Caterwauling

“I turn to
Call to you
But you
Have fallen under
Just out of reach
I can’t seem to catch my breath
I reach out
To hold you
But you
Keep slipping under
Just out of reach
I can’t seem to catch my breath
At all ”

– Juniper Lane, “Catch My Breath“

This song came on my iPod immediately after I had a small panic attack in a ladies’ restroom. Seems fitting, as I was definitely not ready to lose my carefully arranged cookies.

Anyway.

Actually, it’s been a week full of small victories here at Casa de Caterwauling. I guess it is meant to make up for the sheer suckitude of the last month or so. Not biting the hand that feeds, mind you — just letting the universe run its course.

Now, I’m not saying to remove the yellow tape from around my heart and life — it’s still a disaster area, by all means. But maybe the key to getting past this period of my life is simply to go around instead of powering through.

I was looking forward to powering through. But I’ve been weakened. One could argue “what else do I have to lose” and another part of me says well, I’m lying bruised and bloodied and clearly in need of something resembling help. And if the carcass is just so very obviously being left there to rot, then that tells me more than a “yes” or “no” ever could.

So anyway, am trying to squeeze out the bitter so I can truly celebrate what is good and easy and right. Because there is some of that and I want to let the universe know how much I appreciate it and that I’m definitely leaving the door open for more of that.

Man, I am so sick of these fucked-up, cryptic-ass blog entries. I should put up my journal on eBay and start taking bids. One wonders who would be the lucky bidder on THAT treasure trove of goddess-ness and, more importantly, how much money they’d think it was worth. …

*starting to breathe a little more normally again*

K, so I have entirely too much to do to actually spend any time blogging, but I also need the distraction.

Have been feeling rather victorious these past couple of days, for reasons best left unexplained. But what I can share in public is that while I only lost a pound last week (yaar), my shirt is falling off of my shoulders today. Victory — can has!

I just find myself so exhausted these days. Maybe it’s only living on rabbit food, maybe it’s having no real resolution to much of anything going on, maybe it’s just trying to sidestep the aggravation landmines as best I can, but I’m whipped.

I’ve always said that if emotional endurance tests could translate into physical calories burned, I’d be back down to my birth weight. Shit, after the past month I’d be back down to zygote weight!

I’ve had the same dream for several nights in a row. Much as I welcome sleep, I’m coming to dread it as well.

But … and there’s always one of those … it’s all temporary. There’s hope on the horizon yet. Perhaps life isn’t one big cosmic joke after all. …

I’ve been describing yesterday as a “crankypants pulled on too tight, thus creating a muffin top” kind of day. And given the fact that I can’t relax enough to sleep, I’m going to operate under the assumption that the crankypants are pretty much soldered to my ass again today.

So I had the choice of either taking on four new projects and giving up my favorite project, or keeping the status quo. And genius here decided to give up the favorite in favor of four more. Because apparently my crow’s feet weren’t deepening quickly enough.

It all started a month ago with high hopes of hiring another person to help juggle the knives and broken glass. It wound down two weeks ago with, OK, we’re not getting a new hire but maybe I can borrow a really competent person until someone takes the stiletto off of our throats. Everybody wins.

Then I come to find out that well, it’s not going to be quite so easy or clean or tidy. So basically, what did I want to do?

So I suggested giving up all the pain-in-the-ass projects in favor of revolving my life around the one thing I love — the one thing that pains me every day of my life because I simply cannot give it the love it needs.

Well, that wasn’t an option so, in a not-small dose of “fuckitol,” I said I’d give it up to someone whom I thought would take good care of it.

I think overall the decision was rooted in logic, and I do believe it’s going to be in better hands. I mean, we’ve been meeting about it and what’s funny is how I’ve gotten my passion for it back. I’ve treated the project like silly putty — I simply deal with it to fill the holes and cracks between the other PITA projects … to the extent that it was kind of becoming a PITA itself because all my dreams for it were slowly shriveling up.

And maybe it’s the mood swings, but I’m actually really sad and probably, moreover, really surprised at how quickly the transition is happening. Don’t get me wrong — in a week and a half, the next wave of projects is about to crash over me and knock me out — so I won’t be feeling like Britney losing custody of Sean Preston and Jayden James for too long. In fact, I can still have a Britney-two-overnights-a-week custody arrangement with my beloved project, so I’ll become OK with that. (Does that make the new project lead K-Fed?)

Anyway, I guess I’ve been ambling along without any real drama these past few months, so I guess I was overdue to not only have the rug pulled out from under me, but to pull it out from under myself. But what we’re all hoping is that by offloading the stuff that wasn’t inspiring me, I can focus on being a more-prolific contributor. That is, less is more. Or something like that.

I just feel like I’ve lost something else that I cherish, only to replace it with something else that will drive me crazy. It’s like another part of my life: I’ve decided “Losing a Whole Year” fits wonderfully as my theme song. So here I am feeling like the last year of my life has been poured into things that either just aren’t that into me … or me into them.

I know my beloved project will fare better in more-focused hands at the helm. I guess I just wonder why I can’t ever part with the other shit (work or otherwise) that’s really weighing me down when getting rid of THAT is what might inspire me to dazzle in every area.

I’m so freaking bored. I mean, I have no reason to be — my to-do list will totally kick your to-do list’s ass. But I can’t get no (intellectual) satisfaction these days. Of course, I’m glad to take satisfaction in any way I can get it!

Actually, that’s not true. I feel like the universe is dangling a very juicy carrot in front of me. I see it. I want it. I’m salivating over it. But I’m not scampering after it. I’m dubious. Is it real? Ahem — is it for real this time? I know I don’t deserve it. I know there are some things I have to resolve before I can get my reward. I am ready to take the steps that will get me to my reward. I just wish I could step over my problems in the interim and not have to face them square-on.

I think I’m dealing with cognitive dissonance with some recent life changes. I had one of those revelations this morning as I seem to be finding I have a real bitchy streak. It’s only aimed at one or two targets, though — and not even obvious ones.

Not that I’m all sweetness and light otherwise — oh lord no — but man, the bitch filter has been off and even I’m surprised by the foaming rabies behind my bark.

Someone asked me recently if I’ve ever really grieved losing my grandfather. That answer is an easy no. He was here, now he’s gone, it’s back to business for me and OH HAI shotgun-wedding simulation; you didn’t think the hard part was over, did you?

Anyway, I find that as the days grow longer and my exposure to light a little more frequent, I’m more-inclined to want to go out and BE in that sunshine. I had one of those career epiphanies yesterday in which I was told I was getting Big Humongous Project by someone, well, not qualified to tell me that. (It beats the others who do not know/care/impact what I do and assign me deadlines in their imaginations and then stalk me when I “miss” them.)

But I was this person’s first choice, which was sort of cool and an honor, even though I don’t have the time/mental acuity to see the project through to completion. (And I don’t have to, which is a mixed blessing, oddly enough.) But I conveyed to the big boys that if I could do that project and this other project (which is also MASSIVE. And also very NEGLECTED) exclusively, I’d totally have my dream job. More or less, anyway.

As I enter into my *~*gulp*~* 34th year this weekend, I am doing way too much thinking. Which is par for the course for me when it comes to birthdays in general but especially now as I had put the charm on this year as my “BEST YEAR EVER.” Because I won’t accept otherwise. And it’s hard to believe that all the bullshit that’s trailing me into this glorious era is either going to be solved or at least WAY less-overwhelming at this time next year.

Great, NOW I have to deal with the fact that I’m going to be 35. AWESOME — if THAT doesn’t contribute to my current identity crisis, I’m not sure WHAT will!

Watched Lewis Black’s new show “The Root of all Evil.” It was Oprah vs. the Catholic Church, and you could text your votes. I voted for (against?) Oprah, mostly for her Obama endorsement. (Just kidding — I’m actually still ticked at her for giving us Dr. Phil!)

I’ve been wanting to blog about today’s Geraldine Ferraro comment, but I can’t really claim to know what her intent was, so anything I can say is speculation. But Michael Steele made an interesting point today in support of her, that if she can’t express her opinion, well, it’s the backlash that’s suggesting racism is still alive and, unfortunately, well in this country.

She made a stupid comment. No arguments there. I was going “WTF?” when I heard it. I thought I heard on CNN that she said she herself wouldn’t have been picked to run with Mondale if she were male, but I could be making that up.

In any event, in my heart of hearts, I wonder whether we’re all turning this election into (hopefully) a better outcome of the last one — four long years ago, the whole “vote for anybody but Bush” theme was rampant. Few voters were in favor of John Kerry (although I was); more were anti-Bush than pro-Kerry.

And in this election, are we voting against the Bush legacy more than we are supporting any one Democratic candidate? Just in general discussions with folks, I get the feeling that some are voting based on one’s longer career of public service and others are voting the other way because of that same person’s career (i.e., is “anyone but Clinton” the post-modern “anyone but Bush”?).

Don’t take this as bashing the other guy — I’ve been supporting my candidate faithfully (donations and all) but not wasting my energy on coming up with reasons to dislike the competition. I’ve tried hard to NOT pay attention to the politics of the campaign and try to focus on what my candidate stands for. The things I feel passionate about, and the things I am personally struggling with, are why I voted the way I did — not what one did or didn’t say at a particular juncture on the campaign trail.

Many of my friends — smart, educated people whose judgment I trust — are in favor of Obama. But when I ask some of them what swayed them, the thing I’ve heard most frequently is that they are skeptical of having another Clinton era — I keep hearing words like crooks and liars and scandal and other words that don’t go much beyond four letters.

Which, I get. I really do. I just have yet to hear someone have the first thing out of their mouth be, “This is why Obama would totally rock socks. …” Because, hey, if he gets the nomination, I will likely vote for him … although I must admit that the best argument I can come up with right now is, “Because he’s not McCain.” (However this all ends up, though, I’ll be studying the finalists closely before voting. Even if my candidate gets the nomination.)

Someone made a joke to me awhile back that has never left my mind because I didn’t have a comeback. I was saying that I was bummed that Hillary didn’t win some primary or another and the response was that she would have a good job as the janitor of Obama’s Cabinet.

And I thought to myself, wow, if I had said a similar comment about Obama, that would have been taken in such a way to suggest something incorrect about me.

And in that, Michael Steele may have a point — if we’re afraid of being offensive through simple discourse, then we really haven’t made much progress, have we?

Which is why I will stick to arguing about who should be the the next “American Idol” and leave the political correctness arguments to the rest of this capital city. Anyone else voting for a Carly Smithson/David Cook finale ticket?