Caterwauling

Crocodile crossing

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

All right all you dream analysts out there. Riddle me this: What does it mean when you dream every single night of traveling?

A couple nights ago, I dreamed I had a flight connection in Seattle. My friends Lachlan and Bayou came to the airport to meet me. And then we all decided to go somewhere else together. We had a blast.

Last night, I dreamed I got back to Baltimore to see my “kids” (my staff that I absolutely loved. Everyone above me feared us all joining up and starting a revolution against them. Silly management). And then we all went up to New York City, where I got to party with Jon Bon Jovi.

What will tonight hold? I can’t wait to find out. Maybe I’ll nap during the evening webinar we’re hosting. *snooze*

I’m starting to get sick over an assignment coming my way. It’s actually part of one I already do, so it’s not like there’s a large cash windfall coming with it. Meanwhile there IS a new assignment that I LOVE doing but I never have time for.

I need to man up and do the new assignment at night. But I really don’t want to get into the work-around-the-clock days again.

I never took a stand for myself in my life, and I don’t think now is the time to piss parameters around my free time. As I find myself back on the trajectory that nearly killed me the first time around, can I be brave enough to say no and risk having nothing … or do I try to do it all and REALLY put my health and happiness squarely in harm’s way?

Spun sugar

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I played hooky yesterday.

One could argue that you can’t play hooky when you don’t work, but even the first day after the Evil Empire booted my fat ass to the curb, I was on the phone and polishing up my resume and treating the job search as a job.

These days, I’m back to being “alert girl,” which was why I was so eager to leave D.C. in the first place. (Read: Tied to the computer, ready to pounce the moment somebody needed to publish something because everything in this business is timely.)

There are even more alerts coming my way, which means job security. It also means, “Hunh. I came so far in the last few years. Isn’t this regressing a bit?”

But it pays. Unlike the one job that keeps throwing shit at me to do and I ain’t had a check since April. I hear one is in the mail. I hear.

My personal policy is to go on strike after two months of non-compensation, especially at the low rate I charge. It was already like a volunteer job and I already gave twice as many hours as I contracted for. I like the people (well, the owner, not necessarily the person I deal directly with).

I haven’t checked my mail in a day and I’m afraid to. (*hold me*) I forgot about taking vacation days — coming back is the worst. I have over 200 new e-mails. Most of which are probably just shitty e-letters from shitty e-publishers, I hope. 🙂

Anyway, so yeah, I spent the day with my favorite Floridian-turned-Philadelphian. (Oh, forget it — she’ll always be my Jersey Girl!) We went on a mission to find the place where she will get married. And after going all over creation and exploring every island within a 50-mile radius, we found it.

It was rather hilarious, listening to all these wedding planners grilling her on her chosen date. (Which is very soon.) Everyone wanted her to be flexible. But they didn’t say that. At one place, it was, “Well, why is that your date? No, really, why is that your date?”

My friend’s answer, “Because I’m the damn bride, that’s why!”

But when we finally found the place and came to an agreement on all the terms, the answer suddenly became (in the car of course because she’s too nice to say that to people’s faces):

“Because I’m the bride, BITCH!”

Confidence becomes her. 😉

Seriously, I am so happy I got to go with her. We lost a lot of “friend time” after I quit the Crack Den of Iniquity and went to work for the Evil Empire. I didn’t want to have the King Crackhead grilling my old friends on my whereabouts — I felt it better that the fewer people who had any information on me, the better for THEM.

Anyway, I guess I have to start looking for a party dress. Or maybe quit eating and fit into the dozen or two that I already own.

This day out was good for me, though. These days, I pray to God with gratitude that I can pay the rent. I don’t ask for much else. I figure that if I just ask for the basics (and maybe some extra favor for Mom) that’s enough. I don’t want to push my luck.

But I need more. I need friends and things to look forward to. I can’t live isolated in my apartment with my overextended unemployed houseguest for the rest of my life with absolutely no light at the end of this loooonnnng tunnel.

I’m hoping to meet a handsome stranger at this party of the year. Maybe I’ll put that on the prayer list too. I’d be such a happier person if I had a reason to live beyond publishing alerts that only generate fifty fucking customer service e-mails apiece that I then have to deal with.

God, it’s time for bigger things. I’m ready. So very ready.

Caylee’s in God’s Arms Now

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Well, if you are anywhere near social media today, you know my head popped right off my shoulders today when Casey Anthony was declared not guilty on murder one and aggravated child abuse charges.

I’ve watched the trial. I’ve puzzled over the evidence. I’ve been disgusted by the ineptitude and antics of defense counsel. I’ve growled at the documented bizarre and frankly unacceptable behavior of Caylee’s mother. I’ve wondered whether Jose Baez’s allegations of molestation by her father and brother were true. I didn’t consider the bullshit drowning theory. But I, like many others, wondered how this pretty girl who seemingly had it all could POSSIBLY find herself in this predicament.

But by Week 3 of the six-week trial, I was convinced she was guilty. I don’t necessarily think she was smart enough to do it all alone. But after looking at the bags under that baby’s eyes in so many photos, I could see where she wasn’t in the greatest hands when she was with her mother. I saw her grandparents loved her. I know for a fact that many grandparents love their grandchildren more than their children. (I can say I’ve experienced it firsthand.)

But my reasonable doubt isn’t the same as the jurors’.

I just feel Punk’d. Like, it’s time for the real verdict or, at least, someone to give me the last six weeks of my life back that I got caught up in the testimony. The science was fascinating. The family dysfunction was riveting. I guess what happened is that the prosecution proved that nobody else in the family did it, but it’s still boggling my widdle brain that we don’t agree on who DID.

Caylee’s justice is being far away from that monster, I guess. We all know what I’m thinking here — that people like me are marching and carrying banners to ensure reproductive choice remains a right … a right that is consistently getting chipped away at … but in the state of Florida, you can kill your live child with fewer — hell, NO — consequences but how dare you abort a fetus!

It all comes down to the death penalty, I believe. I say fry the bitch. But even if the jurors did think she was guilty, I would bet dollars to donuts that they just didn’t want to put her to death. And I’m sorry — I am not a fan of Texas but I do support their believe that, in the immortal words of Ron White, “If you kill someone in our state, we kill you back.”

I know this doesn’t affect me directly. But, it does. If something happened to me or someone I love, is this what we call justice? I’m sorry but I feel like all the time I spent praying for those jurors went to waste.

Everyone said it’s about the science. That emotions mean nothing. So Casey sat there with a “rage face” on for six weeks and THAT’S OK? The science was new, sure, but you can’t make up a hair showing clear signs of decomposition, in a trunk with other decomposition fluids, and tell me that Casey had NOTHING to do with Casey’s death and ultimate dumping in a swamp. Emotion based on science is still based on science.

I’m sure everyone’s sick of me ranting. And so am I. I blamed it partially on the educational system down here, since I came from a crappy one myself. But it’s bigger than that. Thousands upon thousands of people, myself included, lost the faith today.

The world isn’t fair. We knew that. Today proved it. We aren’t surprised. We know better. But I guess we were all looking for a little bit of hope that the justice system will be there for US when we need it. Instead, courtroom antics and diversion tactics and downright inexperience becomes rewarded.

Casey won. She danced. She giggled. She could walk out of there on Thursday. And all we can do is hope that, as she dances out of that courtroom, the cosmic bus runs her ass over.

Nicely done, Casey. I’ve got to hand it to you, you not only took that baby away from your mother to spite her, but you gave her to the whole world and took her away from us, too. Enjoy that “bella vita” you were hellbent on securing. That is, if someone doesn’t give you the same treatment your daughter got…

My Home Sweet Home

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Everyone goes through cycles in life. You go from busting your butt to cruise-control to passionate to frustrated to defeated to ball-busting. There’s no defined time that you can or should stay in each phase, but results do vary by individual.

I’m in such a lazy phase, and I blame the Casey Anthony trial for diverting me for the past six weeks. But as closing arguments are taking place right now (I am unquestionably on Team Ashton), I wonder what I’m going to do once the jury arrives at the verdict. I dunno … do some work?

It’s not that the work isn’t there. Paychecks vary. Sometimes they arrive and sometimes they don’t. It’s hard to get up anything resembling enthusiasm when you just don’t know when there’s going to be a present for you in your mailbox. (Or whether the twunty landlady is holding them hostage and pretending she doesn’t have them. Oh, yes, that happens all the time here.)

And I honestly have no fight left in me. I don’t. For what, to deal with the same old issues with the same old people?

I get it that you should never do for a living what you love. I hate writing now. With a passion. I am an editor by profession. I like editing. Nobody VALUES editors fairly. But I don’t like when I have to write because I can’t take the prospect of hating it for the rest of my life. I don’t want to FINALLY sit down to write my novels and go, fuck this — they will remain unwritten because I’d rather claw out my eyes with a spork.

My field is a mess. I trust no one. I feel that I’ve become somewhat unreliable myself, as a self-preservation measure.

I went on an interview not too long ago. It went OK. I got an editing test. I held back a little bit. And I regret it now. I wanted to shred the shit out of the sample piece. But I got the impression that they were rather proud of their stuff.

And I didn’t even edit so much as talk about improving readability and introducing a Web component. I went holistic. I am a manager, at heart, whether it’s with people or products. Which I think I conveyed. But I know for a fact I didn’t show what a kickass editor I am.

I wonder whether a part of me held back because I knew dazzling them meant buying pantyhose and dresses and heels again. Of working in “workspaces” with “status meetings” and “staff meetings” and motherfucking meetings, meetings, MEETINGS.

Whew. lol.

I could be wrong. I just feel like I *could* fit in, that I *could* dazzle, that I *could* rock the shit out of whatever role they gave me. But did the universe, in condoning the act of putting me out on the damn street at the end of last year, do so to tell me that I need to do something COMPLETELY different?

I’m having a bit of an existential crisis here. I always figured it was God’s way of saying, hey, you were losing your faith … go regroup and try again. But perhaps it was God’s way of saying, hey you — you’ve hit the apex of apeshit. You’ve gone as far as you’ll go on the trajectory you’re on. Your book won’t kick as much ass as the Bible but how about writing it?

I was looking at this photo and thinking, as I do, “I miss home.” D.C. became home. But, National Airport was more home to me than the city itself ever was. I was always at home on the road. Give me a hotel room, a couple “must-try” restaurants and a corporate card, and I’m a happy girl.

Everything I’ve done has been a means to an end. But … to WHAT end, exactly?

I watch Jeff Ashton kicking ass as a state prosecutor. I can smell the book deals and cable-news-network hosting gigs just POURING in when closing statements conclude today. I want to be that passionate about something. I want to be that knowledgeable about something. I want to know the rent is paid and to do my job because I am IN LOVE WITH IT.

The problem is, people will kill your passion, no matter where you are. You learn to function in spite of it. You learn to ignore it. You may even go to war against it.

I got to thinking about a blog I wrote a couple days ago, shredding apart someone I happen to dislike. I’m ashamed of that. I really am. That isn’t me writing that. Well, it IS, but I genuinely liked that person at one time. I truly thought that person was misunderstood and kind-hearted and someone who meant well. Even as evidence presented itself to the contrary, I figured it was situational, the “other stuff.”

And honestly, I still do. It’s hard to be the flower among weeds. Eventually, if you have any brains about you, you disguise the sweet smell. You figure out how to not stand out in that way. Does it change who or what you really were in the first place? I don’t know. Yes, to a degree. But when the weed-killer comes around, will the flower start blooming or will it get yanked out by its roots? The question remains unanswered.

Either way, it ain’t my place to speculate. Honestly, I believe everyone is good, underneath it all. Except Casey Anthony. She’s one hot murderous mess. But there’s hope for the rest of us.

And, while it’s hard for me to remember it sometimes, there’s hope for me, too. I try so hard to be good and fair and honest and trusting and trustworthy. And when I see myself making ridiculously catty comments, I realize OH SHIT, I’ve turned into exactly what I’ve fought against.

But it’s not too late. For any of us. (Except Casey, of course.)

I guess what I’m coming to here is that I don’t need to change careers; I need to change MYSELF. What I do for a living isn’t so critical as who I am when I’m doing it.

I’ve got a lot of work to do on myself. We all do. And I promise I won’t sit in judgment of anyone again. Y’all got to face God on your own, and so do I. And I sure don’t want to miss out on the heaven I think I deserve because I thought I could be God for a few minutes down here.

However … God, can You help me not pass judgment on Jose Baez, though? Even though I think even You might say it’s understandable, I’d rather line myself up for Your graces instead of missing out on them from where I’ve been sitting.

Rum Bar

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I went to church last night after, oh, six months or so. I needed it, although the post-church zen officially wore off within 20 minutes. 😉

I go to one of those megachurch-type places like Joel Osteen preaches from. In fact, in my church’s TV commercials (!), we have Joel Osteen personally endorsing us. It’s rather hilarious because our pastors bash him (indirectly, of course) and you can feel the tension between Joel and our guy in that miserable 15 seconds that they appear on-air together.

I go to an offshoot of the megachurch. Same brand, different pastor. He’s usually the reason why I come and go. He’s either fantastic or grubbing for money. Luckily, yesterday he was in a good mood. 🙂 He was just pleased that we braved the TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR to come out last night.

Every once in a while, the pastor gets on a kick about sacrificial giving. Which is kind of bullshit at my campus, because it caters to students and young professionals. The other branches of the megachurch attract the mega MILLIONS that keeps my little branch afloat.

Anyway, although we spent the bulk of our time reviewing Psalm 23 and how us bad little sheep are God’s personal favorites, the pastor did throw in a mention about sacrificial giving.

And the revelation I took home from services was that God is a Democrat!

Think about it — for some reason, everyone scoffs at the wealthy folk who donate a chunk of money. But nobody cares because it doesn’t cause any hardship. (Um, hello, who do you think is funding your international mission trips??!!)

But we all love the woman who gave her last two coins because she gave everything she had.

Well, I gave up covered parking during a tropical storm so I could park for free (blocks away!) and donate the exorbitant parking garage fee to the offering. Does that count? 😉

Anyway, my takeaway from all this is the sacrifice part. Because sometimes I feel like I’ve made more than my share for a very simple life without a whole lot of room to give up EVEN MORE.

But instead of focusing on what I don’t have — or no longer have — I’m going to do what the pastor said and leave the door open for miracles. Instead of begrudging my newfound inability to work my ass off, realize that it’s a commandment to take time to relax and commune with God. And accept that something good will come when I make room to receive it.

I will always worry, of course, about everything. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

I took on a rent commensurate with the salary I once commanded. So that makes me nuts. But I also don’t have a car payment, so that helps. And not having colleagues means no more meals, birthdays, showers and buying shit from their kids, so that is a benefit I never dreamed I’d enjoy so much. 🙂 Well, I DO miss the nice people because I loved them. But it did hurt to spend money on someone’s Christmas gift only to be fired the DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS.

Ahem.

Life ain’t all bad. In fact, it’s kind of awesome when I allow myself to go out and live it. I just need to do more of that. Of course, don’t we all?

I’ve never had a problem with the separation of church and state because each is so fluid that the wingnuts of one (church) could have entirely too much effect on what should be evolving yet dependable (state). But these days, I wouldn’t be opposed to a little bit of the former bringing some heart and help to the latter.

I just found a Christian Left group on Facebook that pointed me to a Salon article: Are the American people obsolete? And the answer is yes. The wealthy have long predicted the end of Social Security. And their wish will be granted with the bonus of losing Medicare. The Bush tax cuts funded many a month-long exotic vacation for the whole clan, provided the full-cash purchase of thousands of second or third mansions, and afforded the meager salaries of undocumented or overseas labor.

I don’t begrudge because I don’t have. I’m sure you will hear me bitching at tax time since I make so little that I can’t save any of it, but as a lower-middle-class person, I will be paying a disproportionate percentage of the pathetic excuse for “income” that I have. But I know I have to pay it because I don’t want to be sharing a cell with Casey Anthony. I know — I HOPE — that my tax dollars will feed the hungry and keep running homes for adults with mental and physical disabilities. I just don’t see why anyone else gets to opt out because they can afford to pay off politicians — WHY NOT PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES?!?!

Plus, I spent enough years in non-profits to know that the bulk of people don’t donate willingly — you HAVE to mandate it through taxes because otherwise the unfortunate many will not otherwise be able to achieve even something halfway resembling a life without the money afforded the fortunate few whose ideas/skills/abilities may or may not warrant the extraordinary compensation.

Anyway, my Web surfing this morning also landed me at The Christian Left Blog. And I’m ashamed to admit my faith has been shaken a bit lately. (See above.)

Don’t get me wrong — I’ve been seeing some good guys finally winning, but not enough, unfortunately. And I’m tired of struggling, too. I see why people give up. I’m ready to. I have one last shot at making it, and so help me if I blow it. I don’t think I will. But fear isn’t even motivating me anymore, and THAT scares me.

If you’re a lovable Leftie (and not in the handwriting sense) like me, you may appreciate this entry: Let us all be broken together.

I dare ask the same thing they do:

“Where is the Christlike love? It is a very lonely time for us. We need to get together in spirit and encourage one another that the love and sacrificial motives of Christianity are still alive. That cheap grace will not reign. That Christ still wants us to reconcile and work for social justice. That sometimes, a lot of times, we can use government and social institutions to help those who are hurting precisely because the love of Christ overcomes the cold bureaucracy that Conservatives seem to be so paranoid about.”

Maybe the liberal Christians are the future of the country. I just don’t see the conservative crackpots stepping aside — especially when they can buy their own earthly salvation. But when we all get to Heaven’s gate, the rest of us who managed to hang on to our spiritual currency will cut to the front of the line. And I’m sure we will all be nice enough to share it with the people who didn’t give a fuck about us in this world, just because that’s who we are and will always be.

Pink

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Easy week, work-wise, and rough week otherwise.

It kills me that morons are employed everywhere and I can’t find a job. Of course, I haven’t exactly been looking. 😉

Kills me further that I DO the work and yet there’s always someone out there who thinks they can put the “free” in “freelance.”

And yes, the illustrious houseguest is driving me batty. Like you had to ask. 🙂 I worry about her. But her issues are so beyond her control AND mine. I’m enough of a failure on my own, thanks, without adding in my shortcomings there.

One of my Internet friends took it upon herself to talk me off the ledge, so to speak. That “suicide isn’t the answer.”

That never crossed my mind. (Suicide, although I wouldn’t argue against being swept up in the Rapture. I hear it’s at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Is that Eastern time?)

I had to set her straight: I don’t want to die; I want to LIVE.

I miss my travel budget and my dining budget and my technology budget and my clothing budget. Let me rephrase, I miss not actually HAVING to budget.

I know, this is a rough patch. And I get violently depressed around birthdays anyway.

I declared yesterday that something good HAD to happen. Well, better luck today, I suppose. 🙂

They say when you’re down to nothing, God’s up to something.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking for my perfect birthday cupcake. But I’ll be watching for a miracle. We could certainly use a couple of those around here. (Miracles. Or cupcakes. Whichever.)

Baby you’re a…

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, we had a death in the “family” yesterday. I use air quotes because of the lack of blood relation, but the connection was real.

For once I will respect people’s privacy and NOT post about it. But I will say that the air is a little heavier today, and smiles are harder to come by.

Speaking of death, I dreamed last night that I died. And it was awesome.

No, I didn’t see any great white light or anything. But I felt so FREE. Like, all the bullshit isn’t my problem anymore. It’s somebody else’s mess to clean up now. I can’t do anything about it and I ain’t taking it with me. Buh-bye.

I’m sure we all know I talk to God and to what I hope are my spirit guides. But I’m sure we also know I always have an ounce of skepticism in the back of my mind, as I know there are evil-intentioned voices in the mix.

(Seriously — why is it the voice that tells you to eat cupcakes is WAY louder and more-persuasive than the one to go do exercise?)

So anyway, I was kind of kvetching with my imaginary friends recently about the houseguest. And the response I heard VERY clearly was that I’m not going to outlive her, anyway.

Now, it sounded like the “Go eat cupcakes” voice, so I don’t know how seriously to take it. (But I would LOVE a cupcake right now…)

But it was more liberating than scary. Which surprised me. Because there is SO MUCH I want to do before I go. But if I can’t afford to do it anyway, well, who really rightly gives a fuck, you know?

In my dream, I was at Old Navy, contemplating a new outfit. And the Cupcake Voice told me to not only buy it, but to wear it RIGHT NOW because I’d be dead in 24 hours.

And I got hit by a car, wearing my cute outfit. Go figure. Right as I walked out of Boca Town Center. (Damn it, I KNEW it was treacherous to shop there!!!)

Even in the dream, I remembered the Cupcake Voice of days past. And I was glad I hadn’t ignored it — that I was blessed to have received that communication. Ergo, I was as OK with going at 36 as I could ever have been.

I woke up somewhere during my Life Review in the dream. I was smiling so serenely that the Ultra Extra Over Extended Extra-Terrestrial Houseguest from Outer Space was no longer my burden.

I was overjoyed that the Wicked Witch of the West Coast couldn’t reach me anymore.

And I thought of all those deadlines and dumb things that irk the fuck out of me … that had wasted so much of my time … and thanked God that they were no longer my problem.

Ah, death. I can only hope to go so quickly and peacefully when it is indeed my time. I hope I will have lived and loved a great deal more. But I look forward to starting over in another era, too.

I still wonder whether I’m going to kick it young or whether the Cupcake Voice lied to me like it always does. (“You can go for a walk and burn off the calories!” Fucker.)

I do promise you this. When I do go, and if that parasitic son of a bitch Schmitthead is still alive in Maryland, there will be many a glass trinket or commemorative plate a-flying right into his pointy little head.

Anyway, rest in peace, dearest departed friend of the family. So glad I got to meet you and I can only hope that your spark and spunk will carry on in the rest of us.

Penis Pancake

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I went to see “Something Borrowed” yesterday. Save your money.

Spoiler alert:

As I prepare to turn 36 for the second time (next week! Gaaaahhh), Mother Nature’s gift to me is a hefty dose of “Get offa my lawn,” apparently.

Look, I loved the movie. But I feel dirty and icky just for SAYING that.

It hit close to home, as all the best movies do.

It’s all about two BFFs; one shines and the other busts her butt to get where she is. I was never the prettier of any two sets of friends. Or, if I was, I was always the fatter. And that, by default, makes you the less-attractive one. Even if you don’t believe it yourself (because, let’s face it, you know you have “such a pretty face”), that’s how society treats you.

Confidential to society: “Fuck. You.”

The storyline is simple: Girl wants boy. Boy wants girl. Radiant friend appears. Girl feels like nothing in her presence. Boy goes after radiant friend. Years of pining ensue. Girl becomes radiant friend’s maid of honor at wedding to boy. Hilarity ensues.

I mean, how romantic for old college friends with crushes on each other to still be hot for each other. Lord knows a few of the guys from my college days are still in my life. It would be a cute story if it worked out. But a cute story is unnecessary when building a future.

And so, the part that makes me mad is nothing shy of my own hypocrisy.

The girls should have maintained their friendship and gotten rid of the boy. The end.

But a quick index of my own life shows that I pretty much tossed all female friendships to the wind and dated slept with whomever I damn well pleased.

I miss my friends, by the way.

I always subscribed to the theory that if those lovely couples didn’t work out, the men were fair game. Because when your friends are in relationships, you are right in it with them.

Whether you’re hearing one side talk about the other (and for me, I was always close with both sides), or whether they’re including you as “not a third wheel at ALL,” you are the unnamed entity in a supposed two-person union.

This is why girls drop their friends when they date someone — it’s so much easier to focus on one person without having other people there to witness every move and/or misstep.

So, yeah, I realize I’m an idiot that I wanted the movie to end any way other than the way it did. Everyone ended up happy, which pisses me off in general, because that NEVER happens. 🙂 But all the cheating, lying whores ended up with the person they wanted. And poor little Ethan moved to London and ended up alone.

Ethan = John Krasinski. I would have totally gone for him, by the bye. 😉

Anyhoodle, I was looking for a love story, and I guess I got one. I would just hate to be the girl who got the guy by stealing him nearly off the altar from my BFF. That “cute story” turns pretty foul pretty quickly when you toss in THAT little fact nugget.

I guess I get mad because I want so badly to write books and love stories with the characters who have lived in my head for decades. And I’d really like to write my OWN fairy tale one of these days, only for real. I know there’s no perfect story — it’s always messy and crazy and sometimes painful — but I need the hope that the concept of “meant to be” supersedes all.

But I don’t think you should have to lose anything/anyone in the process … especially those who would be there if your shining knight falls off the horse and your fairy tale ends up as more of a short story than a book.

Peeps at the beach

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The pier at the local public beach is about to be torn down to install a casino. Which it used to be, back in the day. And, which, yay, all we need are more tourons polluting my quiet little streets. Woo hoo.

Anyway, this is part of a larger diorama created by one of the residents to commemorate the pier. It makes me love my little area that much more.

I’ve been quarantined with some strain of infectiousness, the likes of which I haven’t endured since last November. Which has been joyous, I say.

I have this one job that I’ve worked at for nearly six weeks now (and no payment in sight), and they’ve had their hair on fire a few times this week — all during “off” hours. My inbox blew up Thursday night and again yesterday (Saturday).

I want to be available and cheerful here, as payment will come soon, and in spades, eventually, for the patient and capable. But it feels rather unfair to be held to deadlines — that I literally sleep through — for NON-URGENT stuff.

So I be workin’ today. It’s not rocket science. I always have fun with it. But I hate feeling like an ass because I knocked myself out cold with some Nyquil and didn’t check my e-mail between 9 p.m. and 8 a.m. and missed the boat entirely.

I’m just a little stressed over money and the future of the one project that does pay. I think all is on track, but you never really know. And with the houseguest having located my last possible nerve (I didn’t know I had any left — who knew?), I’m really wondering what I’m doing here.

I got contacted from a freelance job I lasted about a month with. I never even billed for the work I did, as it paid less than the effort to create an invoice. I quit partially because my point of contact was driving me crazy. (A theme in my life, eh?) And they resurfaced to ask me back. Hmm.

Everyone agrees I was clear as crystal about what I was good at and what was outside my comfort zone. And yet my assignments were located squarely OUTSIDE MY COMFORT ZONE.

Is it time to go for another full-time job? One of the “biggies” down here heard of me through a high-powered friend and asked me to interview just for giggles. We haven’t yet scheduled said interview, but I wonder whether I should more-aggressively pursue it. I’m certainly spending more than I’m bringing in. And my work ethic has been wavering for a variety of reasons.

Anyway, it occurred to me the other day as I was “driving Miss Daisy” somewhere, when I called up God and had a few terse statements I needed to make, that perhaps I befriended God a few years back simply to have someone with whom to argue.

I don’t blame Him, but I would love some answers and maybe even some direction, if He’s feeling charitable. The only answers I keep getting back are to be grateful and happy. And I am. I just want to be ecstatic. And rich.

Seriously, I know money doesn’t solve everything, but let ME be the judge of that, OK? Besides, I know I’d give most of that wealth away, anyway. Let me get my MacBook Pro and a newer car, and let me pay rent for a year, and then I can figure out how to un-hinge the houseguest from my hip. And the rest will go to worthy causes around the country.

God, I just want to be the legend I know I can be. Even if not a soul knows my real name. I’m bypassing Santa Claus on this one and coming straight to You. How about a trial period to see how I can do? 🙂