Caterwauling

Fell asleep at 10 p.m. after an exhausting day. Awakened at midnight courtesy of Islamic Caitlyn Jenner. It’s 2 a.m. now and I’m still wide-eyed. Because he’s moving furniture and slamming doors now. 

I find myself wishing I had something fun to snack on. But I can’t snack without destroying the whole bag or pint or box. So I gave up snacks that aren’t fruit or veggies. 

Understand, I’ve gone about 90% vegetarian and there is no sugar to be found in my world. 

Except wine. Which I drank to fall asleep and hahaha, thanks Islamic asshole upstairs. 

Am fat girl. Am fat girl who has recently (and for the 100th time) parted with some pounds. And I don’t want to see them again. 

Am also fat girl with zero sense of control. There’s a reason why there’s no food in this house. It would all be in mah belleh. 

Mom was very hurt that I refused to buy anything sweet for my birfday. She loves sweets. She also is in pain and can’t get around too well. So it’s been a big deal to me because she’s had to eat well all week. Not that it’s cured her to go without it.  

Of course, she didn’t eat much. She didn’t want it. Meanwhile I hoovered all the vegetarian stuff she cooked or that I brought home.  

She asked every day for a sweet treat. I refused. Every time. Proud of myself for not enabling either of us. 

She will get her favorite BBQ this weekend. And I will have to starve or succumb and undo all my hard work this week. I’m happy she will be happy. But I am not pleased I have to put myself in a situation with limited choices. 

But I have no choice but to keep at it. The alternative is far worse. 

My lifestyle changes mean I feel great — better than ever — other than stress and sleep deprivation. I concentrate better. I move more. I just like being alive because I feel more alive. 

But that’s the thing. I can’t control people. I can only control my eating. And no one is more shocked that the recent stress pile hadn’t turned into snacking. 

And I can only control my intake  when I’m not faced with a challenge I’m not equipped to win. I get enough of those all week that aren’t food-related. 

And it makes me crazy that one small dose of sugar has the potential to reverse all my progress. 

It’s not just one bite or serving. It’s the “fuck this is good. MOAR EVERYTHING” beast I’m so terrified of unleashing. 

Since that’s been my only experience. And that bitch is hangry. 

Will I ever be able to sate her with something other than food? And when will something sweet happen that can serve as a suitable surrogate?

I’m so used to having just myself and my trusty sidekick, who can do any and everything between the two of us.

Then I got a project in which I have to rely on others.

It’s my own fault that it took me two days to finish my part of the project. I mean, it’s not like I was out partying or celebrating my birthday or anything. I’ve been burning my grey matter something fierce on other projects.

But then when we handed the project over, it stalled.

I remembered it today and started poking. Then someone else who is responsible for it poked me and I’m like yeah I’m poking.

I mean it’s not their fault they didn’t hop right on it. I forgot that not everyone is my trusty sidekick where that’s kind of understood to put out that fire before it becomes a fire.

So now everything is on fire. And it brings me back to why I just need to be able to do everything. I don’t have to inconvenience a soul when I can do it all.

Of course, it’s been one of those weeks (months) in which everything I touch turns to whatever the opposite of gold is. Even the projects where I am the alpha and the omega.

I like to think the “10 cherry tomatoes short of a salad” would collapse with this feeling I feel of just not being enough or doing enough or doing it RIGHT or doing it in the right time frame or saying things the right way or thinking 22 steps ahead because 10 steps ahead isn’t enough.

I mean, they sure lack the charm to help everyone to help them.

On the other hand, maybe being a total dumbass makes you oblivious to the feeling of utter and complete failure. Since it’s kind of a constant in their lives anyway.

I don’t know. But I do know I just bugged out on my birthday lunch to deal with these things. I can’t even get a goddamned lunch date right.

I continue to be amazed at who cares that it’s my birthday. They like me — they really like me! 

I also continue to be amazed that the two people I spent the most time with and spent the most money on can’t be arsed to send a text or use Zuckerberg’s platform. 

I mean, drop a dime and impress me here. Did I mean so little that no feelings or time or financial investment can be acknowledged, or returned in a small way?

Cheapskates. Emotionally or otherwise. Send a Starbucks card if you don’t want to break the emotional or financial bank or bother to get an address right 

Every year I end up cycling through people. This one is no different. 

Last year the team was going to take me to lunch at Brule. It fell through. If not for Lindsey and Sarah, I would have had no birthday at all. 

We went to a cute place that has since closed down. It was s great day. And it was all I did to celebrate turning 41. (And I never did get to Brule. Maybe next year.)

This birthday I took myself out for 20 minutes. You read that story. Didn’t do anything this year. Sarah and Lindsey still reached out but we don’t work in the same place anymore. 

But I have plans with a new friend today. An unexpected invitation. And I am happy for it.

Wonder who will make me sad next year, and wonder who will swoop in and take the pain away …

I have this person who is 10 cherry tomatoes short of a salad because they keep insisting they are going to work here, and take my job title.

And when I explain what “process” means (and is), they flat-out ignore me and ask the same questions a different way. (i.e., Is my start date for nonexistent position still on arbitrary-date-they-pulled-from-their-butt?)

Days ago I felt bad and sent an editing test. Which was replied to with, “You mean a managing editor test? For the job I’m taking in July?”

NO, MORON.

I got the edit back today. In a file type I cannot open because NO ONE IN THIS INDUSTRY USES MAC.

Way to anticipate your “future employer’s” needs.

The note that came with it?

“This is how I’d do the job as managing editor.”

So in other words, in a file format that your team cannot even use.

Good job on that.

Should I even bother asking for a re-send?

What’s sad is I DO need some help. I just don’t want THEIRS.

UPDATE:

I asked for a resend. The reply? ” I figured that might be an issue.” NO SHIT SHERLOCK.

The edits sucked. Half-assed at best.

The conversation ends here.

Happy birthday to me. As I await sleep after a very long, nutty workday and with all the feels from the “Nashville” season finale while Islamic Caitlyn Jenner argues with people upstairs and oh it’s MIDNIGHT. 

Had a ridiculous restaurant experience today. Ordered water. Tap water; I was clear. Then I get a text and have to go back to work to deal with an alert. 

Which, it was already after 1 pm and I was hangry. So I say I need to leave and come back. They fucking charge me for the tap water. Wtf. 

So I pay cash and grab the glass bottle and I run next door to the office. And fat girl can run!

The server who came chasing after me was out of breath. I wasn’t allowed to take the bottle. You know, that I just paid for. 

I said I will be back in like 15 minutes and you can have your precious bottle. She said no. I said wow then don’t charge for tap water. 

I did go back. It’s now 1:30 and I could scream because I’m so tired. The bartender was shocked. I said I want my avocado toast now. 

She’s like do you want water and I said I already fell for that once before, thanks. And I might or might not have ordered wine instead. Which by the way they will let you walk down the street with!

The day wasn’t a total shit festival. Although I had my Facebook wall on lockdown, so I wasn’t getting any birthday wishes. In fact, the first person to wish me happy birthday was Hillary Clinton! 

So I opened the wall and everyone has been wonderful. I’m surprised at those I didn’t hear from. Like, good friends of recent times gone by. 

But I was amazed by all the folks who did take time out of their day. Even those who are on significant-other lockdown who weren’t as communicative as usual. 

I try to interact with people all year but I am not great with birthday wishes. I will get better about that this year. It means a lot to me after a shit festival kind of day — that turns it around right quick. 

Anyway. I have no words of wisdom as I become the “meaning of life” age. I’m just going to try harder to be better. Can’t say I can do or care about much else at this point. 

The universe tests me with my mouth. I know this and I know I have to not say shit even if I have a mouthful of it. 

But …

This kid I agreed to have pawned off on me is about 10 cherry tomatoes short of a salad. 

I gave this person an editing test. The reply was swift: “Like a managing editor? Like the job you’ll give me in July?”

This person is 100% serious and asked when I will know their start date. Uh … 

The same job that doesn’t exist and never will at this point. 

Singalong time!

Birthday week. And a look back at four different weights. 

This is 42 now, folks. Onward and downward. 

So, my own personal Peter Pan contacted me on social media today.

All the feelings. ALL.

I am a lost boy from Neverland
Usually hanging out with Peter Pan
And when we’re bored we play in the woods
Always on the run from Captain Hook
“Run, run, lost boy, ” they say to me,
“Away from all of reality.”

— Ruth B., “Lost Boy”

I have been so scared that he was dead. That’s why I have never looked for him. I didn’t want to know.

Looks like my expectations weren’t too far off. But he’s left town, cleaned up and turned his life around.

And he came looking for me.

I don’t know what it says about me that I had to let him go. Probably nothing good.

Or maybe I have a small redeeming quality in that I always, always wanted the best for him. I just couldn’t be the one to save him. And watching helplessly wasn’t doing me any favors.

But he came looking for me. On my birthday week.

He’s fine. He’s great. He’s thriving.

I’m very, very happy right now.

When I interview people, I look for basic courtesies. The ability to tell a good story. The feeling that this person has the capability of having my back and not plunging a knife through it. The hope that tough situations will be made more bearable by their presence and assistance.

The last few times I hired, that’s what I hired. I think it worked out for the best, for the most part. One ended up having zero talent beyond being a nice person. Another had mad talent but fell off the grid and proved to be a bit on the unreliable side. And the third is still with me, keeping me sane for the most part.

I had the chance to interview someone recently. I absolutely wanted nothing to do with this person going into it. No manners. No grace. No access to a shower that morning, apparently. Just, all-around bleah.

The interview was OK. Showered, check. I didn’t see effort as far as dress or other preparation. And someone needs to put a shock collar on that one to notify them when they say something that makes me go, “Did they just say that?” And I’m not even a formal type of person. Because, let’s count the stupid things I say in a day. Hmmm. …

Anyway, I got to wondering whether I would do better managing someone who has no redeeming social qualities. 

I mean, the people who are nice and reasonable AND talented are the best. But I don’t know about the people I’ve been encountering lately. You either get smarts or experience or talent or grace or personality. You don’t get them all.

I think this one could eventually learn to be anything other than a social Asperger’s case. I did not hold back in telling them (nicely) what they were doing that would piss off any reasonable interviewer type. 

This one has a level of delusion about reality in general and their own abilities in particular that concerned even me.

On the other hand, I wonder if the secret to really being an effective mentor is to not particularly care for the person. 

Like, you can care about them but not for them. 

I shared my wisdom as articulately as I could. I really didn’t care as much how it was received. Whereas with others, I said what had to be said but I was also concerned that their sensitivity would mean they didn’t take it for what it was worth (and use it).
I look at a friend who was let go recently. He was kind of everyone’s buddy rather than their boss. So they brought in someone who is more boss-like and less “someone who does the same kind of work and understands the type of people who are doing that work.”

Of course, I also see the wrong people sucking up to the new person and making things difficult for the rest of the team that actually is valuable.

I don’t know. I want to believe in being stronger together. But you really are an island in the end. And I want dragons in my moat from now on so people don’t get too close and, ultimately, drag me down with them.

There’s always the hope you can bring them up to your level. I will always have that hope. And that’s what made me invest SO MUCH in so many. But in the end, the cheese stands alone — at least at review time. And harmony does not necessarily equal profitability. And the hole in the cheese’s heart grows a little bigger because of it.

I don’t know if Stinky Cheese will become part of the charcuterie platter. But I do have a feeling that if anybody can beat them into submission, or at least destroy their dreams and/or delusions, it’ll be me.

If I owned a share of Apple for every time I started off a post with “I’ve finally figured out what my problem is,” well, I would have as many as I do now. (Four because that shit is expensive. Thanks to Warren Buffett for bringing me back to breakeven.)

Unfortunately, I had an urgent project arrive after I typed that first graf. And I totally forget my grand revelation. 

But I bet it had something to do with transitioning to civilian life. Reading the newspaper. Taking lunches. Going to Starbucks. Putting the key in the ignition during daylight hours — morning and evening. 

I’m caught between feeling like a slacker being like everyone else … and HATING being like everyone else. 

Which I’m not. I know that. I’ll never be like everyone else. But it still feels icky to feel like I might get grouped with the riff-raff. 

I get it though. I do hide. Never have I had a review that praises my communication skills. And I am a Mercury child too — the communicator!

It just always bites me when I communicate. I get comfortable and don’t filter. I get criticized for whatever comes out. So I go the opposite route and say nothing. Or blow my bangs and roll my eyes. 

Growing up, whoever had the best insult won the fight. So I got really good at identifying weakness and coming up with that one quip that would destroy someone. That’s power. 

Granted, my fork-dropping comments are usually funny or at least meant to be. But sometimes I can stab with that fork and you never know when that will happen. So, silence is good. 

Like, I really really want to crack a joke about someone a friend is dating. They may take it in good fun. If it comes out that way, that is. At this point I have to keep my distance. And it’s a shame because I can crack myself up about it. But, you know. Am lady. 

I still don’t recall what was wrong with me. But I do realize I’m growing. Maybe not by others’ standards but I am more aware –more wary. More reserved. Less concerned with dumb shit. 

But I’m also not where I want to be. Whatever or wherever it is. But why do I feel like it isn’t where I am … 

And is it even necessary if others who need to aspire to where I already am, never will?