Caterwauling

I’d put a disclaimer that there’s no real point to this post. But, really, is there ever one?

I need to delete some e-mails from past jobs. I don’t know why I hang on to some of them. Mostly to light my fire, I guess, although they sometimes get inside my head and make me question myself.

I mean, really, can I be a screw-up at everything I touch? And whose rules are they playing by, anyway? Who ordained them as the proprietors of the right way of going about things?

It’s time for a career switch. It really is. I might just be the best widget-maker in the world (I’d be willing to go up against the “best” any day of the week). But if nobody cares to value it as a skill worth paying for, how do I parlay that into a rent payment?

And why would anyone make me feel “bad” about being good at something that they don’t know HOW to value?

I really don’t know what to do next. But I can be pretty sure that I don’t want to run into the ghosts of assclowns past for the rest of my life. And if that means changing fields, so be it. Because my talents are translatable across the universe. And I’ve been letting my field beat me up over being good at what I do for far, FAR too long.

Battle of the Bulge Memorial, Orlando

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

It was by chance that I stayed in a hotel a couple of months ago in Orlando that was right across the street from a memorial dedicated to those who fought in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.

My grandfather fought in that battle. Got wounded for life as one of the fine brave paratroopers there, but I’m so proud of him that he was part of the world’s history, and not just mine.

It’s a shame that being in the army wasn’t what did him in, but that the Veterans Hospital in Pittsburgh killed him with their neglect and shoddy care and his twunty doctor “Trang” (First name? Last name? Doctor Twat to me) took an otherwise happy and mostly healthy 80-year-old and stripped him of all dignity and sent him to an early grave.

Anyway, it’s not like y’all haven’t heard that song and dance around these parts before. But Memorial Day has been nothing but full of hurt and anger and sadness since we lost him. We used to celebrate our family and our soldiers. Now we just go to Five Guys for a cheeseburger (no grills allowed here) and wish my grandfather were still with us.

I’m preparing to go into my own battle of sorts. I need a job. I don’t WANT one, and I’ve enjoyed the past six months of not HAVING one. But alas, I am feeling too calm and too good about myself. It’s time to find the next employer to ruin all that.

But I also have a side project that doesn’t pay (yet) lined up to keep my brain in gear. Thank God. You will all know my real name one of these days (not like most of you don’t know it already!).

You know, I got so sick of the ex-employer claiming I was “Gucci” or “a splurge” or “overpaid.” (To deal with that kind of name-calling? Was not compensation enough.) And others with whom I interviewed, I was told I was “expensive.”

Well, now that my savings is depleted and my heart is equally empty, I’m glad you all have reduced me to poverty. Thanks for deciding not to pay me AT ALL because you couldn’t afford what I am WORTH. Fuck every single last one of you. Now that I’m broke again — ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

That’s it. I’m going to the mattresses. And not the one that’s calling me from the next room. Not this time, anyway.

Cool cat

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I need to move to the Keys. Like, now. Half the price, a quarter the aggravation and 10 times the removal from society in general. What’s not to love?

Yesterday, I had a lovely memory of employment past. I had just started my new job after leaving the Crack Den of Iniquity, and I was determined to hire away all the good people from that bad place.

The hire of my first friend was 99% complete when the King of the Crack Heads threatened my friend when she turned in her resignation. Unfortunately, she’s still there, and I pray for her sanity (and everyone else’s) quite regularly.

He didn’t win, though. We never felt it was defeat, mostly because Fat Boy just scored a few thousand more bad Karma points … which will make a dent in his industrial-sized ass in due time. But if that didn’t reaffirm my decision to leave, nothing would.

But what I really remember is how much I loved my new boss. I remember she said we should strip his ass naked, duct-tape him to a chair with wheels, and send him sailing down the Avenue for all to mock.

That was the moment that solidified for me that I had made the right employment choice from my pile of offers. (Where are all those offers now, I ask. Grr.)

It was nice to have that heartwarming little memory. Because when things were good there, they really were great. And in saying that, I think I’ve finally (six months later) let go of my disappointment over how it all ended. It’s a big deal for me when I acknowledge that things had to happen the way they did. I will never really know why, but it’s part of my past and I’m OK with that.

But yeah, it may be time to move away from this area that doesn’t really hold much for me anymore. A cheaper little place situated straight on the Gulf of Mexico would mean not having to bust my ass to try to earn the month’s rent and bill money. Yeah, a return address that starts with “Key” and ends with near-removal from civilization is sounding better and better. …

Facebook is reminding me how illiterate the general public is. These are the people voting for your “American Idol.” These are the idiots putting teabaggers — er, Tea Partiers — in office. And they can’t even read a newspaper.

I’ve been trying to enlighten some of the more-clueless among our sect, but it’s pretty hopeless. I’m just blocking the Obama-bashers for the foreseeable future.

Fact: Our commander-in-chief, whether you voted for him or not, is doing his job by barring budget passage because of conditional social riders. It sucks the military won’t get paid, that “non-essential” personnel (whatever that means) will be furloughed and our still-fragile economy is strapping in for a roundtrip back to the shitter. But that’s called playing hardball with assholes. (Boehner, I’m looking right at you. And Reid, I’m not a fan of yours, either.)

Anyway, I’m going to retreat to writing up a business plan for a friend and trying to figure out why I gave up a cushy (albeit slightly aggravating) freelance job to work for a West Coast startup where there’s, oh, no money in the kitty right now. Hahaha, I wasn’t thinking about getting PAID anytime soon, right? I agreed to five hours a week but that’s a pipe dream at this point. Oh well. It’s all good.

Sad to say, I’m having the time of my life. Why does money have to be so important? I love the “Game On” mode, where anything goes and everyone’s just happy that shit gets done. It’s icing on the cake when I update the Web site, someone happens to read it, and I get an all-team e-mail saying, “Hey, you really DO know your shit!”

And even when I break something on the Web site (I should really be a beta tester for content-management systems), it’s never a crisis. Well, it IS, but it’s more like, “OK, yeah, we’re not revoking your admin privileges. But don’t touch that ever again!”

I love it. It’s chaos and it’s crazy to get e-mails at 3:21 a.m. (which, for the record, I am NOT awake to answer). And right now my main role is “firefighter” but it’s fun. I’m hoping that, by hanging in there, it pays off. I think it will. It’s just refreshing to believe in a cause again.

I’m ready for this day. Bring it on, baybee.

And for my leadership read of the day, I’m liking the mis-named but still relevant “The fine art of managing ‘creatives’ and other tender egos.”

What it really should have been called is “You really CAN’T fire everyone.” (*raises eyebrows to about 15 miles southeast of here*) Case in point:

Don’t ignore the middling performers: “As much as you would probably like to, you can’t have a staff completely filled with stars….Your stars don’t want to wash windows, and you don’t want your stars to wash windows either.”

I could comment, but I have better things to do. So do you. It’s 85 degrees and humidity is *only* in the high-60s. Go enjoy it!

Boca Raton Planned Parenthood Rally

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Yeah, yeah — another Planned Parenthood rally photo. But that’s because my participation has gotten me thinking even more so than usual.

I just watched my DVR’d “Give it up for Greg Giraldo” special. And I know now that the reason he was so damn intelligent and thoughtful (and therefore so quick and brilliant in his comedy) was that he lived and breathed current events, politics and human nature.

That’s why this Harvard-educated lawyer gave it all up one day and said, fuck it, I’m going to do something I love now.

I remember when I was passionate about my work. My whole career, I lived and breathed the concept of being better than the best. I didn’t know what it took to be the smartest person in my vocation, but I was hellbent on doing everything to make myself the smartest person in the room.

And somewhere about three years and three jobs ago, I lost that passion. At some point, the hamster wheel just kept spinning and I never really stepped off of it. I’d say it was somewhere around 2008, when I had to give up the hundredth personal commitment because there was too fucking much work to do, that my heart disconnected from a ventricle and, therefore, from my head.

And I’m a logic-ruled person. For as flighty and impulsive as I can be, the head always wins. Even if it’s merely the subconscious manifesting its own destiny, my heart’s vote is never the deciding one.

“And my heart told my head
Let love grow
And my head told my heart
This time no
This time no.”

– Mumford & Sons, “Winter Winds”

I just read a great article on “Is it me, or are all my bosses jerks?” The idea being, of course, that you may work for one dud but if you have three in a row, the common denominator is you.

Hrm.

OK, but when you get (or a friend gets) dumped for the umpteenth time, you don’t place the blame on yourself (or them). Oh, no. It’s the other person! And we just keep picking losers, right?

I do believe that, to some extent. Don’t get me wrong — there are some self-serving jerks out there. But I like to maintain hope that ultimately everyone is looking for the cheese to their macaroni. (Gratuitous “Juno” reference, since it was on today.)

But yeah, I went from two awesome bosses at Ye Olde Workplace Establishment, to another boss there and then two more jobs, and the article felt like it was saying, “Yo, Goddess … ever considered that you’re the problem?”

Alas, if I were someone counseling me from a relationship point of view,I would say to myself that I tried but that none of them were marriage material. Sure, you can live together fairly peacefully and have some common interests. But all in all, I wanted the toilet seat down and they left poop particles in the bowl. Or they wanted the place sparkling clean yet I befriended the dust bunnies. Whatever.

I’m in a really scary place right now, workwise. I have a job that mercifully paid me a retainer up front, and I haven’t had much time to give them. And on the other side of the scale, I have another that won’t pony up a penny and yet someone there has the cojones to imply that my immersion in research into their company history (including reading all the experts’ books) means that I shouldn’t be paid because I didn’t turn in my work FIVE DAYS EARLY.

Good God, I gave them a delivery schedule and adhered to it. Are they going to be the fourth employer I have to put behind me in just as many years?!?!

And don’t get me started on the other projects I said “yes” to that I haven’t even gotten started on. I am an idiot, I know. I just know that when times turn desperate, I shine.

I’m still counting on that to happen, BTW. Lord have mercy.

But the Goddess who happily (or, at least, compliantly) worked 80- to 100-hour workweeks is dead. Seriously, her mind is at the beach. I can fucking see the sand from my bedroom but I never go because I am parked at the damn computer all day.

I’m fine with that, for now. I’m A-OK with following up on all my commitments. But I am saying right now that I do NOT expect this to be a long-term situation.

Here’s the deal, and I’m afraid to say it but that’s never stopped me before. I got accustomed to not working. I mean, I got up every morning, took a shower, made coffee and set about contacting everyone I know who could help me.

And then I settled in for a nice afternoon of “Ghost Whisperer” and taking a walk after dinner and then getting up and starting the process anew every weekday.

I didn’t spend my weekends worrying about deadlines. Sure, I wondered where the money was going to come from, but I spent more than two months just chillin’ on my own terms.

And now, to have a crazy person threatening me and changing the deliverables midstream (Fuck. That.) means that the squeaky wheel is getting the grease and I’m the dirty monkey with the banana in her tailpipe.

And I do think back to two jobs ago. I went in with such hope, such promise … such eagerness to break out and kick some ass. My initiatives were met with praise at first, some rewards afterward and, then, a complete 180 in the form of psychological torture.

So I went into the last gig, still a bit scarred, but eager to recover and regain some lost ground.

And now, I am dealing with people who have been burned before. They are hard on me because an hour without answering an e-mail means I’ve quit without telling them … because that’s what the last two people did.

I am committed to working through this, as after all we all know I love exceeding expectations or, at least, deconstructing human nature. But, really, do I have to say it out loud that I’ve been burned, too? That until I get an honest-to-goodness check, I don’t really trust anyone else, either?

If this were a first date, my ass would have been faking illness and hitting the bricks faster than you can say, “Cray-zeeeeeeeee!!!” Alas, when there will be money involved, logic HAS to win over. Mama just renewed her lease and cashish isn’t gonna rain out of the sky because I want it to.

Which somehow in its crazy way brings me to yesterday’s rally. I used to work for non-profits. I organized special events, I wrote grant proposals and talked to the media to get coverage. And on the northwest corner of Glades and St. Andrews yesterday, I was with two girls who were too busy taking photos and Facebooking than waving the damn signs. I was the one talking to drivers, waving, flipping my sign so they saw both sides and otherwise trying to do a good job.

Don’t get me wrong — there were people on all four corners of that crazy intersection, doing a great job. I’d say 50 of us showed up, altogether. There were college students, people my age, and husbands and wives well up into their ’80s. All hanging out for free on a gorgeous Saturday morning to raise awareness. Incredible, I say.

What I’m getting at here is that my perfectionist tendency isn’t so dormant after all. I was the second person to arrive (just after the organizer) She and I held the ends of the heaviest banner for 20 minutes till others showed up. I had to restrain myself from not being the welcome wagon and doing her job for her.

But that’s me. That’s the me who died. That’s the me who all these people hire before her joy absolutely evaporates and exhaustion kicks in.

I want to be great again. I was such a star at so many places. And now I get to Florida and all I want to do is melt into a puddle of goo on my couch and let the world keep turning without me. Why couldn’t I have been a trust-fund baby?

In any event, something has awakened in me again. Sure, I am looking at my work inbox with nothing but dread right now. But just like we all hope the great guy calls us (and soon), I am hoping that my contact at PP remembers that we talked about doing some marketing together.

And even though I know non-profits don’t pay their volunteers, and that staff members are barely at the poverty level, I’m OK with that. I have the beach. I drive a crappy car. For me, luxury comes in the form of technology and food. Give me Brie and an iPad over a Beemer and a Coach bag any day.

Just give me something, ANYTHING that makes me drop into bed at night, completely spent, knowing that I fucking DID something that moved the proverbial needle.

Don’t get me wrong — I will take others’ money in advance. I am damn good at what I do when people let me DO it. My track record wasn’t exactly advanced by listening to people and doing things on their terms. In fact, that’s what killed it, of late.

But yeah, the fire is back in the pit of mah belleh again. Thank you, Planned Parenthood, for being what it took to bring me alive again.

“We’ll be washed and buried one day, my girl
And the time we were given will be left for the world
The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague
So let the memories be good for those who stay.”