Caterwauling

So I guess one could say I’m in the midst of a breakup.

It’s weird. Everybody knows it’s ending. Or, at least, that it can’t continue in its current state.

And you know me. When I’m done, I’m done. Stick it in the vault, lower it into the ground, put a nice stone and a pithy epitaph on it, and move the fuck on.

But …

I’m really just sad about how it is happening. I’m powerless. I don’t pick up the phone. I don’t answer texts. My e-mail replies are sanitized. My intent/memory/accuracy is questioned by outside parties.

Not that anybody cares. But I lost a friend throughout all of this. Someone who was kind to me. Someone who came through for me. Someone who could have been a long-term connection in life as a friendly voice when I needed one.

That’s all gone. And even though it’s not my fault, I had to do things that brought us to this point.

You can only be loyal to yourself. Make the decisions you can live with. Pray you’ll get at least a pat on the head and not punishment for your allegiance.

Anyway. I’m losing a friend. It doesn’t have to be that way. But it probably will be.

It would be nice if anyone realized that I’m hurting too. Most of all, the one I’m losing.

I really hate dumb people.

There, I said it.

I will take a cauldron bubbling over with impossible, brilliant people than a happy fool any day.

There, I said that too.

I think a lot of people assume my stress is over the impossible. It’s not. It’s the “I see a thought in your head, and I fear it will never have company” that really makes me want to reach out and stab someone.

Not that I want to spend my life surrounded by competent assholes. I’m generally asshole-averse. Besides, I have a way of charming most of them because I am a Goddess, after all.

But in this universe where I’m trying to waste less time, helping to keep others’ lonely thoughts company is an exercise in futility.

Something strange happened in my brain.

It’s good, I think.

I read three articles over the weekend that kicked my mental ass.

Each said how your productivity pretty much dies after 40 hours. Or 50 hours. Or 55 hours. Depending on the article.

In any case, they all said the same thing — you are useless to yourself and others after working X number of overtime hours and then cramming all your chores into what’s left of your weekend.

One was a blog post that asked you what stupid activities you could get rid of. He suggested idle chitchat with coworkers.

I like my coworkers and we barely speak. I’m not giving up our rare moments of connection. Having cool people on my team makes me want to work hard for all of us, not just myself.

The blog post suggested other things to get rid of, like checking comments and Facebook and stuff. I kind of have to do that for work, although I recently bequeathed it to someone else.

What I actively try to get rid of, though, are senseless interactions and fights and projects. Things that don’t produce revenue. Things that don’t make my brain work better. Things that, if gone undone, nobody actually notices.

Don’t get me wrong. I have a heaping pile on my plate and a big fat side dish of guilt. And relationships to maintain for now. But getting rid of the guilt has made me work harder, faster and better.

I may never get a full night’s sleep. Or start work after 8 a.m. Or get home before 7 p.m. But, I am giving more of my heart to fewer things.

What I need to do is leave more room in my heart for the Important Things. You know, so that I’m ready to fit them in when they arrive.

Like one article said, if you’re married to someone who doesn’t light your fire anymore … and then someone who does slides onto the barstool next to yours … it isn’t fair to you, or to them, or to the spouse you’re only making marginally happy to not be available to pursue what could turn out to be real passion.

Dear passion: I’m not taken anymore. Find me, and I’m yours. And if I find you, damn it — look out. Because, you’re mine.

Got an e-mail from a job search site listing careers that pay more than $140,000 a year. 

I opened the message but didn’t click. I figured fuck, nobody values what most consider to be my best skill. 

Ask any of my brothers in arms (and tears) — if you want to earn anything above a living wage, prepare to be shamed. 

How dare you think your skill set, even if you are at the top of your game, is on par with “real” work. 

I don’t need to be rich. But I don’t need to be slut-shamed because I enjoy the occasional company of men. I don’t deserve to be fat-shamed because I have a sedentary job and utter exhaustion outside of it. I deplore being female-shamed because I think I work harder and have just as big a nutsack as the boys’ club. Bigger, even, in some cases. 

So how dare I feel like I don’t deserve that salary. 

My friend A. posed a question today that haunts me. What am I afraid of?

I said peaking. 

This can’t be as good as it gets. It has to get better before it gets worse. 

And I don’t want it to get worse. I don’t know why it has to. But that’s my fear. 

My fear isn’t that I don’t earn that particular figure. It’s that I’ve gone as far as I can. 

I deserve 10 times that figure. And that I just stopped and dismissed the possibility means something is very wrong. 

And I don’t know how to fix it. 

When I’ve received “love notes” over the years, I’ve never been sure whether the sender was just challenging me to think harder or see something in a different way … or whether they thought I was an idiot.

In any case, I did my best learning this way. The “oh holy fuck, I can’t unpublish that. I either have to correct it or just not fuck it up in the future. And I don’t EVER want to get a note like this again.”

I also do my best thinking this way. I tend to function in reaction mode. Do this, fix that, put out that fire.

When asked about long-term plans and goals and what I was thinking, I finally pause. I take a break from forcing the puzzle pieces to fit together with the aid of a blowtorch, super glue and deadly force. I start to draw connections I always knew were there, but didn’t know I had the time to find.

These days, I send a lot of love notes myself. Only, I’m not challenging anyone to think differently. I’m just politely asking them to think, period.

One wonders if they can hear the untyped thoughts … because I can hear them pretty loudly myself.

I try not to say, “Take what I give you and shut up.”

But, take what I give you and shut up.

When your delay cuts deep into my personal time, you forfeit the right to say anything at all.

Two more assignments rolled in at stupid o’ clock.

Taking a “Scandal” break. Because, needed. 

A fellow editor type was just musing that, as an industry, we financially reward the salespeople who basically tell tall tales to make a sale. 

Then we punish the people financially who can’t make the fantasy a reality. 

Then we lose the good people and hire lesser labor. In talent and maybe price. 

And the stress falls on the internal people like us who have to maintain appearances. 

Everybody have a good night. You know where I’ll be. Hold the tequila and lime. 

Worked late last night so I’d be in good shape for today.

My old friend/new neighbor invited me over but I had to decline. Too much to do.

Glad I worked “ahead.” That’s because I had a wasted early part of the morning.

Others’ hijinx are really, really cutting into my sanity.

Although I did sneak in a coffee date with a friend. So, the lost time really wasn’t.

Had a few phone calls. Some even had people on the other end.

Worked on something not due till tomorrow. Which was good because …

Then at 4 p.m., two assignments showed up. One due 24 hours earlier, the other due like right this second.

Another late night working.

After visiting my money-hungry dentist for the final time today, I had full intentions on torching my old apartment building. But instead I stopped for an avocado smoothie (WTF) and proceeded to want to torch the new building.

So I ordered a key fob (gate key) a week ago. Paid for it. Waited for it. Asked every day for it.

Stopped downstairs today to ask where the F it is.

They gave it to the landlord. Who lives like 10 miles from here. But they had no proof that I live here (???) so they thought they’d give it to him to do what he wanted to do with it.

BECAUSE RANDOM WOMEN NAMED GODDESS SEND MONEY OUT OF THEIR PERSONAL FUCKING ACCOUNT FOR GATE KEYS.

So … nobody could have TOLD ME THIS?

In any event, I asked for and got a new key fob.

I got upstairs.

It was a garage opener.

This after listening to The Elephant Family tromping around upstairs for the past 10 nights. And the toilets running constantly. And the garage doors almost closing on my car. And the two-year-old house that looks like the Wreck of the Hesperus.

So, I did what I tend to do. I flipped.

I went back downstairs and said hey, the dumb bitch who didn’t clean my house broke my garage key anyway. Can I keep this one?

They said no.

They said by the way, you didn’t fill out your paperwork. I said I filled out 18 pages of paperwork for the HOA. They said no, there’s one more paper. And had I filled it out, they wouldn’t have sent my key to the owner.

I said again, no one could have TOLD ME THIS?!

I got the key fob I needed (gate key) and they did give me a less-broken garage key. But they kept the keyring that holds the garage and gate keys together.

I was so furious, I flew out of there on my mental broom.

Mom finally got brave and used the oven today. Even that’s fucked up. It continues to run long after it’s shut off.

I told her fuck the $1,750 security deposit. Let the cat scooch. I’m nailing things and people to the walls. Anyone need to host a ritual sacrifice? Bring Your Own Blood. I got key fobs for everybody. COME ON OVER.

Let’s wake up the fucking neighborhood …

I totally destroyed an article sent my way today. 

One of my people was having trouble with one of the images in the piece (I had rebuilt all the other charts) so I sent her the original file. 

She said holy shit, it was a whole new article after I got done with it. She said she had no idea what I do without anyone knowing. 

I asked if that was good and she said yes, a thousand percent better.  She said I am very fluent in speaking (language name redacted). 

I wonder what I’ll do then these (redacted) are gone. What has earth been like while I was off tending to them?