Caterwauling

Migration.

The Blog’s got a new home! It’s on my paid site. (Thanks Lab Rat, for the technical assistance!)

That’s all I have to say. I’m in OK spirits (could be because I played hooky today). Also happy because, after paying “professionals” an insane amount of money to fix my computer (and they DID NOT complete the job), I fixed it myself today. Am tired but so damn proud of myself. 😀

God, I need laid.

Discovery.

Always wondered what would happen if the blog came up on the wrong persons’ computer screens. I guess my dumb ass, even though I didn’t give out the direct link, should never have mentioned what I am doing in my spare time, especially, not where I am doing it anyway. lol. My apologies to those I’ve hurt or offended, whether through my words or my actions. Seems to be a pattern in my life, so please bear with me. 😉

Weighed pros and cons to staying here. Pros: Love working with F/OM. Cons: Semantics and Hypocrisy. And of course, the cons outweigh the pros, when you look at it that way!

Rolled in around 9:30 a.m. today. I figure, if the CEO’s gonna be late to every all-staff meeting (like yesterday), they have no right to go ballistic on people who come in after 9:15 every day — they’ve created the culture and continue to reinforce it.

Have to figure out how to have a pie bake-off/sale in conjunction with the block party in June. It took all the strength in me to not look at F/OM and tell him I don’t fucking care because I have no desire to be there, or here, for that matter.

🙂

One other issue: Puppeteer corrected the draft of our newsletter (which Incoherent Twit coordinated and I ripped apart). She sent it with a note to F/OM that it’s okay to go back to the printer, “With NUMEROUS Changes.” Pretentious Bitch.

Another day at the pleasure palace.

12 May 02

Got the computer back. Modem now lets me access AOL … and nothing else! Can’t get onto the Internet from any ISP, so I am gonna rant and rant and rant here in Simple Text, email it to myself at work, and post it from there.

Today’s Mindset: confounded. Mother’s Day … “Coulda Woulda Shoulda,” the “Sex and the City” episode, comes to mind. Hmmm. So many decisions have been thrown upon me during the past year (May 12 and June 23, both in 2001, come to mind). Perhaps that was one of the better ones that I made (although last week’s “Six Feet Under” sobered me, with all those children around Nate). Maybe. Time will tell. At least that was a decision that I made for myself, instead of letting other people’s feelings (and/or lack thereof) guide my future.

And as far as YKW …

Am trying really hard to make sense of everything. Reality came along this weekend and beat me with its ugly stick. I’ve been dying without access to the blog, but it has given me time to digest the bizarre series of events that have catapulted me into this emotional cesspool where I am currently wading. Of course, I almost feel like I am stepping into Denial, and maybe if I hope and wish and wonder enough, it will change the course of events, and maybe I can navigate this sinking ship to shore.

Yeah, right.

There’s also a certain sense of relief, although it isn’t showing yet, that will break through the water’s surface when I am ready to cling to that life preserver. But I’m not completely ready to heal yet … I need to tread for awhile. I’m okay with sitting here, picking at the scab and making it bleed a little more, for now. I have got to drain my body of the bad blood in order for fresh and healthy blood to fill my being once again. Like Lab Rat always says, ya can’t bandage a wound that requires stitches, and for me, I know that I must let the hurt, anger, disappointment and despair ruin me completely before I can rebuild my foundation from scratch. One thing about me, my heart will beat itself to death rather than squelch my myriad of feelings and pretend to move on.

The good thing is, I didn’t build my hopes and dreams upon this working out. More than anything, I wanted (and maybe needed) things to work with him, but I was always prepared to move on with my life without him, if that indeed had to be the case. And after months of hoping that would not be necessary, I see now, more clearly than ever, that it is the only way to save myself, because he isn’t going to be the one to do it for me.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again … his loss.

“I have climbed the highest mountain

I have sailed across the sea

I have wrestled with my demons

And woke up with only me

I have been around the block

Three times, maybe four

And I think I deserve just a little more.”

Melissa Etheridge — “I Want to Be in Love”

I didn’t find it where I was looking. Now, I’m not as dumb as I seem … I really thought it was right there, where I expected it to be. Who was I to know that it was possibly a mirage?

Something bizarre just occurred to me. What if, on that cold September night, I had just let Colin take me home, like he wanted to? What if YKW did not offer to save the day and remove me from the situation? I don’t feel like I would have been any better off, leaving with Colin, to be perfectly honest. Much as I liked him and enjoyed spending time with him, I didn’t want him because to me, he was a little boy who wasn’t ready for a grown-up woman like me. Personally, I figured he was just fascinated with screwing someone equally or more experienced sexually, and let’s say it in unison: all he wanted was a good time. That’s usually what I was in it for, but I’ve been around that block more times than Melissa Etheridge in the above song. Anyway, YKW knew that I was looking for more than that. And when we hooked up, how was I to know that was all he wanted, when he knew that I needed more?

“I never wanted anything

The way I wanted you that night

My love transcended space and time.”

— Bif Naked, “Anything” —

I don’t hate him. I never can and I never will. How could I, when I really thought there was more between us than, in actuality, it seems there was? But what was it that I could have done, or shouldn’t have done, to make him want me more? Was it all a joke? (I hate it when the paranoia sets in … it’s like high school all over again, when the boy you had a crush on doesn’t want you, and you temporarily lose your self-worth, based solely upon his opinion of you.) Lesser people than me have found and maintaned relationships … why am I unable to have the people I want, yet have a movie-theater line of people waiting for me, whom I don’t want? Why the vicious circle?

Was joking with my friend that, too, the love triangle has become kidney-shaped. SE is still in love with me. I am still in love with YKW. And, it seems, YKW is in love with YKW. 🙂 (oh, that was so cruel!)

“I remember how I spent

All my energy and time

With affected conversation

Trying to pry inside your mind

You are as beautiful as truth

And as empty as a shell

And I came to you one night

And you made me feel like hell.”

— Indigo Girls, “Left Me a Fool” —

SE has been so good to me, for as long as we have known each other. So good. Hell, he treats me exactly the way I treat YKW. I hate this feeling, of being so fucking blind and stupid. But really, I don’t believe I was blind. I saw something there in his eyes, for the entire time we have known each other. What I don’t believe is that he was playing games with me … I think he really did feel something. But I also think he’s a man who was forced into early adulthood, and now that he’s older and more settled, he’s clinging the youth that he never truly had, and while on one hand I am someone wild and untamed, I am also someone who is getting older as well and who would like a little bit of consistency and groundedness. Again, I’m not mad at him for that, but regardless, I got hurt, and even if it was never his intention to hurt me, well, he did.

As Leslie said, I am his lesson to learn. I gave him my heart, and I would give him my life, if only he wanted me to. As I was discussing with my friend yesterday, it is my hope that someday (sooner would be better than later), he will realize that all he ever wanted or needed could have been his, and he didn’t take advantage. It is my friend’s hope that I will be already be married to somebody fabulous when that day arrives.

“And it hurts to want everything

And nothing at the same time

I want what’s yours

And I want what’s mine

I want you

But I’m not giving in this time.

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to everything

I thought I knew

You were the one I loved

The one thing that I tried to hold on to.”

— Michelle Branch, “Goodbye to You” —

At the very least, I kissed him again. And again. But this time, and maybe I might have realized it at the time (or maybe I didn’t), I was kissing him goodbye. But again with the mixed signals, first he said “don’t get carried away,” and in next breath, he put his lips upon mine. I hate it that I liked it … I hate it that I told him that I missed him, that I like kissing him, that I wanted for us to kiss. I hate it that I, to this very minute, wish the story had a different ending.

But what I do not hate is that I laid it on the line … that I let him know that I wanted him. Perhaps I should regret it, but I don’t … I deserve to have the things I want in life, and I can’t get them without trying. I tried. And I failed. I can live with that … what I couldn’t live with would be harboring the feelings for fear of rejection. Further, I am so proud of myself for saying that I didn’t want to kiss him because I was afraid I couldn’t stop. So damn clever.

Was I really rejected, though? Did I really lose anything? I don’t know. Will he ever come around? Will I be around to see it happen? I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he was with me. But the words and actions really didn’t back it up. He penetrated me so deeply, in so many ways. Yet I will always wonder if I ever really got through to him.

“You know I’d still hold you, if I could

It’s hard not to try and change

Try to change your mind

I’m a pillar of salt

I want you to understand

This is the last time

The last time I ever look behind.”

— Indigo Girls, “Walk Away” —

Here’s an old post that was trapped on my computer while it was in the shop:

4 May 2002

Heavy drinking usually renders most individuals ineffective for at least a day. Then you have me, someone who can only achieve clarity when imbibing and subsequently nursing a hangover.

I’d told Lab Rat that yesterday was a perfect waste of scandalous underwear. She said that it is never wasted unless it’s a day you have your period. 😉

At happy hour last night, I am pretty certain I had about eight drinks in the first 90 minutes. Then I bought a beer that got me through the rest of the evening. The majority of the crew moved from our Strip District haunt to an obscure place in Brentwood, but I decided to skip that. I did call Dave V. to see what they were doing, and Beth got on and told me that they were going to end up at a bar in Homestead and that I should call back in an hour to get directions to it, because she knew I was too drunk to drive all the way to Brownsville Road, not knowing where Acapulco Joe’s was. I said she could call me when they were ready to head toward Sandcastle. Truly, I did want to hang out at home, sober up, and go out again, but I wasn’t even awake long enough to know if they tried to call or not. 😉

Point of Clarity #1:

I am disgusted by the Land of Mixed Signals from a certain someone. I want him and probably will for a long time to come, but waiting for him to send a clear, consistent message to me is like waiting for Incoherent Twit to speak a properly conjugated sentence. (Update: for those of you who remember my post that she wants to develop/teach a public speaking class, would you FUCKING believe that our Training Department, which has not returned any of Lab Rat’s or my calls/emails in nine weeks, met with her to pursue the idea further?!?! TWICE!!!!!!)

Ahem.

Regarding Point of Clarity #1, I have to be sappy and quote a Bon Jovi song:

“I can’t write a love song

The way I feel today

And I can’t sing a song of hope

I’ve got nothing to say

Life is feeling kind of strange

Since you went away

I send this song to you

Wherever you are

As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms.”

— Bon Jovi, “My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms” —

I don’t blame him for anything … maybe he realized our friendship is good and should have remained untouched. I blame myself for allowing myself to feel so safe and happy when I am near him. I hate myself for not feeling that good when he isn’t in close proximity.

On a final Bon Jovi note, “If you don’t love me, lie to me/’cause baby you’re the one thing I’d believe/let it all fall down around us, if that’s what’s meant to be/right now if you can’t love me baby, lie to me.”

Point of Clarity #2:

I hate my employer. It was while lunching yesterday with Victor, a new case aide (and a 23-year-old Italian hottie!) that I realized how bloody jaded I am. He’s so excited to be working with the kids, and he sees that these kids have nobody in their lives to give them the helping hand that our agency does. The corporate bullshit doesn’t affect him the way it does the leadership team — we don’t have those intimate moments with our clients that allow us to realize the difference we are capable of making. No, those of us who are confined to meetings and paperwork don’t get those points of inspiration. Granted, I have no desire whatsoever to hang out with the kids and families, because I’d tell them that I’ve had to struggle too, and you just deal with it and quit expecting handouts from the world. But once in awhile, a story like the one Victor told me (where the child said, “You’re my best friend. And you’re my only friend.”) seeps into my arid veins. That alone would have sent me sailing above the sea of lies and deceit upon which our agency operates, and it would have made me want to work even harder. Absent that, I am ineffective.

Point of Clarity #2B:

Why on earth is my employer gonna force me to take a grammar class that will cost them $125 for my seat alone, when they can hand me the $125 and let me take a vacation day while all the illiterates are asking why bring/brang/brung isn’t a proper conjugate? Further, hand me $500 and I will teach the fucking class for them. You know, I used to hate the Pittsburgh accent … now I long to hear the drawl and the stupid colloquial phrases, which at least loosely translate into English. While everyone’s in their grammar class, I need a course on Ebonics instead, so I can figure out what the fuck certain coworkers are saying to me. (It must be noted that a majority of my colleagues speak perfectly well; it’s the younger ones who flaunt their street vocabulary, thinking they’re so cool, when all it shows is their utter unprofessionalism.) And while I have no problem telling my staff or others to shape up and act right in the workplace, I do not touch anything remotely related to things indigenous to people of color. I’d be tossed out on my head. (Like that would be a bad thing.)

Point of Clarity #3:

I need to move out of this town. No further explanation required.

Point of Clarity #4:

Monkey Boy and I have exchanged some thought-provoking emails, encouraging each other to not feel so alone in the world and to not dwell upon those with whom we feel/felt were “the one” for each of us. I realize that I have an inability to practice what I preach. Granted, I have been doing just fine as a swingin’ single party gal for 27 years (28 at the end of this month!), but it would certainly be nice to have someone hold me and kiss away my problems at the end of the day. I know a relationship can’t make you feel whole, but I’d like to give it a try instead of just wondering about it.

Point of Clarity #5:

Pizza and ice cream are the best fucking comfort foods ever invented!

Pink’s “Don’t Let Me Get Me” video is on VH1. That’s the song for the day. I might have to pick up her CD when I go out today. If only I could pick up a new life while I’m at it. …

One final note:

“I can’t take any more of this

I want to come apart

And dig myself a little hole

Inside your precious heart

Oooh, and it’s always raining in my head

Forget all the things I should have said.”

— Staind, “Epiphany” —

Oh, forgot to say, I turned in the fucking proposal … got it into the Airborne Express drop box at Webster Hall in Oakland at 6:58 p.m., and it was picked up at 7:30. Only got yelled at a little bit by The Puppeteer, who had to admit that it was a fucking masterpiece. 😉

“In prophecy

All good things must end.

So take care my love, my friend

And keep it precious.”

— Melissa Etheridge, “Keep it Precious” —

Interesting day so far. Thought the song lyric was appropriate as we send Brat off, from his last day at The Wasteland, and also for the fact that I spoke with the HR director at Shawn’s firm and confirmed that I will take the job. (Whether I will go through with it or not, however, is a whole ‘nother issue!)

Don’t have much more to write. Brat liked the gift/card I got him on behalf of the agency. Am certain he will like my personal gift, if he doesn’t have one or one like it already. The card is WAY sentimental and will probably overwhelm him, but it’s how I feel. Will wait till night’s end to give him my gift/card. No sense bringing a sad little cloud over the planned happy hour at Shootz. Accounting Dawn’s going to come, so I am most excited to have her there.

Am certain I will need to blog some more, when I get access to a computer again. ugh … this SUCKS, not being able to afford to get the damn thing out of the shop!

Told F/OM more about the position in DC, and told him I had to make the decision today. He said my decision should be no. But then some shit happened with Charolette today, and that only confirmed that leaving here is the only way to survive … for all of us.

Here’s to an impending night of mass consumption of adult beverages!!!

Still.so.motherfucking.tired.

Going into Hour 14 at work. Broke down crying around 4:30 as everyone was going home and I was essentially told to get this fucking proposal done or else. Am in mass editing phase; will give up before 10 p.m., as there’s a boatload to do tomorrow on it too that requires assistance and of course nobody’s here. Almost gave F/OM my resignation when he came up to me and I asked to postpone the project till we found a funder with a less complicated RFP. Yeah, right. Puppetteer commanded this proposal, and nobody gives a shit if this job is putting you in your grave.

Just had a quick exchange with Puppeteer’s husband. He was so fucking pleasant! Usually grunts and goes about his crabby way. I must state that Puppeteer’s away at a conference, and has been for a few days. No wonder he’s so fucking chipper.

It’s nearing Brat’s last day here. Gonna miss him. Happy for him in his new venture; saddened because I’m losing one of my (few) dearest friends in this place. Life will be so different for me on Monday … less colorful, more still, less full. I don’t know if he can ever understand the impact he has had across the board in my life.

Damn it, I am sentimental. I hope he misses me even half as much as I will miss having him in my everyday life.

So.God.Damn.Tired.

Didn’t work last night. Tried, but couldn’t. Feel like shit today … got in at 6:30 a.m. This proposal will never be done in time. Never. The way I see it, I get bitched out for turning in a complete project at the last minute … so how much worse can I get treated for not turning it in at all? Although this is a million-dollar project (over five years) … I can see where Puppetteer will be pissed if/when I miss the deadline!

Oh, my aching body. Feels like war has been waged. Who knew that emotional exhaustion would manifest itself so physically?

Gotta shop for a going-away gift for Brat, one of these days. Hopefully tonight, definitely tomorrow, if not. What to get? Something unique, something only I would think of. Oh, it hurts to think … I see that I ended the last sentence with a preposition, and I’m too worn out to give a shit. Yikes!

Hang in there, Lab Rat. Saw your post. Today is a new day. 😉

As it has been awhile, much has happened, but I will attempt to be brief.

Computer: Is costing me four fucking hundred dollars to fix, between the modem and some other thingamadoohickey that went nuts when lightning struck. Yay. I already gave them $100; do I pay car payment or this?

Family: Rushed Grampy to Emergency Room at VA Hospital on Saturday. What a joke … they don’t have an emergency department; he wasn’t seen till Monday, and they confused him with another patient, three doors down, with the same full name (but different ethnicity); thus, he was sent for tests and treatments that were not for him. I’ve been at the hospital pretty much constantly ever since, except for going to work yesterday. They discharged him today; I fought the doctor and said I never thought people’s health could get WORSE in a hospital. The doctors/nurses really came to respect me … you could see that I knocked her off her center, and she said that I was welcome to challenge his discharge. I said he’d be better off at home, lest he get any worse within the confines of that hellhole. So many signs there say “Veterans First.” My ass. Oh, BTW, he had a mini-seizure in the car with Mom and me on Saturday. The medical “professionals” told us we must have imagined that because it doesn’t seem like he seized, but he was going into acute renal failure due to a med they gave him last month. Un-fucking-real.

YKW: Haven’t seen him in a day or so. Miss him greatly. Saw him Friday. Hugged him so tightly. Felt wonderful with him running his hands up and down my back. 😀

Brat and CTL: I had joked that last Friday was my birthday; Brat later looked in my ADP file and busted me. He said that he and CTL were planning to do something in honor of my b-day, but now I am not getting anything from them because I lied. 😉 I said, yeah, like they were really planning something, since he said this at 2 p.m. on Friday, my supposed b-day.

Brat: I was sorry to miss one of his last days of work today, but I was up at 4 a.m. working on a proposal that has to be in the mail on Thursday that will NEVER be finished.

Lab Rat: More pissed than ever about work. F/OM was to apologize for annual report nightmare, but has not bothered. It became my fault, anyway, that I lost the communication somewhere.

Grammar Classes: I have to take a grammar class for work. HaHaHaHaHaHaHa. Told F/OM I could teach the fucking thing. Lab Rat says each seat in the class costs $125, and our budget is still in deficit mode. Joke.

Self: Exhausted as all hell. Cried all weekend over YKW, Grampy, work, finances, etc. Think I’m gonna do the DC move after all, not because I feel like being poor as a church mouse again (:::sob::: I was so happy actually being able to afford basic necessities).

Music of the Moment: Melissa Etheridge, “It’s For You” (see below)

“I will be with you tonight

I will be with you a thousand miles away

I will be with you tonight

I will be with you as long as you say, stay.

Oh, a little piece of my soul

A little piece of my whole … life

I give to you

Take it now, it’s for you.”

And just like that, I have a new job.

Shawn offered me the job last night. I told him I need to think about it.

Money: not so good. Promotion in six months, if lucky, which comes with a $5K pay hike (probably).

Family: not so good. I expect there will be a funeral in the near future, leaving me with financial burden on many levels.

Self: not so bad. Am vindicated, walking around The Wasteland with a smug little smile, that I can resign TODAY and nobody can do a fucking thing about it. ::::smiles::::

Have a lot of thinking to do this weekend. Can’t blog, because computer was struck by lightning two nights ago and modem is DOA. Fuck.

“Goes to show. …”

I must have used that phrase a hundred times today, all in relation to the complete idiocy and unnecessary semantics of my workplace.

Okay, to start, if ONE MORE FUCKING PERSON asks when they’re gonna see the draft of my parenting grandparents proposal, I AM GOING TO SHOVE IT UP THEIR ASSES SIDEWAYS!!! I KNOW it’s due right now. I am not an idiot. If I had it done, wouldn’t I turn it in?!?! And QUIT calling F/OM to complain that it ain’t done ’cause that ain’t gettin’ it done any fucking FASTER!!!!!!!!!!!

Aaaaaaaaargh!!!!!!

Reasons why it isn’t done: Incoherent Twit drafted it and pulled 100 percent of the information OUT OF HER ASS; I needed time to UNDO the mess she created; she has been creating drama for Brat and F/OM that I have had to step in and assist in redirecting; and the new BULLSHIT about the annual report.

I know Lab Rat is beyond reason right now about the annual report, and I feel for her. I had to admit today that one of the two reasons I stepped down from directorship of my department (other than to get away from The Doc, who will now be known as The Puppeteer, because she pulls everyone’s strings so hard they are suffocating) was that as “leadership,” I do not support my agency and the erratic, insensible decisions it makes; therefore, I cannot be an executive when not only do I question the bizarre way of doing things there, but I also flat out refuse to be a part of the semantics.

When I came to that godforsaken agency (herein to be referred to as The Wasteland), one of my personal strategic goals was to establish regular publication of an annual report. I blew my original target date of October 2001, with the promise to the Puppeteer that by April 15, she’d have it, and I’d have another in October 2002. She was FURIOUS that I fucked that up (she’s always furious about something; I wasn’t real concerned), but I did commit to compiling and publishing the report by April 15.

In a nutshell, Lab Rat and I began the process in January, and we met our deadlines. We produced a quality, attractive and substantial product, one that fits in with the brand identity my department is trying to create. Not only did I make certain that Lab Rat knew how pleased I was with her work as well as with the teamwork we exhibited, but I was also sure to deliver her the few comments we were given as critique from our superiors. Even F/OM was happy, because it was a crisp, formal document that conveyed our message professionally and appropriately.

Then today, I had to make a call to Lab Rat that hurt me just as much as it did her: F/OM asked for the document for our consultant to revamp. I was not told that was the reason, but really, why else is he requesting the original file, when a PDF would do just fine for simply viewing this masterpiece?

I use revamp lightly … I know Jay can and will do a good job in doing whatever the hell it is they want him to do, but 1.) no one ever had a bad word to say about OUR product, and 2.) nobody ever really knows what they want at that agency … they always want what they don’t have, with no rhyme or reason why what they have can’t suffice. Further, everybody praises and loves the Incoherent Twit for the complete shit that she produces, and I have been told on NUMEROUS occasions to leave her alone and not be such a perfectionist when trying to make her crap into the spectacular product that I want. And here, I have literally hand-delivered them a spectacular annual report, as promised, and ON TIME (a rarity for me, at best), and what do I get? An off-the-cuff request from F/OM to hand over the document. No rhyme, no reason, no explanation. Just a request to get it into his hands, and a question whether our perfect PageMaker document can be converted to Microsoft Publisher so Jay can work on it at home.

I got late-breaking news at day’s end that F/OM requested that we fork over the Adobe suite so Jay can pirate it at home to work on our annual report. I have never seen Lab Rat so close to the edge, not even after the demise of her ill-fated relationship earlier this year. And rightly so … this document has been not only a thorn in my own side for the past four months, but she has spent that time slaving over this document, learning the software, and modifying it to meet the specifications and tastes of the Puppeteer. And for what? Granted, she can and will use this as a portfolio piece, but this is just an outrage. Further, the direction and support that I was able to provide will probably all go down the toilet … this was going to be a portfolio piece for me, too, more as an example of my direction and vision than my actual work. So now, we have provided all the research and format to Jay for him to do as he pleases with it.

Typical Wasteland. I am not the least bit surprised. What does continue to take me by surprise is my evolving ability to shrug things off that mean something to me, as they become distorted and destroyed by my employer.

Sorry, Lab Rat. As you can see, we are powerless to the Puppeteer. And this is why I cannot be an ambassador to that agency any longer. …