Caterwauling

I live for Saturday mornings.

I generally hit a Weight Watchers meeting, then run a couple of errands on my own, then go home and pick up Mom and have a good late lunch somewhere.

Today I was frustrated by the scale. I already lost five pounds this month so I shouldn’t be annoyed that I saw a slight gain this morning.

But I practically live on vegetables and coffee, and I walk around the office like a damn nomad — anything to increase the number of steps I’ve taken in a day.

I dance down grocery-store aisles and have been caught chair-dancing myriad times at the final stoplight before the office (like 11 miles from it).

Anyway, I don’t get it. But I will keep at it. I just squoze my pudgy butt into a skirt that’s down a size from what I’ve been wearing, so hooray for that. (We call those NSVs, or Non-Scale Victories.)

And that wasn’t the only NSV this morning.

I say all of this to say I parked my pudgy butt at Starbucks for about 15 minutes and played on my phone while I ate the banana I selected for breakfast.

And I realized just how easy it is to meet people when you’re not trapped in the house or in a cube farm out on a prairie somewhere.

I had my sunglasses on because they are “readers” and I can’t read a damn thing without magnification. So I didn’t notice the guy who was watching me right away.

And it wasn’t “Creepy” watching like most who have no goddamned clue how to be subtle. He seemed like he was trying to catch my eye as he went about fixing his coffee.

I of course am Oblivious so I didn’t actually realize that this good-looking thing was looking at ME till he was walking out the door. We did make eye contact finally. I smiled and he did too.

And I was thinking, damn, I should have had the glasses off. And maybe should have been less into renewing my car registration on my phone.

But it literally is that easy to make a connection. Even if only for a moment.

So, screw the scale. I’m awesome regardless of whether or not I’m up 0.2 pounds. Thank you, universe for validating that. Twice.

Yeah, the giving up on the complaining? Not so much.

We’ve got so many scam artists down here that I pass about a dozen “It’s OK to Say No to Panhandlers” signs on my way home, since my little beach town seems to be home to more than most.

I met a homeless girl last night. I see her all the time. She hangs out at my 95 off-ramp. I’ve never really had cash on me anyway, but I could never get a feel for whether she was for real or not.

Last night I was the first car at the intersection. And we connected for just a brief second. She’s real, all right. I could feel the hurt, the pride, the gratitude that someone would make eye contact even if they couldn’t help.

My attitude toward the needy is this. I want to help them all. But then I have a mom who needs a helping hand and no one to give it. And is giving that nice lady on the street five bucks going to take away from something that could save my mom’s life?

Because, like I said, I want to help everyone. And it breaks my heart that either A) all thousand people on the corners in my beach town are that desperate or B) maybe only 5% of the people I see actually do need the help and the rest are scam artists?

I type all of this to say yesterday was a day I won’t forget. It’s the day in my head where, if they would have asked me to leave, I would have packed my box and danced out of there.

The thing is, if the hiring process has taught me anything, it’s that everyone is just trying to exchange what they have for something that sucks marginally less.

Case in point, I got a resume from someone at my old company. I friended this person on LinkedIn. Another friend from a competing company noticed the new friendship and said, hey, are you hiring that person? Because I was thinking about applying for their old job.

I’m talking, this all happened in a 20-minute time span.

I keep telling my friend who IS hot to trot to exit, look, stay where you are. I promise, you don’t want these jobs you see posted in the industry. Your job is degrading and demeaning, but don’t jump into something that isn’t a reasonable step up, OK?

And yesterday — after I told everybody please don’t schedule a new launch till I can commit to finishing the launch materials, they scheduled a launch date and yet everyone’s displeased that I can’t deliver the materials without personal hardship — I didn’t even have a yam fit. I envisioned driving out of there, picking up the cat and the mom, and going to the Keys.

And last night, despite being depleted and tired after a Full Day of Managing the Unmanageable, I did get 75% of the way through one of my two deliverables.

That’s what they count on. I hate rewarding it. I attempted to delegate this project three weeks ago to three different people and the only one willing to take it, I was told to never give that person projects again because that person wasn’t “mine.”

Again, it’s not hard. Nothing is hard for me. I guess they’ve “gotten” the concept of asking a busy person to get something done. Because I do … it’s just that I feel the complaints rising more quickly and frequently in the back of my throat, and I’m getting less adept at muzzling them.

Anyway, as I drove home in the pitch dark after being the first arrival at the office in the a.m., I wasn’t sure whether I’d go back. Then I met this girl and realized she’d probably kill for the same opportunity.

And let’s face it, if the money I make can go toward doing some good in the world, just a few dollars at a time, well, that’s what makes it worth it. It has to.

I remember at my early jobs (since I always had to work two to three at a time to make ends meet the way the zippers on my pants two sizes down get into the neighborhood of connecting), I used to get exhausted by 40 hours a week.

Don’t get me wrong, all told I’d still do 80 hours. But there was one job that was an 8-to-4:30 and boy did I want to die by 4:31 when I sprinted for the stairwell.

I had a hard 40 hours last week. The additional hours at the same job weren’t cake either. 😉

This week is a holiday week, which means Even Moar Cramming 10 pounds of poop into a five-pound bag. I thought, I can make it. I will pace myself.

Then I got an impossible request on an all-staff call today and I had to mute myself. Because my reply would have been fairly lethal.

It’s an impossible request because I gave away a Big Project to someone last week only to have it come running back to me today. So in addition to my Crammed Holiday Week, I have this Big Project.

So hearing about an Impossible Project — which really isn’t but I’m pretty much seething at this point being due like RIGHT NOW — not to mention a few residual cleanup items from the last two launches and starting the NEXT TWO launches, well, yams.

Truth be told, I’d rather have the project. I just wanted to have a normal crazy week instead of another batshit one. Silly Goddess.

So, in “This is Me Not Bitching” status, I will say this. There is a group of three of us. It’s always been the three of us. It’s a carryover from our last job where we worked together in ridiculous conditions. We just kind of banded together here and it’s always, always The Three of Us. No matter how many people come and go.

Anyway, I think we all drive each other crazy. But I think our loyalty is unparalleled. We can always count on each other for a few laughs. We never really bitch because we’re in the “grateful to have an income” category.

But honestly, even when I want to throw things at them on occasion, I just want to hug them afterward.

I have a funny feeling that, if this company lasts 50 more years and we are still there, the three of us will still be standing together. Or drunk at a bar together. Yes, that sounds more like it.

Anyway, I received an amazing, amazing gift from one of my boys today. Between him and my two colleagues, I can get up and do this every day.

It’s tougher some days than others, generally when I’m being held accountable for 1,000 things to everybody else’s 250. But, you know, I do it for myself and the people who need me to do it for them.

Those three are as grateful as can be. And that counts for a whole hell of a lot.

I read a tip in Self magazine that one should try a week without bitching. Which meant mentally slapping my hand every time I fired up my blog dashboard. Because, what are these things for, if not to kvetch on?

It was a hard week. Workwise and otherwise.

I do want to clarify that I’ve really come to enjoy my mom. Sure she drives me crazy, what with living with me for seven-ish years now.

But if I’d instead spent this time married or otherwise shacking up with some possessive or, worse, boring windbag who couldn’t cook/clean or who gave me shit about my work schedule, well, I totally won this last near-decade.

Mom’s health is really at the point of “if a miracle doesn’t happen soon …” We’ve kind of said our goodbyes already. That’s where we’re at.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep working and driving a lot and not missing a beat or any new project, to keep a roof over our heads. Wouldn’t want anyone to worry that I’ll dip into my two months’ vacation or anything like that.

Hell, I canceled one of my doctor’s appointments this week. Not looking for applause or a parade or anything. Just, I wish my dumbass friends would stop posting shit on Facebook like they’re having a boring day or week or that they have plans after work and date nights and shit. Not interested.

Mom commented to me the other day that my Facebook life is everyone’s fantasy, including my own. Check-ins from bars. Photos of beaches. Comments about whatever wine I’m trying this weekend.

All those moments are fleeting. I take the photo and leave for work. Or fire up the computer and work on a friend’s resume or cover letter. Or go worry about something I didn’t have time to do in the 70-something hours I DID devote to my projects.

I found myself shouldering some blame unnecessarily these past two weeks. And to be honest, I’ve done it at my past two jobs, too. Things I had no control over. Things I asked for and didn’t receive. Things that were committed for delivery by a certain date, and me not receiving them meant a slight delay on my end.

I don’t throw people under the bus. I see us all as a team — hell, a FAMILY — and our job is to support each other. Unless someone’s being overtly malicious (and we’ve got one of those, too), I feel it’s best to just not torch a bridge I need to traverse a few thousand more times in my lifetime.

Because, I really really really appreciate it when they have my back, too. And most of them do.

And sometimes I admit I take it upon myself to own it. Not that I want, need or deserve blame. Blame shouldn’t even be in these conversations. But it’s implied sometimes.

I saw myself get ousted from my last job for doing the same thing. Of course, that nutty bitch just fired someone during her first week because the girl wasn’t a fan of the commute. So, using that asylum as a yardstick for what should or shouldn’t work is like telling men that four inches is really 12.

Anyway, so if I bitched last week, the rants would have been along these lines.

So instead I just want to reiterate that while having my mom be 100% dependent on me, and me failing a dozen ways to Sunday to get her health care and the other things she really needed, we’ve had so much fun.

We were at a restaurant yesterday, and a server who wasn’t ours said, “I love walking by your table. You’ve never stopped laughing. You two seem like such pleasant people.”

We were probably laughing AT someone in our lives. But she’s right. We have fun.

And I pray maybe this is the turning point I’ve needed to arrive at, for things to start going our way. That things aren’t easy and not the way I pictured them to be. But they’ve been really good — better than good, in most cases.

So, good for all of you who have your families covered by healthcare, and good for all of you who are working on expanding your families and taking international trips and attending classes and finding time with friends while I am enslaved to *something* (whatever it is).

Like Mom always tells me, everyone is going on with their lives but me.

But this season of stress is going to resolve itself one way or another. Either she gets the help she needs (preferred solution) or she can’t take the pain anymore and I have to let her go (obviously, not the right answer).

But I have to stop being afraid that things AREN’T going to change at all, and to be ready for where my journey leads next.

Because, being terrified all the time and killing myself to hold on to “the way things are” really doesn’t seem like much of a solution, either, when you think about it.

The bigger message for me is to enjoy it while we have it. And that, I promise you, is something I’ve finally, finally learned how to do.

Everybody’s been up my butt about hiring help.

Which, who benefits most when I do? Exactly.

HR wants me to not let applications get stale. Boss wants to expand a colleague’s duties ASAP. Colleague whose duties are to be expanded is a good worker but who never did manage to get to “back me up enough for me to take a day off” status.

But, you know, let’s promote them. 🙂

My fault as a manager? Partly, maybe. But I won’t own it all.

This week colleague says, yeah we need the help. Where are you with this? And can you hire two?

I think everyone’s under the perception that I am hiring said person to help us both. Um, no. Most monkeys I try to give away come running back. The help is for me.

My favorite candidate pulled out today. Most candidates found out where we’re located and said no fucking way to the commute. (Job security for me!)

My second favorite candidate failed to dazzle with the editing test. But this reminds me of when I applied to a competitor about three years ago …

I came highly recommended. Sailed through interviews. Got an editing test as a formality.

The thing was, the article sample was pretty good. I did a light edit. I honestly didn’t want to fuck up something that actually had a clear beginning, middle and end.

They stopped returning my calls after that.

I could never figure out why. A friend said YOU ALWAYS RIP APART THE EDITING SAMPLE, GODDESS. ALWAYS.

Well fuck me.

So my one candidate did a proofread. And missed “piqued” (I put in “peaked” — nobody ever catches it.)

Basically I didn’t have the history on her that Other Company had on me. I thought they might have come back to me with a writing test. But no.

So now I am left with being like “meh” about contacting her. But I realize she doesn’t have my industry experience and she didn’t realize that:

A. I sent two tests for them to choose from.
B. I hoped they’d pick the harder test.
C. If they picked the easier one, they could jazz it up with pretty much no effort.

I had a guy pick the harder test and ROCKED IT. And he’s like, yeah, I don’t think I want to haul ass out there. But thanks.

I have another gal who isn’t too bad and a guy who is great. I just, while I’m trying to get the most out of this experience, feel like I’m wasting so much time.

And I’m tired of being made to feel (inadvertently or otherwise) that I’m being too slow about all this.

Look, we have a delicate ecosystem here. It’s not always fun. It’s never boring. It’s always an adventure and one that doesn’t allow for downtime. But I am FIERCELY loyal to my team and the experts I supervise. I would not STAY if not for our bizarrely codependent relationships.

We cannot do this without the trust and loyalty and frankly ADMIRATION of each other.

To add another personality — the wrong one — could destroy us if I’m not careful.

And it’s for US I’m being careful. I don’t need a warm body. I’d rather have no one than the wrong one.

Same as in my personal life.

Go figure.

“I’ll put my suitcase here for now
I’ll turn the TV to the bed
But if no one calls and I don’t speak all day
Do I disappear?”

— Everything But the Girl, “Single”

I was telling Mom, of one of my boys, he’s just happier being single.

Like, he’s happy he doesn’t have to put a roof over anyone’s head or food in their mouth or wine in their belly on a consistent basis.

He answers to no one. Does what he wants, when he wants. Does a lot of “we should get together” but suddenly forgets to answer the phone that never leaves his hand when you’re, say, passing through his neighborhood.

But he’ll always text you later. Sorry I missed you, he’ll say. Hope you had fun, whatever you did. Next time, for sure, we’ll hang out.

I picked up on his game early but didn’t just let him win it till far too late.

I changed who I was for him at first. I was sweet. And sunshiney. And boring. And trying to picture “the life” with him. Which, I could clearly see, if I shut my eyes tight enough.

Then I turned back into who I really am. He liked her more, but that was it. I was still the wide-eyed girl, to him, who thought he was more special than he really wanted to be to anyone other than himself.

“And how am I without you
Am I more myself or less myself
I feel younger, louder
And like I don’t always connect
Like I don’t ever connect.”

And from my vantage point of actually being me, I was fine. Better than fine. I tried to show him how alike we were.

In any event, I was thinking about him today. And I realized I really am happier being single, too.

In my rare free moments, I want to have FUN. Fun to me isn’t learning someone’s quirks or hiding my own or trying to be lovable or pretending that I’m loving when I just don’t have it in me.

Fun is, “I don’t have much but I want either a lot of laughs or complete silence as I do my thing.”

Fun last weekend was leading part of my Weight Watchers meeting and having the room laughing and crying and encouraging me to keep entertaining them. And when people approached me afterward to friend me on Facebook or hook up with me on Fitbit, I smiled politely and said, “Next week, for sure.”

Again, don’t get me wrong — I’d love to meet a companion for sharing opinions and meals and bottles of wine and screaming orgasms that are not of the alcoholic variety.

But if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that “investing time” and “wasting time” are very different, and I can spot each from a thousand miles away.

Look, I know that the pretty years, they’re nearing peak sunset. And while I think a part of me longs for something to show for them, the rest of me is actually pretty damn OK knowing I’m not so tied down that I’d miss something special if it did come my way.

Even better, I’ve more than shown I’m pretty OK on my own. Better than OK, actually.

I’d say I’m approaching burnout. But it’s approached me.

Not just approached — but, rather, chloroformed me, put a bag over my head, threw me in the trunk and drove me over the state line.

My nerves are so shot they don’t feel anything anymore. And that’s reason alone to be nervous.

That’s because, the moment my anxiety dissipates, something big happens. “Whatever” ends in its current form. Whether it’s good or bad remains to be seen. Everything changes, but whether it’s for the good or bad depends on the environment.

There was a moment in “Scandal” about two weeks ago when Olivia Pope’s mother told her that she’ll never be more than “the help” to Fitz’s presidential administration.

In other words, he’ll never marry you. He’ll never really consider you a member of Team Fitz. You are just the maid hired to clean up all his messes and prevent new disasters from derailing his re-election campaign.

I am the help. I’m good at it. I make an amazing No. 2. But is that my peak?

I think they mean what they say that if I can just deal with being the help now, I’ll be glad I did because it will all pay off.

I mean, I’m more or less OK where I am. I just feel like I have to kill myself to keep up with all of life’s demands. I do it to eventually achieve balance. But why must it be an absolute imbalance across all life’s domains in the meantime?

But if what it takes to get ahead is giving more, more, more and what’s left of me is getting less and less, I wonder if “staying in place” should be my goal because, more and more, it’s feeling like my only option.

And the older/tired-er I get, the more I see how people become OK with that.

I was supportive of Hillary Clinton’s initiative as first lady to bring healthcare to people like my family who didn’t have any.

I voted for Obama twice so maybe my mom could get some coverage.

I cheered when a friend who’s gone 40 years without healthcare finally got an affordable plan for the first time in his life.

And then I filled out Mom’s application and not only did she, with zero income, get denied for Medicaid, but the system determined that I could afford to pay $700-plus a month to get her covered.

Well, way to go, Obamacare. You turned the liberal into a Republican overnight.

My mom is so weak and fragile and frail. And I think the hope of getting some care was all she had left. Now, I could almost see her fall apart overnight. And I can’t seem to stop crying, wondering if this is what does her in. The end of hope.

At work, people worry that something’s going to happen to her and I won’t be able to grace them with my 70-ish hours a week because I’ll have to take care of her. All the while I get the “oh we wish we could help” lines. Which, they could. They just don’t. All I want are ideas, leads, avenues to pursue that I haven’t … and TIME TO PURSUE THEM.

But as long as THEIR families are taken care of, why would they?

I think they fear something really big is going to happen and I’ll either become a nursemaid or, worse, all by myself in this world. Because, what would the reason be to go back at all?

Maybe I shouldn’t type this sort of stuff out loud. But I’m crying for help here. If I could free up $700 a month (like if they let me do freelance somewhere else), that would help.

I always figured Hillary Clinton could see from a thousand miles away what was wrong with Obamacare, and that she was too busy doing her job as Secretary of State and now busy preparing to become our 2016 president. And besides, she can fix this mess and become the hero for making things right.

Only … Mom doesn’t think she’ll be able to see that day. And that’s so not fair, I cannot even put into words the absolute evil that is running through my mind.

In this America, no matter how hard you work, it’s never enough. Something always suffers. And in my case, it’s some*one*.

And let’s be clear. Nobody’s ever loved me more than my momma. And a world without her, frankly, isn’t one I can imagine being in.

Thanks, Obama.

1. A friend asks me Monday, hey, could you help me with a cover letter? I say sure. She sends me the job posting. As in, I am supposed to read it and write the cover letter for her.

2. Another friend is applying for a job with the FBI, apparently, because I get papers in the mail asking me to provide a detailed reference. In case you’ve never given a reference for someone in law enforcement, they investigate you, too. Thanks for the surprise.

3. You know what I did today? Met a potential candidate for a job I’m hiring for. Because I don’t have time during the week for this.

I say all of this to say, I don’t have time for this. I don’t mind working to keep a friendship going. I do mind working during my rare non-working hours. I mind it even more if there’s no benefit to MY career.

I was texting with Jupiter today. Not really missing him at the time, just saying hi because something reminded me of him today and I knew he’d find it thoughtful of me to share.

Then UF decided to reserve me for a day exactly a month from now. Because, I’ve said no the last thousand times he’s asked with little to no notice. Now let’s give me a month to carve this blessed event in stone, eh?

It’s a pub crawl. Which, people at his age (he has seven years on me) still do? Classy.

I even said do you notice I never contact you? It’s always you coming to me? And I never say yes? Do you want to put it together or shall I?

I was talking to Mom about it all and she said, “Jupiter spoiled you.”

It’s true. No pub crawls for him. He planned nice romantic dates. He was old-fashioned in all the good ways.

Jupiter took me to fun places. Dressed up and smelled good. Was pretty to look at. Always came prepared with conversation topics I’d appreciate. Opened my car door. Always walked on the exterior side of the sidewalk. Paid. Always polite. Always generous with a smile and a compliment, for everyone — even those who didn’t deserve it. That sometimes included me.

(Oddly, I just saw an article that the more successful the woman, the less the man spends on dates. Because, we are self-made and all. But he always did it up as big as he could — or as much as I’d let him, which I honestly tried to keep it low-key. Since he wouldn’t ever let me pay.)

Anyway, funny to hear from them in the same 20-minute span. So different.

Wonder if Mom’s right and nobody will ever impress me like Jupiter did. I’m open to meeting someone new and better for me, because he wasn’t without his challenges.

But someday, I’ll have that again. Better, even. I can feel it.