A fireworks display made of yams, coming to a town near you

April 24th, 2014, 5:54 PM by Goddess

So the weekend work rush (and today’s) was all to support something scheduled for tomorrow morning that, IMHO, should never have been scheduled for tomorrow morning.

I got my final piece of the puzzle done at 5:35 p.m. today.

And everyone who can put that puzzle piece into place … left for the day.

And this is the “oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit” moment over a deadline that was almost impossible for me to hit.

But I hit it. It just hit back.

I have an interview tomorrow. No, not for a new job. But for a helper. And I have no time to prepare because OH HEY there’s more to do that didn’t get done thanks to this crazy deadline.

HR sent me a candidate. They just hired a girl for another division and her boyfriend wants a job here. At least he’d be willing to make the commute.

But MAN the girl is a fucking BITCH to walk past. I’ve tried to say hello to her at least six times. She just ignores me. Not that I wanted to hire her stupid boyfriend anyway (what with divisional secrets and all — no need to have them comparing notes).

But man, TRY to be nice to the hiring managers on staff, eh?

‘You work so hard for us’

April 23rd, 2014, 7:41 PM by Goddess

Mom’s been getting sicker and weaker (and yet we just got turned down for Medicaid for her again this week. I’m about ready to say her name is Consuela on our next application and see what happens).

So I’ve been picking up some slack around this glorious dump. This after working an awful lot. And after spending Good Friday and Easter working instead of hanging out with her.

Which, I hated to do, because when it has come to my family over the years, you never know which holiday is going to be their last.

The other day, she said, “You work so hard for us.”

And she cried.

She feels so bad that everything falls on me. I count my blessings that I still have most of my health and about half of my spirit left.

And I have my momma. For which I thank God multiple times a day.

I know all the preachers say we can’t tell God what to do, nor beg Him to help us. But rather to be grateful for what we have and especially grateful for what we cannot see.

Doesn’t stop me from arguing with God about my momma’s health and the lack of means to get it fixed. And even when I try the “Thank You for the miracles you’re working in my momma,” I don’t really get any results that way either.

I know you’re supposed to detach yourself from all outcomes, but I can’t. I have to work like a mule to keep the financial ship (there and here) afloat. I just really and truly hope that all this butt-busting and not, say, spending time with my mom can pay off for us.

She understands. I’m glad somebody does. Because I will wrestle with it till my dying day, no doubt.

The last 5 years, summarized in one text

April 22nd, 2014, 8:17 PM by Goddess



April 22nd, 2014, 5:21 AM by Goddess

Riddle me this …

Finding out that one of your friends who only works 40 hours a week (to your 70. Ish. And working Good Friday and Easter Sunday because other people must think you just sit around looking cute during those other 70 hours) …

Who commutes 15 minutes to his job (to your 45 each way) …

And who otherwise has it all AND makes more money than you (no comment) …

And HE is the one looking for a new job!?!?!

Is that a yam crammed into my mouth or am I just happy to see you?

Each life has its place

April 20th, 2014, 11:35 AM by Goddess

There was a moment on this week’s episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” that will live in my head for quite some time.

Our beloved Miranda Bailey, constantly trapped at her computer to stare at boring research about genomes that kept her out of the operating room she loves so much, got pulled into a surgery she didn’t have time to perform.

(Insert “staring at numbers” and “doing the writing she loves so much,” and guess who we’re talking about.)

Meanwhile I’ve been cursing a writing project in very much the same way.

The surgery gave Bailey a brilliant breakthrough idea that would catapult her research from the point where she was stuck.

I … haven’t quite gotten that inspiration.

Writing has become that thing I used to do. Like a high school football or cheerleading star looks back after 20 or 40 years and fondly recalls when it all seemed so important and yet so effortless with the benefit of youth on our side.

I tried to think about my book characters for the series I started writing 25 years ago. And I wondered if I should just have a mental funeral for them. I have come to hate writing that much.

But I’m not sure how to define myself without it. In fact, I’m not certain how to define myself at all these days.

I think of my mom and what makes her special. She will always say that I was the best thing she ever did with her life. I imagine most parents feel that way. What makes my mom special is that she makes everything more-beautiful.

She’s artistic and creative and kind and caring. She can match a shade of blue bought in a dress in Pittsburgh with the perfect matching blue shoes in Virginia and a blue hair accessory found on a random trip to the Florida Keys.

She can, for under $35, pull together an entire house in lime greens and magentas and purples and turquoises to make it look like an Easter spread from a high-end magazine.

She can, after everyone else has tried to trample my soul, reinflate it with a, “Well, you’re happy inside and they aren’t. And you look skinny, too. Fuck everyone else.”

And so on.

But I’m the only one who sees all that.

And I wonder if, whatever makes me special — whatever that is — will ever be visible to anyone but my mom and my cat. And whether I’ll have my Bailey-like inspiration and finally, finally do something the world is going to appreciate.

Maybe I just need to stop caring about what the world thinks. And that will be the jumping-off point I’ve missed up till now …