Caterwauling

I’ve sort of been in this bubble lately, concentrating on what’s important (as much as I can, anyway) and focusing on achieving some goals. And I’ve been doing rather well, as my inner circle can attest. And though there’s been a moderate-to-middling amount of suck on the periphery — that’s exactly where it is: out of sight, out of mind.

And then, this week happened.

We lost a friend this week. Young, vibrant, beautiful — the type you meet once or twice and know you will remember for a long time to come. The circumstances, unfortunately, seem as indecipherable as the Big Question of “Why?”

And the Big Question leads to lots (and lots) of other Big Existential Questions. Which I won’t ponder here but I’m sure you’d have a few of your own, when handed this type of information, to process in the recesses of your mind when no one else is watching you.

Nearly everyone who is touched by this senseless tragedy seems to have retreated offline, into their own heads. And I’ve stayed about as quiet as I could. I admit, I’m wrecked. Color me 14 shades of fucked-up right now. I cry for her, for her love, for everyone affected even in the smallest way.

To say I’ve been rendered relatively useless this week is to understate the issue, oh, just a tad. I mean, you get your personal days and time to grieve when it’s a blood relative. But when it’s anyone else, you have to suck it up and think in your own time.

And that’s when you realize, wow, it’s all my time. And am I truly using it effectively and, more important, pleasingly?

I scrawled a hardly coherent journal entry the day I found out. I wish I could share it here. I really do. I said what might be the most profound thing to come out of my mouth (pen?) in the past 30-odd years.

The simple truth behind it was, in my panic, I saw very clearly what matters to me. The one thing I simply cannot leave unresolved when it’s my time to go. Not that I’d be ready to go at any time — there’s still so much more I expect to do before I even think about being through.

But if my number were up in five minutes and I could do one last thing? I know exactly what it is.

Of course, whether or not I would do it is anybody’s guess. I would have, when I had the thought. But right this very minute? Not so sure. New information and all that jazz. The stuff that’s probably kept it exactly where it’s been, all this time.

The clarity, however, struck me. The “this is what I should be doing” thing nearly knocked me over when I read over what I had written. I don’t even remember writing it. I just remember calling my BFF and saying, “This is what just came out of me.” Rendering her speechless, too, for the record.

I can’t help but feel that this devastating, devastating loss is meant to mean something to us … to all of us … in the grander scheme of things. Moreover than the usual, “Life is fragile and transient” business.

Yeah. Got that. Heard ya.

But I wondered how, a dozen years from now, this sadly significant time will have affected me. What choices will I have made that I otherwise wouldn’t have? What will I have done to honor this lovely young woman by the way I’ve lived my life or loved someone else — because I was lucky enough to be able?

I’ve never seen my various online social networks as quiet as they’ve been today, but there’s really nothing to say right now.

I assume we’re all lost in thought, pondering what we know and certainly what we don’t.

I’m sure there’s a “why” or 50 in there, as well.

It puts some things in perspective, and blows a thousand other ones straight out of the water.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can concentrate on little else.

It’s a very sad, still day in our universe.

Go hug someone who needs it. C’mon, I dare you.

I’ll be waiting.

Chicago Cityscape, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Was just missing Chicago and wanted to remember it. I took this of the downtown area from Navy Pier and loved how the moon was hanging low that night. Good times.

I don’t know if I’m just busier than normal or whether I’m just in a good place these days, but it’s amazing how OK everything is. In fact, I’m kicking my standard feeling that things “could” be better” to the curb in favor of things “will be” better and, in their own way, they already “are.”

I’ve gone back to paper journaling, which is odd since I haven’t had a true diary in several years. I did keep a Word doc diary for quite a while, but I password-protected it and I can’t crack the code to save my life. I’m tempted to just delete the damn thing at this juncture, but I’m sure the magic phrase will come to me eventually.

I had a moment tonight when I was sitting outside a Starbucks with what was supposed to be a skinny mocha but now that SBUX has discontinued the sugar-free mocha syrup, it was just a regular nonfat latte, and I actually had three guys rolling by in their car, waving and smiling. And at first I thought they must have been looking at someone else. But I realized a few moments later that no one else was around. Who, me? *bats lashes at computer since no one else is watching* It was empowering. And somewhat unnerving, because how many people have passed me by whom I’ve never even noticed?

I’m starting to get some of my old sass back. I really retreated into myself for a while. The whys and hows and especially the ways I’m overcoming it don’t matter. I think I’m easing out of the survival mode I’ve unwittingly been thrust into for so many years. Survival is for wimps — it’s getting your groove back that’s the real challenge, and it’s the only real reward. Surviving sucks. Enjoying waking up (even if it is only to go to work) is what really takes some skills.

I think I found one of my new callings today. Again, it’s better left in my head to plot and strategize over for a little while longer. But I had one of those rare moments of clarity when it’s like, hmm, maybe this is one of those reasons why I was put on this earth.

Anyway, I’m having a string of good luck and I’m not even going to knock on wood (mostly because my desk is wrought-iron). I’m just going to expect for it to continue. This is a new approach for me, to not wait for the other proverbial shoe to drop. Just throw it across the room, if that’s what you’re waiting for, and look forward to the great stuff that’s destined to happen afterward.

No, I’m not in therapy or even reading self-help books. I’m just finally coming into my own. And no one or nothing can stop me. That’s the best feeling a person can ever have, and it’s great to feel good.

Millennium Park, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Those of you who are following me on Twitter (sorry, I don’t add people unless we’ve met in person) know that I’ve spent the past week in Chicago, basically having the time of my life.

So before that “I got out of town and away from all the B.S.” shine wears off, I just wanted to say howdy and share this lil iPhone photo of the Cloud Gate sculpture in Millennium Park.

I really missed being in a big city. Chicago is a cleaner version of Baltimore, and with much more to do, IMHO.

Some of the highlights:

Sushi Wabi — one of my boys ordered for me and it was a seaweed-wrapped orgasm, is all I can say.

Naha — the wine was a 2005 pinot noir with a smoky flavor and the foie gras is the best I’ve ever had. Nom nom nom.

Harry Caray’s — I paid $35 for the petit filet all by itself, and added a salad with the best Caesar dressing I’ve ever experienced, and of course topped it off with a nice Chianti. Sweet Jesus, I gave up meat a few weeks ago but couldn’t POSSIBLY go to Chicago without trying a steak. ;9 They can dress it up for you three different ways, with a gorgonzola crust or a house-made sauce. But I had it naked with what tasted like a simple salt-and-pepper crust. I remember Tweeting that I could die happy after that meal.

Park Grill — OK, I am aware that my highlights are food-related, but seriously, this meal cost me the least and made me pretty damn happy. The peach salad was meh, mostly because the dressing was abundant and I forgot to request it on the side. But the watermelon gazpacho was to die for. It tasted like it had Cajun spices in it and was topped with a shrimp and some tiny calamari rings. Good stuff. The eatery was also just outside of Millennium Park, so the city view was spectacular.

Oak Street Beach — I got here purely by accident, mostly because I was just so busy wandering that I figured I’d go till my feet screamed for mercy. It just so happened that I could rehabilitate my tootsies in the sand along Lake Michigan. Aaah, paradise.

Magnificent Mile — A hootenanny of stores all along Michigan Avenue. I barely bought anything — I guess I’d had enough with paying $15 each way for my one piece of checked luggage that I wasn’t willing to ship more shit home for a mere $35 for the second bag. Yaaar.

I tried to get into the Apple Store the day the new iPhone came out. Epic fail — the line went around the block. Not that I could afford it anyway, as my hotel just for the last three nights cost more than my stimulus check!

I purposely ran into an old friend along Michigan, where I believe we proceeded to talk for two hours. And I got to play with his new iPhone, so nyah. God, it was so good to catch up with someone who “knew me when.” It’s been about a dozen years but it felt like merely 10 minutes had passed since we’d last hung out.

I’ve come to regard it as a rite of passage now, running into people I grew up with/went to school with, in cities far away from where we first crossed paths. It’s a sign of growing up, I guess. It’s nice to know that there are people out there rooting for you — and you, for them — even when you don’t get the chance to hear/say it in person.

Wicked: the Musical — My friend warned me that I’d be singing the songs long after I left the Oriental Theater last night. He wasn’t kidding. OMG, loved, loved, LOVED it. It was the story of the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch as roommates and even friends in the prequel to “The Wizard of Oz.” And don’t think I am not eyeballing the “Defy Gravity” v-neck T-shirt even now. I was just bummed that the only apparel they had that said Chicago on it was a blah men’s T-shirt. But seriously, I got a GREAT seat at the last minute and that is just dandy by me.

I did a lot more stuff in Chi-town but we’ll leave the business stuff out of it. All in all, though, it was a great trip and I was thrilled that my boys invited me. I spent enough money that this sort of has to qualify as my vacation, so it was a win all around. And I’d LOVE to say it’s good to be home but, well, Twitterers know THAT story. …

I admit, while I’d like to start pursuing religion on a scholarly level, I’m way more interested in chick lit. (A la my latest read, “Chasing Harry Winston,” which hurts to read because it’s so me and, let’s face it, it’s a book I should have written as it is my life story and all.)

Anyway, for now I’m just counting on churchgoing to give me the Cliff’s Notes guide to all things biblical, since apparently masturbation DOES cause one to go blind and I can’t find a bible that has print big enough to keep me reading it. (And yesterday I did manage to sneak in a, uh, fruitful purchase at Forbidden Fruit. Do you think Lasik can reverse the damage I’m doing to myself? Carrots aren’t helping!)

ADD: I haz it.

OK, “anyway” again, today at church we talked about how Jesus said that you should poke your eye out if it causes you to sin, as pulling a Cyclops is clearly better than burning in hell for all of eternity. *shudder* So basically, if a body part is causing you to sin, you should amputate it? How many men in the audience were covering their crotches when that topic came up today?!?!

I left my notes on the sermon in the car (and I have wet toenails, so I’m trying to remember what I wrote down). The pastor said something about that’s why rules have been created — to keep us all in line. And we shouldn’t be tempted to tell white lies or circumvent rules or do anything to disrespect things that were supposedly created for our own good.

I take issue with that. I mean, yes, people do need rules/laws/codes of ethics/etc. Some people obviously don’t know how to behave unless someone is telling them the expectations of human nature. Whatevs.

But I take issue with it being a venial sin to circumvent rules — can’t we take into account the rule-maker? I mean, I can abide by rules as well as the next person (and will rebel against ones I find dumb), but my main source of rebellion is mostly taking issue with the who and not the what.

You’ve got corporate leaders who won’t let you expense a bag of peanuts from the hotel minibar but then they’re swindling money and funneling it into offshore bank accounts. You’ve got celebrities shooting anti-drug commercials while they’re riding a ski lift to the top of their own personal cocaine stash. You’ve got executives who marry their secretaries who come up with so-called sexual harassment rules to prevent anyone else from potentially meeting their own life mate the very same way. You’ve got the most-inept people on the planet harassing you for not doing their required shit-ton of paperwork hoops that they impose to stall you from achieving great things. You’ve got legislators impregnanting anything that walks and yet they don’t want women to have freedom of choice as to what to do in those unpleasant situations.

Pfft. Hypocrisy is unbecoming, to say the least. And no significant social change has ever been made without someone standing up to the system or, at least, finding a way to quietly bypass it.

I mean, I do get the point that it’s exhausting to break rules and keep your activities on the downlow until you can prove that you’re right. But I’m willing to do those sorts of things if it means things will work out in the end.

I know the “if it feels good, do it” attitude of the ’60s and ’70s basically just ended up in a whole lot of deadly STDs in the ’80s and beyond. But I also know that “it’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission” isn’t a cliche — it should be a law.

We were each given a plastic fork and were asked to not poke out our eye but instead hold it against our closed right eyes and imagine giving up that eye for sins we’ve committed and temptations we’ve given in to. We were asked to think of something that has a hold on us, something that’s no good for us that we should give up, and take that fork up to these huge pots of dirt near where we took communion.

We were to bury our fork (i.e., sin/temptation that’s “not good” for us) in the dirt and then go cleanse ourselves with our wafers and juice. By their definition, I knew what I was “supposed” to give up. But forget it — screw all of you and your stupid rules; the bane of being born with a touch of psychic ability is that you see how things end up. And you do everything you can to “hang in there” in the interim. So no, I’m not giving that thing up.

However, I *did* have something that I’ve been battling forever. And ever. And I’ve been losing completely by choice. I’ve never blamed anyone for this *thing.* Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t thank my family for all the screwed-up bullshit they exposed me to, but I managed to turn out the complete opposite of them in most of the areas where it counted. But there’s one area that plagues me.

And that’s what I buried today.

I did it because it was right, it’s something I needed to do and it’s something I want to be free from.

I wasn’t kidding when I said 34 was going to be “my” year. I’m getting a late start, but I’m starting to realize that for God to work those much-longed-for miracles in my life, I have to do some serious housecleaning before He will be my guest.

To quote a line from “Practical Magic,” “All right, girls; let’s clean house!” And maybe — just like in the movie — what I’ve been wishing for, will have been wishing for me, too. …

I’ve been examining pretty much everything in my head lately — kind of like a late spring cleaning on the cognitive level. Keep this, toss that, mend this other thing and it will be good as new, etc.

I read an article yesterday on Empathy Deficit Disorder and, while I’m annoyed that this is now an official syndrome, I’m not opposed to just being given a pill to make me nicer to people when I can’t muster it up on my own. 😉

So anyway, I’ve really been thinking. What would make me happy? (Other than a model’s body and a harem of men fanning me with palm leaves and feeding me truffles?) I was thinking that maybe I should take some classes to make me better at understanding the finer points of my job when this crazy little voice in the back of my head pipes up, “Take singing lessons instead!”

That was sort of surprising, since if I’m thinking about taking any type of courses, it should be something that kick-starts my stalled fiction-writing endeavors. Singing? Have you heard me sing? Talk about tone-deaf. Not to mention, I really don’t even hum to myself anymore. (Except that I was rocking some Def Leppard yesterday. Someone actually borrowed a line from “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and the earworm, it buried itself in my skull.)

And then I thought, oh what the hell — why not? Other than not wanting to learn to read music (it might replace some other very important information in my head, which I can’t come up with any examples right now but I’m sure I would if I weren’t trying to hold some other data in there for the short term) and not wanting to, oh, perform outside of my car, I have this on my “to do” list. For 2010, of course, but still. 🙂

It’s strange what that little voice says to me sometimes. I’d almost stopped believing it, though, after it’s been feeding me the same line of b.s. for a couple of years and I don’t see the thing it’s telling me to be patient about, well, materializing.

In my soul-searching, I realized the true source of my low-grade anxiety. It’s that even though I’ve basically just found God, I don’t trust Him. The relationship’s too new — I’m still at the stage where I’m making plans with others so He doesn’t think I’m sitting by the phone, waiting for Him to call. But in a way, I am. And it’s like He sees me hanging around, waiting, and He’s going out drinking with His buddies or out looking for someone else who may be skinnier or cuter or has bigger boobs or something. I dunno. 😉

I guess, religion or not, I always used to be so confident that things would fall into place “someday.” That all the mistakes and near-misses were preparing me for something bigger and better. But I’ve started fearing — perhaps irrationally, perhaps not — that time’s a-wasting. That I’ve got to really take my destiny into my own hands instead of just basically inner-tubing down the river and going wherever the current pulls me.

I mean, I know we do have to make choices and live with them regardless of whether they were the right ones. Free will is a glorious, scary thing sometimes. But I’m always wondering what exactly it is that I am supposed to be doing to take me to that next level, to open the doors I am banging my head against.

And I always have a feeling it is going to be easier than I’m making it out to be, but I’m always prepared for the worst, since I don’t know exactly what the invisible barrier is comprised of.

In any case, I felt sort of hopeful with the idea of learning how to sing. Not professionally, of course. Lord, I took enough teasing in high school — I’m quite over it, thanks much. But that weird little thought reminded me that there’s a whole fountain of creativity within me that didn’t necessarily dry up, but it has in fact been hiding under a very heavy tarp. And just the thought of breaking out of my little rut poked a hole in the plastic.

Imagine what else could burst forth if I went to examine that well a little more closely, a little more often.

Are there things that you want to do that you either think you shouldn’t or you simply possibly couldn’t juggle into your already-overloaded schedule? And are you like me, trying to figure out what has to give — or, what could give — that isn’t so fulfilling to make room for what could possibly change your life or, at least, your outlook on it?

Iz my Friday. Thus is feet up day, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I *~*heart*~* my new Madden Girl shoes with the zipper on the black straps.

A colleague came by to see me and saw my new shoes in my hands. He said, “Wow. You bought another pair of shoes. Imagine that.”

I don’t have much of a collection under my desk (a black pair, a gray pair and some pink sparkly flip-flops) but let’s face it, a shoe fetish never dies. It only gets more costly.

TGI my Friday, as I’m off the next two days. w00t!

An extraordinary human being: Hillary, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I went to see Hillary Clinton today in hopes of accepting her (expected) ringing endorsement of her competitor and being able to move on as gracefully as she managed to.

Not so much.

I made a friend there, as we were crammed like cattle against the third-floor balcony railing. She reminded me of Blythe Danner, so I’ll call her that.

The moment Hillary emerged onto the stage with Bill and Chelsea in tow, I started bawling. Absolutely, unbridled tears. I have so much faith in her; I feel like we could be in such good hands with her; I stand behind pretty much everything she believes in. And when Blythe mused about the possibilities, I felt nothing short of broken.

We clapped, we cried, we applauded her statements about barriers and biases about female candidates.

We cheered when she said, “There are no acceptable limits or acceptable prejudices in 21st century.”

We were overcome when she said, “To those who are disappointed that we couldn’t go all the way, it would break my heart if in falling short of my goal, I in any way discouraged you from pursuing yours.”

There are a thousand more things I want to say, but I’m trying to figure out how to go out tonight when all I want to do is keep crying. It’s a good cry, though. I don’t know that I have ever had my heart truly broken by a man, but this election may be my biggest heartbreak to date. I’ve got to let this all out somehow, sometime, and no time like the present.

Of course she gave her obligatory rah-rah lovefest toward Obama. Blythe wondered whether he would be at the rally (as some Hillary campaign volunteers said they heard he might come).

Blythe wondered if he’d make the V.P. nomination in front of this crowd and say it is she. I said he’d probably make it in front of his own supporters, and I assure you, NONE of them were in the National Building Museum. The cheers were about one decibel level above the boos when she gave him her endorsement.

And Blythe made a good point, that, “It would be SUCH a classy move on his part to give her the V.P. nomination in front of her supporters. That would show he really is committed to her ideals and the 18 million who support them.”

She was a dream, I tell you. It was so good to not have to defend every single statement I made. Or, it’s not even so much that I’ve had to defend my beliefs — I’ve instead had to deflect asinine comments from people who didn’t have an eighth of the passion for their candidate that I did for mine.

Blythe and I shook hands, wished each other good luck and parted ways. Both of us left with tears in our eyes. I personally cried in the bathroom for a good 10 minutes.

I walked into Urban Outfitters before going home, and there was a song playing that had the lyric “What were you doing in 1992?”

I personally was watching Hillary’s husband on a stage in the Market Square area of Pittsburgh, and I was getting totally jazzed at everything he said. Hillary and Chelsea were off to the right of the stage, just the way Chelsea and Bill were today.

My grandfather took me and my shiny new 18-year-old self and my shiny new voter registration card to vote for Bill in 1992. That day is burned in my memory — it was the first grown-up thing I ever did, and I am quite proud of it.

My grandfather would have voted for Hillary. He would have been proud of my passion — of hers, too.

So, I get all the kids being jazzed by Barack Obama, much like I was jazzed for Bill when I was 18. But all those then-18-year-olds like me count too. Hell, we’re at least donating to our candidate’s campaign with our own money.

I won’t say Barack ran a better campaign than Hillary. He just happened to run the one that got to the winning total first.

I’m not sold that voting for the “yes we can” candidate is something “yes I will” do. I may still write her in. It all depends on the VP nomination, and it sounds like he is looking at some boring old white men for the job. Yawn.

HIllary said we’ll always find her on the front lines, fighting for everything she believes in. I suppose that means she wouldn’t accept a Supreme Court nomination or anything else that might keep her from directly representing the people.

But I admit, I felt good knowing that she isn’t going anywhere. She’ll be OK. It’s just people like me who believed so vociferously in her who are going to need some time to let their hearts heal.

Blythe had said it best. Once Hillary was done speaking and the crowd was going apeshit, she said, “She is extraordinary, isn’t she?”

And I had to nod because I was too overcome with emotion to speak. “Extraordinary,” I had managed to eke out. “No other word for it.”

Teh kyoot, I haz it, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Maddie’s gotten some fan mail at this address since we stopped updating “I Crap in a Box.” The fact is, she never actually crapped in a box till recently, so the irony was gone. 😉 So, I wanted to give an update to the many friends she’s made throughout the years.

Maddie thanks her adoring public for inquiring about her absence. She’s been good up until recently, when a combination of me being fed up with her daily poop rampages (particularly when my bed was a victim) and a passing concern that, hey, she’s kinda gotten skinny led me to cart both fur muffins to the vet.

A passing suggestion from the vet to do a geriatric workup for her led to an ongoing series of visits and labwork and, in a month, I’m going to have to suck it up and send her into surgery. Le sigh.

I’m OK with the surgery, as I’ve already parted with hundreds of dollars on her care so what’s another grand? Thank you, Dubya, for that stimulus check. I believe my veterinarian’s parent company is publicly traded so let’s act like I bought stock and drove up the Dow with it.

Maddie is not liking this traveling thing, not one bit. She detests the car but on the last trip, I let her hang out with me in the front seat and I unzipped her carrier so she could be free, and she didn’t howl as much as usual. I, however, need to vacuum ’cause the fur flew everywhere.

They say she has a 94% chance of being fine after the surgery. I like those odds.

She’s been my best friend for a long time now, 12 years, and has seen many friends and tomcats come and go in my life and she’s outlasted, well, 94% of them.

Speaking of old friends, she wants to wish a happy birthday to her Unca Chris in Pittsburgh, since the whole “Sixteen Candles” birthday epidemic in our world is a little too much to bear and we don’t want people to feel anything less than special on their special day!

Anyway, Miss Molly is as cheerful and sweet and loving as always. She’s dropped more than eight pounds in a very short time frame, which I’d attributed to Kadie running her ragged because Kadie is playful and likes to roughhouse a lot.

So, all I can do is continue treating her like the little princess she is and hoping that when all is said and done, Maddie and I will have another dozen years to hang out together.