Caterwauling

My manifesto

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I came up with this manifesto a while back. Since life is going every which way but right, I decided that if I didn’t set goals — and eliminate any activity that does nothing to further them — I’d be in for more of the same madness.

Thus far, it seems to be working. I burned a little sage and even I’m surprised at just how much change a person can endure in a very short amount of time.

This is actually the second incarnation of my list. “Loving what I do” was fourth on the list. But now, as I am currently in a mad interviewing frenzy, I can see my future. Well, more accurately, I can see my PAST, re-manifesting if I were to take certain paths.

At this point, I have no offers or any certainty of one coming through. There are so many pros and cons that are clouding my brain for each. In a way, I am seeing my familiar old pattern creeping in, of “throwing” the process so that I don’t have to deal with having to decide whether to turn down something.

And I know, I KNOW, my job is to get to the offer stage. Because I’m living the alternative, and it ain’t fun anymore.

On the other hand, not needing dress clothes has been nice. Not filling up the gas tank regularly has saved a lot of money, too. Hanging around the house has been kind of awesome. I mean, there’s something to be said for the isolationist lifestyle.

On the other hand, I’ve missed people. Not many, mind you — and certainly not certain types you find absolutely everywhere, and all you have to do is change the name and not much else. But sitting in my living room, watching the ocean waves roll by hasn’t exactly opened me up to a world of new contacts.

But the thing is, I can’t afford to choose wrong this time. Minus the job I had in D.C. that ate up every available minute of my life (which is the one I count as the “best job ever” — work THAT out in your head about the rest), everything else has been a fizzle.

I find myself not pulling any punches when I talk to people now. Yes, I want a job. No, I don’t want to be unhappy. If I’m going to run into battles and impossible situations, I don’t think I’m your girl. But if you can promise (and I’ll take a promise, at this point) that I’ll be proud of myself and part of a good team, let’s continue the conversation, please.

I want the place where I’ll spend the next five to 10 years. I don’t want to do any more of this, “Well, I’ll put in my year.”

Of course, I’m also feeling like I don’t know crap about anything anymore. Maybe working at home has meant I’ve lost my edge. It’s been 10 months — it’s like I took an extended maternity leave and I’m coming back to find that the business world has gone on without me.

I told a dear friend last night that, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I might not be smart enough to work at X.” And she was blown away, saying, “I can’t believe the day has arrived that ANYONE doesn’t feel smart enough to work at X … least of all, you.”

And that flips my shit. Really? Me? Not good enough? What have I let people DO to me throughout the past few years? Am I THAT uncertain about my own achievements and capabilities that I don’t even feel like trying to do this anymore?

My hope is that, by this time next month, I will have gotten offers and decided well. Of course, if that is NOT the case, I guess I will live and be looking for something else, eh?

My wish list is that I want to work somewhere local (read: health coverage). I want to be close to the Keys so I can spend the occasional weekend there until I can relocate. I want to stay active in the stock markets and maybe make enough money to TRADE in those markets.

But … I want to spend time with my momma and my kitty. I don’t want to be holed up somewhere and not know how things are here. I need to buy health insurance for her (fucking county keeps rejecting us for free coverage) and I will need to take her to doctors. That’s hard to do when you are new and just can’t get away.

Then there are the other opportunities that aren’t so nearby. I am looking around and thinking, gah. If I have to move, how does that get me to the Keys? Or is that a dream I put on hold for a little while … LIKE I DO WITH EVERY DREAM I’VE EVER HAD?

There’s still the work-from-home route. But I don’t think my widdle heart can handle the money stress … and tax time will kill me. I’m pretty sure I paid half of what Warren Buffett did last year, and he made $62 million and I didn’t. I used every dime of what I’ve made. Momma needs a way to raise some cash in the meantime to pay Uncle Sam so that the other 99% don’t have to miss out on their annual Maserati upgrade.

Look, I feel better that I have opportunities to speak of. I mean, statistically, something’s got to work, right? Of course, I’m in the state with the fifth-highest unemployment number, so I know to be grateful.

I just need to be spectacular, which is hard right now. But they need to be spectacular right back, you know? I’m not giving anyone “my year” — they’re getting my heart. But I can’t go back to 100-hour workweeks, either.

My resume may say I worked one year here or nine months there, but nobody counts the hours worked nor those shaved off my life from the stress.

I know there’s no perfect workplace. I tried that this year. I worked with people I loved and got to call the shots and be creative and do mah thing. But in the end, the money isn’t there. And I’ve got a WHOLE new loyalty and respect for those who take that heart and hand over a shiny, glorious check on the day they say it’s coming.

I figure, I’ve sacrificed plenty in this life. My mental health is all I have left. And God will make everything happen the way it needs to happen. My hope is that I have my choice in the matter, and this handy-dandy lil’ list is going to be my one and only guide to making that decision, and making these things happen.

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Roach-mopolitan

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I came to an awful conclusion last week, that the office archetype I call “Snooki” exists everywhere.

No, I don’t mean the “Jersey Shore” chick herself. But my “Snooki Syndrome” is named after someone I once knew who wore her hair that way. She had some good qualities, but I was mostly only acquainted with the ones that escalated my anxiety.

And yes, I’m an asshole. Rather than stand up to these people, I cope by giving them nicknames. Because, you know, a girl’s gotta feel like she’s got some modicum of control over a situation!

You know the type — that person who is just so no-nonsense … tells you straight out that she doesn’t care a whit about you or what makes you YOU … doesn’t necessarily think she’s smarter than everyone else so much as she just IS because she has experience none of y’all don’t and therefore she is automagically above you … and you decide that your No. 1 job responsibility is keeping that person happy or, at least, doing what you can to stay off her radar.

Not pointing fingers. *hands in pockets* Just, observing a very familiar and long-running pattern.

I got to thinking about all these yahoos on Capitol Hill, who whip out their dicks on Twitter or in men’s rooms or what the fuck ever. They take the easy way out by resigning. (Thank you, Anthony Weiner, for giving up your seat and the voters replacing you with a REPUBLICAN in the most Democratic district in the nation’s history. YOU FUCKING SUCK.)

But all these goofballs make a comeback. Maybe they’re not restored to their former glory, but they get their extra 15 minutes on the fame clock when the rest of us don’t get our FIRST 15. (Unless it’s pounds. Got those!)

I guess what I’m saying-but-not is that I don’t want to play anymore. I want to make up my own rules. Everybody else’s rules suck.

I’m sick of Snooki incarnations everywhere. I’m sick of that violent burning pit in my stomach that every meeting is just an opportunity for public excoriation. (Had my first 10 years ago; haven’t had my last, I’m sure.) That dodging the bullet one day or week doesn’t mean you’re wonderful or worthy but, rather, you didn’t fuck up enough to be on the radar this time but HOO BOY you can bet your sweet poohnani that your time is a-comin’!

I want to be pushed to be better. There are just ways not to do it. It is said that the typical Gemini will hold a grudge forever. While there is a grain of truth to this, I would prefer to call it “guarding the flanks.” Cross me once, I will be nice to you, but I will NEVER let my guard down again.

I would never wish to be embroiled in a Washington-type scandal. But at least it would be DIFFERENT, you know? I don’t do well with stress and it’d probably kill me. But I’d like to see one of those scandalized actually put their heads down and WORK THROUGH IT. It’s too easy to say, “Gee, I did something stupid. I apologize to my spouse. I am entering rehab. And I am going to give up my career because I was dumb enough to take a picture of my dick and put it on the Internet.”

Maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe I just wish I had an excuse to light the whole thing on fire and walk away from the smoking pile of uneasiness and try ANYTHING else.

Goodbye career as we know it. Certainly, goodbye roach-infested Amityville. (That’s my next rent check, by the way. Mom designed me a whole series to piss off the Evil Landlady!) Goodbye everything that isn’t working. Which, is JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING.

I’m not unhappy; more just struggling with illusions that things would be different. I don’t think I’ve ever taken the easy way out. Is that the option I’ve been missing all these years?

I don’t know what the secret is to finally arriving at a different (happy) ending. If you know it, do share.

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My family had its own weird vernacular for a lot of things. That’s probably why I made the written word my absolute passion, as I had to unlearn a whole lot of incorrect stuff. Although, I have to give them credit for teaching me about the Wreck of the Hesperus. I think I won a Trivial Pursuit game with that one.

Anyway, we have a syndrome in the family whereby someone is what we call, not so affectionately, “Helpful Horvath.” That’s the person who seeks to point out something either obvious or useless or a combination thereof.

If you’re in any kind of environment that involves other people trying to show how much smarter they are than you, you’ve encountered this character. My favorite is when they catch something and put it in an e-mail that’s cc’d to exactly the people you DON’T want to know either that there’s a mistake or room for improvement.

Most times, they are just a waste of oxygen. Other times, they create an uproar where none should have even existed. Because, you know, that thing you did right that you were told to do is now up for scrutiny and discussion.

Helpful Horvath often escapes looking dumb in these scenarios. After all, THEY are looking out for the company’s best interests, yes? And you’re just the jagoff who “missed” a detail. Guess who always gets the gold star? (Hint: It ain’t you!)

I have a problem with authority in general, unless there is some amount of kindness and mentoring involved. But HH is always No. 2 on my poop list.

Of course, you can sit back and wait for the day that their act gets annoying to people other than you. That’s always fun. At some point, the people who are SO glad for those extra eyes and ears realize that the rest of us who just quietly work and fix our errors without fanfare are the good children … the ones who are seen and not heard.

Don’t get me wrong — everybody needs an independent pair of eyes. But if you’re not ASKED to lend them, prepared to have them poked out, Stooges-style!

I have a friend who’s been freelancing for the better part of the past two decades. And he finally took a “real” job just recently. He is enjoying his Labor Day as his first paid holiday in forever. And I realize I’m where he once was — it’s another day without pay. I’m not quite used to that yet.

I love the weekends. It’s when I spend money and don’t worry so much about the next check. There’s plenty of time for that during the week. Even though there’s plenty of work to be done, that doesn’t mean a reward is arriving on time. Or, in some cases, at all.

But as I wandered out to have coffee and smoke a cigarette (yes, I’m cheating) on the balcony this morning — having just finished reading “The Help” — it was a nice feeling. Sure, the worry started to bubble up, as it always does. But I squelched it and just decided to enjoy the quiet moments of watching the ocean waves and not thinking about the inevitable e-mail deluge I have to face the moment I finish this blog entry.

I needed this weekend. I’m transitioning between assignments and need to clear my head to start the next one. The last one ended on a good note, which was nice. Very busy up till the end, and with not a single mistake in sight. The thing is, mistakes are costly in my field. You type a letter or a digit wrong, and people lose thousands of dollars.

What made me special in this field is my aversion to errors. I spot them from a mile away and fix them quietly. It’s just when I get overloaded that the wheels start to slowly come off. You edit everybody else and save their butts, but who’s there to check YOUR work?

But this is again where I’ve always stood out, I tighten the bolts, get the car back in gear and keep the wheels turning. Nobody gets inconvenienced. And the wine industry, from my end, always benefits.

What certain people will never realize is the value of having that person around who can keep you out of trouble … or get you out of it right-quick. The person who did more than you ever really knew or will ever realize. But, whatever.

This weekend (yes, it took THIS LONG), I finally forgave everyone from The Life Before. I always thought they were brought into my life to teach me something, and they did. But I think the bigger purpose of our meeting was for me to teach them something. And they are back in God’s hands now. I’m washing mine clean … and forgiving myself, too.

Moving forward, I’m getting to a point where I need an editor. I am great with the little details but my specialty is in the big ideas. It always has been. You *can* do both, but never well. I’ve known too many people at the top who insist on doing everyone’s jobs at the bottom, and the failure was spectacular.

Usually someone in the middle gets the blame for it, though. You need the “visionary” and you need the “low-cost labor,” but when you need to fire a cook from the crammed kitchen, it’s usually the one who’s also seating people and running the credit cards too.

I don’t know whether it’s the recession or my industry in general, but being a middle to upper manager is the most precarious position to be in. You know how things work on the front lines. You may have leadership potential but nobody at the top wants the threat of having their salary removed from the payroll. So everything — mostly in the form of duties and blame — gets dumped on you. The kudos go to the top, but you’re also (if you’re good) keeping the spirits up all around.

When I was on the front lines, I hated middle managers. Then I became one. And I miss it. But I’m meant for more.

It’s time God heard some different prayers out of me, so today I am asking Him to guide my decision-making. I always pray for outcomes but don’t do the work to get to them.

It’s time to shine. I’ll get there, I just know it. And I think all I have to do, really, is ask…

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Riptide Crab Room, Fells Point, Baltimore

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Well, I *was* missing D.C. till that lil event involving the debt ceiling crashing those earthquake-y things yesterday. Yoi and double-yoi.

Life’s the same at the ol’ roach motel here. I shudder to think I’m going to miss these days when they’re gone, because all I want to do is rip my skin off in frustration (and stuff down that feeling with copious amounts of whatever the uber ultra overextended space alien from Mars has baked that day).

I realize I haven’t made any witty observations on leadership in awhile. Here are two just from yesterday:

1. My new boss read an e-mail aloud to me over the phone in which someone used the word synergy. Then she declared, “I fucking hate that word. I am deleting this idiot’s message. We are NOT working with him based on that alone!”

(I think I just fell in love a little!)

2. So at this other job that isn’t so good about paying me, the CEO likes to send out e-mails. A lot of them. That don’t usually make any sense. So I delete them on principle.

Her new trick is to send out messages WITH THE SUBJECT LINE IN ALL CAPS. Sure, I *see* the e-mails, since she forgets something in each of them and hits “reply all” till her incoherence is thoroughly displayed. But I don’t answer them.

I just don’t think it’s fair how she introduces new projects (with no context or way of explanation about what’s expected), punctuated with, “Who’s going to own this project??????”

I imagine I’m not the only one who sends their invoices into the ether. I do the bare minimum because I have other things to do that sometimes DO warrant a paycheck.

One of these days I’m going to “fallopian up” (thanks Tom, for that phrase!) and say listen lady, you pay, I’ll try. Or … maybe I’ll just sit here and be grateful that I don’t feel the need to jump to do a project that no one, least of all its creator, understands.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Another day, another hope of a dollar. I’m having fun or, at least, trying to. But I’m reminded of a lady my mom met at Publix last night, who works there.

Apparently the gal was very friendly, and kind of sad. She’s in her 50s, like my mom, in a lot of pain and just trying to make it. Hmm, yep, they could be soulmates.

Anyway, the lady was saying how she thought by now she’d have a man, have a retirement fund, and basically just have it easier than she did her whole life. That she’s made it over the “hump” and it should be smooth sailing into her ultimate decline from here. And yet, she’s working harder than she ever has and there’s nothing left over for herself.

I was already depressed but THAT did me in. Cripes. You mean there may NOT be a good man at the end of this stupid road? (“Good man” is defined as one having a boat. Things like a steady job and adequate sexual ability are slowly sliding off the “must have” list because, well, YOU try finding that out there. I’ll wait.) And if I’ll be dealing with bozo CEOs forever, too? Shit, I should have tossed some razor blades into my buggy. For all of us!

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