Caterwauling

I don’t think it’s any grand secret that my Grand Floridian adventure hasn’t exactly been a thing like I pictured it would be.

If the photos have done their job of lying, however, feel free to subscribe to the myth that it’s just all sunshine and oranges here.

(For the record, all the oranges in the supermarkets came from California. The hell?)

But if you see the stormclouds in those perfect photos, know that they’re the predecessor to a boatload of rainstorms.

I had sold myself on this brand-new life. And it looked like I’d gotten it. But when it all boils down to it, I still have a clingy, needy Over-Extended Houseguest^TM and the pay differential between there and here basically makes up for the extra hours that I’m putting in.

In other words, while I crave some of the familiarity of my adopted homeland of Washington, D.C., it’s been the abundance of similarities between my old life and new one that have been driving me batshit insane.

I’m at this place in my life where I’m really tired of working. Not of the job; I don’t mean to imply that. I just mean, I’ve been working 60- to 80-hour workweeks since I was 20 years old. I worked just as hard for my salary now as I did for my $3/hour gigs 15 years ago.

That’s the dream, right? To go from slave’s wages to making something resembling a living.

But I guess I thought there’d be more time for me in there, too.

When I was in San Antonio a week and a half ago, I met this extraordinary man and asked him how he got his start in our industry. He said he was a very young lawyer, working around the clock and racking up billable hours.

His epiphany came one Sunday afternoon when he was going out for coffee. He saw a big boss also in the office — a man who looked at him fondly and said, “I see a lot of myself in you. Someday, you’ll no doubt be as successful as me.”

And my friend said he wanted to die on the spot as he looked at this middle-aged man with more money than God and a wife and kids at home and saw his future. He was cool with working a shit-ton of hours as a “nobody,” but he figured if he ever had wealth and a family, he’d want to be able to ENJOY them.

The irony now, of course, is that he still works lawyers’ hours. But he’s HAPPY. He’s doing this “work thing” on his own terms, as he’s in business for himself.

I wonder whether having a couple of very tasty margaritas with him at the Iron Cactus wasn’t meant to change MY life as well.

I’ve been in emotional hell the past few weeks. I’ve been working a lot — nothing new there. In fact, I’ve had a rather light two days so far this week … in preparation of the vicious cycle to pick back up tomorrow … and I’ve been rather cranky that the ebb-and-flow seems to ebb FAR more than it flows.

The thing is, I’m working on industry-changing products. When all is said and done, we’re gonna turn our section of the world on its ass. And the next steps are for me to get off of MY ass and make things happen … at a time when I couldn’t produce a million-dollar idea even if someone advanced me the cash.

Here’s where I am right now. (I’ve been here before — I know it well.) I was a rock star where I was. I still get calls from potential employers, saying they want to hire someone JUST LIKE ME or, hey, feel free to give us a call if this new gig doesn’t work out.

I’m not bragging and I’m not threatening anyone or anything — I have a great reputation. I owe it all to my former company. I really do. They took Cinderella out of the chimney and gave her a castle. I’m sure I had a little something to do with that, but I’m not so dumb as to not give credit where it’s due.

But here I am, with a quadruple-platinum debut album, and everyone’s looking at me for my sophomore effort. And you know how it goes — second albums SUCK.

This Lateral Action article best describes the “second-album syndrome”:

“Debut albums are usually the result of an irrepressible musical spirit that bursts forth from the band. It’s great when fame and fortune result, but it also gives you a challenge: how do you ignore the weight of expectation – from your fans, the media, your management and each other – long enough to write and record music for the sheer joy of it? Sometimes it’s easier to get famous slowly.

“So getting paid to do what you love can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you deal with it. You could create the Sistine Chapel or Led Zeppelin IV. Or you could end up as another rock ‘n’ roll casualty, burnt out and/or selling out.

“Either way, money and creativity are an explosive combination. Handle with care.”

God, that article turned my life around. I was drowning. I was dying. I was seriously feeling so very trapped … like I am living life at gunpoint.

I HAVE to take care of Mommy. I HAD to give her money. I HAD to bounce my goddamned bank account because I didn’t HAVE that money. I HAVE to work hard to earn a paycheck. I MUST top all of my past accomplishments to PROVE I’m the star everyone thinks I am. I CANNOT fail. I have NO OTHER OPTIONS.

The big realization from today is that I am caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, both at home and work. I can’t check the OEH into Shady Pines, but I can’t stand another minute of her being underfoot.

With work, I want so very badly to shine again, and to outdo myself. But I cannot be that no-life, sad shell of a girl who died on the vine (socially) at her last job, either. I struggle SO HARD between wanting to dazzle/impress, and not wanting to raise expectations too much.

Because, as I’ve learned, you can’t ever fall short of those expectations once you’ve set the bar.

So, wow do I feel better after having typed all of this. I’ve been so miserable, trying not to become the shadow of myself that I once was … while the unavoidable happened and I’ve BECOME A SHADOW OF WHO I ONCE WAS — AGAIN!

As always, the decision remains whether to become irreplaceable (again) or to amble along just fine and have the balance I so desperately crave. Or is there even free will in this at all and will I just continue defaulting to “superstar”?

Even if my second record is Teh Suck, I am under contract for a good five or 10 of them. No wonder all these celebrities take drugs and die young — it’s fucking HARD to change an ingrained ethic.

But, and I hate to say it, imagine what we’d achieve if we channeled ALL THIS PASSION into something that we truly loved, instead of just something we found that we’re incredibly good at. …

Mmm, mmm. Twenty-five years and counting of listening to Jon Bon Jovi, and I still turn into a quivering puddle of goo when I see/hear him. Yum.

Lovely yet ominous. Like the photographer

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

While trying not to be entertained by the fact that I accidentally (I promise!) locked out the over-extended houseguest last night, I was out running my 10,000 errands today (I have another billion more to do) and, oh gee.

Guess what? I locked myself out of my car.

With the ignition running. *facepalm*

Luckily I had just parked at the beach. It’s usually treacherous to get out of the car because of the traffic, so it’s always a quick exit. Usually I leave the sunroof open and I can reach for the keys when I forget them. (Yes, this isn’t the first time I’ve locked myself out.)

But with the pending storm, I figured I’d just take a quick walk to the water. Hahahaaa. Not so much.

Luckily, AAA was quicker than normal, although I had to stay on the scorching-hot sidewalk while I waited. But alas, one wonders whether it’s God’s retribution for last night. Or, as Scot said, just a run of bad “car-ma.”

*ba DUM bum*

Beach, post-evacuation

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

When I see my friends going from one hazardous relationship to another, or making the same mistakes in innovative and awe-inspiring ways, I always write off the common denominator as, well, them.

Then as I start wrapping caution tape around my world for the umpteenth time like I’m dancing around a goddamned maypole, I have that moment in which I realize, hunh, what is the common denominator here?

I often find that I feel so out-of-control in so many domains of my life that when I do have a choice — say, whether to guzzle a gallon of red wine or smoke a cigarette — I often choose poorly. Why? Because it’s my choice. Nobody can take that away from me.

Sure, I could choose right (say, instead of abandoning my diet for a month now). But in my world, exhibiting control doesn’t always mean doing the BEST thing.

I’m starting to see why instant gratification rules those tiny pockets of my life. It’s because I’m sick to goddamned death of waiting for everything else to pay off or at least mercifully end one way or another.

I often wonder whether I left my heart in D.C. But I think I did my best to take my heart with me when I left. Even if I did have a great dream last night in which all my friends from Arlington and I were at a big dinner, celebrating my return.

I don’t see going back — at least, not for any extended stay — as being in the cards. And a part of me is almost afraid to go back, in wonders whether some of the ones I want to see most wouldn’t make an appearance.

Dear Lord, one day, please let me be as happy as everyone else seems to think I am and/or that they seem to think I deserve. Because I still feel like I’m doing this life thing all wrong. Again.

“Tides and waves have kept me
Kept me going
I’m longing for the calm
I’m heading for the pastures
I can see on your dry land
Let the sea that once did take me
Bring me back safe to your door
For I long to touch the dry land of your shore.”

– Joan Armatrading, “Dry Land”

Adding to the epic failure that is my life, I locked the over-extended houseguest out of the house last night. And not even on purpose!

She’s been after me for a new phone. Yes, that person whose phone service is paid by yours truly. I had bought her a phone awhile back that broke, so I gave her the phone I had before I got my iPhone. And of course that isn’t working right either now. So she’s been asking me to buy her a phone. Which of course I had responded to with some vitriol about how other people get jobs and buy their own.

So last night, I dragged myself in after a whole month of working with exactly one day off. And I locked the door. I normally don’t lock the “chain” lock (less a chain than a hunk of steel) but because it was late, I did. Because it has always driven me nuts having people in my house because I can’t ever feel secure without all the locks being fastened.

I got out of bed around 9 a.m. today — very late for me, but again, SECOND DAY OFF IN A MONTH. I was outside on the balcony with my coffee and I saw her out there, asking me from the first floor to unlock the door. Uh, whoops. There are several messages from one of her friends. Which, I keep my phone on silent at work all the time.

I just handed her $500 because she needed money from me anyway to pay some bills this month. (It’s not guilt over this; I was planning to do it anyway.) But yeah, something tells me that I have to go get her a new phone today, not like I would have picked up had SHE been the one calling!