Caterwauling

“What a day to visit Seattle
What a day for San Francisco
What a day, holy Toldeo
What a day to get in the air and go.

What a day to give up smoking
What a day to absorb
What a day to welcome a baby
And to begin breathing.”

— Greg Laswell, “What a Day“

I’ve been playing this song on heavy rotation lately. Perhaps because I’ve been meaning to put together an itinerary that includes both Seattle and San Francisco. Perhaps also because the melody is very soothing on my exquisitely frazzled nerves.

And maybe it’s just having one of those birthdays yesterday in which I had to stab the snooze button of the now-faintly ticking biological clock with a butcher knife, but I got to hold a tiny, beautiful baby today — a seven-week-old little girl with the world’s bluest eyes — and all I have to say is damn.

I don’t know what I was put on this earth for — but it’s got to be FAR more than this — and maybe it’s that. Eventually, that is.

I’d like to not have to put the cart before the horse. And I’d be happy with a well-hung stallion if I had to choose one or the other. 😉 Although I’m still shooting to have both!

The reason this birthday has been so hard for me is that it’s exactly like the last one. Same dilemmas and fears. Same stupid feelings about the same stupid things and maybe even the same stupid people, if I may be so bold. 😉 Same friends, more or less, although the same inability to see very much of them. (Although I got to see some of them — and meet even more — today. So, huzzah!)

Bottom line: Same cozy spot between a rock and a hard place. The only thing different, it seems, is where I spend my daytime hours.

And I know fundamentally that’s not true. Well, it’s all true but it’s not the end of the story. By far. I mean, I’ve been going to church for several months and I will consider baptism if they don’t have to drown me like a river rat. (Supposedly my grandmother baptized me as a wee lass, but I think the symbolism of doing it now would confirm all that I’ve been working toward.)

And anyone who knows me, knows I abhor ritual and inertia and “same old, same old.” I feel suffocated. I feel like my skin is too small for my body and I just want to rip it off and shoot high into the sky like a really expensive fireworks display.

I struggle between the advice I often get to simply “give it up to God” and my own instinct, which is to just DO something already — even if it’s wrong. And hoo boy, has it been wrong on many occasions. But it’s been right, too. I’m no dummy — I know exactly what I want. But while I won’t start singing the lyrics to “Unanswered Prayers,” there is something to be said for a greater force knowing better than you what is best for you.

You just wonder what He’s smoking in the interim, sometimes, though!

I hate to end on a pithy note of “I’m going to be OK.” But I already am OK. And I will continue to be. And someday, I’ll be better than OK. I think my turning-34 freakout yesterday was attributed to one of those, “Holy shit, is this as good as it gets?” moments. Because let’s face it, that’s wholly unacceptable, to not go up from here.

But I will. It’s all good. Most of it is out of my hands. And I am not planning to fuck up what IS under my control.

“Bring on the evening hours,” I cry
“Bring on the evidence of my life”
“Bring on the evening hours,” I cry
“Bring on the evidence of my life.”

Caaakkkee, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

The One Republic song “Stop and Stare” started off my morning, and it’s accordingly been a rough day emotionally for me in that, yep, I find myself clinging for dear life to that 18-34 demographic. And if I’m moving into a new checkbox in 364 days, well then what will I have to show for it?

I’ve oft declared this to be my “Best Year Ever,” sight unseen. Today I was ass-deep in bullshit and realized I’m tired of declaring that this will be the year that’s bullshit-free. Whatever. There will always be mountains of manure to surmount — I just have to change my attitude from, “Why isn’t all the crap resolved/over yet?” to, “Patience, Grasshopper.”

And I am not a patient grasshopper anymore. I think so many people have worn me down and beaten it out of me, I want resolution now, now, now. And the pastor who spoke today at church pointed out that resolution comes in God’s time, not yours. So suck it up and deal. 😉

He noted that we make big mistakes when we’re trying to resolve things that we ourselves, as mere mortals, are not able to resolve. He talked about Abraham and Sarah, to whom God had promised a child, and they got tired of waiting and went about it the wrong way by having him impregnate a servant.

The message was that it didn’t happen the way God intended it to happen, so it was a mighty (almighty?) clusterfuck. But God’s promise was ultimately fulfilled, even though He was a bit ticked that they lost the faith.

I have kept the faith for several years on several matters. And I see where they were coming from, that maybe I heard the promises incorrectly. Maybe it’s not a dream in my heart but instead a virus. Doubts sometimes creep in to think that I would ever be a good enough fiction writer — maybe that was silly of me and being a desk monkey is really my destiny after all.

And that’s why this birthday was hard. To spend it in ways I didn’t really enjoy spending it. To be reminded that, hey, you’re one year closer to the grave in case you might want to start doing the things you keep shuffling down the priority list.

But luckily, I had a chance to break free (at last!), even if just for a couple of hours. I communed with nature, stared at some water, took a walk and climbed a jungle gym. And went to Starbucks, where I enjoyed an iced skinny mocha and did not a God damned thing but stare at people.

I felt restored. For now, anyway. But even though I don’t know where I’m going from here, at least I know it isn’t backward.

And today, I needed to be reminded of that. I just feel that everyone, everywhere is suffocating my ability to get fresh air because they’re afraid what I will do if I realize the leash really isn’t tethered to anything that I can’t break.

It’s a year for testing boundaries, for running as far as I can and not being choked if I get too far away.

Best Year Ever. Mark my words. It starts today.

I iz professional, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

My damn bra strap popped off today. No big deal — it’s a convertible five-way bra (heh, sounds way kinkier than it is) so it can function as a strapless.

Since both “girls” are high and dry, I forgot that I was missing a strap. So of course it took me getting a visitor in my cube — er, “workstation” — to make me realize, whoops, that’s part of my bra on the desk over there.

I guess it would be even more inappropriate to ask someone to help me get it hooked up in the back again. I know me — it’ll still be here when I return to the office next week. Time to break out the one-armed shirts of the ’80s!

I Hate the World Today…, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I have a friend who worked for a very prestigious law firm in D.C. And one woman handed in her resignation one day, whereupon she worked out the remainder of her sentence — er, tenure — and even worked late on her final day there.

The next day, when her colleagues came in for the morning, they learned that she had crapped in the kitchen sink.

She’s my hero. 😉

Today was one of those days in which I was scouting out locations on my desk whereupon I could possibly leave my own parting words.

Oh, what do I mean was one of those days? This bitch ain’t over yet. Far from it. Thanks for that paltry stimulus check — the liquor store is pleased with how I’m spending it.

Entry title courtesy of the movie “Half-Baked,” and for my girl E. for reminding me of it. … 😉 Calgon, take me away!!!!

Nummy!, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

We got a catered breakfast at work today, compliments of the building management because we are such expensive awesome tenants.

The creme brulee French toast on the right is superb. I may have to try to make that on my own. It would be the perfect item for a breakfast in bed, especially on a cruddy, rainy day like today in which you need Noah to navigate your little ship around the Beltway.

Mmm, warm breakfast on a cold day. ..

Pittsburgh Pierogies!, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

On Saturday at the Nats vs. Bucs game — er, Washington vs. Pittsburgh — — er, Homestead Grays vs. Grays (the day saluted the former Homestead Grays by having each team wear their old uniforms, and clips were shown on the big screen of their glory days), the presidents raced against the Pittsburgh Pierogies. I hear that Teddy was running behind the pierogies with a knife and fork. 🙂

First feet-up day!, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I missed these shoes — I found them in the move. I also noticed a matching bracelet when I was on my way out the door, so the bold pink helped to jazz up an all-black outfit.

The better my title, the smaller my office gets, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I got the best cubby in the company, so I can’t complain about, well, my new venture IN a cubby.

The higher the title, the smaller the space, I guess. Good thing I don’t have a higher title — looks like my superiors have even-tinier spaces. Yeesh.

I am not working toward any promotions, then — am happy where I am! 🙂

Feels like the first day of school. …

Bye bye, office #4005, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

My beloved little space, minus the 40 million knick-knacks, decorative glass tables and, of course, miles of files. Which I thankfully took home before people started laying claim to my furniture while I was still using it. (Seriously, writing your name on my stuff while I’m SITTING ON IT while working at 10 p.m.? Seriously?)

Anyway, I have one last item to pick up and one last photo to take of my view, and it’s like I never occupied office #4005. But I’m sure the laughter, love and lunacy experienced in that little space will be embedded in the walls forever. …

El Happy Hour, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I am too busy to know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt, to quote the awesome Dolly Parton in her “Steel Magnolias” role.

I did, however, get out to happy hour on Tuesday, and the world didn’t end. (But I missed a few deadlines.) But it was to celebrate a lovely colleague’s departure — and it also involved hanging out with some of my favorite partners in crime — so work could wait.

We went to Chevy’s, which has the WORST POSSIBLE SERVICE EVAH. Happy hour ends at 7; I ordered my first drink at 6:45 and got it at 7:10. So much for half-price margaritas. *kick*

We were all laughing at the sign for “El Happy Hour.” Because would the article be “la” or something (I didn’t take Spanish — I had no idea that having perfect English grammar/diction doesn’t mean SHIT in D.C.). Like, they couldn’t find SOMEONE within five feet of the restaurant to translate?

I’ll translate for you — “Service as slow as a tortuga.” *slap* Although, the margaritas were actually worth the 30-minute wait. …