So I’m driving to work this morning, and I’m frustrated with the pace at which my life is moving. And I’m frustrated with the weather. And with a certain client. Who has busted my balls despite bending over backwards for him, he still calls today about phone service and the [apparently unsatisfactory] rate at which water drains from his bathtub.

I’m waiting for the riders of an N-Judah train to cross the street so I can continue on to work. And I see this guy – a belt made out of bullets, black skin tight leggings on knobby legs for pants, 3 colors of overteased and badly damaged hair, black leather jacket decorated with sequins, rhinestones, metal caps, spray paint, you name it.

And for a moment I’d just like to switch places. To be able to say, “Just Fuck It.”

But in the same moment that I want to be that person, I know it will never happen. I can’t think of a time that I’ve ever been able to walk away or give up or not try my hardest to meet my expectations and those of others. And that is my curse and that is my gift.

For Easter, Britton and I had third row seats to Glide church. It kicked ass. We had reserved seats because Britton’s dad is a friend of the Reverend Cecil Williams, the man with the plan.

It was the most un-unitarian church I’ve ever been to that was also as inclusive and loving and committed to social justice as the unitarians are. It was chaos. People walking up and down the aisles, handing out fans and tissues. Kids and families sitting on the steps up to the stage? pulpit? area where the preacher preached.

It was packed! A line usually forms outside about an hour before the church. People were standing, sitting in the stained glass windows, sitting in folding chairs in the aisles, and the overflow room downstairs was filled to the brim.

I sat next to Bevan Dufty, the supervisor for District 8, who was wearing a volkswagen car seat for a suit. Oh well, even if his fashion sense is awful, at least he isn’t a socialist lunatic.

Glide is located in the Tenderloin, and runs over 86 programs to support the poor, homeless, and needy. From recovery services to job training, temporary housing, parenting skills, you name it – they do it. It’s just absolutely awesome to be there.

But the best part was the music. Oh my god could these folks sing. I’m as white as they come, and lemme tell ya, the spirit possessed me! My favorite memory is of this large black woman in a key lime chiffon dress, with hat, and 4 inch lime heels, standing up on stage jumping up and down while she was singing like there was no tomorrow. I am truly convinced it was a miracle she didn’t break her ankles. It was awesome.

I’m not going to tell you about the part where Reverend Williams yelled at Britton and I because he thought we were in his families seats. Even he makes mistakes, I guess

Tuesday brought (and brings) joy.

Friday brought sadness. Brian’s step-dad, Ben, passed away this afternoon about 3pm Texas time. Brian’s mom had taken Ben to the hospital recently for a check-up for some odd behavior – he made a salad with raw meat, tried to serve a raw pork loin, and thought that every day was 8 days till the end of tax season.

He body was apparently in the process of shutting down. He had lost the ability to speak, his heart was pumping at 20% of capacity, and things were just slowly headed down hill. It was his wish, that he was able to communicate, that he be taken off machines.

They took him off the machines yesterday. Brian flew out at 6:30am this morning, and made it to the hospital at about 2pm texas time.

I’m back in California. It seems kind of rude to talk about what a nice day I’ve had (other than knowing that Brian and his family, and even I, are sad at the loss of a loved one). I thought of Ben while I was planting flowers in the backyard this morning. I thought of Ben while I was at Stern Grove with the dogs. He’s been in my thoughts and prayers all day, and unfortunately, that’s about all I can do.

I don’t mean that to sound trite.

Wherever Ben is now, I hope he’s peaceful and loved.