Caterwauling

My inner zen, inner child and inner bitch just started playing rock/paper/scissors.

My money’s on the bitch stabbing the other two and torching the paper to destroy the evidence.

I’m rooting for the bitch. Just sayin’.

On iTunes: Melissa Etheridge, “Breakdown”

I spend a lot of time inside my head. I always have, I guess. But I was kind of comparing myself to where I was six months ago and where I was six months before that, and I am amazed at what a different person I am.

Not to say that I was a bad person in the first place — I wouldn’t say I’m so much reformed as I am enlightened. I think I always tried my best to do the right things and make the right choices, but I guess I’ve learned that there is a grander scheme of things … that the wind is gently nudging you in the right direction and that all you have to do sometimes is un-dig your stiletto heels out of the ground and be carried once in awhile.

Amy reminded me that I have an undertone to many of my entries here that one must make one’s own miracles. I believe that wholly. I have a friend who has seen me fall into the depths of despair and soar to heights I haven’t seen before, and even though I feel like my war wounds will never heal, she says she never saw anything but my determination to survive — my commitment to picking my fat ass off the ground and persevering.

The thing was, it was a time when I felt like I was making all the wrong decisions — a time when divine intervention was on hiatus and my spirit guides were sipping umbrella drinks in Tahiti without me. And the thing is, I had no faith at the time — I’d lost my belief system years earlier and never quite got around to reconstructing one that worked. But during my time of nothingness, I got my faith back. When I needed something, anything in which to believe, it came to me. Now, I’m not going to share those beliefs, because they are in fact mine and perhaps mine alone, but suffice it to say that when the “Desiderata” tells us to nurture strength of spirit in times of misfortune, it wasn’t shitting us.

In any event, I was talking to my friend tonight about how I feel like I was martyred — I went through a lot of suffering that didn’t benefit me but, rather, those who followed in my footsteps. But rather than be envious or even bitter about it, I figured my day would come. And it has. And things are better than I’d even imagined. So did I make my own miracles? Not technically, but I think I created the environment where they could happen. You do what’s natural, and the universe takes care of the supernatural.

I guess what I struggle with is when will the anvil drop. Happiness has always been fleeting at best in my world, so I tend to assume that my so-called cover will be blown … that I’m not as special as others might think I am or, worse, as I believe I am.

So, I take life day by day. My goals are short-term. My presence in any given moment is full-throttle — I’m not contemplating what or how I think I should be doing. I’m simply siphoning all I can absorb from the people, places and situations that surround me. I’ve always been like that, though. That’s not news.

But what IS different is that I’ve lost my edge — but that’s not a bad thing. I’ve always had a zinger or an insult ready — I was always able to see the fault in even the most exquisite things and, sadly, that extended to people. Don’t get me wrong — I can spot an oxygen thief a thousand miles away — but I prefer to keep my thoughts positive. Anybody who’s been with me for a few years know that I was the Goddess of the poison pen. But I’d much rather get lost in my new offline dreambook than shout from the Blogger dashboard about the injustices I’ve witnessed.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that when you’re given an opportunity to wipe the slate clean and start over, take it. Process what you couldn’t understand before, vent about it with a trusted group of friends and close the door on it. When the next door opens, you don’t want to have that baggage with you, and if you happen to bring it in, well, it’s never too late to clean house and take it out to the curb when you’re done with it.

The thing is, you’re constantly meeting new people and facing new challenges in life. And they don’t need to know so much of your history when what they really need from you is all that you can be right at this very moment. Sure, that means they might not know the details of all the great things you achieved, but on the other hand, they can see what a phenomenal person you have become, and they therefore know that you must have done spectacular things that led you to become the incredible person you are now. Likewise, so what if you made a couple of screw-ups in your past? Nobody has to know it but you, just so long as you learned and grew instead of missing the lessons that were meant for you.

I know I still have a lot of screwing up to do and a lot of gray hairs to put on the heads of those I love, respect and admire. And they will return the favor, no doubt. But when you look around and see who’s on the journey with you and where the journey might be leading all of you, you finally realize that you’ve done your best. So have they. And, if you keep doing your best and know that your actions affect everyone around you, then you will be perpetuating greatness and inspiring it in others.

Whatever you send out into the world, comes back at you times three. Just as we are cautioned to be careful what we wish for, we must be equally concerned with what we release into the world. But when I have the chance to perpetuate concern, knowledge, assistance, reverence … the payoffs are so much bigger.

And so, tonight, I am sending you a dream. I wish for you to have a deep, pleasant slumber, filled with sweet images of whatever you want to see. I want for you to be energized, inspired, empowered by what you see and feel. The only thanks I need is knowing that you awakened and did the same thing for someone else. Don’t be afraid to give away a wish or a dream — there’s always someone out there who needs it more than you and who would give anything to have a moment of happiness. Again, as “Desiderata” says, “Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”

Eventually, you don’t have to strive anymore — it’ll come naturally. Trust me on this.

On iTunes: Alicia Keys, “Karma (Karmastition Remix)”

In a high school sociology class, the instructor gave us this great publication called “Masks”, although it now seems to be called “Please Hear What I am Not Saying.” Tomato, toh-mah-toe — in any event, go read. And then come back with a spicy bloody mary to read the rest of this.

As the sequel to “What goes unsaid,” this isn’t so much insight into what I don’t say but, rather, where my head is when my eyes can’t seem to make contact with another human’s. And, as always, there’s tunage involved.

“Yeah that’s me,
Yeah behind you
Hoping that you won’t see
That I’m not all
They make me out to be
But oh to let you see me
’cause I am not that pretty
But you will find out and then
You will leave me.”
– Melissa Ferrick, “To Let You See Me” —

Someone who matters to me (and, by default, whose opinion of me means the world to me) mentioned that I often look left when I tell stories, and if you’ve read “Cheap Psychological Tricks” (as I have), then you tend to wonder if someone is lying when their gaze averts.

But the thing with me is, I don’t lie. Really. Sure, I have things I’d prefer to hide — who doesn’t? But like I tell people who show an interest in learning what I’m really all about, if you want to know something about me, then you must ask me directly. Most people find me hard to read, so it’s OK to ask — I don’t offer up a lot of information otherwise. And like I said in the “What goes unsaid” entry, I often start to talk and then stop myself. And it’s not that I feel it’s unimportant — I guess I just wonder if the other party really needs or even wants to hear what it is I have to say or whether it needs to be shared in the first place.

But then, there are the people around whom I am so comfortable that I just talk. And talk. And keep on talking. And I catch myself starting to reveal too much, so I look away. Plain and simple. There’s a part of me that wants them to know and understand me, but there’s always that damned voice from my shoulder that tells me to hold everyone at arm’s length as much as possible. Don’t let them know that you’ve laid out your heart like a map of Metro D.C., for them to peruse at will and take what they want from what you’ve offered. Don’t let them know that you want them to be interested in what you’re saying. Be aloof, be distant, be blase — just don’t let on that you are being real. Keep ‘em guessing, I suppose. They can’t hurt you if they don’t know how.

The thing is, I can back up all of my stories. Hell, I probably have written accounts of 98 percent of them — I do have a habit of chronicling the most mundane of life’s details. And sure, my reality is colored by the way I see things — and I know this. I always feel like I need to put up a disclaimer that the stories you are about to hear are “as witnessed” by me.

I could joke that I look away because I’m embarrassed about having two different eye colors, but that would, in fact, be a lie. The truth of the matter is that I am fairly accustomed to people who simply look right through me, for whatever reason. And to have people who are looking at me, trying to piece me together in the same way that I might be trying to decipher the puzzle that they might be to me … wow. What is it that makes me try to turn the moat that’s already around me into an electric fence?

In any event, what I don’t let on is that I am studying people while I’m talking to them. Even if I’m not looking at them, I know if they are watching me. My peripheral vision is spot-on — I know whether folks are looking at their watches or inching away or just plain itching to run for the hills. I also know whether they’re moving closer or following the story. I learn more from watching their shadows than I do from watching their pleasant smiles and perhaps obligatory nods to show that the are listening.

And it’s not to say that I enjoy it when people are talking to me but aren’t looking at me. Drives me kind of nuts, actually. Then again, it gives me an opportunity to study them. I was just writing in my private journal today about how I study people’s hands. But when you think about it, that’s only part of what I notice. I can tell you the eye color of everyone I know — I can tell you whether I am envious of the length of their eyelashes or whether they thrust out their lower lip when they’re thinking. I can tell you if they blink when I ask them a question they aren’t certain how to answer right away. I can tell you whether they get a sparkle in their eye when I say something so off the wall that they weren’t expecting a curve ball but are playful enough to appreciate it anyway. I can perceive whether they take a breath before they speak (to give them time to collect their thoughts) or whether they’re bursting with something they can’t wait to share with me.

It’s just weird to find people who are paying attention to the Exact. Same. Things. in me. It’s somewhat disconcerting, of course — I’m so conscious of everything that I perceive to be *wrong* with me that I am fundamentally terrified that others are going to observe me and see the very things I abhor when I look in the mirror every day. But maybe they, like me, are looking to find the beauty that lies within … which, I am realizing that hides within everyone, if only we care enough and try hard enough to discover it. And maybe I have to acknowledge what’s inside of me before I am comfortable with others seeing — and possibly even enjoying — me for all that I am instead of for what little I give them to go on.

From “Please Hear What I am Not Saying”:

“You’ve got to hold out your hand
Even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
The blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
Each time you try to understand because you really care,
My heart begins to grow wings.”

On iTunes: Melissa Ferrick, “To Let You See Me”

Well, I am back from the Mansons’ Camp Cupcake Bunny Hell Land.

Yes, Mom transformed her hacienda into what she called Bunny Hell Land, although it was ridiculously adorable, of course. Not like her neighbors “The Griswolds,” who have had this Christmas/Valentine’s Day/St. Paddy’s Day/Easter medley going for a couple of months.

I loved seeing the family. Mom said it wasn’t enough time (Friday night to Sunday afternoon). I think it was sufficient, although I swear I spent more time driving than I did actually seeing the family. Anyway, I was just happy because I got to The O (mmm, vat o’fries with Cheez Wiz) and to Alexander’s (mmm, wedding soup and chicken eggplant pesto). Seriously, best wedding soup on the planet, I say. Skip the tiramisu and catch it next time at the Spaghetti Warehouse, which I plan to do next time I swing through town.

Yes, it’s all about the food. We won’t even talk about how much Mom cooked despite hte fact that I needed my hometown restaurant fixes. She did give me her recipe for banana bread (which I seem to have promptly lost) — everything in my family is solved with home-baked goods. That would explain the size of my ass, but I digress.

Anyway, I had a MISERABLE, rainy drive home, only to arrive at a cat shit-fest. The cats definitely left their mark, so to speak, on the house. Kadi annihilated my beloved black leather jacket that Mom gave me. The woman neither has a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of, so when she gives me something — especially a big-ticket item — I tend to cherish it for that reason alone. That, and she has impeccable taste, but I digress. Anyway, there are kitty claw holes all over it and big rips and tears — looks like I went through war in it. Hooray.

Oh, and remember when I was on the hunt for Yohji perfume. Found it. Got it in the mail before I left. Loved it.

And it rolled off the fucking bathroom sink yesterday.

*heavy sigh*

I give up. I had to buy it off eBay. Spent way too much on it but was so freaking in love with it that it didn’t matter.

In any event, my bathroom and bedroom smell divine — the Yohji aroma has permeated the back of the apartment. Always tryin’ to find a bright side, eh?

But, I thought I’d cleaned up all the glass from the spillage, but apparently not, as I came home last night to find kitty vomit o’plenty EVERYWHERE. I swear, it makes me feel like a bad mommy that my cats are so hungry by the time I come home that they will eat shards of GLASS as an appetizer!

In any event, other than the festival o’cat droppings at home, everything else is going splendiferously, so I have no complaints … nor any coming up in the foreseeable future. Someone once told me that the best revenge is living well. I am proud to be the living embodiment of truth in advertising, as far as that goes.

On iTunes: Melissa Etheridge, “The Different”

In my office, I have one of those clear chair mats that serves little more purpose than to catch coffee spills.

But when I moved into said space, I noticed there was something trapped under the plastic — a penny. Face-up. For luck, I guess.

It will remain there as long as I am. Which I hope will be a very long time.

And, just like Hallmark cards, I am beginning to believe there is a song for everything. And, it just so happens to be by one of my favorite Pittsburgh-based bands, where I will be headed when my work is done.

This is the tune I tend to be singing when I’m having my a.m. caffeine boost and putting on my makeup (so as not to scare my beloved colleagues). Download away, and enjoy your day off if, in fact, it’s a holiday for you. Anywho, it’s Bunny Day every day over at the Prattcave — I highly recommend partaking of “The Apprentice Easter Bunny” if you haven’t already — Greyton’s “harepiece” alone is worth the visit!

On iTunes: The Clarks, “Penny on the Floor”