Caterwauling

I make a lot of wishes during an average day. Many are what I consider wasted wishes — I wish for some moron in trafic to get off of my ass, I wish for the ladies’ room to be empty during my brief forays into it, I wish for just one moment in the day in which I shine … and I wish that somebody would witness it, were it to happen.

In these cases, if wishes didn’t come true, then I would suffer little more than mild annoyance and would keep on wishing for the same things the next day.

But, I often wonder whether I should “save up” my wishes for something special that I truly covet. Nothing material, really, is on my wish list — I want our troops to come home, I want an end to homelessness, I want good health for my beloveds and, most importantly and perhaps selfishly, I want some love and luck for myself.

And therein lies the bulk of my wishes — inner peace, outer beauty, someone to hug me when I need it and even when I seem like I’m fighting against it. (Note: After I wrote this, someone told me that I am hard to read. Everyone has told me that my entire life. I’m really not hard to “get,” though — I am emotionless on the surface. And only there. Until, of course, someone asks. Then I can’t fucking stop feeling and my mind can’t stop racing.)

And speaking of making wishes, it’s almost as if they pop into my head unprompted. Today, seemingly out of the bloody blue, I reflexively made a wish after thinking about someone I know rather peripherally. I’d had a vivid yet completely unexpected vision, and it was a pleasant one at that. I found myself immersed in what it would be like if that day would ever come. And I wished for that day. So be it, and so it is. *wiggles nose*

And then, I bludgeoned that thought with the nearest cluestick. Ka-Pow!

I wondered whether that thought were in response to something (or, more likely, nothing) happening in my life and in my heart. Or, maybe, it had been lurking within my subconscious for quite some time and only today did it pop up and ask to be noticed … only for me to sledgehammer it like a pop-up gopher in the game at Chuck E. Cheese.

People constantly tell us to be careful what we wish for. But, what if the dreams we start to have are actually worth having?

Wishing isn’t a bad thing — seeing mental pictures of the life ahead of us and wanting good things for ourselves truly are the first steps toward achieving happiness. When you aspire to nothing, then you get what you paid for, so to speak. I think it was Peter Drucker who said that we all rise to our own level of incompetence — my question, then, is what happens to us after that? Do we resign ourselves to being comfortablein our own mediocrity, or do we envision where we want to go next? And can we get anywhere without some kind of mental roadmap?

To bring this back down to earth, you won’t be surprised to hear that I would rather be alone than wish I were. And, while you can applaud me for having standards, take a moment to ask me what it is that I do want, then. *crickets chirping* Yeah, my point exactly. I used to know what I didn’t want. And that picture has changed a lot over time, bringing less focus but more possibilities — like one of those create-your-own-ending novels I so adored in second grade.

So, when something intrigues me to the point of occurring to me, shouldn’t I at the very least entertain the thought? I cannot tell you how many times I have squelched an otherwise tantalizing thought and refused to consider it because of its impracticality.

But, dream with me for a moment. What if the mental boulder didn’t obstruct the path our minds wanted to take — what if we lived out the fantasies that ripped us straight out of reality? That has to happen for a reason, right? I mean, really — what’s the harm in entertaining the unexplored, especially if it is our razor-sharp minds that are taking us there?

I believe we get too wrapped up in the fear of how we will meet someone’s gaze after that — or we fear what it will be like to greet our (temporarily) mundane or otherwise “broken” existences after having glimpsed a moment of how things could be, if only. But, isn’t there something to be said for not being able to look at someone or something the same way again? We are constantly becoming better versions of ourselves, and why can’t we picture what we will be like? Why can’t we picture who and what should — and will — be around us, and in what capacity?

I think we so often fear reality not measuring up to our fantasies that we choose to put the kibosh on our dreaming the second that it begins. I mean, it hurts when things don’t go exactly as planned — even if we tried not to get too excited about them in the first place, “just in case.” And, we justify it as the intervention of the universe. The smarter and stronger among us write it off — apparently, what we wanted wouldn’t have made us happy, so we didn’t get it. Others pine for the proverbial one that got away, whether it be a person, job or opportunity.

In any event, dreams aren’t so bad to have. Unlike actions, nobody has to know about them and, even better, dreams can be deconstructed and rebuilt if you don’t like the way they turned out or if, as you get older and wiser, you have learned and accomplished enough to allow your dreams to get bigger and more elaborate.

Of course, you do wonder if some fantasies are productive to have and, thus, if you really want to wish for a shot at making them come true. Wishes do come true — I’ve seen it and I will always believe it. But, I guess we all get more than we bargain for, on that front. Maybe we get what we want and a whole lot more. Perhaps it’s just a matter of truly thinking things through so you can decided whether you want is, well, what you want.

What do you want? What are some possible barriers to getting it? What are some struggles you can foresee in making it work for you and in keeping it? Will it be worth the effort? Then make that wish with conviction in your heart. But, what if you dream on it a bit and the wish isn’t really what you wanted? Then free it up for someone else who wants it more. Perhaps if we wished with all of our hearts, then the reality would be just as good as (or even better!) than the seemingly “big” dreams we’d had in the first place.

On iTunes: Liz Phair, “Extraordinary”

Hell’s freezing over, and it’s because I washed my car this weekend. It’s my fault!

Local Forecast

Today: Heavy snow. Some rain or sleet may mix in. Temps nearly steady in the low 30s. Winds NNE at 15 to 25 mph. Chance of snow 80%. 6 to 10 inches of snow expected.

Tonight: Occasional snow showers. Low 26F. Winds WNW at 10 to 20 mph. Chance of snow 60%. Snow accumulating 2 to 4 inches.

Mom left a message saying, “Several inches expected by tonight? Promises, promises. We expect several inches every night, but do we actually get any?”

All the schools are closed within a 50-mile radius, and not a drop of snow has fallen yet. I’m sure it will start while I’m in the shower. *admires clean car one last time*

On iTunes: Joss Stone, “Right to be Wrong”

… before we get even more snow. As if the torture of driving on Thursday wasn’t wretched enough, apparently tomorrow’s morning rush is going to be a sleety, snowy fiesta and the shit’s gonna continue all day. Hurrah.

I took advantage of the nice day and ran errands in the morning and fucked around at the outlet shops at Potomac Mills. Yay Old Navy outlet! I swear, I had vowed to never again set foot in that store, and in retrospect, I shouldn’t have, because I am the proud owner of a bunch more miniskirts for which I have absolutely no use. I swear, the last thing I need is more casual/slut wear — it is in my best interests to buy workwear, and bland stuff at that. One thing I have learned throughout my years in the office is that monochrome is the way to go — and, if you really want your life to be easy, the longer the skirt and the higher the neckline are also very much in order.

I used to try very hard to have an individual sense of style. But lately, mix & match has been my salvation. Because the option of mixing colors and textures with jeans isn’t an option anymore. Although I do arrive in jeans and sneakers. Which means I go through twice the number of outfits in a week, but I can’t sit in a freezing-cold car (often after scraping ice from the windshield) in pantyhose and heels. And for some reason, my damn windows are always steamed up (is it because I am so hot? *wink*), so I can’t even use the freaking heat in the mornings and I need to blast the damn a/c for an hour … if that don’t chill your hoo-ha, I don’t know what will! And we wonder why I guzzle coffee by the gallon before, during and after my ride!

I have to admit that I spent the day in Prince William because I had laundry to do and we all know how much I abhor that. And while I was there, guess who I ran into but the ignorant bitch! HAH! I saw her giving me the hairy eyeball and wondered what I had done to piss her off, and then I remembered who she was. Hee hee. I didn’t bother using a dryer today — I took my wet clothes straight home and hung them in the bathroom. She literally sat and glared bullets at me the whole time my clothes were in the washer (I was reading a magazine and trying not to notice). I wasn’t going to let her steal my thunder, because I’d had a great fucking day buying discounted hoochie-mama clothes and am looking forward to warmer weather so I can wear them, even if I can only wear them during the weekends.

Ah, spring. It’s coming. This winter of our discontent is almost behind us.

And because I can never let a post go by without sharing a neurosis, I admit that I’ve been waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Things have been looking up really well during the last few weeks. I knew something was coming to make me nuts. And it came. And went. And I barely even noticed. I guess when you’ve been through hell, your nerve endings get kind of desensitized when something happens that normally would have devastated you at one time in your life.

Don’t get me wrong — I had a brief moment of self-pity and a few moments of “if only” type of reflection — if only I were this or that or NOT this or that, etc. And then I went back to my memorized “Desiderata,” and I remembered that yes, in fact, I have a right to be here. And my flaws are temporary, as is the person that I am right at this very minute. I am growing and changing and evolving and becoming the best version of my myself at every opportunity. Which means that this, too, shall pass. And I can’t wait to see what’s standing in line waiting for me after this goes away, which — like this crazy winter — it will be a faded memory sooner than I think.

Or, maybe my mom said it best. “You just need somebody to get you drunk and give you a good fuck. Life always looks better after one of those.”

God, I love my mom.

On iTunes: The Calling, “Our Lives”

In an attempt to keep my life more private, I realize that I pretty much shouldn’t blog about anything going on right now. I hate it because I love to process my insanity out loud and feel like that isn’t possible right now.

I do find, however, that my silence must be somewhat maddening to my favorite trolls, because they have driven my hits up through the roof — checking back repeatedly to see if I’ve updated. Newsflash: it’s called a newsreader. And many of them don’t even tell me you’re invading my privacy. So go piss off. And have a nice day.

I will say, though, that I did something I haven’t done in about seven months — I got my nails did. When the income stopped, so did every ritual that meant anything to me. So I am feeling girly and empowered to have lovely nails again, although there is that part of me that is deathly afraid to spend money on anything but debts and necessities. It’s just really hard to once again get accustomed to typing on this tiny Mac keyboard!

I went to the salon where my friend Shan (who moved to the West Coast in August) and I used to go together. And EVERYBODY remembered us and asked me all about her. And, I found myself missing her more than usual — we used to see each other six days a week. Not having money has been good for me only in that I didn’t have to go out to “our” places like today and realize how alone I feel without her.

And, maybe I’m selfish, but I don’t want to go out and make any more friends. Well, maybe selfish isn’t the right word, not so much as apathetic. But in this area, everybody leaves (well, the people you love leave — the rest flare up like a bad case of herpes). I know, we should cherish people for as long as we have them, but my inbox is bursting full of notes from people I have not physically seen in years, and I get into this “What’s the Point?” attitude toward taking on another friend who will probably just end up as a pen pal.

This is odd for me — I am normally pretty social and truly do thrive on human interaction. But I don’t put myself “out there’ to meet people anymore. And everyone who is near me now, I feel like I’ve got them at arm’s length — like, I will miss them if they go away, but my heart won’t break the way it did when distance separated me from Shan and from hundreds who came before her. What I need is to ramp up the dating life — at least, I never really expect THOSE to last more than a night or two … at the most.

But back to my glorious nails. I have really let myself and my apartment go during the insane bout of depression/anxiety I had late last year — what little strength and money I had needed to be allocated accordingly. And I am hoping this is the first step in learning how to take care of me, which is something I’ve never known how to do. I am in a daily environment where it is clear that my personal well-being is as important as my skills and abilities, and it’s a nice change. Maybe, if others care so much about me, then I should follow their lead and be a little nicer to myself when opportunity allows.

On iTunes: Dashboard Confessional, “The Sharp Hint of New Tears”

“There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a… a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know… a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle… and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.” — Troy Dyer, “Reality Bites”

In the mornings, I take the exit that gives me a glorious glimpse of the Pentagon, the Washington Monument and the city of Rosslyn. On a clear day, just the sight makes even the most painful commute seem like an odyssey of beauty. Yesterday, I was in a frothy fit about ripping the kitchen apart (and everything is still on the floor because I have to wash everything before I put it back in the cabinets. Can we say obstacle course?) and was so hot that it seemed appropriate to have the sunroof open as I made the trek north.

And what I saw was even better — against the gradient sky of gray to blue, I was able to watch planes take off from Reagan National. I always watch them, but with the roof open, I appreciated the unobstructed view of their ascent. I love to watch planes — the are taking lucky people to see individuals and places that mean the world to them or, if we’re lucky, the planes are taking annoying tourons back to their respective homes and away from my city.

What was neat about said gradient sky yesterday was the fact that it was laced with streaks of pink. I mean, you could tell from the gray that snow was on the horizon (and my car has a coating right this very minute and I should be out there cleaning it before my slippery commute!). But those orangey-pink accents — they kill you and inspire you at the same time. You wonder why something so randomly beautiful and upbeat is lodged between the bland and foreboding. It’s ironic, really, how we want things to be “just so” in that regard — that, if it’s going to rain, then it might as well pour. We forget that the unexpected color in the sky is like a satin ribbon that is meant to suspend us while the flood of unpleasantness threatens to sweep us away. It’s like a lasso for our weary eyes, reminding us to find beauty in the unexpected.

I guess the winter sky reminds me of my own days (far too many of them, I might add) when the pain was choking me. And then, lately, I start to feel OK and realize that I’m not miserable anymore, and I appreciate that.

I’ve had some moments of late wherein I caught myself being happy. I mean, I found myself truly enjoying someone’s company, found myself saying something another person found witty or useful, and felt myself not wanting a particular interlude or experience to end as quickly as wonderful moments often do.

And, as so often happens, you cherish those moments and replay them in your head until you can’t even see the colors and details that your memory had seemingly photographed. Even mental pictuers, I guess, get tattered and soft from overuse. But the way you felt never realy goes away, I guess. You just tend to hope for new (pleasant!) memories that are as vivid as the previous ones to help you to smile again.

I guess that’s where dreams come from — to keep us thinking in hopeful terms. Those who appreciate happiness when it is afforded to them are apt to create their own when it doesn’t seem there is any more on the horizon. Or, as I’ve learned, happiness can appear after you started to doubt it even existed in the first place. We all have our “war wounds” — we all have something to overcome. And somehow, we do. Maybe we imagine a better time and place until it actually becomes a reality.

In any event, finding that silver lining is an acquired talent. When you have the ability to see it, follow it wherever it leads you. When it eludes you, envision your own. It will catch up with you eventually.

On iTunes: The Killers, “Mr. Brightside”

Or was “American Idol” ridiculously painful for the finalist rounds? Sheesh. I loved Carrie Underwood. She got my votes — it was that sweet country tone powered by some killer pipes that made her performance look effortless.

I was expecting big things from Mikalah (and I really didn’t like her performance. Or maybe it was that nasal voice she put on for the night). And Celena’s treatment of Lara Fabian’s “I Will Love Again” was unforgivable. The rest of the names/faces kind of blended together, but people should be banned from singing Whitney, Celine and all other big-voice stars because it will invariably SUCK.

I spent the show lusting after Bo and Constantine in the “dawg pound.” I think it’s stupid to eliminate based on gender, which is what they’re doing this year, until they get their final 12, I think. The boys really “can blow” this year, as Randy Jackson says. Umm hmm. I think he needs a new metaphor to say they can sing. I’m sure, however, most of those girls had to blow SOMEONE to get that far!

On iTunes: Lara Fabian, “I Will Love Again”