Caterwauling

I’ve been on a reading kick lately. Just finished Barbara Corcoran’s “Shark Tales.” (Brilliantly written.) And immediately started on Jon Ronson’s “The Psychopath Test.”

Holy shit.

I’m already halfway through Ronson’s work and I only just started it a couple hours ago. The first half of the book finally provides me with a diagnosis for the often-charming, always-criminally insane creature with whom I associated myself for too many years. It is downright amazing what behaviors a psychopath can influence a perfectly normal human to engage in. But, alas, true empathy always wins over in the general populace, and we have to extricate ourselves from the clutches of these soulless societal dregs.

I’m about to start the second half, where Ronson gets into Wall Street psychopaths and others in leadership in the corporate world. All I have to say is, I SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN THIS BOOK. Sure, I couldn’t have done it BETTER, but match-making the psychopaths from my personal and professional lives would be like shooting fish in a friggin’ barrel, yo.

See, I was right to shrug off my “Atlas Shrugged” reading assignment in favor of brushing up on my Machiavelli. “The Psychopath Test” should be required reading for all humans, although I imagine my pet psychopath will probably pick up a copy as a finishing school of sorts, just like my favorite self-proclaimed and professionally diagnosed paranoid narcissist wears his condition like a badge of honor.

Just like 2% of the population controls 80% of the world’s wealth, the 1% of the (non-incarcerated) psychopath population does its damnest to cause mayhem for 90% of the regular people who just want to live and let live. Sad.

Anyway, I’ve already made a personal recommendation to all of us touched (more like molested at gunpoint) by someone else’s madness, and if you too have met someone in that 1% (probably at work), you need this book.

It’s funny how a whiny post makes me feel so much better.

Anyway, I saw this article and it made me feel the need to share it on a greater platform than Facebook:

Creating Workplace Civility: Why Courtesy is Critical for Businesses

I’ve avoided many a boss in my day, not because I wasn’t doing the work or doing it WELL, but because every goddamned thing was met with a snarl or a hiss or a random comment that no one would have anticipated. (And nobody anticipates landmines quite like I do.)

I’ve also watched many a subordinate go out of their way to avoid a peer on the same or slightly higher level just because they were surly. Well, not “just because,” but that’s what it boiled down to.

Companies identify certain “star players” who take it to heart that the company simply CANNOT run without them. I know; I’ve been one. And I wasn’t above using my awesomeness to get out of, oh, all-staff meetings. But some stars are also socially inept; it’s not even that their pseudo-celebrity gets to their head — they just identify more with projects than with colleagues and don’t see when their attitude and comments are actually poisoning the environment.

And the problem with today’s companies is that they stick everyone in cube farms and/or in a “war room” with a dozen tables and chairs. You can’t avoid the people who drive you crazy. If they’re not assaulting you with unhinged e-mails at all hours, then they’re in your face, reminding you how much you disappoint them.

And you don’t get to say a word back. You have to be poised and gracious and remain beyond reproach. And every time you do that, you may earn your angel wings, but you get that much closer to death because a tiny bit of air comes out of your heart.

If you’re like me, you write it off as they may have problems at home or they are just having a bad day. Not that it excuses them giving YOU a bad day, but we’re all human here. It’s just when you excuse it for the 300th time and you’ve only worked there 299 days, that’s a problem.

If you’re like how I USED to be, I always found my revenge in little ways. Sending a large funeral arrangement to a beloved colleague whose wife died young when I was told my limit was $30. Planting a seed of paranoia just because I could. Doing “informational interviews” with other companies to stay sharp. Etcetera.

No harm, no foul — just validating my existence a little bit unconventionally, since everyone seems hellbent on making themselves feel better by making you feel worse.

This is why I can’t go back to work. It’s that whole doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different outcome. And I have a couple new ideas how to occupy my time productively. I just wish I could come up with one that would bring in money. But seeing as though it’s already tomorrow in New Zealand and no one has yet been raptured, I figure, I have time. …

Pink

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Easy week, work-wise, and rough week otherwise.

It kills me that morons are employed everywhere and I can’t find a job. Of course, I haven’t exactly been looking.

Kills me further that I DO the work and yet there’s always someone out there who thinks they can put the “free” in “freelance.”

And yes, the illustrious houseguest is driving me batty. Like you had to ask. I worry about her. But her issues are so beyond her control AND mine. I’m enough of a failure on my own, thanks, without adding in my shortcomings there.

One of my Internet friends took it upon herself to talk me off the ledge, so to speak. That “suicide isn’t the answer.”

That never crossed my mind. (Suicide, although I wouldn’t argue against being swept up in the Rapture. I hear it’s at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Is that Eastern time?)

I had to set her straight: I don’t want to die; I want to LIVE.

I miss my travel budget and my dining budget and my technology budget and my clothing budget. Let me rephrase, I miss not actually HAVING to budget.

I know, this is a rough patch. And I get violently depressed around birthdays anyway.

I declared yesterday that something good HAD to happen. Well, better luck today, I suppose.

They say when you’re down to nothing, God’s up to something.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking for my perfect birthday cupcake. But I’ll be watching for a miracle. We could certainly use a couple of those around here. (Miracles. Or cupcakes. Whichever.)

I am in a bit of a mood today. And I’m especially tweaked over the Twunt — yes, I finally have a name for the Wicked One. Twat seemed too mild. And cunt was just too cliche.

But Twunt? Yep. The one-two punch of a Massengil and Summer’s Eve merger.

I really need to get out of this field. It’s too bad I’m so good at what I do and I LIKE it, minus the Twunt Factor.

Too bad we just lost a wonderful little lady in our life but that miserable Twunt will roam this world forever.

Rapture, can haz?

Baby you’re a…

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, we had a death in the “family” yesterday. I use air quotes because of the lack of blood relation, but the connection was real.

For once I will respect people’s privacy and NOT post about it. But I will say that the air is a little heavier today, and smiles are harder to come by.

Speaking of death, I dreamed last night that I died. And it was awesome.

No, I didn’t see any great white light or anything. But I felt so FREE. Like, all the bullshit isn’t my problem anymore. It’s somebody else’s mess to clean up now. I can’t do anything about it and I ain’t taking it with me. Buh-bye.

I’m sure we all know I talk to God and to what I hope are my spirit guides. But I’m sure we also know I always have an ounce of skepticism in the back of my mind, as I know there are evil-intentioned voices in the mix.

(Seriously — why is it the voice that tells you to eat cupcakes is WAY louder and more-persuasive than the one to go do exercise?)

So anyway, I was kind of kvetching with my imaginary friends recently about the houseguest. And the response I heard VERY clearly was that I’m not going to outlive her, anyway.

Now, it sounded like the “Go eat cupcakes” voice, so I don’t know how seriously to take it. (But I would LOVE a cupcake right now…)

But it was more liberating than scary. Which surprised me. Because there is SO MUCH I want to do before I go. But if I can’t afford to do it anyway, well, who really rightly gives a fuck, you know?

In my dream, I was at Old Navy, contemplating a new outfit. And the Cupcake Voice told me to not only buy it, but to wear it RIGHT NOW because I’d be dead in 24 hours.

And I got hit by a car, wearing my cute outfit. Go figure. Right as I walked out of Boca Town Center. (Damn it, I KNEW it was treacherous to shop there!!!)

Even in the dream, I remembered the Cupcake Voice of days past. And I was glad I hadn’t ignored it — that I was blessed to have received that communication. Ergo, I was as OK with going at 36 as I could ever have been.

I woke up somewhere during my Life Review in the dream. I was smiling so serenely that the Ultra Extra Over Extended Extra-Terrestrial Houseguest from Outer Space was no longer my burden.

I was overjoyed that the Wicked Witch of the West Coast couldn’t reach me anymore.

And I thought of all those deadlines and dumb things that irk the fuck out of me … that had wasted so much of my time … and thanked God that they were no longer my problem.

Ah, death. I can only hope to go so quickly and peacefully when it is indeed my time. I hope I will have lived and loved a great deal more. But I look forward to starting over in another era, too.

I still wonder whether I’m going to kick it young or whether the Cupcake Voice lied to me like it always does. (“You can go for a walk and burn off the calories!” Fucker.)

I do promise you this. When I do go, and if that parasitic son of a bitch Schmitthead is still alive in Maryland, there will be many a glass trinket or commemorative plate a-flying right into his pointy little head.

Anyway, rest in peace, dearest departed friend of the family. So glad I got to meet you and I can only hope that your spark and spunk will carry on in the rest of us.