Caterwauling

Also from the “should I say it or not say it” files, I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday with a specialist. Like, one I’ve waited more than a month to see.

I called to confirm, since no one called me, and they said oh thank God you called. The doc is out sick and the other assistant quit and she jacked up the files on her way out the door.

So, we rescheduled. And my regular doc’s office called with good news — a specific blood test came back without any abnormalities.

Mind you, all I’ve been hearing is “rare,” “atypical” and “never saw that before.” So, “not abnormal” is like saying, “heebie-jeebie free.”

So here’s the thing. I JUST DODGED A DEATH SENTENCE.

Read that again. I’m not free and clear, by any means. But I. Am. Not. Facing. A. Terminal. Illness.

I didn’t feel like I ever was. But, we had to rule it out.

So while I wasn’t surprised, I had that moment of, “Well, Goddess, what are you going to do with this ‘second chance’ on life, girl?”

Well, indeed.

I went back to work.

Later I thought, “Couldn’t have done that with a death sentence. What would you have done, Goddess, if that call had a different message?”

Probably would have gone back to work.

I’m sure we’ve all played the game about what would you do if you had 30 days to live. I have many entries on that very concept that I’m too lazy to look up. I’d want to cash out my savings and go to Europe.

In reality I’d have to work every last minute of my miserable life so I could leave Mom with a little something. It wouldn’t be enough. But it’s all I could do.

And so, I’m glad I get to choose a different outcome. Eventually, anyway.

I tell ya. Being between “not dying” and “not living” is a weird place to be …

Did you also know that your brain generates 50,000 thoughts a day? Or that you consume approximately 14 different types of food each day? (Data found in a book. Yes, I read offline!)

My day wasn’t insanely busy. I haven’t had a “slow” day since like 1973, when I was FORMING IN THE WOMB, so I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Here are some of those 50,000 thoughts:

1. While my “underling” was busy identifying a problem that I should have had the wits about me to see coming or at least to research, I was busy placating somebody who was whining that he didn’t like this past weekend’s WordPress upgrade and that, no, my tech team didn’t do anything to fuck up his life.

2. I spent 10% of my day doing real work and 90% playing messenger/therapist/fluffer. And avoiding someone’s calls because everyone else has An Opinion and frankly I just couldn’t be arsed today to deal with this particular fire.

3. My crypto-fascist apartment overlords are pissed off that I have a welcome sign on my door and they say they will terminate my lease because of it. And … if I could get a few days off of work, I would be GLAD to pack and RUN.

4. What the hell are we hanging in there / fighting for anyway? Not just at home. Everywhere. What if the one reason we’re all adhering our codependent asses to each other is just a pipe dream?

5. I took a wrong turn onto 95 and found myself mindlessly barreling toward Daytona Beach. But, what would really stop me from flooring it and never looking back? NOT MUCH.

I’ll blow my bandwith if I go to 50,000. But these are the things I think when I’m not psycho-busy. No wonder they keep me overloaded. Thinking is dangerous … and not dangerous for me …

Drinking in Deerfield Beach

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My boss asked me last night whether I miss D.C. I burst straight into tears and said I miss my friends there.

I wasn’t certain why I was so emotional. Now I realize it’s my five-year anniversary here in South Florida.

Five years ago today, I pulled into town with a mom, two cats and truck full of crap. Today I’m renewing my lease for another year.

My “last gasp” of D.C. was Grand Mariner french toast at the Boulevard Woodgrill with Tom and Tiff. I’d moved to D.C. with Tiff, and Tom was our first friend there. They are married now and have the most-adorable kid ever.

I’ve missed a lot there. And it’s been a strange trip here, to say the least.

I have stopped trying to figure out whether I *should* have come here, or even whether I’ll stay.

These days, I struggle mightily between “Jesus Christ, is this all there is to life?” and fighting against everything … and just going with the flow a la, “I guess this is the life I was supposed to live.” And back again.

A dear friend said to me recently that she really thought I’d found my fairy tale down here. And it got me to thinking, where might I find my fairy tale, if not here?

I don’t want to think a fairy tale isn’t in the cards for me. I just fear that I wouldn’t know it if I saw it.

My longest-term relationships generally tend to be with cities — Pittsburgh, Arlington, Alexandria, Key Largo, Baltimore, and even places I’ve never been (Paris, Tuscany, Dublin, Seattle). I fall the deepest and long the hardest for their promise.

Florida, I’ve felt kind of detached from. Like, afraid to love it because it’ll just be somewhere else that I’ll miss if I decide to go find myself somewhere else again. Maybe that’s a part of the reason I don’t have many friends here, or that my greatest loves seem to be lighthouses.

I do know one thing. I need to stop blaming myself for not being further along/ahead in life. If this is where God wants me, damn it, this isn’t so bad. I just … wish I could bring all the cool people I used to know into my new life. Now THAT would be a dream come true.

“Got enough guilt to start
my own religion.”

— Tori Amos, “Crucify”

From the “shut up, things could be worse” files, remember I said I ached for the man who accidentally killed my classmate’s teenage daughter as she walked across the street?

A friend from back home landed in the hospital. Her nurse said the guy had recently come in — with a massive heart attack.

She didn’t disclose anything — no name, current condition or whether he pulled through — but damn. This is killing him.

If that doesn’t put life’s little annoyances into perspective, nothing does. I am such a careful driver, and I have super-shitty cars so I am EXTRA nervous at all times, that being his shoes would be the last you see of me. I promise you that.

The nurse, as it happens, knows my classmate. Said she’s quiet, a good mom, hard-working. That she really counted on her older daughter to help with the younger kids.

That saddened me more — the girl was probably racing home to meet their schoolbus. She wasn’t goofing off with friends or going to go smoke behind the building like I used to do at that age. 🙂

And that’s the thanks we get for being good. The second our luck runs out, well, that’s it.

Our driver’s health collapses under his guilt that he never deserved to have to endure. A light goes out in a good family. Thousands of people all over the country hug their kids a little tighter because they can.

And … well, we forget till the next little earthquake erupts and we do it all over again and OMG CRISIS over something stupid like hitting a wrong button.

If this is the worst it gets for me, though, it’s pretty fucking good, wouldn’t you agree?

Last night marked a week since my classmate’s 14-year-old daughter died after being hit by a truck in the crosswalk outside our old ninth-grade building where we met. (It’s a middle school now.)

No one is to blame. She jaywalked with some other kids. The driver wasn’t speeding. She didn’t see him and he saw her too late.

I ache for him, that he has to live with this for the rest of his life.

My classmate seems fine, in public anyway. Everything on Facebook is a Bible verse or frequent reminders that “God is ALWAYS good.”

I mean, I think she believes that. And all the other religious folks are crawling out to offer prayers. I believe in God but the first thing I did was ask for an explanation. And the second, third and 50th thing.

I know deaths are meant to put life into perspective for the rest of us. It took my brand-new friend Leanne dying five years ago to make me choose to accept a job offer in Florida. Because, she would have done it, I imagined.

How will I commemorate young Alyson in my own little way?

I don’t know yet. But I do know I’ve had five near-useless doctor’s appointments in the past month (two in the past week) with mystery diagnosis after diagnosis.

I feel fine. I just … look not-so-cute. We’ll leave it at that.

The only diagnosis I’ve gotten so far that I can do anything about is a Vitamin D deficiency. Which, my work contract doesn’t say anything about fitting sunlight into my day.

My new doc wants to ship me down to a Miami hospital for a day. Because, driving an hour from my office to nearby civilization for appointments doesn’t already interrupt my life enough. Let’s lose a whole day.

I anticipate my tribute to Alyson will be to wake up and realize that my body is literally attacking itself right now, and the way I’ve been living has probably been a big fat contributor to it. That at least I have the means to fix what’s wrong, even if I don’t necessarily have the time (in my schedule, anyway. Hopefully I have plenty of years to make the world a better place).

I think the takeaway is Alyson brought light and joy to everyone around her, and my existence is pretty forgettable as-is. There’s always younger, cheaper labor and younger, skinnier women and better, more-involved friends who can take my place everywhere.

How do I brighten the world every moment I’m in it when I’m in a dark place, literally and figuratively, for much of the day?

I guess you’re just going to have to tune in to find out!

“Whatever my lot,
Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well,
It is well, with my soul.”

Inspiration comes from the strangest places.

Had a nightmare last night where I was being tortured and dismembered. My heart stopped beating when the pain became too much.

But I didn’t leave the earth. I couldn’t. I had too much work to do.

What I remember most was the feeling of peace, of forgiveness, of love. Not necessarily toward my killer, who merely became a footnote in the final chapter of my life. But the epilogue was way more important — finding a way to help those I left behind to heal.

I had the chance to talk with my mother and with friends I don’t spend nearly enough time with during this existence. I promised I’d always be with them. I couldn’t talk back to them after this day, but they could know I’d be listening. And I’d try to send them signs if I could figure out how.

I spoke with a boy and said what hell it was to act like I didn’t love him when I did. I didn’t regret the love — just the denying of something so natural and so important to ME for whatever the reasons were for not being able to act on it.

I spoke with another who kept a lot from me. From my new plane of existence, I could see everything I had wondered about, being true. I was so happy the guesswork was done. But I wanted him to learn the lesson to just not waste as much time as he did.

As I did.

I guess what I took away from the whole journey was, you may only die once, but you only live once too.

And that: “All is well, even when it isn’t.”

I guess lately I’ve been trying to curb my cussing and my emotions and my unique contributions to this lifetime. But I was never meant to be in anyone’s jigsaw if they have to file down a few ends or shove me in.

All is well now. At least I have another day to try again. Thank you, God, for that.

As we get older, many of us lose that feeling that “things will turn out OK.” We’ve seen the other side of “OK.” We know everything happens for the best but that doesn’t stop it from stinging like a motherfucker.

I have lots of friends trying for babies, buying houses, buying cars, etc. And I guess I’ve been in my field too long and been tossed out on the street too often despite being the hardest-working asshole on the Eastern seaboard. But I keep my car I bought in 2001 and it kills me daily to afford my rent in a chi-chi ZIP code.

I was saying to a friend whose spouse wants more kids but magic isn’t happening yet this time around, I never felt the pull to be a mother. And that must make me an oddity.

Don’t get me wrong. Last guy I really had some feelings for, I figured we’d march down the marriage and kids route. I’m pushing 40 and he’s pushing 50. I figure, waiting isn’t the option it was when we were all 23.

So, if I was gonna hang in there with this moving-at-a-glacial-pace entanglement, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to say, hey, I wouldn’t be upset with this sort of outcome.

I guess that’s ring-chasing to a man. But Christ, this is someone who told me he wanted at least two kids and even though I’m in no fucking rush, I thought I’d put it out there.

I figured it was faith.

There was no water in THAT pool when I took the leap.

Oh well.

Faith is something I’ve struglged with forever. I never felt the “pull” to have kids because I’ve never met anybody I felt overwhelmingly bullish about procreating with.

That and I grew up poor, with five generations crammed in the two-bedroom rowhouse where I was born in a bad part of town. I never wanted to do that to my kids.

And I always thought I’d be more valuable to a man if I stayed kid-free. I’m thinking “not so much.”

If I got knocked up now, I’d have to quit my job and find another. There’s no way I could handle it all. Even if I could leave at 5, that’s an hour commute and if I had to cook and put the squirt to bed by 7, I’d see her for like 15 whole minutes.

I often think I’m so clever, that I’m free to travel and do what I want to do. But the truth is, while I crave the jet-setter life, if I’m stuck in this area and with a full-time-plus job and with responsibilities out the wazoo, then maybe I wouldn’t hate having a little structure … a little something to “work for” … if you will.

Maybe that’s it. People don’t necessarily have faith that it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to. But that if we’re stuck in this life, we should do it our way … however we define it.

But I look at one friend struggling with infertility and you can’t help but root for her. She knows what she wants. She tries EVERY avenue. At EVERY expense. After EVERY heartache-filled loss.

You root for her because it’s what she wants. She has put it into the universe that she WILL be a mother, damn it.

People don’t root for me because what do I want? I want safety and security and a feeling of achievment. Big deal. I want a cute apartment and a car that doesn’t need repairs every three weeks. Whoopee.

What if I put it out into the world that I want the world’s best relationship under the sun? A true partner? One I can build a life with and travel internationally with and maybe even (ring-chasing alert) marry?

What if I wanted a kid? Would the universe finally cheer for me and … more importantly … would it support my dream just for “putting it out there”?

But what if I said I want to be CEO of a company and own the highest-tech penthouse in all the lands where I could entertain my staff to reward them for how hard they work for me? What would the universe say then?

I guess it would tell me to believe in it and work toward it and it will come. And to have a little faith. OK, a LOT of faith.

The hard work part is easy. It’s the believing that trips me up every time.

“You deserve better than what you sometimes get. But if you accept less, people have no reason to give you more.”

Ergo my “bukkit list” of resolutions that all revolve around working less. That I still haven’t managed to cross off said list.

The year is young, but Goddess feels old.

I dragged my heathen ass back to church for Christmas Eve. It was … powerful.

Mom and I do brunch on Sundays now. And while it works (no more fighting over where we can both eat in heavenly peace), I miss God. Especially since I don’t much seek Him out other than when I’m having a panic attack in the car. Which, admittedly, is often.

Pastor John left my church about a year and a half ago. I was glad. I used to love him but he got on some weird kick that started creeping me out and he never came back from it. Like, over-the-top beating us over the head with his view of the world.

He went back to Texas (good riddance) and another guy took over temporarily. I liked the temporary guy, but I knew his time was limited till they hired the new pastor. And I admit I didn’t like the new pastor when he took over.

Well WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES.

I love the new pastor. LOVE.

He spoke to my heart. There was no one else in the room last night as he told me how Christ didn’t just come to save the world — He came to save ME. He knew I’d be in that room, in that life, in that skin, in that situation at that very moment. He knew I’d need Him and He’d be there for me.

Well, the pastor told ALL of us that. But, it is all about me, isn’t it?

He spoke of “dark souls” — how he’s ceased to be perfect since he took about his fifth breath of life and how he’s not going to be perfect.

And for the dark souls like him, God isn’t waiting till we catch up on our work to-do list or get a relationship right or untangle our finances to love us.

So, basically don’t wait to love yourself, either. That’s the message. You will have perfect, eternal life one day with your king. For now, do your best and love one another and just be good.

That, I can handle.

I felt like Pastor John started inserting himself between God and me. I’m sure that wasn’t the case but that’s how I felt. Last night, I felt like the new guy let me shake God’s hand and politely stepped aside to let us connect again.

I’m not sure where I go in my faith journey here. I asked for “faith friends,” as my old pastor from Maryland always wishes I’d find. I think that’s the best resolution I can make for next year.

In addition to washing off my makeup nightly and flirting more (with the right people, let’s be clear), of course …

My dark soul is suddenly bursting with light this Christmas Day …

As I read somewhere else, the baby came in a dirty manger to young and confused parents. You don’t stop miracles or plan for them to arrive in perfect time. They just come, whenever and wherever and at any time and under any circumstance.

I’m ready to receive my miracles now. I guess I always was. But now I know …