Caterwauling

There was a question in yesterday’s Reader Poll Monday that’s still bothering me, about whether one would rather be known worldwide as a racist or a child molestor.

It bugged me because I remember some guy I dated years ago. Nice guy. Really. But he just didn’t *do* it for me. I miss our friendship sometimes, although even that might have been a matter of convenience and circumstance as well.

Anyway, he was convinced that I wasn’t into him because of his race. He told me as much. Man, did that bother me. And I think he said it to get under my skin, because I admit, I thought about it.

For a minute, anyway.

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Updated to mention that I added a Baltimore album to Flickr.

“I need a phone call
I need a plane ride
I need a sunburn
I need a raincoat”

— Counting Crows, “Raining in Baltimore”

Well, it’s not exactly raining in Baltimore, given the scorching sunburn I got there yesterday, but the song comes to mind because I needed that burn. I haven’t seen shit of the sun this summer. I don’t see the sun anymore, period. Another season has gone down the toilet. My fire-engine red skin is my only evidence that summer even came this year. The pool’s about to close and I haven’t been there once. Gah.

The pain feels good, ironically enough. The part that sucks the worst is that it’s a farmer’s tan, as I was wearing a T-shirt I’d picked up in Vegas with cropped sleeves. Luckily my makeup has an SPF of 15 and my face was spared, which was nice as I hung out in the Inner Harbor, watching the sailboats go by.

The thing with me is that I need to be around water. Can’t swim worth a shit, but maybe that’s my draw to it. Despite the magnitude of any body of water, it brings tranquility to me from my comfortable stance at the edge of it. I like being at the Inner Harbor — I like that there are no barriers around it. I like that weird twinge of fear about that yet triumph that I can hang out at the edge and feel like I’ve accomplished something simply by not falling in. 😉

And I wonder, now that I’ve typed all that, why things like pain and fear are such friends to me. Why the status quo makes me more nervous than potential repercussions from a wrong move. Why I have to constantly be earning battle scars, just to prove I’m alive. Why I don’t want to be noticed for these things but right now they’re all I’ve got.

“These train conversations are passing me by
And I dont have nothing to say
You get what you pay for
But I just had no intention of living this way”

I actually had plans yesterday, but anyone who knows me, knows that I need to wriggle out from beneath expectations whenever possible. I hate when people know where to find me. Sometimes it’s because I know they know where to find me but that doesn’t exactly send them running to my side. Other times, it’s because I hate letting people be comfortable, thinking I’ll be here and waiting for when they’re ready to come to me.

It’s rebellion. I don’t know what the hell is happening to me lately, but I am so sick of being a “good” girl — of always doing the “right” thing. I never had a real phase of teenage rebellion. I never needed it. I’ve always tried to be easygoing and pleasing, mostly because I found I could get away with a hell of a lot more (with others’ blessing) if I just presented well in the first place.

I think the biggest act of rebellion I ever did was job-blogging from the Veggie Patch. I always knew that stupid site would be found, but I didn’t care. I quit when they found it — I never gave them a chance to confront me (thank you, SiteMeter). I always figured they wouldn’t have fired me but, rather, tortured me emotionally even more. And I didn’t want them to be able to justify their (continued) shitty treatment of me.

The weirdest part was that the nastier they were to me, the harder I worked. Maybe they knew something after all, that negative reinforcement creates positive behavior. (With the caveat of it being on the surface, in this instance.) Now I work with people who are good to me and who have my back and who I actually look forward to seeing every day, and I love it. But the passion to overachieve seems like it’s been ebbing away. And I wonder if it’s because the torture element doesn’t exist. (Well. … 😉 Heh.)

I think I’ve spent my past lives killing myself to impress people to the point of being so beaten down that I questioned it if I didn’t happen to be hurting at any given time. I’m accustomed to nothing being manageable. When it is, I worry. I create drama so that the universe doesn’t create it for me. When I catch myself in a moment — simply enjoying life or at least not hating it — I don’t feel vital. I don’t feel right.

So, I screw off, screw around and maybe even screw UP. Maybe it’s the caretaker in me who always has to be fixing something, I make myself into an improvement project at every turn. Just a project that I don’t prioritize because I’m too busy making a mess of everything else. Thus, I can truly say I don’t have time for such self-improvement items as eating better, fitness, housecleaning, etc. because the drama queen has sooooo many other things she needs to fix first. And with that list ever-growing, I can make all the excuses I need to keep from ever feeling truly comfortable.

“Theres things I remember and things I forget
I miss you I guess that I should
Three thousand five hundred miles away
But what would you change if you could?”

I know this entry seems to allude otherwise, but I am a happy person. I find happiness wherever I can, usually in moments here and there to keep me going and looking forward to newer and better ones. But my chaos is catching up to me. I am motivated so differently than “normal” people, and I realize it takes pressure or crisis to get me to respond. I drag my feet until a deadline passes before I can get moving. If I don’t find challenge in a situation, I create my own. And in that, I get my rebellion. And I still (usually) manage to shine, because I am full of enough shit that I can talk my way out of anything.

I don’t do well with boundaries, as I spend so much time fighting against them that nothing productive comes out of me. On the other hand, I’ve spent my whole life making decisions for myself and that doesn’t always make them the right ones by default, but I don’t know any other ways and thus I default to habit.

Take exercise. I hate it. I avoid it. It sucks. Thought alone should burn calories; I’d be a goddamned model. But when I drag my ass into a gym or a class, you cannot pull me off the machines. I ache and I turn four shades of red and, but hot damn, I feel alive. Because when I want to do something, I give it all of me. And then I can’t walk the next day or maybe I just can’t free up another three-hour block of time and thus years will go by until I manage to find the motivation/time to do it again. I don’t do anything in moderation, even the healthy stuff.

“This circus is falling down on its knees
The big top is crumbling down
It’s raining in Baltimore 50 miles east
Where you should be, no one’s around”

I wonder what it is in my genetic makeup that makes me fight against the things I need most. I want so much to be happy, healthy, successful, needed, loved. But at the first sign of any of it, I panic. And bolt in the opposite direction. I’ve had doses of each, although not necessarily concurrently. Am I afraid the world’s going to end if I have it all?

If so, then where the hell’s my inner rebel to say let the damn world end, but I’m not gonna let it if it does come to that? More importantly, when am I going to admit that I can’t save it (or, for that matter, myself) all alone? But is there anyone *that* magnanimous out there, and are they as full of doubt about themselves as I can be sometimes and do they just need someone to believe in them as well?

I’ve had lots of profound thoughts throughout the past few weeks. Too bad I’ve chosen to write down everything but. 😉

A lot’s been going on that I can’t talk about, here or anywhere else. The weird part is, it’s neither good nor bad. Not yet, anyway. I had an opportunity walk up and bite me on the ass yesterday, and I was overjoyed. It was one of those long-awaited, “holy shit, maybe all the heartache has been worth it after all” dealios.

But once the elation passed, and I got five minutes of advice from the voice of reason in my life (as I only had that long to talk), I realized it would end up being a case of reaching into Pandora’s box and having a snake bite off my arm or something. Not that there’d be a downside — there isn’t one. On the surface, anyway.

But you grow up and realize that even though you don’t have to answer to your parents, you always have to answer to someone. And it’s not always yourself. Not ultimately, anyway. Because listening to oneself is usually what *gets* us into these sticky situations — thinking that the universe has finally acknowledged maybe not our prayers but at least what we perceive to be our needs.

And I’ve sort of been annoyed. Because you really can’t have it all. Oh, sure, they lie to us as wee children, telling us that the world is our oyster and all we have to do is reach out for something and it’ll be ours. Maybe it’s possible, but life has always felt like a series of tradeoffs for me. It started back in school when you couldn’t be friends with X or Y would ostracize you. The bottom line I am fishing for here is that you can have your cake and eat it too, but that ain’t ever the end of the story. You’re never really the boss of you. If your balance in life is getting (and keeping) everything, then clearly you’ve never been kicked in the theoretical nuts for not making a choice.

Maybe this is one of those little tests. I wouldn’t doubt it. Whether a mere mortal orchestrated it, though, is anyone’s guess. And it sucks to be suspicious all the time. I don’t know what’s going to make me happy. I want to find out. But at what cost? Why do you always have to be wondering what others are thinking — what they know and what they would do to thwart your simplest efforts to find a little peace and happiness and satisfaction in this miserable experiment called life?

Like my best friend said to me tonight, you have one choice in life: You can either eat shit or eat cake. And, of course, we all know what we’d rather have! Although it feels like you’ve got to gorge yourself on one in order to earn the other.

I guess my bitch to pitch today is that in every single area of my life, I feel like I am at some bizarre crossroads between what I want and, well, what I want. The petulant 2-year-old in me is saying, “I want it all! Gimme!” And the clinging-to-idealism 32-year-old in me is saying, “Damn it. Enough is enough. How much more do I have to withstand so that I can finally have it all?”

And beneath it all, the small voice within is saying, “Why can’t there be a period of bounty to make up for the long periods of drought?” That’s the voice that I’m hearing the loudest right now. It’s also the one that is shaky, and for good reason, as it would rather not be banished again to the Sahara anytime soon.

Sort of unrelated (but sort of on-topic), I also have to drop the glorious goddess facade for a moment to say that if I’m always faced with choices, then I need to pose one back — to whom it concerns. Would you rather have a refreshed, sparkling, witty and pleasing goddess some of the time, or all 40 of my personalities (half of which are not exactly charming) in the barrel of your weapon of choice for Russian roulette?

I can be sweet for a defined period (mostly) but anything extended requires a warning label (preferably a Mr. Yuk sticker). I like to think I am pleasant. Damn it. 😉 But there are lots more incarnations of me than most people can handle, and I’m just saying that distance not only makes the heart grow fonder, but it’s also essential in keeping things alive. And, for that matter, people.

That said, I cannot think of a better song to wrap up this entry: Pink’s “Leave Me Alone (I’m Lonely)” …

OK, so I get a call from this headhunter firm that was apparently trying to get in touch with me all the way back to that horrible half-year when I wasn’t working. (Um, OK. I would have like answered the call, I’d think.) And they have big, interesting job opportunities. Like, one in particular. In my old neighborhood, literally up the fucking street from my old apartment. And it sounds pretty darned good.

But it would have sounded better a long time ago. Not just because I lived right there, but well, I don’t hate where I’m at in life in general. I chose to move closer to my job because I really didn’t want to give it up for something closer by. I think the eviction notice came at just the right time — I took it as my one-way ticket out of town and far away from places and things that just no longer worked for me.

I know I’m not rolling in dough or anything (far from it), but when they asked my salary range and I said, “I wouldn’t leave for less than X,” with X being just around the corner, they said, “Oh.” As in, “Well, we were thinking of a number that’s at least 10 less than that.”

And I had a moment in which I wondered if their e-mail HAD gotten through to me way back when. I’d been dying inside, digesting myself over the lack of a career (not just lack of money — I’d lost my whole identity because work was all I had to define it). Where would I be now? I wouldn’t live in D.C. I wouldn’t love my apartment building. I wouldn’t have met so many people who are crucial to helping me get through the day-to-day drama. I might have been employed sooner than I was, but the things I would have missed out on? I wouldn’t have given them up for anything, knowing in hindsight how much I’d miss them if I didn’t have them to look forward to.

In any event, she had other opportunities and ideas, and I’m willing to hear her out. But just that. Because in this oddly jarring moment, I realized that it’s not comfort that keeps me where I am. It’s not laziness or fear of change. It’s that I want to be exactly right where I’m standing because, for whatever reason(s), it’s where I’m meant to be. …

• Things that I have no business being bothered by, I am.
• Things that *should* bother me, don’t.
• I wasn’t aware my heart could hold this much.
• It’s impossible to have a bad time when you’re with good people.
• Some days, it’s the little half-truths we tell ourselves that get us through until we’re strong enough to deal with reality. Or maybe it’s true that we’ve got to see it (at least, conceive in our heads) to believe it can happen. I’m never sure whether the little dreams come to me because they’re to be a work of fiction (that I have yet to write) or whether they’re meant to make me think bigger than I currently am.
• Sometimes the things I expect/ask of others are monumental. Other times, I don’t feel that I request enough of them.
• I’m not the only one *out there* with these doubts, frustrations, concerns, questions, fears and confusion about where I am in life and whether I’m on the right path, whether the things I want are really what’s best or meant to be, and whether these things are going to happen because they’re supposed to or if I have to somehow alter my course to make them possible.
• Great things are worth waiting for. And I am one of them.
• Even though it’s our own opinions of ourselves that matter most, some outside validation is exactly what we need to reinforce and even regenerate those good sentiments. Receiving — really, truly accepting — a kind word or a friendly touch isn’t weakness. It sure beats the opposite or, worse, nothing at all.

Now streaming: DJ Colette, “What Would She Do For Love (Kaskades Big Room Mix)”:
[audio:DJcolette_WhatWillSheDoForLove.mp3]

D.C. Car Inspection/repairs: $300 (and three hours)
D.C. Car Registration/fees for expired tags: $300 (and two hours)
D.C. License: $40 (and two hours)

Surviving two trips to the mechanic, four trips to the DMV, two surly employees and three wonderful ones, 20 phone calls to various people who could make this happen: Priceless, as now — today! finally! — my car is legal and registered and titled and happy and snug in her newfound anonymity (as I gave up the vanity plates. *sniffle*).

Moreover, starting life over from scratch: Brilliant.

I used to love the Fourth of July. I used to attend every celebration and fireworks display available. And then seven years ago, my grandmother died while the fireworks were going off. And while it took me a couple of years to get back and appreciate the holiday again, it took a long time to forgive myself for not being there with her when she left us.

Needless to say, it’s not really my favorite holiday.

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Subtitle: Salvation by sticky note

I have survived this far in life by virtue of the sticky note. Whether in its fine neon pinks, purples or blues, or whether it’s the simple white notes that are formed into thought balloons (one of which contains the title of this entry), my blood pressure would be triple what it is without their fortune-cookie-like wisdom.

I find notes from time to time. I’ve even written about them on this site. But there are many more that never see the light of day. Sometimes I throw them away, other times I archive them by tossing them “somewhere” and forgetting about their existence. But no matter. It’s what I write down in a passionate moment that keeps me sane.

I have two notes that I refer to at least daily, oftentimes more, that aren’t in an obvious place. Mostly because I have them memorized. Also because others might want a backstory/explanation. And those are not up for consideration. Even if they’re as lighthearted as this entry title — something spurred their creation. Sometimes they’re the light I shine from a dark place to bring me to the other side of it.

This is something I’ve done for years, and while I might seem like I talk a lot sometimes, there’s always proof of the undercurrent of what I’m not necessarily saying. I think we all have some sort of mantra (or many of them) that is the equivalent of “Serenity Now” (although I can’t think of that phrase in a non-“George Costanza” way. LOL).

What do you tell yourself when you need to get through “One of Those Days/Weeks/Moments/Decades”?

It’s not that I’m not a happy or even quasi-optimistic person, but I guess I need the mental equivalent of a power wash on my psyche. Anything to make me stop questioning not why the bad things happen, but if the good things can possibly be anything other than transient.

There are days when I’m bummed at feeling like life is suffocating the will straight out of my soul, and there are other days in which I’m continually looking over my shoulder, like things are OK — but what’s looming that’s intent on destroying it? I pray for change at every turn, and I want “the dream” more than anyone else I’ve ever known.

Things have to change. They’re — I’m — broken and I’m not pretending to be fine anymore. Denial shouldn’t be someone’s strong suit. Neither should pretense. I worry when those I genuinely want to attract (and keep) realize that this is as good as it gets sometimes. This is *my* healthy for now, but it’s all I’ve got. I’ve always wanted people to fall in love with my potential, but I need for them to see me — to know me — now. To give me that safe place to simply just be.

From Slate:

But to the man whose hand or arm she is holding, she is not “average.” She is the whole world to him.

Sunlight is something I don’t get enough of, truly and hypothetically, and I bask in it when I see it. I am grateful for it and even though I have to push it out of my world way too soon and entirely too often, I dance in it, even if only in my mind. But I know it’s out there, waiting for me to enter into it so that it can envelop me and illuminate the path I’m meant to be on.

A baby crying in its crib doesn’t want conversation or a gold ring. He wants to be picked up, held, and patted. Adults need that physical contact also. They need to cuddle together for warmth and comfort in an indifferent or cold world. At least, they need to be able to do that.

That said, I know I’m sort of on the right track — at least, I’m in the neighborhood. Acknowledging the road is the first step for me. Realizing that it’s going to be a “Long Way to Happy” is the second step. But happy is out there — I’ve got the TripTik. And maybe it’s less of a hike than I think, but now I’m finally focused on a destination.

Here’s the song by Pink to complement this convoluted entry:

OK, as it’s past 6 p.m. and I *just* remembered to heat up my lunch, I figure I need a brain (and, thus, BLOG) break.

So. *tapping foot* When do you do it? How do you do it? Or should you not do it at all?

No, sillies, I’m not talking about it. (The answer being “as soon as possible” to THAT question!) What I mean is when do you reveal your dirty little secret that …

*gasp*

… you’re a blogger?

When you, oh I don’t know, meet someone new — someone you’d like to, gee let’s ponder this for a second, IMPRESS — are you upfront that you have a crazy page where you spew verbal dysentery on a regular basis? Or do you just skip that part of “I like long walks on the beach and cuddling and puppies and sunshine and rainbows and OH YEAH I keep a page where I share my personal vitriol with all the world!”?

Just because I splay my heart on this page doesn’t mean I want to immediately hand over said heart to someone who walks into my life. I share more than I should here and there ain’t no WAY to keep any mystery alive in a relationship when they can refer back to this page when they’re wondering “WTF was she thinking?!?!” when I go off on one of my assorted tangents.

And that’s the thing — you CAN go off on tangents when you think no one’s looking. But if they’re going to find your page eventually, well, you can’t exactly talk about them. 😉 Unless you’re complimenting anything regarding size and prowess (I would actually be bragging, if I were so inclined to share! *mwah!*), it’s best not to mention nothin’ without express permission. But to get said permission, one must ‘fess up to the blog addiction.

So anyway, I was just wondering how y’all share your sites with people (romantic interests, family, friends, colleagues, employers — anyone who might find it so you might as well own up to it anyway in the first place)? Is it like a third-date thing or can you shelve it for awhile longer?