Caterwauling

So I finally got my copy of “One Month to Live” today. So far, it’s nothing exotic or anything I haven’t heard/thought before. But, you know. It gives this whole “Live Like You Were Dying” experiment a whole new level of commitment.

I had an errant concern this morning, revolving around parting words, so to speak. As in, who can I not leave this earth without talking to, one last time?

I don’t mean saying goodbye. I’m not good at ’em anyway and I sure as hell don’t want to say another one if I can help it. I mean saying something that you’ve bottled up for so long that it might just be emanating from your pores if someone would just look closely enough.

I had two quick thoughts on that matter — the first is that there may be one person to whom I would have to say sorry that you’re going to have to go through an entire lifetime of not having me in it. That, I don’t know if you were waiting for any time in particular to wake up and smell the cat poop, but time’s running out. Can a girl die happy? (Mercy sex is fine, too — I’m in no position to be picky if I’m dying here!)

Of course, would I really be ready to hear, “Not no, but HELL no?” in my fragile condition? Not really. Which is why I haven’t made any moves to find out either way, with presumably another 50 or 60 years left to live.

The other quick thought was to pick up the phone and beat someone else with it. Hell, I have 30 days to live — why not spend the last one as gleefully as possible, ridding the world of pestilence? Of course, that would mean I’d be joining them in hell.

And that ain’t the point of the exercise, as it’s to ultimately get closer to God, not push myself further away from Him. Love thy neighbor and all that jazz. Even and ESPECIALLY if they don’t deserve it.

Besides, who wants to waste their last days focused on, well, bullshit? Today’s message is one of rediscovering passion — of not spending so much time on the things that don’t matter and instead re-allocating one’s resources to what, ultimately, you’re in this world to achieve/leave behind.

They said something absolutely fascinating at church today — I actually wrote it down and shoved it in my purse so I could put it on the blog so I can refer back to it for the rest of my life:

God gave you enough hours in a day to do His work; he did NOT give you enough to do what everyone ELSE expects of you.

To quote the illustrious Chevy “Clark Griswold” Chase, “Hallelujah and holy shit!”

Think about it — there’s ample time for you to earn a living, take care of your relationships, have some fun AND to talk to God.

That actually made me cry when I heard it.

The problem is, we all make choices. We all schedule ourselves to death, just so we don’t fail to meet people’s expectations. Whose expectations, though? Not God’s. Mostly, not even our own.

I mean, it’s not that work can run late and you can tell your boss, “Sorry, that project ain’t happening. Me and God have a hot date.” (Tempting …) Or that I’d much RATHER have tickets to an upcoming concert that I would very much enjoy but that money is going to be directed to giving someone else what THEY want and my “me” time is just that — all in airquotes.

Basically, I am finally getting that whole “Your body is a temple” concept. Granted, I’ve treated mine like a Roman temple (read: vomitorium) for the past 33 years. But I see now that it’s one’s physical AND emotional health that makes him or her a better servant to God.

There’s a book that came to my attention, “Margin” by Richard Swenson, that basically nails people like me for having no “margins” in their life — i.e., white space. No spaces between the words in my book — just go-go-go-go-go.

I have four calendars to keep all of my events in order. I have event tickets and meeting notes and e-mails and reminders all over the damn place — I have CHURCH scheduled into my calendar, fer crying out loud. CHURCH! (At least it’s recurring. …)

I don’t know. A part of me wonders “what’s in it for me?” when I think about this life … that I have to fight tooth and nail for any table scrap representing peace of mind. But I guess the whole idea from this reading adventure I’m on is to stop fighting so hard against the tide — that if I go with it, it will take me places I might not have imagined.

I guess it’s true — whenever I accept things and stop being angry about something or other, my life always pulls a Madonna. Off come the jelly bracelets and on comes the cone bra — I get reinvented in less fashionable ways, but you get the idea.

But it’s so hard NOT to fight, you know? It’s like my inability to carry Mace because I like to spray it on random people just because I can. 🙂 It’s hard sometimes to say, “God’s fighting this battle for me” or “God will bring me through this,” but it has always been the case … even if I didn’t believe in God at the time (as there were many years of that), He seems to have had WAY more faith in me throughout it all.

So, I guess my next goal is to somehow break up the jam-packed pages with margins and white space and spend some time with the Big Dude by way of giving a reprieve to lil’ ol’ me sometimes.

Wow, a goal I actually WANT to achieve! Blessed be, indeed.

Make mine a triple-shot, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I didn’t buy this bumper sticker, but since my best friend picked it out, you know I’m going to use it. Because, well, it sounds kinda yummy right now. Nom nom nom. …

My day started off with laughter at Tom’s Tweet that “April Fools’ Day is like Easter for assholes,” and if THAT didn’t prove itself a dozen times over, I don’t know what else to say about the day.

I left work on time today — April Fools’! Ha. Actually I did sneak out prior to daylight drawing to a close, so for once the joke wasn’t on me.

Things I learned today:

1. Canada Dry sparkling green tea ginger ale does not completely suck, although it takes a while to get used to drinking fizzy iced tea.

2. The USB-powered desktop fundue set is simply an April Fools’ joke, but after spending Easter at the Melting Pot, I would totally buy one of these things for my desk.

3. When trapped in a boring meeting to which I have nothing to contribute, I can conjure up some pretty salacious visions to keep myself awake and occupied. *blush*

Other things I learned today:

In continuing my meanderings on what would I do with 30 days to live, today I find myself (theoretically) with 29 left and, damn, it would suck balls to have lost a whole day spending it the way this one went. 😉

Today’s ramblings are inspired by planning to eliminate a terminal case of the “Somedays.” For all of us who put our dreams on hold for when we’re better off financially, when we’ve lost X number of pounds, when we’ve put the kids in school or when we’ve washed that man right outta our hair … are we foregoing some level of happiness in the here and now until (insert event) occurs? And what if it doesn’t or, as we know, it takes longer than anticipated to come to fruition?

I made a list of all the things I’ve back-burnered till I got my career on track. Which happened almost two years ago when I was promoted to my own personal level of incompetence. But in order to remain competitive, I admit to giving up on things like cooking, cleaning (sigh), spending time with friends, dating actively and picking up the phone and seeing who’s available to raise some hell. A girl needs her beauty sleep, y’know?

Don’t get me wrong — I still do all of the above and then some, but not enough. Not with any amount of regularity or without emotions bordering sometimes on obligation. Yadda yadda gotta stay on the horse/use it or lose it blah blah cakes.

And not that I am forcing myself on anyone or feeling like I HAVE to see them. But more along the lines of, “I really do still care and will thus pull my turtle ass out of this turtle shell once in a while” and “No I really don’t want to see that movie or go to that restaurant but I’m craving social contact so much that I will suck it up because I miss my friend/want to go on this date/I can do what I want on my own time anyway.”

That sounds like more of a pity party (favors, anyone? I’m partial to the kazoo myself) than it is. But don’t feel sorry for me — I may not cook anymore, but to quote Barbra Streisand in “The Prince of Tides” (*swoon* — awesome movie. my favorite, even), “I may not know how to cook, but I know how to eat!”

Anyway, the point is, I always find myself waiting till I have more money to plan a trip (because, you know, cash does help). I keep waiting “till things calm down” to go to the gym. I anticipate finding the right outfit before I actively want to go out to meet someone for a drink. I keep waiting for a little health issue to pass before I feel like I can let a day go by without being preoccupied with it. I keep waiting for a particular miracle to happen before, well, my blood pressure can return to normal. I keep waiting for a day when I wake up looking PERFECT so I can go get that damn passport photo taken already. 😉

And really, what am I doing to enjoy/pursue the smaller pleasures in the interim that will ensure I’m healthy and ready for all those big “someday” things? And is it all enough?

Do we feel undeserving? Is that it? I know I’m not the only one with the “Someday Syndrome.” What keeps you from achieving greatness or at least enjoying the goodness that may be easier/quicker to reach?

There’s an offline discussion arising around the book “One Month to Live.” My copy hasn’t arrived yet, but the question arose today as to how I would spend my days differently if I only had 30 of ’em left.

You know, people always pontificate that they would travel. That seems to be the going theory — that they’d finally hop on a plane and see where they came from or go plant their butts on a beach till the end drew near.

I was thinking about my meager savings and wondered, “Wow, other than gas money to go *somewhere,* what else could I possibly afford? And wouldn’t the ‘right thing’ be to leave it all to my mom, anyway?”

A friend joked that we could always open up as many credit card accounts as possible. Of course, you have crap-credit me here, so I wouldn’t get much and of course I’d need about 40 cards to get to France. Hell, one card might get me to Manhattan, the next might get me to the Atlantic Ocean, another card might get me about 50 yards into the water. Oh well — at least I wouldn’t be around to have to pay them all back!

In seriousness, though, I wrote down what I would do if I were told, “All right, on April 30, you go *poof*.” Not astoundingly, this was it:

“I would either quit my job outright or hang in there till the next pay period ends BUT I’d work ‘normal’ hours. I’d stop resenting everything I believe to be unfair in every aspect of my world. I’d do a pre-need package with the closest funeral director and spend the rest of my savings on one last — er, first bona fide — vacation.

“Before I board that plane, though, I’d need to find time to write just a few more pages of that novel and to will my writings to the right person who will take care of my ideas for me.”

That’s some deep stuff or, at least, some deep shit anyway. When did I get so responsible as to ensure no one had to worry about paying my final tab? Why do I care so much about the writings that I’ve damn near outright abandoned? And who the hell would I designate to carry on the contents of my heart and mind — who do I trust that much?

And funny, too, how I just want to work one 40-hour week. 😉 LOL. If THAT’S all it would take for me to die happy. … 😉

But seriously, I keep talking about getting a passport. What if I did, in fact, go *poof* in a month? I wouldn’t be able to leave the country. (Although I’d be glad to go find something tropical that’s considered to be on U.S. soil. Puerto Rico doesn’t require a passport, right?)

I think the purpose of the exercise was to get us to think more existentially — to see whether we’d be prepared to go into that gentle good night because we know we’re going somewhere good, or whether we’d be scrambling to make everything right that we know is wrong.

I think it was also to kick us in the pants to forgive someone or apologize to someone else. Hey, I’ve forgiven everyone who needed it, even if I didn’t want to open the door to let them back into my life. I forgive in my heart. No need to actually say it out loud. Likewise, I may owe an apology or two. But I’m also not nuts enough to stalk people who don’t want to talk to me.

To everything, there is a season, and if the leaves were all doused with gasoline, there’s nothing to go back to. There’s a reason why some people make it into the next chapter of your life story and others need to be hit over the head with the hardcover version.

But yeah, I really don’t know what I’d do with a month left to live. The material things come to mind — book a cruise, eat at all my favorite restaurants, finally make time for my friends, drink expensive wine (i.e., uncork the good bottles I’ve been saving for a special occasion that I have yet to deign), etcetera.

I can joke that I would put my cat to sleep so I can meet her on the other side, but give me a few years without cleaning up her poop landmines, mmkay? But what I would definitely do is come up with the endings of my half- or unwritten books and tell the lucky beneficiary to write those stories or at least find a good writer/editor to make them happen.

I might also joke that I want to administer one good old-fashioned ass-kicking. Because I can, you know? What, you’re going to deny a dying woman’s God-given right to bitchslap those who deserve it so? Line ’em up!

What I don’t want is to spend that time sad or depressed. I earned every gray hair on this head, every laugh line around my eyes, every eyeroll at examples of immaturity, laziness, pettiness and whininess.

I was at a little gathering at my church, and someone got to talking about how differently it is when a Christ-follower is about to pass, compared to a non-religious person. She said how beautiful it is, to see the “saved” person ready to go be with his or her King. I hope to cultivate that kind of faith — I’m afraid, right now, I’d be more than just a little resentful on all that I was missing out on.

And to that end, I’d want one last kiss — a good one (sad how you have to qualify that). But not with that (theoretical) one eye open — a bona fide, eyes closed, heart racing, churning-lava-at-your-absolute-core, goose-bumps-inducing, life-altering, mood-ring-changing as body heat rises, moment of utter and complete surrender.

That last “first” kiss would serve as a reminder for when I’m up for reincarnation in one of these millennia — that I’d actually want to come back again just to be able to experience the warmth of someone else’s skin.

Maybe the best things in life are free, when you look at it that way. 😉

Anyway, I will no doubt have more existential angst over this subject when I get the book in-hand. But what I expect from myself and others in my circle who are in this little book club, is that we’ll probably all be changed for life by this exercise.

If there were an Internet connection here at La Madeline, this would be a blog entry. But as there isn’t, oh well. (Hello, free Wi-Fi/ Since a girl had to disconnect hers at home per Comcast and now it won’t hook back up because there’s no love for Mac people in a Windows-based router world?)

I’ve been having trouble with the morons at my apartment rental office. I mean, I want to light the office on fire and probably would if it wouldn’t get me arrested. And that just wouldn’t agree with me too much — I think the reason why I stay as calm and serene as possible is that I just wouldn’t be able to survive in prison without all my girly products.

And besides, what’s the point of losing one’s cool if her single-lifetime meltdown moment ends up on the nightly news? I would surely hate to wait all this time for my 15 minutes of fame and it would find me doused in gasoline and touting a .38-caliber. (Although, the peaceful, accomplished grin on my face would be epic)

Anyway, the rental office somehow managed to hire someone competent and, dare I say, the only non-native English-speaker is the most-articulate of the bunch. (Shocker!) In fact, we talked for a good two hours about his travels. (Born in Mozambique, lived in many places, last seen in Santa Monica, planning a two-month journey to South Africa, Barcelona and Paris, etc.)

I was mystified as to how a management-office money could afford that, but he said he only works when he feels like it — just one or two days a week. He’s got all kinds of enterprises going and says that one good commission can pay for him to live/travel for a year. Damn.

I needed to run into him when I did. I wanted to hear all about a world other than workweeks and familial obligations and no time for oneself. I mean, this dude looked like the corners of his mouth were permanently upturned — he’s one of those people who “works to live’ (and not the other way around like the rest of us). And damn it, I want to be him when I grow up.

He says he’s quitting this job in May to start his travels, and he’ll come back when it darn well pleases him — not to the job, but to America. I was enthralled with tales of the friends he’s made around the world, and how there are so many more journeys to be experienced that one simply cannot know about when one is imprisoned in one’s circumstances.

Blah blah, if you can dream it do it cakes.

He asked what I was doing this afternoon, and I said I was inspired to go find some travel literature and get my passport. He said to get that passport ASAP and to go buy maps and books and rent movies on France. (I told him about naming my savings account “Paris.”) So I found myself driving to Le Madeline for some cawfee (er, café) and some stinky-cheese dish. (The latter wasn’t such a hot idea, but le café est magnifique.)

We exchanged e-mail addresses with a promise to meet for cocktails before he leaves and for him to keep me motivated to keep my travel/escape dreams alive.

Hmm, that’s ponderous, what I just typed. I dream of escape these days, not travel. I’ve sort of fallen into a “can’t make it happen now — best not to dream about it at this time” mode. I think that sentiment could apply on a grander scale, too, truth be told. I can do it all “someday,” right?

He told me to not only get that passport, but frame that thing and stick it in the living room. To remember that every day that goes by without me using it is time that I am missing out on experiences that I’m destined to have.

I always, always say that people are placed in our path for a reason. I admit I thought he was put on this earth to annoy me (as it seems damn near everyone else was) because he works for Miss Management (oh, I hate the woman who runs that office). But he could care less about the dumb games they or anyone plays, because he has his own thing goin’ on.

In fact, he’s going to be doing volunteer work in every city he’s traveling to. He set his own agenda and seems like he shows up and introduces himself to helping organizations and gets put to work wherever. And he picks his hotels and destinations based on how much of his tourism dollars will go to the poorest people in those cities.

I would never have thought to do that. Of course, I’m not doing a lot in the way of crafting creative solutions to anything because I’m having enough of a challenge just keeping up with the bare minimum that I’ve committed myself to.

Anywhoo, I’m going to go find myself a bookstore or something. I don’t want to lose out on this rare inspired feeling — lord only knows, if I don’t hang on to it this time, when I’ll come across it again. …

The government stole half of my bonus and most of my raise;
The rental office is getting the rest and this was supposed to be one of my happier days.

Well, at least I now HAVE money in my account, so there is that. 😉

Maybe it’s a sign to not go buying electronics and furniture … at least, not till I file my taxes!

My boss is Teh Awesome, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

We just had a party for those of us who worked on the PFH, as Sabre lovingly calls our Project From Hell. (We missed you! You were very much with us in spirit!)

My boss presented the three key players (well, the two who were present) on the project a beautiful bouquet of roses and a very nice bottle of wine. We also enjoyed some champagne and appetizers. I even got a hug!

There are people who skate by in their jobs and make sure to do as little as possible so that they can go do whatever it is that they do. But those people aren’t hired at my company.

It was so nice to be honored — truly, appreciated — for what we were paid to do in the first place.

Once again, I know I hemmed and hawed along the way, but I knew we were going to do something great. And doing it for great people is the most-rewarding part of it all.

Cheers!

I’ve been busier than a horny redneck on Viagra at a family reunion, and feeling just as spent.

Not much to say today. Tomorrow’s the big barn-raising in these here parts, so we’ll be patching up the roof and moving in the last of the accent furniture today … before we redecorate. Actually, it’s more of building additions after this, so basically we’re making more room at the inn. Heh, I am officially in charge of a growing empire. It’s mind-boggling, when you step back and look at what we’ve done and what we’re *going* to do.

Scot said something so poignant on his blog the other day, I’ve been holding on to it and repeating it to myself like a mantra, a wish, a spell, a sign of renewed hope:

“If you don’t let go of what is in your hand, you can never pick up something new.”

I wrote an incarnation of it on the whiteboard in my office, as that has become my temple, my place to reunite with myself. There’s no crying in baseball, and there’s no pessimism or falling apart on company time (and much of your own) because it will be witnessed and not forgotten. But the statement applies so much more broadly to life, although I’d be wont to pass it on to someone who is new to supervising folks any day.

In any event, the statement reminds me that we are but the pointers on the Ouija board of life, and we can go to where the sitter wants us to be (and say what they want to hear) or else we can gravitate to where we’re drawn. Personally, I am more in the phase of gravitating AWAY from where I’ve been drawn. Because there’s a whole alphabet out there with words waiting to be spelled, and I’ve been camped on the big ol’ “NO” for way too long.

One more thought before I go, as all original thought is being channeled into non-volunteer projects:

“What you think about, you bring about.” ~ Flylady

I’m thinking about Jon Bon Jovi, then. …

OK, one last thought, because this quote is too good to let go: “Is there an emoticon for bitch-slap?” (Anonymous)

*bwahahaa* NO COMMENT!!!

Yeah, the big working weekend I had in store? Not so much. Which means this week is going to be like sitting on an ungreased dildo. Oh, boy, can’t wait! *thunk*

I was giving some thought to the cosmic oops that my life has become. I always thought it was best to be easygoing, to go with the proverbial flow, to just laugh at time because, really, what else can you do?

But at a time when there’s an overabundance of good people getting treated shoddily and the least-deserving types rolling in luck, you’ve got to wonder sometimes about exactly why it is that the good guys have to finish last?

I wanted to do some deep, existential post tonight. But I don’t have it in me right now. I worked so hard to get away from my life in Pittsburgh, only for it to get dumped into my lap. Goes to show that no matter how far or fast you run, no matter how hard you work to change your life, you can’t really escape.

It doesn’t mean you have to accept it, though. I’ve been too nice for too long. I suffered through too many bad dates, faked too many smiles and spared too many feelings, and I’m done. All the while, I knew that I was in a bad/useless situation, one that wasn’t going to be fulfilling to me in any way, shape or form. But I was always “nice” about it.

Anyway, I say all of this to convey that I know what I want. I have always known what I wanted, since I was a wee lass. I can seem indecisive and even enthusiastic for things that don’t or wouldn’t make me happy. But no matter how far away I seem to get from the things I wanted, the fact is that I still want them and believe I’ll either get them or some reasonable facsimile of them.

One of these days, anyway. I just hope I don’t forget what I hoped to achieve or be.

They posed the question at church this week, asking us what we wanted to be when we were 5 years old. Heh. I think I wanted to be a writer and, lo, it is so. But the point of the exercise wasn’t to find out what you wanted to be but, rather, that even when we were cared for/clothed/fed, we had the first formation of dreams in our hearts.

But then, at some point — under the pressure of paying bills and taking care of everything and everyone else — you get too busy to heed the calling that was placed in you. And that maybe, just maybe, the desires we have deep in the all-but-forgotten parts of our hearts are pretty close to what God wants for us.

Like the pastor asked, “Were we a byproduct of circumstance, or were we put here for a purpose?”

I’m struggling with my purpose. If I wanted to be a writer and I’m making a living as a writer, did I fulfill my purpose and there’s nothing more out there for me? Was I meant to work eleventy billion hours a week and have to take care of myself and my mother and, to boot, have an absolutely unremarkable string of overnight relationships that had to dissipate because, really, can I bring anyone home when my mom is in the next room? GAH.

We talked about how making too many concessions and compromises distracts us from remembering, fine-tuning and following the dreams that were designed just for us. One of the Proverbs says that “Where there is no vision, the people will perish.”

But I think we’re suffering from an abundance of visions — I like to call it “having 17 cooks in the kitchen to make a grilled cheese sandwich.” Too many cooks/visions/dreams means the dreams get diluted — it’s now a collective nightmare instead of an individual destiny.

Or maybe that’s just how it feels at this step of the journey.

I am tired of this life feeling like one big fat cosmic joke. It’s like I was conceived by accident and my life pattern of chaos and cosmic clusterfucks have taken over and washed away the footprints I’ve been trying to leave on this earth.

(Although, my carbon footprint seems to be doing just fine — so far, that seems to be the only mark I’ve managed to make, and that’s the one I’m trying to minimize!)

The message of the Sunday service was a simple, begin to dream again and then hop the fuck to it. Well, OK, that was MY interpretation, but you get the point. 😉

I don’t think I’ve ever stopped dreaming, but I do know that I’ve stopped dreaming BIG. And I can’t remember the last time I worked on one of my books. I need to revisit that dream of writing trashy romance novels and getting paid gobs of money on the screenplays, so I can go write on beaches and be serviced served by strapping young lads bearing alcohol and suntan lotion.

Now THAT’S inspirational!

I haven’t been to church in two weeks, and maybe I’ve just missed but today it was good. I talked with people I like, a book was discussed that I own (not that I’ve read it) and I cried pretty much the whole goddamned time.

And every time a wave of tears would come, I would unthinkingly utter, “Oh, Christ.” Because, you know, that’s how I roll when I’m doing a U-turn from heaven to hell.

We talked about how the greatest love is not necessarily loving thyself, but the love that is given to God and, by proxy, to others because that’s God-like. And especially lately, this is something at which I am failing miserably.

I always try to love myself because when no one else seems to, at least I do. And I do hold my own opinion in very high regard, so if I love me, well, then I’ve got to be pretty damned special, then. 😉

But I haven’t been so quick to give any love away. In fact, I’m very stingy with it and have been for a very long time. And it was only sometime yesterday that I came to the conclusion that I would probably give anything for a touch from someone I could love. It’s an abstract “someone” of course. Don’t get me wrong — a face could always be assigned, but I am careful not to get my hopes up anymore.

I didn’t realize my withholding of love was so hurtful, but I have been told as recently as today that I can reduce someone to nothing with just the look on my face. I don’t know. I guess I just can’t fake it unless I’m paid to. But what I always forget until after the fact is that I missed an opportunity to let someone know that their presence in this world matters.

And what reminded me of that is that the people from whom I could really use some affirmation or some level of understanding, well, they either don’t know that I need it or walk away from me anyway when I need it most.

And that’s what made me cry. That it’s a sad cycle — I deny someone what they need, others don’t realize/want to give what I need. Perhaps they, too, are looking to get it from somewhere else or have an idea of where they’d rather channel their energies.

I often think of Maya Angelou’s character in “How to Make an American Quilt,” where she decrees that while it was the love of a man that she sought, it was the love of a child that would make her complete. And it’s the love of a man that I seek, to the point that everything else is just a distraction from what I really want.

Yet, is my life lesson to learn where to get/give love doesn’t matter, just so long as I am continually doing it? That I need to focus less on finding someone to love me, just as long as I love everyone else?

Been there, done that and bought the T-shirt, key chain, souvenir mug and some postcards. I’m looking for a more-immediate return on my investments these days. Plus, I figure if folks — the ones whose help and/or approval I so desperately seek — can walk away from me so easily, why can’t I do it to others?

Do you really get saved if you spend your time saving others? What if you don’t want to? What if it’s all you can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other … why is it during our own weakest moments that others demand the most from us?

We had an exercise today, with a Post-It Note heart. On one side, we were to write a word or phrase to describe our relationship with God. On the other side, we had to list the person (mortal) we need to be connecting with/helping because we can. Anyone who knows me can probably fill in those two blanks.

But what if you’re doing all you can to help someone and they dig in their heels at every turn? And does anyone regard me in the same way?

And if I can give whatever it is that people need from me, will I ever be on the list to get what I’m yearning for, too?