Caterwauling

A friend’s little girl started kindergarten today, and it reminded me of my first day of school back in, oh, 1979.

I was so thrilled to get away from my crazy family, you couldn’t hold me back. I took the schoolbus (a long one, thanks!) and was on my merry little way. LOVED it.

I learned later that my mom and grandfather had trailed the bus, parked at the school and hid behind another parked car so that they could watch me.

They were shocked that I didn’t even look around. My whole life, I’m pretty convinced that they just could not believe the fact that I didn’t really NEED them. And that day was the first of thousands just like it — I just strutted straight up to the building and went to Miss Ashenbaugh’s room (Room 1 — I’ll never forget that) like I owned the damn place.

Other kids were clinging to their parents, who dropped them off. I had opted NOT to be dropped off. I seriously must have just been ready to get the fuck away from those people. Truly. I was so deprived of social contact as a wee one that ANY chance for escape was to be seized immediately, if not sooner.

Even today, I am a good 1,500 miles away from where I grew up, and I’m STILL trying to outrun the last of them! Why the hell doesn’t my mother GET it that the more you chase me, the faster I run away?

I had a very vivid dream last night in which I had an in-depth conversation with someone who has something to say to me.

Confidential to that person: I’m ready to have that discussion whenever you are.

As I was driving home, I had a choice between buying smokes or buying dinner for Mommy.

Mommy got fed. And I’m climbing the walls.

It’s not that I like smoking. I hate everything about it. But I do it as a measure of control — normally on nights like tonight when I find myself feeling so bitter, I could just die.

I was mostly irritated that I got an e-mail from Mom, asking if I could buy her a lamp, when I’ve dumped well-upward of a grand on her rent and bills this month (not including food) and I’m down to nothing and I couldn’t take care of all of MY bills this month.

I am doing far too well on paper to be stretched this thin. It’s really fucking irritating. I deserve a new car or a trip to France. But I had to have my freedom. It’s my own fault. It’s always my fault.

Anyway, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” is on, and it’s the only thing making me happy. Except … I find myself feeling like Sally — hanging around waiting for that stupid Linus to get a clue.

I often pine for D.C. It’s a daily thing. I thought I was so happy there. But even if I wasn’t, I had reached a level of peace about it.

But apparently the premonition I had a month ago came true.

And while I’ve been entangled with enough unavailable men in my day to not believe everything I hear, I wonder if I’d still be sitting in that same stupid pumpkin patch — just like Sally — for absolutely nothing, had I stayed.

I’m sad to say, because of that mini-revelation, I’ve never been so happy to be in Florida.

And if that’s what it had to take, then so be it.

Sally, don’t stay in the pumpkin patch all night. You’re not getting any younger.

If Linus doesn’t love you the way you love him, let him settle for waiting for the Great Pumpkin, instead of the other way around. …

Surreal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Yesterday I spent hours waiting for FedEx to arrive with my new check card.

And unbeknownst to me, my mom was actually sitting in the lobby for three hours, watching for FedEx to arrive.

And unbeknownst to both of us, my landlady had intercepted the delivery of said check card on THURSDAY and never mentioned it. And had we not seen her in the lobby yesterday around 2 p.m., I still wouldn’t have the blasted thing.

I’ve been cigarette-free for over a week and if I can get through this crap without lighting up, I’m pretty certain I can get through anything at this point.

I just feel bad about calling my bank and screaming at them for not being able to give me tracking info on my package. I was going to dispute the rush charge because it sure as hell didn’t get to me in a rush. But it did get to my building in a rush, so I’m going to retreat now.

I take back everything bad I said about them and, officer, if someone burns down the Fallsgrove branch in Rockville, Md., it wasn’t me or any of my disciples — I promise!

I found myself with a free night last night. I done wore Mommy out so much during the day with my spending spree (we hadn’t had a proper meal in a week so I had to remedy that, followed by frolicking through Costco and other assorted stores) that I had the whole night to myself.

I actually went to a bookstore and met a nice guy. (He didn’t ask for my number, and I didn’t offer. But I would have provided it upon request.) I figure he was probably a serial killer and, upon realizing that I wouldn’t put up a fight, he decided to move on to someone who would provide more of a challenge.

However, I was a moron and was running around in a sundress all day. We’re having a “cold front” here in South Florida. It was only 80 degrees all day. People were out in sweaters and shit. I laughed.

Then I was in my strappy little dress last night and it dropped to 67 degrees. After I got a permanent case of goose bumps, I stopped laughing.

I admit, I’ve spent the last six months mentally comparing how Florida blows in comparison to D.C. Not intentionally, of course. My most-recent thought was that D.C. at least has free activities (museums, fairs, etc.) and I would have at least had something to do when I was penniless these past few days.

But I also remember traipsing around the National Mall in the rain, slush and snow. And while I remember occasionally doing so with someone to keep me warm, I have to admit that knowing the temperature won’t dip much below 70 degrees for the rest of the year is a BIG PLUS to Florida living.

I guess I’m home. Not only is it time to unpack, but definitely to unpack my fall sweaters, ’cause my blood thinned out right quick and I’m COLD, damn it!

They say a fool is easily parted with his money. What am I, the goddamned village idiot? When is life going to stop treating me as its chew toy?

“I got a chip on my shoulder
About the size of a mental block
I’ve got someone on the telephone
Trying to sell me a future in stock

Maybe I work too hard to be happy
And I should practice letting go
But it’s hard not to rock the boat
When you’re sailing against the undertow.”

– Indigo Girls, “Make it Easier”

It’s been a horrible couple of months. I’m trying to figure out just when this run of bad luck started (Mom says it was around the time I signed my new lease) or whether it has been a lifelong streak and it’s just more intense now than usual.

I don’t remember feeling this defeated before. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m Charlie Brown always trying to kick the football and falling on my ass. I know that. But at what point is the bad news going to stop coming and let me mentally get myself back together?

I have a bill from my ex-apartment complex for carpet replacement, on top of everything else. They can sit and spin. I lived there four months and there was one stinky, messy Maddie stain. But they lie when they say they have to replace the carpet in the whole house.

I’m still twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my new debit card. I had to cancel my car appointment. The thing is not only dented to death, but it isn’t running right either. How convenient is it to turn on the A/C and then the brakes don’t work? Good times.

That’s what pisses me off the most about some asshole cleaning out my account. Not only can I not exactly spare it, but I don’t exactly have anyone who can rescue my miserable ass. And I’m getting pretty fucking sick of being everyone’s savior but when it comes my turn, I honestly don’t have a prayer.

(This is not to discount one lovely friend who keeps insisting on helping me. I just figure that if someone tries to send money through the mail, that will be the day that the postman’s brakes go and he drives into the Intracoastal Waterway … anything to keep aid from coming to me personally!)

I also understand that I’m in for a fight with the electric company. My twee 1,000-square-foot condo, where I keep the A/C on 83 degrees at all times, somehow costs $450 to power per month. Uhhh, right. They’re being bitches at the electric company as I am demanding they come out and figure that shit out.

My landlady said that a condo opened up across the way with a south view. I’m north-facing, which is lovely, but the south view is the bomb-diggity, yo. Here’s the deal. It’s a 3BR and costs $500 less than Mom’s apartment and mine combined.

I so very DO NOT WANT her to move back in with me. But I am also lying to myself if I think she will ever be able to pay her own bills. I really truly think that she will be with me for the rest of her life. I also suspect that probably won’t be very long because she’s not well and I have a death wish.

I think saving $500 a month is a good enough reason to take the other apartment. But … I have nothing here. Nothing. Nothing to make me happy. No one to love, no one to love me, no friends, absolutely not a goddamned thing to keep me going anymore.

I’m hemorrhaging money on absolutely dumb shit and I cannot for the life of me manage to get out of bed without spending any less than an hour of coaxing myself that today MIGHT be better than yesterday. ALL I HAVE is my space. Even if my mom is often in it, I can reclaim it at any time.

I just wonder if this run of horrific luck is trying to tell me something. But … what?