Caterwauling

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.”

Lady in Orange

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love this photo. I took it at Lake Eola in Downtown Orlando. This woman looked like she was just waiting for someone to roll along with a camera and capture her moment in the park.

I feel like her, these days. Just watching the world pass by, yet completely oblivious to what’s going on beyond my little radius. It’s lovely.

Speaking of my radius or, more appropriately, my radar, I have a half-hour to kill before I sit in on what promises to be another time-wasting webinar. I’m sure that it will be nothing but a sales pitch, but for the 10 minutes worth of real education, it will be worthwhile.

I’m kind of scratching my head over the fact that I spent the morning negotiating my fourth freelance contract. Four! All told, I will have a 60-hour workweek for the next two months. In other words, that’s normal for me, so I’m going with it.

I like that I can switch gears when I get sick of something. Right now I am immersed in research on a varying number of topics, so it’s good for my brain to go at my own pace with minimal interruption. I’m also doing completely different things — management at one place, editorial at another, marketing at the third, and it looks like social media at the fourth — so it’s like a “real” job but without committing to one (or one set of) asshole(s) for the duration of my workweek.

Not to imply I’m working with assholes. We all know I have mad respect for anyone willing to pay me! But overall, they realize I have strengths outside of the scope of duty, and respect them accordingly. I may not be the fastest researcher, say, but I come back with a sack of goodies that nobody expected when I do arrive. That sort of thing.

I was having a moment today when I was thinking about one of my new boss’ jobs, and how well I could do it, had I known about the opening first.

And then I realized, you know what? They need someone like me, but I don’t have to be in charge.

I hate reporting to people. I will just throw that out there.

BUT ….

I make a great second-in-command. I do. I know someone who may not think so, but then we’d have to debate the merits of them in a top spot, and we don’t want to go there.

Anyhoodle, while I loathe authority with every fiber of my being, I rock the support role. I am one of those people who is always thinking, always learning, always going “out there” into the field and absorbing facts and figures and details that pass others by.

Most places put zero premium on that. Oh, they say they like it. They claim they care about the competition. They want to say that they have a direct line to potential collaborators. But they don’t. They want to hide inside their little silos where they rule over their kingdoms and their directives go unchallenged.

So the guy whose job I wanted for a moment, well, he isn’t like that. Now, time will tell whether my ideas/connections actually have MY name attached to them. But I respect that he’s like, hey, let’s explore every avenue you want to take us down.

And in that, he takes over the role I’ve always been in — the champion. The one who wants to see what the staff can do. The one who lobbies for the autonomy or at least the experimentation time. The one who deals with the red tape while I go skipping merrily along.

I know I’m a damn good leader. Shit, I found myself giving management advice to one of my old managers yesterday. She has a problem employee and I gave her the questions for the inevitable “Come to Jesus” meeting she’s planning. How cool is that?

But I like doing so from my little lily pad by the ocean. I’m not HAVING the “Come to Jesus” discussion. I’ve done that. Not always successfully, but I have the scars to prove that it’s on my mental resume.

Anyway, who’s to say where and for whom I will be working in 60 days. But it’s kind of exciting that, if or when I decide I want a job like the one my new boss has, I can do that. I have the experience.

But if I don’t want it, and I don’t want to renew my contract (assuming I perform up to par, of course), I DON’T HAVE TO.

God, it feels good to be a gangsta of the financial mafia.

Balcony at the Eo Inn

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I don’t actually have a reason to blog today, other than that I’ve been researching all morning and I need a break.

I had one of those lightbulb moments this weekend, and I don’t know what to do with it. I mean, really, what can I do but dream about launching a missile over two cities that are now my own personal Hiroshima and Nagasakis?

I’ve been feeling professionally wounded. I mean, duh. (NOT winning!) But when I think about it, it wasn’t business. It WAS personal. Each and every time, it was a stab in the heart and again in the back for good measure.

Silly rabbits.

In a way, it makes me feel really good right now. Not the near-mortal wounding and the bleeding out and all the gore that goes with it. But the fact that I’m OK … I’ve always been OK … and no amount of the cliched “stepping up one’s game” was ever going to compensate for simply not being whatever people wanted me to be personally.

Like I have always said, I’ve been insulted by better people in my day. You know, those whose opinions might actually mean something.

I’m starting three freelance jobs today. Lord knows when I’ll actually see a paycheck. But I’m so excited. I’ve got a webinar in an hour and a conference call after that. And I’ve got some contracts to affix my digital signature to and we’re off to the races.

Someone told me I’d thank them someday. I usually thank people for help and for nice things, not for smothering me with a “You Can’t Do That on Television”-esque bucket of green slop. And I’m sure as hell not busting out the good stationery just yet. But when I do get paid for my upcoming performance, I may just utter that magic phrase after all.

Even if it’s done through gritted teeth, because I really didn’t deserve the way this all happened without even a real reason, I am so happy that I’ve gotten to pick the people who get to benefit from having me around. It’s taken longer than I expected, but good things really are worth waiting for.

It’s just like finding the right man. You both have to be in a good place (emotionally available and financially secure) for the magic to work. Well, I’ve met some financially secure people. But I wasn’t “there” emotionally.

I’m ready now. Just two days ago, I didn’t think I was. But that was when I was wondering whether I were “good enough and smart enough” when, really, it was the fact that “doggone it, people DIDN’T like me.”

And I ain’t changing me for an “ideal” that doesn’t appeal.

I was fine as I was. And it will be nice to not feel like who I am is anything BUT an asset.

Time keeps on slipping slipping slipping …

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

What a good day.

I registered my business today. Which will look way better on a resume than, well, nothing.

Also, I’m in advanced talks with some key clients, and if I could just get my mother to stop talking at me constantly (and fucking me up every time I start writing) about the cat, the plants, places to eat and who’s hooking up with whom on “The Young and the Restless,” I may just have a viable business!

I’m not saying the next few months are going to be easy. If anything, they’re going to be the toughest of my life. But if I can put a muzzle on both the mother and the cat, and perhaps move the computer into my bedroom where I can shut the door, the rest will come naturally.

The good thing about my line of work is that it’s fairly easy to succeed in it. Making the party last is the real challenge. Accordingly, I’ve been kind of taking it easy (read: lazy) and getting my wits about me so that I’m ready to charge full-steam ahead.

I think I’m there. Almost, anyway. At least, I’m only going to sell my soul in chunks instead of signing it away in one lump.

One thing I’m promising myself is to make time for charitable work. All work and no play has made Goddess a very dull girl for too many years. I’m lucky to have everything I have, and I’m not going to wait “till things get settled” to do the things I love and want to do.

I know, right now I’m a lot of talk and no action. But it will come. The nice guys are tired of finishing last. Slow and steady is going to win this race. Mark my words.

Hemingway House garden

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love this little spot in Key West right beside the Hemingway House. I always figured that when I get married, it should be at the Chapel by the Sea in West Palm Beach. But this is nice too. Being surrounded by three dozen six-toed cats at the southernmost garden altar in the country wouldn’t be a bad alternative.

I didn’t want to blog about my unplanned job search here, but I can say officially that I’m going to be freelancing. The pay sucks to start. But for the first time in, oh, three years now, I’m REALLY excited about it. I can dust off my brain and use it again. Yay!

Moreover, the only person responsible for charting my growth and progress is yours truly. The only mood swings, weight fluctuations and/or access to barbituates my future is dependent upon are mine.

And it has come up again and again, “So when are you going to do your own newsletter?”

I took a hiatus from the markets to become, oddly, a marketer. So I’m kind of out of touch with domestic assets. But I’ve been glued to MSNBC for a week. (When my mother doesn’t steal the remote and switch the channel to Kathie Lee and Hoda. Barf and sigh.) And it’s just like when I check in on “Young and the Restless” — same characters that have been on there since I was in college … same lack of a plot … just a few more marriages and divorces and kids but overall you can pick up the story pretty quickly.

Anyway, the freelance life. I’m not worried (yet) about my own financial future. Sure I can deplete my wee slush fund pretty easily between chauffeuring my mom all over town for appointments that I have to pay cash for, not to mention life’s little essentials. (Like new clothes. lulz) And maybe some health care for me since I will jump off my balcony if I don’t have access to anti-anxiety meds. (Which I’m taking every two days now. Fucking fuckers fuck fuck FUCK.)

What I’m hoping is that my freelance gigs can become super-lucrative so that I can tell The Man to fuck off for the long run, or else I get a full-time job that doesn’t injure my brain and I can keep up the assignments on the side.

What would be ideal is to do a split shift at a full-time job, so I can spend two or three hours on the freelance and not have to drag my ass home after a long day at the office and THEN have to start my other assignments. I know me. I never did my homework in college and I certainly don’t do it as an adult. When I go home, seriously, fuck the world. Facebook, blog reading and bedtime. Anything else is just a nuisance.

And I never want to be in this position again, of wondering where the money will come from. Multiple streams of income, people. Learn it, live it and learn to love it. I’m lucky not to have kids so that I can do it all, even though I’ve always used the excuse of having Mom underfoot as a reason why I couldn’t.

The few months I was able to pay for two apartments — and ask me how much I want THAT five grand back right now — I was SO productive at home. I had an office with its own bathroom. I worked many late nights in there. It was for the full-time gig at the time, but it was so nice to leave the dark, depressing, roach- and ant-filled office and have a view of the ocean to inspire me while I monitored online classrooms and edited their crappy copy.

This apartment is big but it’s too small for the two of us. And she ain’t going anywhere, let’s face it. I need separate floors if I want to get any freelance work done. Shit, I need separate states. I can’t even blog without 65 interruptions and then I get a “You’re so mean!” when I finally snap and ask her to let me write already.

I’ve been thinking about getting her set up here and then moving to another state for a job. I don’t want to leave Florida but I may have no choice with one of the things I’m pursuing.

Just what I need — another move. Oy.

But if I could get her a shanty down here and get myself a studio loft somewhere else, I’d have Florida to come back to whenever I want it.

I just wish she were independent, you know? That she wouldn’t be sitting in the house six months between visits, waiting for me to take her to Publix or Wallyworld. Even when she lived downstairs, she sat there with no A/C running even though it was hot as balls, so I wouldn’t have to pay for utilities. Which, while well-intentioned, was just stoopid.

I don’t know. I’m really doing the “Let Go and Let God” thing here. Which can probably also be referred to as laziness or denial. But I’m so NOT unhappy about my unintentional freedom. I just want to try to enjoy it as much as I can (although having all this time to shop and try new restaurants SUCKS when the financial kitty is hemorrhaging without it).

I was talking to a new friend not too long ago. She said that I was going to come out on top … even higher than I ever was. And anyone would be a fool NOT to place their bets on me.

I guess that means I’ll turn out OK. If enough people believe it, it has to be true, right?

As one of my boys just told me, stay tuned. My five-year plan may not unfold exactly as I expected, but that’s not to say it won’t work out eventually. I never did plan the near-term. But if that’s what gets me to the paradise I seek, I’m willing to give up temporary wants for the happily ever after I can’t live without. …