Caterwauling

No one was ever here to eat it, so I threw it away.

Oh well. I tried!

Next birthday is mine. Maybe I’ll continue the tradition of taking a couple of days off. 🙂

(Oh who am I kidding…)

“Don’t want you to see
When pain overflows
Yeah, you’re not my friend.

I still think that we were meant to be
Ooh-oh, lie to me now.
I still dream that you were meant for me
Yeah, why would you doubt?

…

I don’t wanna feel
This heartache and fear
I don’t wanna wait (anymore)
I don’t want to be nice.”

— Elizaveta, “Meant”

Perhaps the only good thing I have to say this week is that I realized I could live without someone. Might not ever get over them fully. But, truly, I think my heart started to feel something again.

Or maybe that was my loins. Yeah, that’s definitely it.

Either way. *shrug*

I’m starting to realize that I take too damned long to make a decision. I lost out on my dream car because I was A) waffling because of the financial commitment, B) distrustful of shithead salesmen and C) listening to pseudo-psychic Mom who wondered whether there were something wrong with the car.

My dream house is still under contingency. I got in touch with the shithead realtor to inquire whether the potential renters’ pending application had been approved and to thank him for keeping me in mind if not. He’s another idiot I wouldn’t trust with someone else’s rent check. But alas, it’s my own fault that I didn’t follow up on my first inquiry sooner.

I have another “thing” I’ve been agonizing over. And really, if you don’t go after things, you don’t REALLY have a choice. My choices always seem to be the result of “I over-thought it and totally missed my shot and now it’s someone else’s.”

I got to thinking about when I took my first Florida job. The agonizing, oh, it was painful. But I rationalized (after breaking my brain) that even if it sucked, at least I’d live in Florida. So, some good came from it. Again, after coming to that conclusion, I felt I’d be OK no matter how it turned out.

So, I’m impulsive on a lot of things but man, I lose out on all the big stuff that I have to justify to myself seven ways to Sunday.

The same is true with matters of the heart. I love to follow it but I always find myself screeching to a halt and being frozen in time on my tip-toes so I don’t cross whatever line I see. Mom says it’s thanks to someone special who led me on and let me down when I fell.

“I’m not asking for sympathy (oh)
Cause I know what you need me to say
Thanks for what you have given me (Take it back)
I will always remember you watching me walking away, hey.”

I like to think that good things come in time … that other things don’t magically come together if they’re not meant to. But maybe they only come together when you take steps toward making them happen.

In any case, I fear I’m about to lose something else due to obsessing about it instead of just DOING it. And as always, I only have myself to blame, if I blow this one too. …

I hate to admit the Goddess is getting old, but our 20-year high-school reunion took place over Thanksgiving. Oh, my lands — two decades already?

I bought a ticket but didn’t go. Never planned to, really. Besides, I’ll be in another part of Pennsylvania later this month, so doing the Pittsburgh thing wasn’t ever really on my Christmas wish list.

Lately as I examine my life and wonder where on earth to go from here (and how to get there), I recall a girl I knew in high school who influenced my life, but probably not in a good way. And no, I don’t mean the bad kids who got me drinking and smoking when I was 11. 🙂

The girl who was supposed to graduate in the No. 2 spot was a perfectionist, to say the least. When the rest of us were taking honors classes, she stayed far away — lest she mess up her perfect-100% GPA. I did find that the “weighted” classes both helped and hurt me — I had a couple of 106% grades, and then there was that software-writing class I took through the local Penn State branch that I totally bombed.

Either way, I did what I wanted and I’m glad I tried it all.

This gal, I remember she used to break out in hives when we were taking tests, standardized or otherwise. She would rub her neck raw.

She didn’t get that No. 2 spot, which I think killed a very big part of her spirit. But she went off to some Big Ten school and that was that.

I heard she lost it and had to go into psychiatric treatment for a while. I last saw her working at the local amusement park. She may still be there, for all we know.

Sad really. Big, brilliant mind. Just got in her own way, I guess.

The takeaway for me was to just go out and do what I wanted to do. Not to kill myself studying. To go out with friends and let loose. To do my level best NOT to turn into a basket case.

Don’t get me wrong — I worked my ass off when I needed to. But I really don’t remember the small stuff that I blew off. Yet … I always wonder. I should have been a Fortune 500 CEO by now instead of a middle-management mushroom who hides in the dark.

I used to rail against people who worked their eight hours, took their lunch breaks, took their vacations and attended to their kids while I shouldered the load and lost out on time with my family or even by myself. Fuck them, I thought — I’m going to kick ass and put them out of a job.

These days, after being put out of a job ANYWAY two years ago this month, I don’t care so much about the “leave at 5” crowd. When I stay late, it’s because I need the quiet time. But at 8 p.m., I stand up and go — to hell with what’s unfinished.

But when Taco Tuesday rolled up like it did last week, I pulled out the Fuck-it Bucket and went. (What’s another two hours tacked on to the end of the workday, anyway?)

And when someone like my old publisher rolls through town and wants to go out for drinks (as happened Wednesday) and one of my boys asks me out to dinner before I was to head off to a Christmas party (as happened Friday), well, to all a good night. My staff/colleagues teased me about having a half-day as I jetted out at 4:30 p.m. on Wednesday. Friday, well, I was brushing my teeth at 5 and trying to not look like a hot mess before meeting the cute boy for my eye-candy appetizer at 5:15.

Anyway, I have the gal in high school to thank for that. I just didn’t realize it until recently. All work and no play makes Goddess a very dull deity indeed. And besides, I have more than my share of 8 p.m. or later weeknight departures to have earned it.

And guess what? The world didn’t end with all the work that was undone. I mean, I’m paying for it now and in a big way. But the memories make it all worthwhile.

As a dear friend turns 28 for the 13th time today, I am going to take a break from my self-induced delirium wherein to deal with reality for just a moment. Because, let’s face it, my whole “gang” is turning THAT AGE en masse and, well …

IT SUCKS.

We’re all pushing *cough* a multiple of four *cough* and life is not what any of us anticipated. I mean, that in and of itself is to be expected. But I don’t think any of us knew how hard it would be.

This isn’t an era where you get a job and stick with it and expect to have a comfortable retirement.

This isn’t even an era where, if you give your heart and soul to your job, you’ll even be on the payroll a year from now. I never thought *I* would get cut after a lifetime of performance. I still can’t quite feel secure after that happened.

This isn’t an era where creativity or dedication means much. It’s all about who produces the most and costs the least — bonus points if you fit both bills at once.

This isn’t an era where you take for granted Christmas parties and bonuses.

This isn’t an era where you take for granted gifts. If you’re lucky enough to have a roof over your head for the next month, you’re lucky enough. If you have a tree, even better. Presents under that tree? Whoa, there. Don’t get all crazy now!

This isn’t an era where you can finance a car or a house or, in my case, even a laptop without — if not “BEING DENIED”, then being terrified that your ass is gonna get shitcanned and you’ll be stuck upside-down in a loan your hopeful self shouldn’t have been delusional enough to take.

This isn’t an era when “graduated student loan payments” doesn’t invoke fear and regret that you didn’t contribute a little more while you could because you might not be able to pay anything at all, three months from now.

This isn’t an era for fidelity — relationships, work, friends, anything. Everybody’s got their eye on something or someone else. When it comes to work, you kind of HAVE to have a backup plan to your backup plan. It naturally bleeds over into other matters of the heart. What if the only way to get what we want, including security, is to spread out our risk, like we do in the stock market?

This isn’t an era for falling in love or paying for weddings or having kids or working toward the dreams you’ve cobbled together over the years — and, for many of us, lost sight of. Who can worry about falling in love when you’re staring at budgets — work and personal — all day and not making ends meet within the county limits?

I really try not to dwell on the negative. But if someone wants my heart — work or personal — tell me it’s going to be OK and make me believe it. I know there are no guarantees but I’ll take anything more than this.

O, she of little faith. What’s it going to take to make her believe again?

Mercury Retrograde is good for one thing: telling people off creatively.

Especially for us Mercury-ruled types, we should just duct-tape our mouths for three weeks at a time, three or four times a year. Because shit comes out that you have been muffling for months or even years.

Or as I admitted to someone (because yes, I do blurt shit out that I shouldn’t), it’s also a wonderful time to let things escape under the guise of, “Oh dear! How did THAT pop into my head (and out of my mouth)?” *innocent look*

My poor mother has heard everything I’ve been squelching since my grandfather died six years ago this week. And it ain’t pretty. She’s in hiding in her bedroom right now. AND I CAN FINALLY WRITE AND BLEED MY DAMN WOUNDS. HOORAY!

The thing is, she knows how to push every goddamn button I have. Sometimes, all at the same time. I can identify this because I do the same damn thing to her. And yesterday it was like throwing a shut-in on the whole piano keyboard. The noise is horrific and every button is stuck in depressed mode.

And boy does that last sentence say it all!

Speaking of Depressed, Meet Topo Gigio

Most of you don’t remember Topo Gigio, the mouse from “The Ed Sullivan Show.” I don’t either, actually. But that’s one of the names I call one of the “men” in my life.

And yesterday, he pretty much took a hammer to the last remaining button I had left standing when it comes not just to him, but to humanity.

This after I had received the most-wonderful e-mail from someone I knew and liked very much from my younger years. The timing was uncanny, really. I was on top of the world and recognizing my value to others when Topo thought he could wipe his ass on my world.

It will be the LAST time he does that. Because I can do better. I have always been able to do better. I just seem to have forgotten that because everyone has gone on to other people and I remain the asshole who is still alone.

But you know what? I’m probably the happiest asshole of them all because of that single state!

‘I Saw Goodbye in Her Eyes’

I’m borrowing this subhead from the new Zac Brown song. The thing is, I saw goodbye in Topo’s eyes a long time ago. And he flares up every now and again and, I’m ashamed to admit, I wonder if he’s finally had enough of his shitty choices that leave him isolated from normal people.

Rather, I’m ashamed to admit that I HOPE he’s coming to his senses before I put the epitaph on this entanglement. Which, again, that day was yesterday.

I haven’t seen him in a while. Because, well, distance really does make the heart grow fonder in two distinct ways:

1. He misses me and wants to see me.
2. I miss him until I spend time with him. Then, I’m good for a good long while.

I got an e-mail from him on Wednesday not saying he missed me. But saying that whenever I can free myself up, he’d love to do lunch or coffee or something.

OK.

So yesterday morning, we were texting back-and-forth about the usual pile of social, political and otherwise-surface issues that fill our conversations these days. (Since he has backtracked on everything he’s ever said to me personally. Easier to keep the truth straight, I guess, when the topic stays on national affairs.)

I was out and about, feeding my fur-niece and otherwise enjoying the pre-babysitting (Mom) gig that would eat up the entire rest of my day.

And thinking, OK, he said to tell him when I’m not busy, I said hey — I’m going to grab java after I spend some time with the cat. I’m by the highway. Want to take an hour to grab coffee with me? I’ll come to you.

Deja Vu All Over Again. And Again

I should know better. But, you know, maybe I’m sick of the only time we connect is when he is feeling like he’s off the leash that HE PUTS HIMSELF ON.

Seriously, he hangs himself with it. And you know what? Nobody gives a good God damn. Suffering is kind of pointless if nobody is witnessing it, yes?

The man’s got more excuses than China’s got rice. Yet he found another grain.

Funny thing was, he was heading down to the same fucking exit where I was doing my cat-sitting. But lo, raincheck! Eight Starbucks stores and three Dunkins in the six-block radius separated my whereabouts from his destination. But Jesus God no, he did not initiate the invitation so it is null and void!

I was stalking his whore online the other day. And I thought, hmm, she has a really cool Pinterest profile. We would probably be friends if I cared to associate with riff-raff. But that ain’t ever gonna happen.

I looked at her photo and thought, wow — that’s a face only a dumbass could love!

Or, more to the point …

A Face Only Dumbass Can Love

Understand, I’m not jealous. I actually hope these star-crossed nitwits can find their way together. But I think Whoreicane looks pretty happy with no mention of him anywhere or in any of her vast amounts of photos.

And I don’t think he can actually handle her. Like I said, I see parallels between myself and hoebag. I mean, he’s lowered his standards considerably on the looks front and even with the coherence front on that one. But I don’t think he can upkeep something like that.

Nay, I think she’ll get bored, or wait till he comes to his senses and finds somebody better. Frankly I think the only thing she loves is herself. And I’m not typically wrong about these things.

And forget me — I’ve made a return trip to my senses and closed the borders. So I think Raggedy Ass will be the lucky beneficiary. Since, of course, that’s where he was headed when he couldn’t come out and play yesterday.

Anyway, he said he was babysitting her dogs. And I was thisclose to saying, “Have fun with the dogs … and the canines!” Referring to her and her roommie, of course.

But …

I like that he thinks I’m so damn nice. (Clearly he has missed out on Caterwauling.com so far. Thank God.) I don’t want to say something shitty like that and have it be what he remembers me by. (Like I remember all the bad stuff.)

Again, but …

I thought of the whole “Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace” thing. Not that I plan to be around for that. But … WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS?

I can see rejecting me if he thought I was trying to get back to where we were heading, once upon a time. Trust me, the man is his own sequel to “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I get it, dude. Really.

But Jesus, I don’t need friends who are so married to the idea of possibly being disloyal to someone who doesn’t even know/care about their whereabouts at any given time that they can’t even hang with their platonic friends.

That’s why I’ve often said that he cared too much. (And punished me for it.) It’s not that he doesn’t trust ME around him … it’s that he doesn’t trust HIMSELF around me.

And, well, we girls DO HAVE WAYS OF SHUTTING THAT DOWN* YOU KNOW.

(*Actually I hate to pull out the Repug pro-rape-pregnancy line. Because he’s a Democrat and I do admit liberal guys do it better!)

OK, so for the punchline to all this …

Do I take advantage of Retrograde to unleash the verbal demons and be heard across hell’s half-acre … or continue being sweet and letting him kick his own ass when he realizes what an absolute shit he’s been to me?

Because, he will. I KNOW he will. That’s the funny thing about knowing someone inside and out. You can put a timeline on things. I say by the 2014 election cycle when we rid ourselves of Gov. Rick Scott.

He’s going to get what’s coming to him … and he’s going to DESERVE IT. (And not just “Pink Slip Rick,” although I look forward to helping that to come about, too.)

I don’t wish him ill. I don’t even wish him gone. I just wish that he could change his own destiny somehow, because “alone” is going to be a very lonely place when you’re not the one choosing it.

And maybe that’s what I’m doing at home. I had to beg for alone time today. After a yelling match where I was pushed to the absolute brink. Again, I don’t wish anybody ill — I wish they’d give me my damn space already. Once in a while, anyway. And not after they’ve pushed me to meltdown status.

We’re alike in that way, he and I. We’ll come around again when we need some companionship. Difference is, I see how we could be each other’s cheering section, support group and — I dunno — FRIEND.

But this half-assed shit isn’t good enough for me anymore. And the goodbye is definitely in my eyes. Question is, does he see it?

It’s been a great weekend, minus that speeding ticket I got on Friday night. Who knew that going 85 in a 55 is frowned upon? See, my problem was that I kicked out my staff early in preparation for Hurricane Sandy. (Which mostly turned out to be a non-event.)

Word to the wise? If you want to stay safe in a hurricane, MOVE TO FLORIDA. Yes, ponder the irony.

Irony also exists in the fact that our cops and firemen were on the evening news the night before, telling us that if winds exceeded 45 mph, don’t even bother calling them. You get yourself into a jam, YOU figure it out.

So why the fuck weren’t these assclowns at home when I was trying to get my own happy ass home (to watch a marathon of “Say Yes to the Dress: Bridesmaids Edition”)?

I told the cop I should have worked till 8 like I usually do — nobody pulls me over when I’m going 85 THAT late!

I deserved that ticket. But damn, it hurts to think about ALL THAT MONEY. That, and the fact that I have so many tickets from this year alone that I can’t do anything but go the speed limit for a LONG LONG TIME.

Oh well, the real point of this entry is to say that YES, it has been a great weekend. Had a lovely lovely alcoholic brunch yesterday with one of my nearest and dearest. Which was completely worth the swim we had to take across the parking lot, since we decided to drink our breakfast on the ocean.

And I had a wonderful night, too. Spent it with my favorite local boy. (*waving smelling salts for those playing along at home*) I don’t know … I think we might finally have this “friend” thing down pat.

I had such a good time. Seriously, I really really really enjoyed myself. And I was honest about a few things that have been troubling me. But now that I’ve had the chance to say them, I feel like I am finally at peace. And that we can, if we do continue being friends — which I sincerely hope we do — move forward from the same place.

I may be severely behind in my work, but on a personal level, I could not be happier with all the progress that took place in just the space of one day.

Thank you, universe. Maybe not so much for the ticket, but for giving me the glue known as friends to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Last Labor Day, when I was still freelancing, I thought I’d get a head start on filling the Web site of a new project I had joined (and had quit a very rewarding gig to do this full time) with content.

I remember getting very nasty e-mails INSTANTLY from VaJayJay telling me that I was producing “Sloppy Copy.” Like her sloppy-ass cunt, no doubt.

I was the victim of several e-mail chains between her, VaGina (who has no experience in our field. Or with grammar, for that matter) and the other Twunt who owned the business. The word Greenhouse was part of the company name. I call it Outhouse.

Anyway, that was such a frustrating day, and one that was foreboding. It was my mom’s birthday and I should have been celebrating it with her instead of getting into e-mail battles about proper verb conjugations and where to put apostrophes in phrases that everyone in my field knows (that these bitches didn’t and they thought I was full of shit).

I knew that day that the gig was going to end in disaster. Which it did not even a month later. Luckily an old employer swooped in and offered me part-time work to tide me over till I got the job I have today.

I don’t say all of this to dredge up horrific memories. But to remind myself, as I have a shitpile of work to do before tomorrow (after 70 hours last week and 12 hours of commuting) that this is what I asked for.

I asked the universe for a fulfilling full-time job that treated me well. To never have to deal with people like the “Va” twins and the rest of the Outhouse gang that was simply trying to make me feel like I didn’t deserve to be paid (to justify them NOT PAYING).

I’ve avoided that whole group for a year, but I did hear from an old friend who knows all the parties involved. I hear VaJayJay is still working for him, and I made it a point to caution him against her … that she’s still friends with Twunt … that they may be in business together … and that he’d better watch his back because she’s a big enough bitch to screw him over.

I didn’t provide details. Not my place to. But I couldn’t live with myself if she screwed him over the way she was planning to.

It tells me, since she’s working for him still, that she didn’t manage to get the Outhouse off the ground. That she’s still seething, freelancing for someone she hates, to make ends meet. I heard something else unfortunate was happening to her. And while I’d never wish ill on anybody, it’s good to know that Karma doesn’t take a holiday just because the rest of the world does.

With that, I will attack my projects today with a little more enthusiasm, as I am happy to have a job where my colleagues value my skills and would never be insane enough to challenge them. It ain’t always easy, but as I’ve said before with my love life, my passport has been stamped in hell and I do not plan on repeating the journey.

I just need to get past the anxiety of remembering this day last year, because my heart is pounding and I don’t like how I felt and I pray — oh God how I pray — to never feel be at anyone’s mercy like that again.

The blue moon was blue. Well, not really.

My “once in a blue moon” was that I got home before 9 p.m. on a weeknight. Of course, that’s A) because I got out to the middle of nowhere around 6 a.m. yesterday to start my 12-ish hours of joy and rapture, and B) I have to go in for a full day today.

It’s like working at Ye Olde Workplace Establishment again, but with more alligators. (Or gally-ators, as my Grampy used to call them.)

Need to have some coffee and scrub my butt so that Hour 60-ish of my captivity (and hour 10-ish of my commute) can resume.

Will also wait for the text from you-know-who that cancels plans we never had. Now THAT would be the once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence right there … if somebunny came through with a promise! I wouldn’t know what to do, honestly, if the same guy I met/adored almost a year ago was the same one who showed up/came through in my life now.

Would I say yes out of curiosity or no out of self-preservation? And will I ever get a bona fide chance to find out?

Thunder. Lightning. Torrential downpours. And a tornado.

Not a few of my favorite things, mind you, but the last 24 hours on the eastern edge of Tropical Storm Isaac.

I’ll be working all damn night on a project that was conceived Thursday but I was too frickin’ busy on seventy thousand other things to be able to start it till today. Seriously, people. I love that y’all count on me but if I do manage to pull this off, I am officially changing my name to Miracle Worker.

Stayed in the house today. Which was a stroke of genius since everything was open till midday. I miss following the federal government’s openings and closures. We need an OPM-like group down here that looks at a fucking map and can see that, hmm, old people driving plus 8 to 12 inches of rainwater, plus oh hey could that be a tornado too? equals STAY THE FUCK HOME, PEOPLE.

What this pseudo-hurricane party has taught me is 1. wine made from carambola probably tastes like my cat’s tongue after washing her ass (which explains why she DOESN’T) — consider the parallel between the star fruit and the puckered star-shaped asshole on a kitty, 2. personals sites suck and apparently there’s no one in my chi-chi town who has the (not overly ambitious, I promise) education and income I desire them to have, 3. just because you are captive in the house with a lot of food doesn’t mean you have to consume it all (oops) and 4. DAMN I WOULD GIVE ANYTHING TO BE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH A HOT MAN.

Could be worse. Could be married to some dumbass who was sweet till I married him and then I realized what a hot mess he was. Gotta give thanks to God for showing you earlier rather than later what you’re getting into.

Anyway, just to jump in the wayback machine for a minute, torrential downpours remind me of parking at the Metro station, meeting a gentleman friend there, riding into D.C. and dashing from museum to museum in the rain, laughing and kissing and shivering in remote, darkened corners of the hallowed halls of the Smithsonians we loved most.

He loved me more. I knew that. I was so resistant, and with good reason. But the passion, damn. Never would have guessed.

THAT is what I want to feel again. Hiding in the basement of the Hirshhorn, watching a black-and-white flick in a darkened room, my head on his shoulder and an absolute inability to concentrate on anything but the butterflies in knowing that all I had to do was look at him and be swept away by how he was looking at me … waiting to kiss me for when I was ready.

How could I come in and create such feelings in someone else? And when will I be able to do it again … this time with a forever or at least a more-appropriate-for-where-I-am-in-my-life someone … someone who makes me feel the same way I did in those precious, stolen moments on the Mall?

Sloppy fries at Sloppy Joe’s

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Thanks to a great deal of thinking and some expert advice from someone whose opinion I respect tremendously, I picked my prince.

Now to wait for the ring — er, in this case, letter.

This is the point that I need to be telling people that their princess is off the market. But I’m funny about that. What if things all go ka-plooey and, come that magical start date, I find that I need those gigs I’m giving up?

I’ve pretty much told everyone who needs to know except one. I will have to do that this morning.

I’ve also been working hard this week, minus just giving up early Monday afternoon and zoning out in front of the TV. I was kind of hoping for an easy couple of days. It’s not bad, mind you — just not exactly a vacation. I’ve been at this stupid computer all day, every day, for a year now. I’m just annoyed that I have nothing much to show for my time “off.”

On these same blog pages a year ago, I was ranting that freelance was the only way to go. Boy did I get my comeuppance. *points and laughs*

For the most part, freelancing has gone fine. Really, it’s the “where the fuck is my check?” shit that’s made this impossible. I can count exactly two people who paid on time, every time. (My favorite ex-boss, and my favorite ex-company.)

Other than that, I learned the hard way that money and friends don’t mix. Nobody ultimately gives a shit if you’re out on the streets … even if you earned every penny and more that you were promised but haven’t received … even if their unfulfilled promises are what got you to this absolute breaking point.

It’s also slightly amazing how people will let others treat you, too. Barking you around on a Saturday. Threatening you with “repercussions” when they already haven’t paid you — what, are they gonna kick you in this shin, too? Questioning your hours worked. Lying the ultimate lie: “The check is in the mail.” Lord.

THIS is why I’ve agonized so hard about moving on — I question my decision-making ability, after two failed full-time jobs and a baker’s dozen of hit-or-miss freelance experiences. What if the next full-time gig is another in a seemingly endless series of bad choices?

I take comfort in what The Daily OM said in yesterday’s e-letter:

“It is often at times like these that we take a job or move to a place without really knowing if it’s the right thing to do. We may ultimately end up leaving the job or the place, but often during that time we will have met someone who becomes an important friend, or we may have an experience that changes us in a profound way. …

“It’s fun to look back on past experiences with an eye to uncovering those gems—the dreadful temporary job in a bland office building that introduced you to the love of your life; the roommate you couldn’t tolerate who gave you a book that changed your life; the time spent living in a city you didn’t like that led you into a deeper relationship with yourself. Remembering these past experiences can restore our faith in the present.

Everything will be all right, one way or another. Or I’ll find a way to make it so. I always do.