Caterwauling

Moon in 3-D

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Just figured I’d write a blog entry when I’m as close to being happy to be alive as I will ever get.

Nothing extraordinary is going on. My friend T is in town, which is about the only time that I feel good and right. She leaves tomorrow, so I’ll be my old surly self in no time. BUT she will stay with me next time she’s in town. YAY!

We also welcome B from Hotlanta and B from San Francisco into the fold this week, even if it’s just for a couple of days. It’s been great. Really. If every week could be as glorious as this one, I would be SUCH a happier person.

The move is not necessarily on hold, but not moving forward. For some stupid reason, my mommy has to sign MY lease. Not just for the place she will be occupying, but also the one to which she will NEVER EVER NEVER get the key EVER. I don’t get it.

I have to have her sign it and I’ll drop off another deposit (I got a deposit for my unit; now for hers). Basically I’ll be paying THREE rents for the next two-ish months.

I keep telling myself it will all be worthwhile.

My friend P gave me a job application for the Over-Extended Houseguest at her kid’s school. They’re not hiring but CAN YOU IMAGINE making this move and not only does my life change, but hers as well?

Wouldn’t it be even greater for her to pay her own damn bills/rent/utilities and I can move on with the business of LIVING MY OWN LIFE FOR A CHANGE?

She needs money for her bills. LIKE I HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING ON RIGHT NOW. Oh, I’m so frustrated.

More frustrated, still, that she ALWAYS barges into my bedroom and asks if she can come in. Every single time, I say no. And every time she keeps flapping her jaws like I said, “Sure, come in and bore the bejeezus out of me, please!”

I haven’t scheduled movers but, again, P knows some guys who will do it for me (for a cost, of course). Seriously, this woman is heaven-sent.

I’m finally, finally starting to feel like I’m going to turn out OK. Eventually. Not anytime soon. But I refuse to wonder what if the OEH doesn’t get a job and OMG how will I afford to pay for separate lives for both of us for the longer term.

But I can’t think that way. I just can’t. I am going to get her on her feet if it kills me. I will get rid of the cats’ fleas if it kills me. I will live on wine and cat food in my new apartment if it kills me. I will GET OUT OF THIS FUCKED-UP SITUATION that I didn’t ask for and DO NOT WANT because I deserve better.

It’ll be OK. I will be, too.

Send cake. And drugs. I’ll give you the address when you arrive in the neighborhood to stay with me in my lovely new place. …

Penthouse view of the Atlantic Ocean

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This is NOT my new ocean view but rather this was taken from the apartment across the hall from one of the apartments I’ve been considering. (I swear I saw 15 units.) But it ain’t much different on the other side. I will put up some fake hedges or something to further delineate my space (other than the balcony railings that separate the apartments).

But if this is living, I can’t wait to start.

I definitely took the PoorHouse — er, Penthouse. Spare me the stinky unit. Besides, the stinky unit sits over the lone road that goes through this island. I’m three floors higher and even if the neighbors get unruly, I only have four neighbors, two on each side. And three of those units are vacant.

I went to my pool yesterday and OMG, it’s nice. The one at my current unit — not the new one. (I enjoyed that one last weekend.) While the pool is prettier here, I will NOT miss waking up to construction before 7 a.m. every day of the week. Don’t ask me what they’re building. I have no clue because nothing’s getting done.

To add misery to mayhem, the cats have acquired fleas. I have a screened-in porch and good screens on the windows. I hate it, I don’t get it and it’s a sign to shove off NOW.

I agreed to pay a nasty lump sum to vacate my apartment. Thank GOD I haven’t spent any money since I got down here — it’s going away in one fell swoop. But I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just give two months’ notice (same amount) and shove off slowly. I’ll work it out once I sign the paperwork and hand over a check for *mumblemumblecommacommacry* at the new place.

I’m in panic-attack phase, of course. The OEH was talking about moving back to Pittsburgh to live in our cousin’s trailer. I mean, I want her to not be in my space and all, but NOT in a dilapidated TRAILER.

I’m under strict instructions from the employer to get friends down here STAT. Which shouldn’t be a problem when I have the new hacienda in place, judging from the thousand Facebook e-mails from destination-hungry travelers.

I used to travel a lot for my last job, and that became a big part of my social life. Now, I don’t have a lot of business reasons to travel. Well, I’m sure I do but I can’t think of them. And right now I don’t want to have to drag the laptop with me if I do get somewhere, so the temporary solution is to roll out the welcome mat to my out-of-state beloveds.

I think I’m still stuck in a mindset that since i never got to take any vacation time at the old job, when I do get time to break away, I don’t wanna work. But there’s a real cultural difference where I am now, that you can work from the fucking moon if you so desire, just take your shit with you and, like, DO it.

So, I know my firmly held beliefs puzzle them, and I will let go of them eventually. I guess I’ve never really had the opportunity to travel when it’s not for work, so it seems a waste to work on the road. Because even when I TRIED to get away from the old employment establishment, I ended up working and I could submit the bill for reimbursement.

I’ve got a lot of work to do on my work mentality, I’m aware.

I’ve got so much going on right now that I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown in short order. But my friend P, who met me when I was moving here and we’ve been hanging out lately, said she FINALLY sees a flicker of hope in my eyes.

The thing is, I have so much fire and creativity and passion and energy … somewhere. It’s all in different boxes and I barely bothered to unpack when I got here. I know that when I move, I’ll be eager to unpack and feel like I’ve landed.

I remember a long time ago when I was done with roommate-land, a friend had told me that even if I had to eat dog food to afford my own place, it would be the best damn dog food meal ever because it was in my own space.

She was right.

I love people (sometimes) but I need a sanctuary. Right now I share an office, share an apartment, share pretty much everything without ever really sharing the contents of my mind and heart because everybody’s got a demand on them and I try so desperately to cling to *something* that’s mine.

I hope the OEH can get on her feet. I’m more willing to help her now that she won’t be underfoot. I even bought her a housewarming gift. I’m contemplating giving her some of my furniture, although her studio is so twee that I’m sure her mountain o’ boxes won’t fit in there.

But I don’t think my entertainment center will fit in our new elevator, so I think I can con the movers into taking it up the steps to her apartment but they’d die in the stairwell if they dragged it up to mine. In which case, she can have my TV and I can buy a new one.

This would be about the time that the meteor hurtling toward earth gets wind of the glimmer of hope in my heart and changes direction toward the Miami area. But that’s OK — if I’m gonna die, dying happy is the way to go!

Sunset on the Intracoastal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, OK, I got some encouragement to grab life by the balls. So I spent several hours at my friend’s condo complex today, touring apartments and otherwise losing my mind.

But in a good way, if you can believe it.

I took the Over-Extended Houseguest with me. We toured apartments for me and I basically showed her the studio apartment that’s going to be ALL HERS.

I mean, it’s not gorgeous, but it ain’t Shady Pines, yo.

As for me, I had my heart set on this GORGEOUS corner unit. Very private, very high in the sky (for this building, anyway). My bedroom has a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean. I mean, it’s top fucking notch.

But …

The unit smells a little funny. It’s lovely otherwise. The Roman tub and wraparound balcony had me at hello. Or, at “O HAI.” Whichever.

But then …

They showed me a couple of penthouse apartments. And I was in lurrrve.

See, the best penthouse was actually lower in my price range (my price range is twice as much as I was paying in D.C. *faint*). But that would mean keeping the OEH so I could get the world’s most-gorgeous view.

Fuck that. Seriously, I will sacrifice more money and beauty, but no more skimping on sanity. No fucking way.

But there was a tiny penthouse — about 1,000 square feet for a 2BR/2BA. The unit I wanted downstairs was about 1,300 square feet and $100 less. BUT … THE VIEWS.

*happy sigh*

Now, the catch was to get approved. Because my credit score sucks and all.

But not only did I get APPROVED for a motherfucking PENTHOUSE, but I don’t have to pay any weird triple deposits like I did at this shithole I’m in now.

God is good. Nay, God is GREAT. I don’t mean to sound like one of those turds who praise Jesus when they win an MTV Music Award, but seriously, it is by the grace of God that I could get my shit together to go look at apartments, let alone GET APPROVED FOR A PENTHOUSE.

The OEH and I will be five floors apart. In a lovely building on a freaking peninsula that overlooks EVERYTHING.

Sure, I’ll give her a key to my place. Sigh. But to come home to my own space? Priceless.

And did I mention the private beach to which only residents get a key? Chairs and umbrellas provided courtesy of the management?

Seriously, last week I wanted to die. Today, I’m getting ready to LIVE.

I’m holding two apartments for me though — the smelly big one with the rockin’ tub and the twee penthouse with far less privacy outside (HUGE balcony, though) with the brand-new stainless-steel appliances. Shitty twee tub but did I mention the VIEW?!?!

Lots to think about this weekend. Like whether to write “So Long, Farewell” on my bare ass when I go tell my current apartment management to sit and spin, or whether to suck dick at Comcast and the electric company since I’ll have to pay for two sets of utilities.

And THOSE are GREAT problems to have!!!

Operation Beautiful

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My contribution to the Operation Beautiful cause.

“Even when you don’t feel beautiful, doesn’t change the fact that you are!!!”

Fireworks in 3-D

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I had put 3-D glasses over my camera as I watched the Fourth of July fireworks from the beach, and this is one of the many intriguing shots I got. It’s neat to look at things through different eyes. Maybe I’ll staple those glasses to my head for a week and see if I don’t generate a total new outlook.

The Bad Mood That Never Ends^TM continues to make my heart too heavy to carry around in my chest. I remember feeling this “meh” when I first moved to D.C. I figured I’d get over it. I figure I WILL get over it. But what, exactly, am I getting over?

More specifically, where is the light at the end of the tunnel? Even if it IS an oncoming train, a girl needs some light, yo.

I’ve intimated that my glumness is rooted in part in missing my friends. It’s a trifecta of total desperation that’s got me by the ass, but let’s focus on that factor today.

I was asked if I could bring any 3 or 5 people to see me in Florida (from D.C.), who would it be? Four of the five people I named were old colleagues.

Nothing against the “non-work” friends, but when I had to keep giving up social event after social event, who was I spending that time with? My work friends. AT WORK. Whose company I was very lucky to enjoy.

So as I was talking about people and places I missed today, the revelation came out of the mouth of this particular babe, “What’s the big deal, really? I’ve been missing my friends FOR FIVE YEARS.”

I think that’s what’s stuck in my craw on the friend front. That, jeez, I had all these incredible people in my life that I didn’t see.

Sure, I had my weekends off and there were lots of group events with my different groups. But one-on-one time? Hangout time? Go shopping time? Just chill time? Not so much.

Was it my own fault? Absolutely. Sure, a lot of things were out of my control, with great events happening on weeknights but me being another state away, captive in a cube, didn’t help matters. The ability to gnaw at the restraints was there; just not always the magical opportunity of energy + ability.

I guess it’s been obvious to more than just me that I haven’t smiled in a good six weeks. I don’t even try to fake it anymore.

What bothers me is that I CAN’T fake anything anymore. When I started at my last job, I was as broken as a human being could be. Five months without a job, no money and one foot off the cliff toward losing everything, and I hid it from everyone.

Maybe I didn’t do as good a job as I thought in hiding my metric buttload of pain, but it was onward and upward, y’know? And even though things weren’t ideal for that first year and a half, they became OK.

Things were never easy, but I was cool with OK. Good work, great skill set, excellent team — all blessings worthy of counting twice.

Of course, I had about a minute and a half of happy, when I got an apartment I liked and even though I was a state away from my friends, the alleviated commute actually did wonders in curing my then-high blood pressure.

Fast-forward to inheriting the OEH, and I was never the same again.

So here I am in this whole new life that looks EXACTLY like the life before. So why am I so violently down in the damn dumps? Because unlike then, I can’t just go see a familiar face or do a beloved pastime.

Not that I really did much of that, especially toward the end, but that’s where a big part of the mental blockage is taking place. That when I had the opportunity, I either couldn’t or just didn’t. That maybe in my own way, I wasn’t necessarily circling the drain, but I was definitely running the water.

Especially when it came to dieting in the last year, I gave up all my “favorites,” thinking I’d get back eventually for special occasions. But man, what I would not GIVE for some carrot cake from Balducci’s right now. :9

A good friend gave me some great advice: That I don’t have to let the elevator go all the way down to the basement. Get off at the 10th floor while I still can.

To that end, I’m getting mass encouragement to take the new apartment and a studio for the OEH. Let’s say the financial worry can go away if I want it to. People are willing to help. Nay, people are THAT willing to get me out of this funk that they will MAKE IT HAPPEN FOR ME.

On one hand, a girl wonders what she did to deserve that. On another hand, a girl feels like shit that she can’t get her fucking act together and at least lie to the world the way she used to be able to.

On yet another hand (what am I, an octopus?), everyone’s right that not only do I deserve some happy, but that I owe it to myself and everyone invested in me to really give this new life a fair shot.

I just don’t know that I have enough left in me to add ONE MORE THING to my plate. Is my mental health worth one last investment, or is that going to be what finally decimates me into a flaming puddle of goo?