Caterwauling

I had a very vivid dream last night in which I had an in-depth conversation with someone who has something to say to me.

Confidential to that person: I’m ready to have that discussion whenever you are.

As I was driving home, I had a choice between buying smokes or buying dinner for Mommy.

Mommy got fed. And I’m climbing the walls.

It’s not that I like smoking. I hate everything about it. But I do it as a measure of control — normally on nights like tonight when I find myself feeling so bitter, I could just die.

I was mostly irritated that I got an e-mail from Mom, asking if I could buy her a lamp, when I’ve dumped well-upward of a grand on her rent and bills this month (not including food) and I’m down to nothing and I couldn’t take care of all of MY bills this month.

I am doing far too well on paper to be stretched this thin. It’s really fucking irritating. I deserve a new car or a trip to France. But I had to have my freedom. It’s my own fault. It’s always my fault.

Anyway, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” is on, and it’s the only thing making me happy. Except … I find myself feeling like Sally — hanging around waiting for that stupid Linus to get a clue.

I often pine for D.C. It’s a daily thing. I thought I was so happy there. But even if I wasn’t, I had reached a level of peace about it.

But apparently the premonition I had a month ago came true.

And while I’ve been entangled with enough unavailable men in my day to not believe everything I hear, I wonder if I’d still be sitting in that same stupid pumpkin patch — just like Sally — for absolutely nothing, had I stayed.

I’m sad to say, because of that mini-revelation, I’ve never been so happy to be in Florida.

And if that’s what it had to take, then so be it.

Sally, don’t stay in the pumpkin patch all night. You’re not getting any younger.

If Linus doesn’t love you the way you love him, let him settle for waiting for the Great Pumpkin, instead of the other way around. …

Surreal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Yesterday I spent hours waiting for FedEx to arrive with my new check card.

And unbeknownst to me, my mom was actually sitting in the lobby for three hours, watching for FedEx to arrive.

And unbeknownst to both of us, my landlady had intercepted the delivery of said check card on THURSDAY and never mentioned it. And had we not seen her in the lobby yesterday around 2 p.m., I still wouldn’t have the blasted thing.

I’ve been cigarette-free for over a week and if I can get through this crap without lighting up, I’m pretty certain I can get through anything at this point.

I just feel bad about calling my bank and screaming at them for not being able to give me tracking info on my package. I was going to dispute the rush charge because it sure as hell didn’t get to me in a rush. But it did get to my building in a rush, so I’m going to retreat now. 🙂

I take back everything bad I said about them and, officer, if someone burns down the Fallsgrove branch in Rockville, Md., it wasn’t me or any of my disciples — I promise!

I found myself with a free night last night. I done wore Mommy out so much during the day with my spending spree (we hadn’t had a proper meal in a week so I had to remedy that, followed by frolicking through Costco and other assorted stores) that I had the whole night to myself.

I actually went to a bookstore and met a nice guy. (He didn’t ask for my number, and I didn’t offer. But I would have provided it upon request.) I figure he was probably a serial killer and, upon realizing that I wouldn’t put up a fight, he decided to move on to someone who would provide more of a challenge. 😉

However, I was a moron and was running around in a sundress all day. We’re having a “cold front” here in South Florida. It was only 80 degrees all day. People were out in sweaters and shit. I laughed.

Then I was in my strappy little dress last night and it dropped to 67 degrees. After I got a permanent case of goose bumps, I stopped laughing.

I admit, I’ve spent the last six months mentally comparing how Florida blows in comparison to D.C. Not intentionally, of course. My most-recent thought was that D.C. at least has free activities (museums, fairs, etc.) and I would have at least had something to do when I was penniless these past few days.

But I also remember traipsing around the National Mall in the rain, slush and snow. And while I remember occasionally doing so with someone to keep me warm, I have to admit that knowing the temperature won’t dip much below 70 degrees for the rest of the year is a BIG PLUS to Florida living.

I guess I’m home. Not only is it time to unpack, but definitely to unpack my fall sweaters, ’cause my blood thinned out right quick and I’m COLD, damn it!

They say a fool is easily parted with his money. What am I, the goddamned village idiot? When is life going to stop treating me as its chew toy?

“I got a chip on my shoulder
About the size of a mental block
I’ve got someone on the telephone
Trying to sell me a future in stock

Maybe I work too hard to be happy
And I should practice letting go
But it’s hard not to rock the boat
When you’re sailing against the undertow.”

— Indigo Girls, “Make it Easier”

It’s been a horrible couple of months. I’m trying to figure out just when this run of bad luck started (Mom says it was around the time I signed my new lease) or whether it has been a lifelong streak and it’s just more intense now than usual.

I don’t remember feeling this defeated before. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m Charlie Brown always trying to kick the football and falling on my ass. I know that. But at what point is the bad news going to stop coming and let me mentally get myself back together?

I have a bill from my ex-apartment complex for carpet replacement, on top of everything else. They can sit and spin. I lived there four months and there was one stinky, messy Maddie stain. But they lie when they say they have to replace the carpet in the whole house.

I’m still twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my new debit card. I had to cancel my car appointment. The thing is not only dented to death, but it isn’t running right either. How convenient is it to turn on the A/C and then the brakes don’t work? Good times.

That’s what pisses me off the most about some asshole cleaning out my account. Not only can I not exactly spare it, but I don’t exactly have anyone who can rescue my miserable ass. And I’m getting pretty fucking sick of being everyone’s savior but when it comes my turn, I honestly don’t have a prayer.

(This is not to discount one lovely friend who keeps insisting on helping me. I just figure that if someone tries to send money through the mail, that will be the day that the postman’s brakes go and he drives into the Intracoastal Waterway … anything to keep aid from coming to me personally!)

I also understand that I’m in for a fight with the electric company. My twee 1,000-square-foot condo, where I keep the A/C on 83 degrees at all times, somehow costs $450 to power per month. Uhhh, right. They’re being bitches at the electric company as I am demanding they come out and figure that shit out.

My landlady said that a condo opened up across the way with a south view. I’m north-facing, which is lovely, but the south view is the bomb-diggity, yo. Here’s the deal. It’s a 3BR and costs $500 less than Mom’s apartment and mine combined.

I so very DO NOT WANT her to move back in with me. But I am also lying to myself if I think she will ever be able to pay her own bills. I really truly think that she will be with me for the rest of her life. I also suspect that probably won’t be very long because she’s not well and I have a death wish.

I think saving $500 a month is a good enough reason to take the other apartment. But … I have nothing here. Nothing. Nothing to make me happy. No one to love, no one to love me, no friends, absolutely not a goddamned thing to keep me going anymore.

I’m hemorrhaging money on absolutely dumb shit and I cannot for the life of me manage to get out of bed without spending any less than an hour of coaxing myself that today MIGHT be better than yesterday. ALL I HAVE is my space. Even if my mom is often in it, I can reclaim it at any time.

I just wonder if this run of horrific luck is trying to tell me something. But … what?

My gratitude journal is starting to look like the makings of a stand-up comedy routine.

Today I am grateful that I was ALMOST dirt-ass po’ so that when some yahoo stole my checking account information and went on a spending spree — sending my account into negative numbers with just one transaction — I was glad the fucker couldn’t have bought more. 🙂

I mean, really. To buy a freaking PC? On my debit card? Did the bank not notice the eleventy billion dollars I’ve spent at the Apple Store this year? Of course the PC purchase wasn’t mine!

The sad part about this whole charade is that not only could I NOT afford a cup of coffee this morning, but I’m also out of kitty food and Kadie is none too pleased.

The bank told me to call back tomorrow since the transactions were only “pending” and they will likely be rejected overnight anyway. Which, terrific. I’m not mad at that. It’s just this “in the meantime” bullshit. I don’t have much money, but I’m a little panicky about not having access to ANYTHING. I mean, I’m sure Mom had nothing to eat tonight. It’s my responsibility to make sure we get fed around these parts, yo.

Oh well. In the meantime till this gets cleared up, I have some gas in the tank, I haven’t hit any cars (*knock on wood*) lately and I’ve got wine and half a cupcake in the fridge. What more does a girl need?

Wednesday can lick me where I pee, too.

Electric shut off at my apartment till tomorrow, pending past-due payment of $750 for the last two months. Who would have thought about putting the electric bill in my name and that it would have cost that much?

Oh yeah, and don’t I have to pay two rents tomorrow, too?

God, please stop laughing at me. I give up, Dude!

Tuesday is not only so very fired, but I’m emasculating that bastard with one swift steel-toed shit-kicker swat to the balls. Die in a fire, Tuesday.

I found a rhinestone in my belly button midday. Turns out that someone had her gutchies on inside-out. Joy.

Actually finished working at a reasonable hour. (Ask me how I define reasonable. Wait, don’t. It’s all relative, anyway.) Went back to the old apartment one last time because Mom wanted to go to the pool. I thought I’d be nice. But all she did was talk. And talk. And talk. I was so very over it.

Took my last load of crap to the dumpster. Also took my brand-new vacuum cleaner and was banging the filter off the sides of the dumpster. Had my laptop and all kinds of other shit on my shoulder so I was barely balanced.

I was just contemplating the $80 curtain rod I was throwing away — never used — when the filter broke free from the lid and went inside.

The dumpster was empty save for the metric ass-load of dust I’d just deposited in there. (Old cat hair. The last remnants of Maddie, save for her faded shit streaks on the carpet. *sniff*)

And guess who went in after it? Just guess. I have dirt and dust in every crevice of my being, and I smell like someone else’s unwashed ass. *squick*

I stopped at a fast-food place to get dinner for Mom and me. (Between her rent, bills, allowance and meals, I have so precious little left over for myself. Why oh WHY did I think that was a good idea?) I did have antibacterial wipes in the armrest, so I gave myself a good ‘ho bath before shoveling in my very naughty, tasty dinner on the highway.

I was just lighting up a post-heart-attack smoke when I saw a cop with flashing lights at an intersection. I realized that the power was out in that part of town and he was at a non-functioning light. Genius went from 60 (in a 40) to a dead stop in the intersection.

I started up again and that cop tailed my ass for two miles. Whoops.

The way I figured, I just hauled my pudgy pork roast ass out of a dumpster. A moving violation seemed so trivial in comparison.

He ended up doing a fast U-turn and went back under the rock from whence he came. And I lit up another cigarette. Because, really. Wouldn’t you?

I do have one more story, but it’s kind of TMI. But then again, this IS me we’re talking about here.

So, OK, after my half-assed, hurried swim, I got dressed. In a hurry. So I just got home and put on mah jammies and noticed that I must have turned my gutchies around to be on the proper way. Problem is, since I take Midol 30 days out of the month because I’m a raving bitch, I don’t know when the fuck my cycle should be. So I usually do the pre-emptive pantyliner thing.

Which, fine, I probably need to go to Narcotics Anonymous to wean myself off the anti-bitch drugs. But genius thus had her pantiliner on the wrong side of the gutchies during the dumpster-diving excursion.

(To my peeps in Rockville, you’re welcome. I can hear you laughing from here!)

Oh wait, there’s more!

So I’ve had a leaky roof because I live in Amityville. The ceiling is damaged in two rooms. So instead of replacing the rotting ceiling, the apartment monkeys came in while I was gone and PAINTED THE FUCKING CEILING. You know, so it’s not water-damaged-looking anymore. FUN! Guess who gets to fall asleep to the smell of paint tonight?!?!

I just WISH all my stories weren’t true, you know? I can’t make this shit up. …

In the case of Goddess v. Thursday, the plaintiff submits the following evidence against the defendant:

1. Started working at 7:30.
2. Web links didn’t work.
3. Web links started working but videos wouldn’t play.
4. Electricity went off but came back. Minor time delay in restarting the works.
5. Reams of edits made to very valuable files.
6. Documents previewed, links tested …. and the Web page goes down and redirects to something wrong…
7. … with four minutes till deadline. (Read: Just as I’m about to communicate with tens of thousands of people.)
8. Aaaand, the power goes out. For good. Because some schmuck hit an electrical pole and wiped out the whole damn island.
9. But did all my edits to the second broadcast get included before the power went out?
10. The home team at the ranch fixes everything and saves my butt.
11. Traffic jam on the A1A.
12. Team member needed for Very Important Project tomorrow morning calls to say they can’t participate. I’ve already advertised otherwise.

In the defendant’s favor, however:

1. Coffee was freshly brewed upon arrival at the ranch.
2. Yummy quiche and spanikopita awaited my consumption.

Due to the overwhelming evidence, I hereby declare Thursday FIRED, but he will receive severance for bringing in breakfast.

CASE DISMISSED!

I only look sweet and innocent

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

OK, I am hacking into my neighbor’s wireless network to type this.

So, Kadie is very afraid of our balcony, as she’s not quite used to being on the seventh floor. Anytime I go out for a smoke, she stays very close to whichever sliding-glass door I’ve opened. (I have three.)

Last night, she got brave and walked around the perimeter of the balcony. It’s pretty big — probably 50 feet wide by 25 feet deep. Big selling point for me taking this place, actually.

I’ve feared that she will jump off the balcony like she did three apartments ago. But I also didn’t think her furry little ass would fit through the rails.

So, tonight she pulled a fast one and ran onto the neighboring balcony. Problems there are:

1. Nobody lives there.
2. There are six units on our side of the building, so she could theoretically have ripped across them all.
3. The railing is fucking impossible to climb. No footholds, kinda flimsy, etc.

So she decided she really liked her spot next door, and would not come to me for a good 20 minutes.

So, my air-conditioning unit is out there. I put down my phone, emptied my pockets, tossed aside my shoes … and hopped up on it and went flying onto the next balcony.

Whereupon Kadie decided to run back onto ours and go back in the house.

Brat.

So there I was on the other side of the railing for I have no idea how long. I could not for the life of me lift my pudgy pork roast butt over the railing. (Oh, how I tried.)

The unfortunate part is that there is no air-conditioning unit on the other side of the railing. Which means, nowhere to gain a foothold.

And there was my phone, five feet away on my own balcony. …

So after a while, I managed to throw myself over the fucking railing, nearly plummeting seven stories to my death in the process.

Goddamned cat. I REALLY needed a cigarette after that!

“No one said we were victims, honey
No one said we had to keep the things we get
There aint no regrets.”

— Rob Thomas, “Cradlesong”

I feel like I want to write, but my head is as empty as my busted-up little heart right now.

I keep rethinking things I have in motion, from the dream apartment to, well, everything. Maybe it’s money. Maybe it’s that I know the OEH will never get a goddamned job and now I’ll be paying multiple rents for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s just that I don’t really care about anything anymore.

The rational side of me reminds me that this life is still mine. And that everything will change the moment I’m in my new place by myself. Well, maybe nothing will change but the Zip code, at least initially, but I’m hoping that other great things will follow.

As the song says, “No one said we have to keep the things we get.”

I’m giving it back. Housing my mother in my own abode. Hating my sub-par apartments so that I could afford to keep her. I wish I could give back the dent to my credit that I’m taking because I can’t pay her bills right now (she has my name on one of her cards). My apartment full of memories of my Maddie. My sadness. My stress. My impatience. My loneliness.

The universe has given me many good things. I’ve also taken on so many heavy things. And I looked at the exchange policy and it’s good for a lifetime. So, take my tears and scars and baggage back. I don’t want it anymore.

I look at it this way: What’s the worst that can happen, making the changes I so desperately crave and even need? The worst DID happen. Maybe I’m being overdramatic about losing my beloved cat, but shit. I had to give back the best gift a girl could have wished for. I need something in return.

I asked the OEH before I left for work, as she asked me if I had any cash on me (I don’t. Ever), to come up with 10 ways she could make $5. The answer when I came home from work was of course “blow jobs.”

I don’t give a fuck WHAT she does; I just want her to do something to earn a buck. Granted, the government gets half, but we’ll work on “how to earn $10” as our next lesson.

But I’ve got to give her back, too, to save me. Even if that involves a heaping amount of money to get my space. I’ll try it for a year. My fondest wish is that it won’t TAKE another year (that’d be three, if you’re keeping score at home) for her to get a job. I notice I can tolerate her so much better now that my new apartment is in my hands, just waiting for ME AND ME ALONE.

I’m tired of worrying that I’m being selfish. I need my strength to fight another day. At the rate I’m going, I don’t know how many more good days are left in me. So, whatever I have left, I’ve got to do my damndest to enjoy it.