Caterwauling

Balls

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So I went to the doctor yesterday. And hoo boy, was my BP over-the-top. I think the first number was like 180 over 210 or something.

The funny part was, I don’t get nervous at doctor’s appointments, beyond that moment where they run the debit card to take the co-pay, of course.

It’s kind of a funny story if you’re into seeing me in anguish. (Which, you know who you are. *waves*) They took my pressure probably four times and WOULD NOT LET ME DRIVE HOME until it was at a reasonable level.

The funny part was that it was probably the only non-pregnancy-related panic attack at any gynecologist’s office in all the lands!

Oh, but wait. There’s more!

So, they stuck me in a room to CHILL THE FUCK OUT. And, oh, FORGOT ABOUT ME.

Yep, my doctor got called out to deliver a baby. So about an hour goes by and someone sticks her head in like, O HAI, yeah, your doctor left. And I hadn’t even gotten my schmear yet!

*thunk*

All told, a 10-minute appointment clocked in at about two and a half hours. Maybe it was three. I totally lost count.

But wait, there’s more!

Went to close out my savings account right after that. And went into a hysterical laughing fit as the cashier handed me CHANGE. My savings was in COINS. I know it’s not funny, but I’ll let you know where I end up spending my 67 cents!

One of my beloved readers gently reminded me to start using the Law of Attraction already and quit attracting bad upon bad. I’ll do my best to shove a ray of sunshine up my butt next week, I promise!

Actually, the good news is that I forgot to eat for a couple of days. Whee cigarettes and coffee — down four pounds without even trying!

See? I can be positive! C’mon universe, let’s call this the beginning of a great streak and keep it up!

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Edge of the World

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Today’s headline was stolen from last week’s newsletter from my old church in Maryland. And after a week of practically mainlining old anti-anxiety pills I’d stashed in the freezer for such an occasion, I realize that what matters ISN’T all this.

What matters is that I end up in Key West (pictured, Garmin-style) or thereabouts. That I don’t have to panic about money even though I’m working my ass off. That I don’t have to deal with people who think they “know editorial” because they took an English class.

I want to write books, damn it. Fictional, beach-reading novels and leadership non-fiction. And I want to trade. I mean, I know a whole lot about the markets and every conceivable strategy to make money from them. All I need is money to get started!

I have a very tiny sum stashed aside as my emergency fund. And when anybody asks me for a “hot stock tip,” I tell them not to trade with money they can’t live without. And this month, I have to bust open my iddy biddy widdle nest egg to pay the rent.

One could argue that, sure, I could have invested that money and it would have been worth twice what it is. Or, seeing how the markets are in a downward spiral and have been since August (and will be until the Eurozone gets its finances in check), I could have had nothing to fall back on except homelessness and broken dreams … dreams that already have been slimmed down like a fat girl on a diet.

I agonized a lot this week. Worked my ass cheek off. WORRIED my other ass cheek off. Lost a lot of water weight in tears. Replaced that lost water weight with Guinness.

Yesterday I had to walk away and have a damn weekend. It was glorious. Today it’s back to the digital salt mines, but there’s a reason why God wants us to rest. It’s called perspective, and getting some.

A friend asked me the other night what I’d do with myself if I hit the lottery. That’s easy. Get a car that isn’t a rattling deathtrap, buy a house in the Keys, sign up as a foster parent and start trading and either prove everybody right who thinks I’m good, or lose my risk capital and have to go back to work.

I’ve been in contact with a lot of key people in my field this week. And at a time when I’m feeling low because my editing ability came into question (I know, right?), it feels good to have the ear of key CEOs and executive VPs all over the country.

Anyway, to answer the question of what’s important to me, really, I want a job I love and a regular paycheck. I want to trade or do freelance on the side so I’m not worried what happens if the job goes away. I want my mom to be healthy and happy so I don’t have to worry about her as much. And I want to live in a place that brings me more joy than nightmares.

I’d say those are the beginnings of a life plan, right there.

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Two nights ago, I had the best dream. I had sat down in a restaurant, looked to my left, and saw my grandfather waving at me. I had enough sense in my head to jump up and hug him and tell him how much I love him.

I awoke shortly afterward. I said a little prayer, thanking God for the dream and for being present in it enough to hug him. I haven’t dreamed of him since he left us five years ago. This was good. I was happy. I also thanked God for taking care of him, my grandmother (it was her birthday, oddly enough), my great-grandma and my kitty.

Today when my alarm went off (at 5 a.m. I’ve been working for 12 hours and have a couple more to go), it was a different story today. I was startled, scared and sick. I had a premonition that I immediately told my mom about when she woke up.

The premonition came true just a couple hours later.

I was just typing the other day about hideous, evil, awful people that “You don’t deserve what you have, but you’ll deserve what you get.” Well, I must be burning off a firey fuckball of bad karma, because today should have been victorious, but it all went *poof* in seconds.

I know life isn’t fair. But allow me a few minutes of pity party here. I try SO HARD. I am as good a person as I can be, and certainly better than most. And it really chaps mah coochie when everybody else is at least appearing to be doing so much better.

I wrote an blog awhile back on trade-offs. Like, I really want to go murder the Evil Landlady for all the repairs she gleefully ignores. But I can’t be kicked out because I don’t have a job to go get a new place. Or any money to pay for it, for that matter. *arches eyebrow*

I cried most of today. And I just finally canceled my Weight Watchers membership. I thanked them for the success and the couple good years they gave me. But oh well. Maybe some other time I’ll get to take care of me again. Load up the Waaaaahhhhmbulance.

Right now I’m in the rut of “college and working hard really DOESN’T mean success, but thanks though!”

God, I know You pick people like me to test us. And I know Your kingdom will be way nicer than this rathole that I’m grateful to have because a leaky roof is better than NONE AT ALL. It’s just … I felt like I had my joy, that no one or nothing could take it away. And today, I can’t seem to find it where I left it last.

I know I pride myself on not asking much of the universe. But maybe if I did, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I get shortchanged.

#SadPanda

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I was planning to write a three-part “syndrome” series with our office archetypes. You met Helpful Horvath, the grand master of creating churn. And Snooki, the person who has no patience for you from before the moment you open your mouth, but is so integral to the company that you just have to find ways to please or otherwise avoid him or her.

My third one, well, I haven’t named yet. Because I still don’t actually know that every company has one of these. I pray they don’t. I really do.

First, let me say this. I write all of my blogs “to” Rockville, Md. Whenever I fire up my dashboard, I think of my beloved friend Vitamin D and I guess I appeal to her — for laughs, for nods, for approval.

I’ve been envisioning telling her the story I want to tell all of you. And all I can hear is her saying, “Ay yi yi!” Because there is nothing else to say.

I had occasion to talk to someone I don’t normally cross paths with. I wouldn’t say I’ve wronged anyone in this field (fun-poking blog entries notwithstanding) but there are folks I just avoid because an ex-employer got custody of them in the divorce.

Plus, I had a lot of hurt to overcome. You may see a lot more forgiveness in my recent entries; that’s because the burden just got too heavy to keep dragging through the desert, you know? I’ve grieved; I’ve moved on. I’m a vocationally single girl. Party time!

Anyway, let’s just say my eyes got themselves opened. And I find myself at a sadly familiar crossroads, where I either choose to lose all faith in humanity or simply kick myself for being so trusting YET AGAIN.

Seriously, you’d think I’d learn.

So of course it occurs to me to blog about it, to help me make sense of it. Which is pretty hard nowadays because everybody knows everybody in my world. So that’s out.

The thing is, there are lies and misdeeds, and then there’s just plain “asking for it.” And in my field, you have to have a caste system for bad behavior, because it’s so rampant.

However, I can pretty much forgive professional backstabbing. (See how jaded I really am?) But it’s when people start making it personal that really puts a bug square up my butt.

Now, I say this as the same asshole who nicknames people who make me mad. But I imagine any therapist in the world would tell you this beats actually doing something regrettable.

I say all of this because I take my relationships very seriously. Where I’ve failed romantically, I’ve succeeded professionally. I have many long-term relationships that I cherish. Even if we only go on a “date” occasionally, I expect honesty and loyalty and that I’m still talking to the same person every time we connect.

Garrr, I feel like I’m digging myself deeper into this abyss. So, I’m going to forget naming this archetype, in favor of this:

1. I have enough to answer for when I get to heaven. I’d like to see my friends when I get there. If you’re not going to be there with me, I really don’t need to associate with you here.

2. I’m disappointed. Irrevocably so.

3. You don’t deserve what you have, but you will deserve what you get.

I’m not going to lose what makes me “me” because of “you.” But you have lost “me” and if that doesn’t speak volumes about “you,” I don’t know what would.

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