Caterwauling

I call the shitheads upstairs the Ubangis. As in, they bang-ee shit against the floors a good 14 hours a day, slam drawers and otherwise move shit around constantly.

This is in addition to their blasting of horrible music, their small kids falling and screaming, the couple screaming at each other and other general unpleasantness I hear through the very thin (and bare) floors.

I finally met the fuckers tonight. Although “met” isn’t the right word. It was more like I’d had enough of their shit and I ran upstairs with the intent of glaring at their door until they died from the death rays shooting out of my eyes.

The cops told me they were violent and to not approach them. The guy is a good 6-foot-5, so yeah he could definitely snap my fat widdle neck.

The kids are a barely walking toddler and another girl of about 5. I assumed they were boys because they BANG SHIT OFF THE FLOOR like it’s their job.

The older girl was running and hollering and bouncing off the walls of the hallway. The baby SCREAMED the whole way as they walked to the parking garage.

I went to another entrance to the garage. They park directly above me so I know the spots belong to their unit. They had music BLASTING out of their two cars. The older girl ran up and down the garage floor, bellowing and screaming.

The mother was there. Looking evil. Funny that she probably is the one who stomps around the loudest. I hear her following her husband from room to room, screaming at him.

They stopped yelling over the music to look at me. The husband almost smiled.

I contemplated being friendly so I could talk to them. And the “Fuck It, I Hope You DIE” wave washed over me. I glared at them all and walked away.

They treat this place like a ghetto. I bet the people who live adjacent to the garage didn’t care for their concert. But it only lasted maybe five minutes. By the time I got back to my unit, they started stomping and rolling shit around almost instantly.

You know how people joke that, if they see a spider, they will do the only reasonable thing … burn the house down.

That’s the same feeling they inspire in me.

How can they not know what pieces of shit they are? And just how much would they harm me if I let them know in no uncertain terms?

OMG KILL.

‘Tis the season to hear how great everyone’s vacations were.

Do me a big fat fucking favor and suck it, if you feel the need to share with me.

I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t care.

Can’t escape. Can’t afford to escape. Couldn’t do it even if you paid me $7,500 like that company I just read about that actually pays its employees cash to check the fuck out for a week or two.

Nope. I am going to do what I always do and be thankful I’m employed for another pay cycle.

And be even more grateful that I don’t live in Greece right now.

Busy but not psycho busy. Still doing the 10- to 14-hour days. No hope of a vacation or even a work trip.

A friend hasn’t had a raise in 10 years and I haven’t had a day off in four years. We are never sure which one to feel sorrier for.

In any case another friend said she’s so busy but good-busy. Not “finding projects for people” busy. Not “having to chase people for those projects and then chase someone else to figure out what they did wrong” busy.

And in my world, that’s just as good as a vacation. It has to be, anyway. Therefore, it is.

Mom moved in with me before she turned 50. She’s 57.

At this rate, do I have 9 years before I can move in with someone who will take care of me for the rest of my life?

You spend your whole career doing things others want done. You spend your weekends doing what others want (in my case, that’s a whole lotta nothing).

When do you get to live for you and why does doing so mean losing what you have? Why do the things that you do for others become your whole life, and why is it so hard to live for you?

And how do you — during those quiet moments when you’re alone and loving that aloneness — keep from dreaming about doing exactly that?

Would you miss any of it, if it were gone? Or would you finally become who you were meant to be — assuming you weren’t meant to be everyone else’s?

Me to Mom: I was talking to (powerful friend). I mentioned (so-and-so) might contact them for a job.

Mom: What did (powerful friend) say?

Me: That (so-and-so) isn’t smart enough to think of doing that. Also, that they wouldn’t get past the front door.

Mom: No one in their right mind would hire that person. (So-and-so) needs to move out of the state.

I got a call from the management office today to let me know they are replacing my door tomorrow. Because, for all the shit wrong with this place, giving me a white door is their top priority.

Fear washed over me when I saw the number light up on my phone. The upstairs assholes have been so bad lately that I haven’t slept in three nights.

For several moments, I was so tired, I honestly thought wow — for the few moments I did manage to fall asleep between screams and pounds and things breaking — did I sleepwalk up there and murder them?

I didn’t say anything about it. I said sure, bring the door because I really need one more impossible-to-clean thing. OK well I didn’t say THAT. But still. Nobody cares that I pay top dollar for a “luxury” apartment in which there is no luxuriating.

I guess I have to be grateful that I got rid of one problem (a very BIG problem) at work. So how silly of me to think other things could get resolved too and I actually fully enjoy my life.

“I float on the streets that are empty
take the path that the wind only knows
Tonight is the last time that I’ll ever be here.”

Marie Digby, “Beauty in Walking Away”

So, apparently unicorns do exist.

A married man I know is actually leaving his wife.

I know, pause for a moment. The urban legend comes true.

Holy shit.

Long ago I realized everyone just loves the chase. Even when they end the chase for someone else, they themselves don’t see the need to stop. If anything, the chase is even more-exciting because they know they have some dumb asshole at home, waiting for them and NOT chasing anyone themselves.

Or being chased.

I think that’s what stuns me. The people sitting at home who know they aren’t going to lose their man … and who will terrorize him into staying, if need be. Because they probably think they can’t/won’t get anyone else.

And I think that’s what sends these guys out. They know even if they get caught, they’ve checked into that Hotel California and can never leave.

So when I got the news that one of the boys filed for divorce so he could finally have his shot at happiness … I froze.

I mean, you accept that it “happened” for a friend of a friend of a friend whose sister knows someone’s cousin who left his life behind in pursuit of true love.

But when it DOES happen (holy shit. Wait, I said that already), what the actual fuck do you do?

I once told someone to leave for himself. Not for me. I don’t need that kind of guilt if it doesn’t work out.

This isn’t how fairy tales start out, after all.

But then someone actually DOES leave for himself. So he can pursue his true or at least his next love. And you wonder …

Why wasn’t I worth it?

I’m not hanging around long enough to find out.

“There’s an answer in the sound of a train
there is wisdom past the bridge on the bay
There’s a lifetime through the fog, in the rain
there’s a beauty in walking away.”

I have had this fear that someone who used to work at my company would forget that they had moved on. 

And that they would reappear one day, biz as usual. 

Today one of my friends logged in as that person. And Instant Messaged me. 

Let me tell you. My salad tasted good going down. Coming back up? Not so much. 

When I “broke up” with Pittsburgh like a hundred years ago, I left mostly dry-eyed. My family and friends were still there, yes. But I was ready to move to D.C. when I did.

When I left D.C. I was a mess. It was an ugly breakup. Everything was just feeling so wrong, and I felt like my only choice was to just go.

So this weekend, when a favorite part of D.C. came to visit me — the first real friend I made there — you can understand why I’m having All the Feels about it.

After a couple days of truth-telling and bottomless Bloody Mary/Mimosa drinking, we went to see “Inside Out” this afternoon. And I pretty much lost my shit during a particular scene.

Without giving away too many spoilers (I hope), there was a part of the main character’s memory that had to be left behind so she could move forward.

I burst into tears. And my friend grabbed my hand and didn’t let go for the rest of the show.

Which, first of all, I love my friend and I’m so glad he called me months ago to let me know he was coming to town so I would be free.

And second, I love that you really don’t have to leave anyone behind if you don’t want to. We all still exist in those little iPhones we cling to as if our lives depended upon them.

In any event, I find myself in a near-constant state of homesickness for D.C. that hasn’t passed in six years.

Not that I want to move back for good, but I’d love to be a snowbird. That would be a great summer home.

I made a new friend this weekend, too. Who lives in the heart of D.C. and who said he has a guest room if I ever want to come up and see my friends. Which, YES.

My friend said he had no idea how much he needed to see me until he got here. And I realized as I said goodbye, that feeling was quite mutual.

Dollars to donuts, I bet if I still lived up there, six years would have gone by without us crossing paths. I mean we lived down the street from each other, and my job took over my life and all my friendships moved to life support.

I’m very grateful key people like him didn’t pull the plug (and I understood it when others did).

I almost don’t want to go back for a visit because I can’t imagine anyone else is left. I mean, I don’t pine for D.C. per se. I pine for the friends I lost touch with before I ever left.

Maybe that’s why Pittsburgh wasn’t so hard to leave behind. I saw my friends a lot. We had many parties and nights out. I wouldn’t say that the friendships ran their course, but we definitely had a ton of fun and played/loved hard.

Like, I always feel like I have one foot out the door here in Florida. That I’d take the first plane out of here if I could ever get a day off.

But I never got my chance to fall in love with this place either. So I also feel like I’d be on the first plane back after I didn’t find what I was looking for someplace else.

In any event, I had to laugh with the movie because Lewis Black was inside the main character’s head. He’s sure inside mine sometimes.

But today, Joy was inside my head. So was Sadness but Joy definitely prevailed.

My friend paid me the best compliment. He came down here to go deep sea diving. And he said spending today with me was on par with being 60 feet below the sea yesterday. I know he loves being out there, so I’m honored.

For me it was more like coming up for air. But our personal choice of elements aside, I can relate.

There’s something special that happens when home comes to you. Thanks, D., for the peace I haven’t felt in a long, long while.

Best souvenir ever.

This week a problem I’ve had for a very long time suddenly went away.

One day, blinding aggravation and stress. The next day, I woke up NOT screaming for the first time in months.

If only all problems went away like that. Or, should I say, if they just STAY gone, everything will be OK.

You wonder why you go through these ordeals. Like, what was the lesson so you don’t have to repeat that shit and learn it next time?

I think I got some insight into an old boss. I mean I still think she was a jerk who was only concerned with hiring the cheapest talent possible (and then bitching about the lack of talent).

But let’s assume she was on top for a reason. And that she correctly could spot when certain people were moving the business forward and when others were holding it back.

In that case, I was definitely holding it back in her eyes. I was trying to restore the souls of broken employees. And maybe I did need to leave well enough alone in some cases.**

(**Like in the case of the one who refused to give me a reference after I lost my job trying to save theirs. And they wonder why I don’t talk to them. Or to the friend I genuinely miss who is up this person’s ass.)

But for the fact that some of the good ones did manage to stick around, I hope having me around — even if for a minute — might have done something to help.

I don’t expect her or anyone to spend a moment trying to figure out why I “happened” in their lives. And I don’t plan to spend another moment trying to figure out why the last year happened to me the way it did, either. I wasted enough waking hours on that.

I guess the lesson is it’s all about “fit.” And if it don’t fit, don’t force it. Because everyone ends up being out of a lot of money, patience and time in the end.