I have no more secrets, no riddles or questions hidden away to be pried from my dead fingers when that day comes. To understand you must appreciate the art of my life.
My life is a dream. My life has been filled with dreams in dark, unfocused gray on black, in crystal clear technicolor with symphonic sound and lucid hyper reality upon wings of my own design. My book is filled with all these beautiful, tragic and loving illustrations. I sometimes transpose these dreams into my own reality, my art, my music, my life.
My life is a work of art. I am that illustration, unfinished and ever evolving. Styles changing and morphing from one to another. My “Blue Period”, my Renaissance, Classical and Modern period all unfolding with each breath. Simply to be the charcoal upon the paper or am I the canvas upon which it is laid?
Dreams are illustrations. And my soul is a master of fine art.
Well here I sit. I was literally sitting on the curb for a bit while writing today. Now I’m sitting on the stoop in front of my flat. The sun is shining and there is a nice breeze making today and especially wonderful day here in San Francisco. This city is growing on me for sure. I miss a lot about San Diego but it is just different. One thing I have noticed here is that no one sits on their front porch or stoop much around this part of town. Not like in some parts. The people seem nice enough here it just is not very neighborly. I never seen ANYONE out on this street except the French kids a couple houses down. Just seems odd to me.
San Francisco is definitely the gayest city in the world. My kind of town ;-). Last week was Pride. My first Pride here. All I can say is OMG I have seen just about everything now. So I am wondering why is it only the fat ugly and very white gay men are the ones that have to roller skate down Market Street wearing nothing more than a cock ring? Why can’t the good looking gay men do it at least. I mean the one guy was so lacking the guy in the clown suit yells out “OMG Small guy… ” as Mr. Cock Ring rolls by. I about tipped over the concrete when he blurted that out. So many heads turned and “Small Guy” quickly rolls off into the crowd.
Eeewww. On so many levels. But I digress. I’m good at digressing.
Back on the ground again. Need some shade for my sunburned shoulders. “This is the Thing” by Fink is playing on my lappy right now.
We have a great cut off view of the city with the Castro in the foreground. If you look closely you can see Dolores Park in the distance. Dyke March 2010 started there last weekend. Wow. All I can say to that is Wow. Spending the entire day in the park with my people was so awesome. And I only had 2 beers.
I seriously need to make some real frineds. Peeps I can just hang out with. It would go a long way to improving my enjoyment of this city. I have met a couple people including Autumn who has a great San Francisco blog at “A Mindful Individual“. Had an awesome sushi dinner with her and her frineds a few weeks ago. Hopefully we can do something again soon.
Oh and I signed up to play in the Woman’s Football League here. That is Soccer for all you who are a bit slow.
There is so much to do here it’s crazy. A little country girl in a big city. I have so much more to figure out here and in my life. But I am pretty satisfied with the view.
For those of you who know me, I have been through some wicked radical changes in the past couple of years. The specifics of change are only marginally important most of the time. Sometimes not. I am a woman of change. I have seen and done things most people cannot imagine. But I am still just me. A bright and often animated person still searching for her spot on the field.
I consider myself an extremely lucky person. Especially considering I am an open and out lesbian in a world that seems so hell bent on not allowing people to live an d be happy. I have a great family who has been there every step of the way since my formal self outing. I have some good frineds and many acquaintances. I have a great job with a really good company. I and I live in a nice little quiet nook in San Francisco.
What more could I want?
A lot more actually. I may be a forty-something goddess in control of her life. But I am also still a teenager at heart more often than I admit. I am fickle and want every freaking thing now. Change happens and I want it over and done with. I sen my eye or my heart on something and I want it started or done yesterday. I know this is not how life works. I cannot keep up the light speed change of pace I often expect in my life.
And this is where the battle begins.
Me fighting myself. Nichole vs. Nikki. It’s tantamount to insanity. The seemingly endless skirmishes with my own sense of self and desire class often sending me off on wildly divergent paths. The unfortunate victim in this constant flux is me. The wounds are often intense depression and even overwhelming anxiety.
Over the past month I have been stuck in a perpetual black hole of depression and questioning everything in my life. I can usually pull myself out of this funk within a few days or even a week tops. Not this time. It was so profound I upped my therapy sessions. Slept way too much and stayed up way too late thinking.
Thinking is my enemy. I have written several poems about my struggle. “My Enemy” being the most recent. I often write as a result of these “moments” of struggle. If I don’t write for more than a week it is not a good sign. It means I am losing the battle. Of all things I have struggled with in my life, depression has been the cruelest of foes. And the one battle where I have never really come out the victor.Though I keep trying.
Giving up is giving in. I have vowed too never give up. I have come to far and accomplished to much to just hand in the keys to my life and let something or someone else drive. Last week just before the Pride festivities I suddenly and inexplicably found myself emerging from the month long battle over depression. This time I really can’t put my finger on how I did it. I am just glad that I did. So here I am back to writing. Back to living. And back to enjoying the feeling of sunshine on my face.