Caterwauling

It will take a shift to be able to think this way again. But it’s possible. 

It’s been a staycation for the new year. Between my anxiety and the cat’s ass and mom’s pain, I’ve taken this opportunity to drink as much wine as my liver can process, from the comfort of my couch. 

My heartburn has been at bay till I had my first self-defeating thought of the new year. So my body violently reacts to bad things. I never knew that about myself. 

Something else I didn’t know is that it is counterproductive to share your resolutions. That’s because you get the positive feedback when you make them publicly. So who needs to achieve them, then?

From The Atlantic:

  
So I made a list in a Notepad doc this year. 

I should probably add “redirect those self-defeating thoughts.” I just hope it isn’t too late to achieve it now that I’ve typed it out loud. 

  
I read a great quote that I can’t seem to locate. It said earth is big. And if you live in the same place your whole life, that’s the geographical equivalent of never leaving your bedroom. 

Had another sleepless night. Between the constipated cat who won’t eat her pumpkin and the neighbor who is literally sawing logs at 4 a.m., my new year is off to a rollicking start. 

I’ve decided Lunar New Year will be my official new year. That’ll begin my official 60-day countdown to move. 

The kitchen sink isn’t working. Or my toilet. Or the dryer. This is a brand new place, right? But with the landlord telling me I have to pay for repairs, it dawns on me that the problems were left for me by other people who rightfully didn’t want to pay to fix his house. 

Putz. 

In any event, I still feel stuck even if I change houses. I love Florida though. Just not this part. 

I found an old blog post last night from my exit interview from Club Medicated. I was forced to say I was leaving for personal reasons. And I was pissed. 

As I said and wrote, it wasn’t fair for them to connect hating the employer with hating the job. I loved the job. I excelled at it. I just was dying at the company. 

I’m not comparing then to now, workwise. But hating southeast Florida while liking my career is comparable. Like then, changing one too drastically means losing the other.  

If anyone has been a master of reinvention, it’s me. Of course, it was a lot easier without having a dependent with chronic and untreated anxiety that’s manifested in me. 

They say a quiet new year ushers in a year of relative sameness. That’s why I need to whoop it up on Lunar New Year. I was tired of extreme highs and lows of years past. But spending another year in a near-coma without being asleep will kill me more. 

I don’t know what that means yet. But I gotta do something before my brain and soul atrophy completely. 

Last year I think I resolved to not blame everyone so much. Self included. 

I think I would get a C-plus for my efforts. So let’s not continue this failure fest again. 

I need to go back to my achievable list.

• Get more Starbucks stars. 
• Drink booze five times a week. 
• Shave my legs more than once a month. 
• Make out with inappropriate people. 
• Consume my body weight in lentil chips. 

Done x 5 and no balls will drop for another three hours!

I was chilling with one of the boys recently. He said I am allowed to have fun. He said he can tell I used to know how but have forgotten. 

He also is mad at what I make. I didn’t tell him but when he gave me a number and said over/under and I said under, he said time to aim higher. 

So I’m feeling inadequate right now. 

I wanted to take a course this week but I was too busy with work. I need to master a new skill or else I’m going to die. 

At least I didn’t blame it on anyone. Progress!

Maybe I got the resolution wrong. It’s not a matter of blame but accountability. Nobody gives a fuck what I do. Least of all me. 

What if instead of wishing for shit, I made plans to achieve it?

I think we should all be mandated to meet with a life coach before year-end or else we aren’t allowed to pass “go.”

If I would have to stay in 2015 until I leveled up, fuck yeah I’d figure something out. 

As it stands, my resolution is to adopt a mindset of “plenty.” Plenty of time and money and energy to move, get a car, get up north and buy a plane ticket to Europe for 2017 at the latest. 

And to watch a little less “Housewives.” Which, I have a better shot at shaving my legs twice a month instead of once. But, you know. Gotta aim for something. 

Kadie is crooning again. I’m guessing she is probably sick. This is about the time in Maddie’s life that she got sick and I wasn’t paying attention. And it’s another situation where I can’t justify a cat having healthcare when mom doesn’t. 

In any event, mom spotted activity on Whorothy’s wall and figured my nerves were already shot so I should see it. The boy I used to think was so great visited her and she had to brag about it. 

Such a loser. Both of them. 

My rage is probably irrational especially after all this time. But hey. If he wants to slime around with a homely married whore, be my fucking guest. 

It just pisses me off that the number this did on me made me vulnerable. So much so that I did some pretty dumb things in reaction to it all. Poor, poor choices … Ones I would never have made in the right frame of mind. 

But hey. If he’s dumb enough to settle for crumbs for the rest of his life, doesn’t mean I have to do the same. 

Went over to one of my boys’ houses last night. I heard wine so I was in. 

He picked a Chardonnay I’d never tried. It would have been great if it had time to breathe. But hell, I don’t have time to breathe. And I drank it happily since I didn’t have to drive. 

Boy did that stuff punch me in the head today. I mean it didn’t help that the cat yowled all night again. But I can guzzle red wine from a Slurpee-sized cup and be fully functional. Am I off my game or what?!

Ugh.

I wish I had friends. Then when I have offers coming in like I do right now, I just want to scream.

I already have phone anxiety. People need to text, I always think, instead of call.

But then people text and then I have that same punch-in-the-gut feeling.

I waffle between “I prefer people I only see every now and again” and “If you’re not going to be around for much longer, why invest in you?”

I think of all the people who walked out of my life without a word or explanation and I think of some others, why can’t people let me do that too? Why do you want something from me I’ve never gotten?

Then I think well maybe do I tell the world to go away so I don’t have to get a raging case of anxiety every time the phone rings or chimes?

But what if that means I would never hear from the people I might actually LOVE to hear from someday?

This doesn’t refer to the messages in Faceypages messenger. Honest to God I hate clicking on that app. I’m always glad when I do. But it just takes me a good long while to get there. So if I owe you a message, know I’ve responded happily in my head, at the very least.

The cat howled all night. 

All. Fucking. Night. 

Then I got up to find the person who owed me something, never sent it. So my sleepy self did the work. 

And then he sent the work I needed. When I was done. 

I can’t get into what an existential mess it has turned into. But it is three hours I won’t get back, all before 8 a.m.

At least I was awake for pothead upstairs to go through all his dresser drawers right above my bed. I swear this asshole can’t remember where he hides his stash from day to day. 

Of course my favorite time of day is when he goes on and off his balcony a thousand times, opening and closing the door with gusto each time. 

I’m tired. And tired. And did I mention tired? 

My mom is still friends with her high school besties. I’m the oldest of their kids — oddly, we were all only children, two girls and a boy. 

The girl liked the same designer purses I did. Then she moved to the same part of D.C. that I inhabited. Then after I said I wanted a certain kind of car, she wanted it too. 

Coincidence? Maybe. Her parents gave her everything. Every opportunity. They did without do she could have it all. 

She turned out lovely. Beautiful inside and out. And successful. And generous. 

She got engaged in London today. 

I’m trying to be happy. But I moved to D.C. to get the great job with all the great international travel perks and the great apartment and the great guy and the great life. 

But it went to her. All of it. 

I just don’t understand the universe right now. 

My grandmother said that a lot, for Christmas’ sake. This year has been such a cluster, I finally get it. 

After Italian Christmas and ham and whatnot, today I needed to get my Jewish on. 

Gram used to take us to Squirrel Hill to Rhoda’s (now Kazansky’s) on New Year’s Eve for corned beef and latkes. And I got to go across the street to Mineo’s for pizza. Which, omg heaven. 

Mom would make us tiny open-faced Reubens on cocktail toast. And Gram and Grampy would enjoy a highball. 

Those were the days. 

I go to Flakowitz now. You may know it from Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” I know it for good food and flamingly disappointing service at two out of three locations I frequent. 

Tonight I was in Boynton Beach, a city that is just cursed as far as I am concerned. And instead of eating my sammich normally, I opted to fork-and-knife it. 

And thank god because there was a twist-tie holding my steamed spinach (smothered in about a pound of melted provolone) together.

I give myself credit for not vomiting it up. Am lady, after all. 

I put it on a napkin and handed it to the server. But it’s not like I was seeking a free meal out of it. And I didn’t get one. 

But given the median age of the customer base is about 86, I said a little prayer to thank heaven that I was ok and that it happened to me and not someone who might have choked on it. 

A lady came by and threw a piece of stale cake at me. And the waiter avoided me for a good half-hour before he threw the bill at me. 

Everyone else got to see the dessert tray. And I was hoping for marble cake. Which is the best thing they have. But alas, no dessert choices for me. 

What offended me most is my damn sammich came swimming in onions after I clarified with the server that it did not come with onions. And as he took the bill he said, “You didn’t say no onions on both meals.”

Bullshit I didn’t. I specifIcally said I don’t want an onion in any form to arrive at my table. I’d rather swallow the damn twist-tie than smell an onion for 40 minutes. 

I normally get the matzoh ball soup, but it was a disaster when I got it in Boca last month. I’m pretty much down to Wellington as the only Flakowitz I can deal with. 

Pity. Boynton is the only one with a deli. No corned beef for New Years because I am not spending another penny there for a good long while. 

Maybe I’ll ship a Mineo’s pizza here instead …