Caterwauling

Palm trees and evergreen

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My mom says a lot of weird things lately. She seems to get confused sometimes, and the words don’t always come easily to her anymore.

Not sure what’s going on in her noggin sometimes, but every once in a while, she says something so brilliant, even I have to take pause.

I was telling her about some of the recent developments in my life. And how there’s something that I think I really want but I have NO IDEA how to make it happen.

It baffles even me how little I know about relating to people, considering my age and where I’ve been in life. I mean, my work has revolved around motivating important people (mostly men) to bend to my will. And from what my boys say, I’ve been rather successful at it!

And yet, for all my (past) career success, I haven’t been able to translate it into interpersonal relationships. i’m not even talking about relationships per se … I mean, I don’t know how to act other than to be myself. She’s not always “on,” unfortunately.

Of course, I’m kind of “off” in work mode of late. So I’m kind of hoping the brilliance I once exhibited in that realm may seep over into the other part of the hourglass and help a sister out.

I was kind of lamenting the fact that, if I know what I want, why can’t I just go after it already? (I wish I would do that at work — I just don’t know what I want there yet. But wild horses couldn’t drag me away from it once I identify it!)

I guess what I’m saying is that life is short, and all we have is right now. Why not go out, guns blazing, and move things along?

She reminded me that I’ve recently encountered another gal who does just that. And it turns ME off, and I’m not even the object of her affections. (Whom, I’m a cross between amused and sad to say, we share.)

The competitor in me wants to be noticed … or, at least, not forgotten. Not that I *think* that’s a problem, but one can never be too sure, eh?

Alas, my momma reminded me that “right” takes time. Let other people be pushy. I don’t have to do much beyond being a calm, cool, classy Goddess.

*deep, zen-like breaths* I am Kate Middleton. I will have my king someday. *deep exhale*

I’m not saying I haven’t been a little pushy. I fell straight into that, “Let’s get this show on the road already, shall we?” mentality.

Besides, if you put things on ice for too long, will the heat cool off?

I think I just felt God tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me that rewards come when He’s ready, not just because I say it’s time.

This is teaching me so much. Because, when the train leaves the station (and it will, I feel it), I’m still going to have to slow my roll on other things.

Milestones take time to happen. And if they don’t, well then they weren’t mean to be, right?

I dunno. I’ve just been feeling so different these days. To the point that I am picking up men like my ponytail is made of static electricity. My Triple A guy asked me to dinner, and I met a guy on the beach who lives in New York and flies home to Amsterdam every Christmas.

And I tell myself, hey, have some fun. You’re allowed. The universe wants you to be distracted right now. LET THINGS HAPPEN IN THEIR OWN TIME. Quit forcing it.

Of course, what he doesn’t know is that if I don’t stay on top of something, it fades away. Not that I think he will hop off my mind anytime soon. But for as impulsive as I can be, I’m a planner. If I don’t put something in my iCal, it’s going to drop right the fuck out of my mind until a month after the fact.

Just one of many things I hope he’ll discover about me someday.

Man, this guy got inside my head. I told him so. (Bad move?) He thought about it and asked what he’d said. (I think he was more than OK with it — then again, there I go being ballsy again.) I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t want to. It’s mine right now.

And it’s the stupidest fucking thing, too. He was getting out of my car and into his. I drove away and noticed that he had locked the door for me. NO ONE EVER DOES THAT. I take my friends out all the time and it usually takes a couple of rides to realize the door won’t lock itself. He figured it out ON THE FIRST TRY.

There are a million stories I can tell that can demonstrate the strength of his character. And like I said, that may be the stupidest fucking thing on earth. But to me, it said here’s someone who thinks of everything. Someone I can trust. Someone who will add to my life and not, like so many others, take away from it.

I got to thinking about ghosts. You know, the ones that stay with us even though we don’t remember inviting them. I like to think most of mine are buried. (Except those bitches at the Evil Empire — they haunt me still.)

And I realized that we give permission to things to haunt us, whether we realize it or not. I think that’s why I get *thisclose* to success in business and never actually succeed.

I think that’s why I have lackluster relationships — I remember watching my mother fuck up her life and go from asshole to asshole and telling myself, “That’s not for you.”

Perhaps I should have told the universe that I didn’t want BAD relationships, instead of NO THANKS, KEEP THE BOYS AWAY SO I CAN FOCUS ON MY CAREER.

All right, Universe. Sorry about that. Can we start over and let me say that I want it ALL — great job, great relationships and great success?

It’s so hard to go from not dreaming at all, to wanting to dream big … and having to rein yourself in along the way.

I’ll trust that God will let what’s supposed to happen, happen. Now, I’m not going to guarantee that I won’t do something here and there to try to help Fate along. But I’ll take this chance to do some much-needed work on myself till such day that I’m free to BE that new-and-improved version of me.

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OK, so I have a dead vehicle in my parking lot, as Mom hasn’t driven her car in months and the fucker won’t start.

And so OK, I left work today late and MY car wouldn’t start.

I called AAA and had to explain seven ways to Sunday that I work IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE and no, I don’t have any landmarks to tell you where to find me.

But then I got a call from the tow truck guy and he DID in fact know where to find me. But … he was an hour away.

Thank God I keep an emergency pack of cigarettes in the armrest — I went through half of it while I talked to my Greek goddess friend and waited.

I had joked with the tow truck guy that I wished there were a Starbucks I could go hide in. So when he came to my rescue, he brought coffee.

I think I’m in love!

Wow was he cute. So friggin’ cute. And he brought his little boy along, as it was quitting time for him when my call came through. I loved that kid.

Anyway, the guy gave me his number. It was subtle and all — he put it on the business card of a local garage he recommends.

Oh yeah, the starter is blown. It probably won’t start in the morning and if it does, I’ll probably need to call AAA AGAIN after work tomorrow.

I texted one of my colleagues who lives in my area. And I will have to hoof it two miles to Starbucks to meet him to get a ride with him. I’m hoping my car starts. *crosses fingers*

So anyway, I took advantage of my guy’s phone number. I texted to thank him and his son for rescuing me and getting me home.

He texted back right away that I’m sweet and I can call him anytime.

I think I might!

I dunno … I have been feeling all giddy and stupid because of another wonderful man who has found his way into my life, my head and, I’m thinking, my heart. But he may want to accelerate his game just a little.

Thank you, God. This has been the absolute best seven days of my life!

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Too much inside my head. Too much on my plate. Too many emotions in my heart.

Well, I gotta say this. God really does deliver three times what was taken from you. In my case, all at once!

I used to rue this particular day because of a birthday I once associated with it. This year, I actually found someone who agitates me more. So the day is just another one on the calendar again.

Speaking of what comes around, I sent Karma a big fat Christmas list. That’s because yesterday, I got forwarded an e-mail via a dear friend from a no-longer-dear friend, who was pimping out work I’d done THAT I HAVE STILL NOT BEEN PAID FOR.

My dear friend had sent to me to say hey, do you understand this subject matter? Because we will pay you to work with this stuff.

I replied back, oh yeah, I WROTE THAT SHIT. And I realized how SAD it is that the only way I will get paid for it is to repurpose it for someone else.

*cue Ben Folds’ “Song for the Dumped,” particularly the “Give me my money back, I want my money back, give me my money back, you bitch!” line*

Yes, somebunny’s trying to capitalize on what has, in effect, become my volunteer work. Not that I expect to see a penny from it. But damn, some people have some nerve, eh?

Let’s chalk it up to charity work. Because that business? Is going to FAIL. I am in a position to help right now and there is NO WAY IN HELL I will do anything that will put money in that pocket EVER AGAIN.

Another body in the “dead to me” pile.

If I didn’t have such a good day yesterday before I saw that, I’m sure I would have launched a big passive-aggressive campaign that I’m sure she would have countered in 10 different ways. And to not have to hear another story, excuse or half-assed “explanation,” I’m writing off that last $2,200. That’s my charity donation for a cause that isn’t going to last. Merry Christmas.

“And don’t forget, to give me back my black T-shirt…”

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Winter in Florida, sort of

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

One year ago this weekend, I was up north in my old homeland at the “Prom.” Like its high-school counterpart, it signified a series of endings to come — a job, the move of my best friend/partner in crime to northern climes, a relationship and, in effect, life as I’d known it.

Ah, to be 18 again … at 36!

Normally I’m a huge fan of change, but even that was a bit much for me. Even if, to be perfectly honest, I was more than ready to move on from most — if not all — of it.

Fast-forward to this weekend, where I found myself at a lovely holiday party, in the state I’ve come to love, on the cusp of nothing but beginnings. New job, new friends, unexpected (but very welcome) reconnections with many old friends and, well, let’s just say hope. Cautious hope, but hope nonetheless.

The 18-year-old me would look at 37-year-old me, though, and bop her over the head with a blunt object. What’s with the caution, she would ask. How can you doubt yourself at a time like this? Blaze your trail, sister — ain’t nobody going to do it for you.

Sometimes I wish I could hang out with that version of myself. I wonder what she’d say about how I couldn’t come up with a million-dollar idea even if someone fronted me the money … how nervous I am that the new (so far wonderful) job will put me out on my ass like the last one did (and I even know that the decision wasn’t exactly performance-related) … how afraid I am to blog anymore because everybody to whom I owe work will ask why I’m not working on their stuff instead … how terrified I am of not having multiple income streams because I JUST DON’T KNOW if it’s going to work out with the primary gig … and, hell, let’s face it — I’m out of practice with this “matters of the heart” stuff — what am I going to do to keep that moving along in the right direction when I’m at both the highest point of my life with the lowest amount of confidence?

And what’s funny is that I’m OK carrying that load. Well, not really, but God and I have a deal that I will willingly accept the minor inconveniences and the uncertainties as long as I don’t have to deal with the “big” unspeakable things. I’ll keep being as good a person as I can be, and I won’t question Him unless it’s to ask for grace and some favor when He can spare it.

It’s the home situation that’s weighing upon me … making all the other things look so much smaller and, yet, magnifying them at the same time. It’s just another place I’ve failed, I feel. I’ve spent the last five years feeling like my grandfather must have, the way my grandmother treated him and put him down for being worthless. (He was the opposite of worthless — the man was a saint, and at least Mom and I worshipped him accordingly.)

But yeah, I’ve been a “husband” of sorts since Mom moved in — and where I’ve managed to be a provider and a problem-solver and the social director (albeit barely, this past year), her health continues to decline and I still haven’t found a way to fix it. I spent the last four years rallying against that role — she needed to advocate for herself. But she hasn’t and she won’t and, let’s face it, she just can’t.

Now I swear I need to get her a psychologist, too, on top of everything else. I mean, I had SUCH a good night last night. And I take one look at her and it’s not that I feel guilty for having fun, but that I can’t maintain that warm-fuzzy feeling for more than two seconds after walking in the door. It’s back to reality and sadness and stress. Lots of love but it’s a challenge every day for the frustration not to try to bubble to the surface.

I had thought getting the job would change all of that … that I’d be back in my old groove in no time and that I’d get some “wins” under my belt right away that would revolutionize my mindset and give me back my, “I am Goddess, hear me roar” power.

Meh. Not so much.

Right now I’m at the point of “Oh God, please don’t let them fire me” street where it intersects with “God please help me shine — I know I can shine. How can I show them how much I can shine?” avenue.

The rest will fall into place, once I get that figured out. But fear isn’t motivating me. It never really did. Deadlines do, of course. But right now I’m working around the clock, not doing anything to change the world, certainly not sleeping enough, and ALWAYS feeling guilty that I didn’t do more, more, more.

I’m not sure what will happen with the new glimmer of hope in my life. Hopefully not “the usual,” wherein “the usual” means I find some way to sabotage it before it can go anywhere because there’s that part of me that doesn’t feel like I deserve anything good because I don’t know how to take care of it.

Eighteen-year-old me, by the way, just asked me when that feeling cropped up in my life, so she can squelch it when she sees it. Oh, to have told my 30-year-old self that life isn’t fair but it’s not worth losing your joy over it…

Today I finally deleted old flames’ photos from my iPhone library. (But not Jon Bon Jovi. He stays!) That was too long in coming. I guess I liked having proof that I’ve been loved. But I don’t want the old energy to hold me back. Goodbye, boys. I can’t meet my future when I’m carrying around the past.

Thirty-year-old me just said, “Um, yeah, hello? Might want to do that with all your old jobs, too. Trash those mental pictures and all the scars and strife that went with them. Can’t do well in your new job when your head is still stuck in what went wrong in all the prior ones.”

So anyway, I really like this guy. I want this to go right. I don’t want to look back and point to the moment where I could have done better but didn’t. I want him to meet the sparkling, charming, carefree, determined and audacious Goddess of yesteryear — I think he’d really like her. Right now I just can’t imagine him digging what’s become of her because, most days, I really don’t.

If I could just get some free time back … if I could just find time to go to the beach (although I did today — at his urging, go figure) … if I could exercise and eat right again … if I could just come home and not feel like the weight of the world is on me or that I could at least handle it … I could do so much better for everyone who’s counting on me.

Like I always tell my mom, worry brings about what you’re worrying about. And I believe in manifesting what you want. I manifested this guy. I would like to manifest a way to keep the conversation going — I like this feeling I get and would like to feel this way a lot more.

Anyway, I think this may go somewhere. I hope so, anyway. Maybe everything else will fall into place once I know what happiness feels like.

I used to be a girl who never minded waiting to see what my Christmas gift would be. Never needed any hints, never bothered shaking the box to try to figure it out. And now, I’d give anything to know what next Christmas will look like. Maybe that’s what will get me through right now.

Failure is not an option, Goddess. Not on any front. Just don’t let everything get (and keep) you down. Eighteen-year-old you is counting on you to make her dreams come true. So’s 38-year-old you, who’s counting on you to make next year’s Christmas the best one of her life.

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You know that moment when a little schoolgirl crush turns into an all-consuming cyclone of “oh my God, this could actually be real”? And while you want to enjoy this moment because it will probably never be this giddy and silly and yet so intense again, you just wish you could peek at the future to see what’s coming next because you’re too excited to wait?

Yeah, that.

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