Caterwauling

Out for Business

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I always consider it a victory when I can have half a day Saturday and a half-day Sunday for personal pursuits. So, weekend win, yo.

Church was absolutely fantastic today. It was all music worship. We have four campuses for this church, and today we were wired in to all four campuses, with each leading us in song. Freaking amazing, I tell you. I know pride is a sin and all, but it can’t be when I say I’m so proud of the place where I belong. I’m especially proud of my preferred campus — my guys rocked the stage. 🙂

I keep forgetting that it’s only life, you know? I was thinking about my previous manifesto about why I love D.C. and I’m thinking about what keeps me from visiting it. Mostly in the way of responsibilities, and a falling-apart car and a pile of bills and just all these invisible shackles that I allow to weigh me down.

Silly girl.

When your goal is just getting through, no good things are going to come to you, you know?

The other day, someone was asking me about my dream car. My response was a simple, “One that isn’t dented.” Everyone else listed their dream vehicles and they came back to me. “One that runs properly,” I added.

Everyone was shocked at my absolute disinterest in cars. It’s not that — I just figure that with so many expenses (that I willingly and maybe even eagerly took on), why should I think about having anything “fun”?

And then today, outside my church, I saw my new car, the Hyundai Genesis coupe. What a sweet little ride.

Coveting is a sin, too, yes? Damn it! 🙂

Oh well. I’m putting it “out there” that I want it. Of course, with my credit score, I’d be lucky to get a 10-speed for the same price. But I’ve got to stop letting stupid shit like credit scores (and reality, for that matter) keep holding me back from at least visualizing what I want.

The thing is, I don’t drive anymore unless it’s to work. It’s a nice drive and I always dress like a hooker so I can get sun on my shoulders during the commute.

But with free time so finite, and the engine so rickety, I can’t believe I haven’t roamed the state in search of adventure.

I mean, even though driving in D.C. stressed me the hell out for the first two years, I still did it. I white-knuckled my way around the Beltway and at various points north, south, east and west of it … but I did it. Here, I stay in my own little corner of my own little room and it’s KILLING ME.

I’ve decided that I am OK where I live now (surrounded by water. I mean, come on, I’m not a moron!), but I have got to get my city-girl ass someplace resembling a city down here. There are three signs of life — West Palm, Lauderdale and Miami — and I’m smack between two of them.

But with a functioning car that doesn’t embarrass me (or downright scare me) to drive, I can get to all of them until I can move to one of them.

Getting older is such a bitch, you know? I continue to long for adventure, but having some security/stability and a place to truly call home is also on my “coveting” list.

That’s why it’s so weird to be thinking about a “next” car that’s not a minivan or something else that would tote a family along for the ride. Of course, the way my luck usually has it, it would be the day I walk into the dealership and drive out with another sports car that I’d find out that I need something a little more conservative. 😉

That’s OK. I’ll take my chances! I’ve got to remember that God’s plan for me is still in motion, whatever that plan is. And even if it’s to get an oceanfront condo in Miami and enjoy the shit out of my next little sports car, I ain’t complainin’.

It’s days like today that I miss D.C.

It’s days when you see people out doing “fall” things (on Facebook and Twitter, natch) like going to farms and pumpkin-picking and shit like that — today was Octoberfest in Shirlington, which always coincides with a friend’s birthday — and you knew you would have been there.

There’s nothing extraordinary that I miss — no real “gotta get back there for ___” events — but the little things. Always knowing the weekends were free for whatever, even if it was just to spend a couple of quality hours by myself in a bookstore or hitting a museum or festival.

I went out to run an errand tonight. Five hours later, the errand is still un-run and I consumed quite a few beers after arguing with a server that, “You don’t have ANYTHING new for the fall? No pumpkin ale? No cider? No freakin’ anything out of the ordinary for the season?” (That answer was “Uh? No?”) *sigh* Where’s a Dogfish Head when you need one? Gah.

As I was crying in my beer, I had this thought that I might not live to see 36. And instead of being depressed, I actually started feeling kind of happy. Not that I’m suicidal or anything, because that requires effort, but it was an interesting perspective for me. That, OK, what would I do if I only had nine months left?

That answer, in reality, would be work till I drop, kind of like the current plan is anyway and, hell, who wants to work till you’re 105 anyway? But as I watched my Washington Caps enjoy home-rink advantage over Toronto while I drank, I realized I miss so many little things about D.C.

The friends, Eastern Market, the Corcoran, the Verizon Center, Matchbox, Rio, U Street, Chinatown, wineries, Cap City Brewery, Dogfish, Great Seneca Park, Ben Brenman Park, Old Town Alexandria, the Potomac River, watching the planes take off at National Airport from a rock beside the river, 14th Street, Rockville Town Center, Fur Nightclub, Four Courts, dinner parties in Fairlington, lazy nights out in Potomac Falls, Sundays with Journey’s Crossing, Trader Joe’s, Balducci’s, Taste of Bethesda, escapes to outlet malls and great restaurants, half-smokes, Nats Stadium, etc.

Etcetera, etcetera.

And I never got to Kennedy Center. That was the one thing I’d promised myself I’d do before I left.

I took so much for granted. And I do NOTHING to replace the memories with anything new. I don’t claim my space, mark my territory, fence off my time.

The thing is, I don’t want to die. I want to live. And none of the above constituted much in the way of a life, so OF COURSE I don’t know how to construct one now. All of the aforementioned were simply my attempts to cling to some sort of sanity as everything else fell apart.

I don’t miss D.C. insomuch that I miss me. Whoever that was. Actually, I take it back. I don’t miss the girl I was as much as the woman I thought I’d be by now.

I don’t even know where to look anymore. Or when to find the time to put out a search party. Or if I’d even know her to see her. I just hope she’s alive and well and that I don’t have to identify her by a toe tag when I get around to looking.

I only had one thing on my to-do list yesterday before what I hoped would be a mostly free weekend. That thing not only did not come together, but downright exploded, so I’ve been up all night worrying and stressing.

So much for the beach. My new weekend goal is to get a nap to compensate for last night.

“Throw your hands up in the sky,
And wave ’em ’round from side to side,
And if you deserve a break tonight,
Somebody say all right!”

— Kurtis Blow, “The Breaks”

I was doing some math on my apartment(s). I was really expecting Mom would get a job and be able to alleviate some of the burden of her expenses. As it stands, I am spending as much on rent over the next year as I earned during the first year I lived in D.C.

I’m glad to be in that position, don’t get me wrong, but it almost feels like paying alimony to get a sense of peace.

I’ve decided her apartment is my “summer home.” Since everyone in Floriduh calls somewhere else home, preferably someplace with culture and shit — or at least something that’s open past 9 p.m. when I can enjoy it — that’s how I’ve got to frame it or else I’m going to drown in a river of regret.

Everyone at this apartment complex is miserable. People are moving out left and right. Now I’m dealing with a broken washer that they don’t see fit to fix. The landlady’s husband seems to serve as part-time handyman, instead of getting professionals to fix shit. (This is the second time my washer broke. Good times.)

I’m always looking for the silver lining, and I think I’ve found it: It’s October and not only was I rolling around in a tank top yesterday, but that’s how I dress for work. So I can kvetch all I want about how culture-free Florida is, but truly, I’d be winter-coat-shopping if I were still in D.C. Nothankyouverymuch.

Someone said to me once that you’ve got to give up the good things to get to the great things. I know I gave up a LOT of good things. I try not to inventory them anymore, but I know what they are. So that’s got to mean that great things are here or in progress.

Right?