Caterwauling

Because I’m all spiritual these days (thanks to a thought-provoking Friday Five that I continued on Sunday and now today, Monday), I realize that I was not meant to hold down a 40-hour per week job, nor should I be forcing myself to mold my creativity to function only during those hours. Damn it, I just went on a writing spree about a subject that I found incredibly boring until a half-hour ago. I ran out of info, so I had to stop, but I just realized that it’s OK to be uninspired at certain times of the day (i.e., between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.). I have 10 days, including weekends, to pull my stories together. (Hah!) But I guarantee the bulk of my writing — and my best writing — will be done after 7 p.m. during the coming evenings. Yet I have to drag my ass in here for a full day before that can happen.

It’s not the association’s fault … it’s my fault for not being a full-time freelancer. I guarantee, when I freelance, I’ll be working evenings and some weekends, and I’ll toss in a few weekdays for meetings and conference calls.

Workplaces strip people of their individualism, their uniqueness. So many people go in to work, uninspired (for a variety of reasons) and leave at 5 p.m. just because that is what they have always acknowledged as the end of a workday. But maybe their creativity doesn’t kick in till later in the night, like mine does. Think of all the wasted talent and vision out there in the world, because after you’ve had your ass kicked by your employer all day, do you REALLY want to work in the evening? Hell no. Not to say that we should only work when the spirit moves us (because most people might never be moved enough to accomplish anything) … but I do believe in muses, and when my muse comes to poke me in the ass, I’d like to have enough energy to humor her and produce something creative and coherent. 🙂

I keep getting that icky back-to-school feeling when it’s nearly time for me to leave for work. Ugh. I hate those butterflies. Can’t remember a job where I didn’t get that somebody-shoot-me-please anxiety. I love working with IKEA Boy, I love setting my own schedule, I love frequent bitch sessions with Shan and well, that’s about it.

This month is going to be tough because of tighter deadlines, but my heart isn’t in it. I don’t know if it ever was. Perhaps I am just a procrastinator and I’ll feel better once I’ve made an honest-to-goodness dent in the writing, but right now, I just have piles of research, a bunch of sent e-mails that long for a response, and some annoying callers who don’t realize that I while I would love to write a story about them, I have assigned stories that take precedence. Although, I am stressing myself out, trying to accommodate those goofballs, because I don’t want any negative attention for myself or the publication. Ergh. I don’t know. Truly, I only want to give as much effort as I am paid to give.

On Friday, the association had a potluck luncheon. IKEA Boy and I were the only ones not in attendance (he’s on vacation, and I can barely afford to feed myself, let alone cook for 60 people). Dumbass Jenn in H.R.’s office made this HUGE production, according to Shan, that she saw me sneaking out so as to avoid the whole love fest. They even had a CHECKLIST, to see who didn’t attend. At least IKEA Boy had an excuse, but frankly, I didn’t feel like looking at all of their sad sack faces. I attend maybe one of every three company events, and that’s quite enough for me. Besides, potlucks scare me. I know that I bathe every day (sometimes twice a day, and I scrub my butt in-between those times!!!), and I keep my kitchen and home reasonably clean — but does everybody else? I can spot an unwashed ass from a mile away, and quite honestly, I see how messy the kitchens at work are left. I always wonder what people’s homes look like, when they can’t even wipe down a simple countertop or microwave at work when they make a mess.

At any rate, Shan tried to tone down Jenn’s production by saying that I am dealing with twice the shit, since IKEA Boy is out, as some oddball things had arisen (which is true) that I had to figure out on my own and that I probably needed a break outside of the office. They didn’t care, apparently; they seemed to think me to be inconsiderate. Oh well. I think they are assholes, so we are even!!!!! It was dreadful, according to Shan, as she had to sit near someone who has been a large pain in the ass to her, and that person kept telling tales of woe about her ex-husband the whole time. At least Shan shut the bitch up by telling the story about seeing Pussy Demure — oops, Janet Reno — at the Press Club, and everyone was impressed. And she made sure to mention my name. Hah. Her point was to show that we have lives outside of the psych ward. Hee hee.

Oh well, off to do my makeup … gotta look good for the psych ward!!! Bill is in town today! We’ll see if he can give Shan and me any hope for our futures. 🙂

After all my writing in the recent “Friday Five” about how we humans collide with others who were meant to be in our lives, I was remiss in clarifying that just because someone is meant to enter our lives, doesn’t mean that they necessarily stay for a long time. A significant stay can be as short as the time spent sharing a round of drinks in a bar with someone.

Last night, Shan and I went to our favorite hangout, Benny’s, and saw the usual crew (including “Gnat,” but he doesn’t really bother with us all that much anymore, which doesn’t break my heart) and drank the usual drinks (Miller Lite for me, Bud Light for Shan). But what was different was the arrival of Jenny, who randomly joined us at the bar with some words and advice we were meant to hear on that particular night at that particular time. She even left me with a necklace she’d been wearing that I’d been admiring. It still smells of her Dolce and Gabbana perfume (something I’d like to wear myself, maybe when I run out of my Ralph Lauren “Romance,” Estee Lauder “Intuition” and Chopard “Casmir”).

Ahem. At any rate, Jenny looked no more than 30 years old, but she said she was 52, had raised three kids, and works two jobs, one of which is as a teacher in the Alexandria school district. She’s been poor and rich, suicidal and soaring, hurt and strengthened. She must’ve seen Shan and me, although we were having a great time together, masking a lot of pain and stress. She saw right through to our hearts and inspired us to want to make things better for our lives. Some of the things she said, well, Shan had said to me earlier in the day, which was downright eerie. We were fascinated by her.

Although we exchanged numbers, I don’t expect to hear from her again. And if I do, fine, but it’s all good. We laughed and danced and drank some more, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Sometimes, people like that are meant to cross your path, even for just a moment — someone to make you laugh, make you think, make you dance. She told me I was special, that I was going to do something great with my life, that I was going to write a bestselling book … something Shan had told me only hours earlier.

I often remember Hal, who used to work at my college as a maintenance person. One summer (1996, I believe), I was on a lunch break from working at Kaufmann’s, and I wandered down to Pittsburgh’s Market Square, the ultimate outdoor hangout in the heart of Downtown. Hal was sitting on a wall, and we said hello, but it didn’t end there. He went on and on about how I was special and how I arrived on this earth to make a difference. I forget how he said it, that I was the child of the universe or something like that. He said I possess great power and am capable of great things, and that whatever my passion was, I needed to run after it full force or the world would lose out.

Let me say it, I didn’t know Hal that well. In fact, we’d never spoken before that day, other than exchanging the occasional hello when our paths crossed, which was pretty rare. But he grabbed my hand in Market Square on that sunny afternoon, closed his eyes and began saying the above and so much more, as if it were not his words but those of someone — something — else. Jenny spoke very much the same way, as though the words were not her own.

I learned that Hal possessed great psychic powers (he’d pulled a few things out of my past that surprised me), and he told me that he used to use the gift regularly until it became like a curse. He said he was having terrible visions of children being harmed — being mowed over by a car as they crossed the street, being in fiery car crashes, developing serious illnesses, etc. — and that the visions were coming true, one after the next. He’d said this was breaking his heart, and he tried his level best to squelch the visions for many years. And then, he squeezed my hand and said that he had many visions for me, right at that moment, but all of them were good. He spoke of happiness, some money and writing.

What was funny was that I had dropped out of college for a semester. I should have graduated in spring 1996; instead, I had just gotten back in school and was doubting that I’d ever find the money to get to that degree. To hear that I was going to be a successful writer — as a journalism major — jump-started my very heavy heart, as I was making $4.25 at one job and $5.25 at the other, barely enough to pay for school, books and rent. I also did a work-study gig for another $4.25, and I volunteered to work on the student newspaper and other publications. I was tired all the time, usually sick and definitely overworked by my employers, who expected the world for those lousy hourly rates.

Perhaps Hal associated me with the school magazine and newspaper, but I don’t know how; he didn’t know my name, so I doubted he’d have associated my face with my by-lines. But in one conversation, he knew me … and I barely said a word, as I was purely in awe.

I looked forward to going back to school that semester, so that I could run into him and learn more about him. I might have seen him once or twice, but he unexpectedly died shortly after the term — my senior year — began. I didn’t attend the services, but I thought of him a lot. He made such an imprint on me, with one conversation, and I hoped that he had known that. Obviously, I am still thinking about him, six years later, and his faith in me that he expressed during our lone conversation.

So when Jenny, out of the blue, said she knew I was going somewhere and that I couldn’t let life get me so far down that I lost my way, I was taken aback once again. Why do random strangers pick me out of a crowd to give me encouragement? Perhaps they are not random strangers, but, in fact, guideposts (I s’pose some people would call them angels). She was only telling me what I already know, that I’m currently going nowhere fast and meanwhile sitting on a veritable pot of gold with whatever is going on inside my head.

She did tell me that Shan would be in my life forever. I hope so.

Spoke with my mom and with my grandfather today. I realized how utterly blessed I’ve been, to have them and my grandmother and great-grandmother before them, in my life. All they have ever wanted was to make me happy, and it saddens them when I’m down, because they can’t just kiss my boo-boos and make them “all better” anymore. I give them all the credit in the world for trying, though. It’s really nice to have that built-in personal fan club. The other branches of the family tree are absolute dead wood and unabashedly rotten in nature, and I repeat my statement in my Nov. 1 “Friday Five” entry that we do, in fact, pick our families. And I did damn well, if I say so myself, in choosing the one I’ve got.

But at any rate, I just wanted to add this entry as a postscript to my “Friday Five” entry, as part of the description of my faith. I believe there are people who are meant to show up in your life, to give you guidance, advice or simply something to consider. They don’t — and can’t — stay for very long, but you still take them with you, wherever you go.

And maybe, if you’re really lucky … you can be that guidepost for countless others as well. I can only hope that I’ve been the voice of inspiration or reason for some of the folks I’ve encountered in this life. And maybe they didn’t realize it at the time, but maybe they get it now. Personally, I always know when I’ve met someone significant. I meet so many people (both the stimulating and the lethally boring) that the truly special ones tend to stick out as though they were wearing a neon sign. Some people are meant simply to help you transition from one time to another. When your heart is broken or simply in need of some TLC, someone always comes along to help you heal. Always. I’ve been very fortunate in that respect — I have never truly been alone.

I have to give Max Ehrman credit for the “child of the universe” label. Below is his poem, “Desiderata,” which I memorized years ago, as it is essentially the blueprint to my existence:

Go placidly amid the noise and haste

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly

and listen to others,

even the dull and ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others

you may become vain and bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,

for the world is full of trickery.

But do not let this blind you to what virtue there is.

Many persons strive for high ideals

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love,

for in the face of all aridity and disappointment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and stars.

You have a right to be here.

And whether it is clear to you or not,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with god,

whatever you concieve him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life,

keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham and drudgery and broken dreams

it is still a beautiful world.

Be careful.

Strive to be happy.

… and the word has not once, until now, appeared on the site, let me indulge the requests. …

You Have a Tasty Nipple!

Your nipple tastes… great!

(Just like CHICKEN)

What Nipple Do You Have?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

1. Were you raised in a particular religious faith?

Nope. I’m descended from Roman Catholics, and there was even a nun or two, somewhere in the family. We buried my grandmother with a rosary given to her by her aunt, who was a nun, but we deep-sixed the remnants of our religion with her. Even she was disgusted with the church, but in her final weeks, her mind and heart accepted it more than she ever had.

I became an atheist after my grandmother died in 1999, because I just couldn’t find an explanation for all the pain and suffering she endured in her last eight years of life. It’s horrible to watch someone die, and we had just finished watching her mother die, who was literally the sweetest woman who ever touched this earth. And as a young person who is suddenly forced to examine the cruelness of the world, what can you do? You curse god and you realize that the Golden Years is just a glossy coating for your tired and aging body. And you wonder why you have to suffer your whole life (financially, emotionally, etc.), only to die a painful, physical death. And you curse god some more until you finally turn your back on him or her, especially when you have a grandfather and a mother in their own physical and emotional pain. The cycle never ends, and you know it.

The family shuns the Catholic church because my great-grandmother, who divorced her psychotic husband when she had three small children, was told by a priest that she could only remain with the church if she promised to never again marry. Anastasia was quite the level-headed lady, and she told that priest that as a working mother with young children, she would love to remain with the church, but if she could find a man who could love and support her and her family, well, she didn’t want to eliminate that possibility entirely. So the church rejected her. She never did remarry, and she worked her fingers to the bone for the rest of her life, but I will always be proud of her for doing what was right for her, even though I know she missed her faith, despite the fact that her church wasn’t there for her during those difficult years.

Personally, at some point last year, I reconsidered my atheism and favored agnosticism, which is where I still am today. I am fascinated by the gods in Roman and Greek mythology, but alas, perhaps those are as much folklore as I consider the bible to be.

Once in awhile, though, I hope that someone is out there listening, and I believe that something beyond my own strength gets me through these times when I could very easily become homicidal/suicidal. But I think modern Christianity is off-base. I think that there could possibly be a god and a goddess, but I also think they have day jobs … perhaps they let us run the world and only step in when things get really fucked up. Maybe they end the wars and stop the pestilence or ensure that murderous snipers get arrested (but can they just kick bin Laden’s and Hussein’s asses — pretty please?). I don’t know. I am but a speck on this big round ball that floats in the solar system. I’ll find out the answers soon enough. 🙂

2. Do you still practice that faith? Why or why not?

Faith and religion are two separate things. I still shun religion and view it as the ultimate travel agent for guilt trips, and I also view it as a shitty foundation for oodles of politicians across the world. People kill and die in the name of christ or god or allah or whoever. Remove the cult aspect that exists in most religions, and there you may find faith. But I find my faith within myself and within those I love. It’s deeper than some fictional stories in a big book written by a man on a rock. I believe in inner strength, love, courage, respect, happiness, kindness and triumph over adversity, and all of these are rooted in faith in oneself and in others, and having them have faith in you. Further, if any one religion were “right,” then why on earth do we have so many variations on a theme?

3. What do you think happens after death?

I was just yapping about this today to Shan. I believe wholeheartedly in reincarnation. I’m in my sixth life, and I believe I’ve traveled with several souls throughout the centuries, and some of them are in my life today. I believe in having several soulmates, and I believe we learn lessons during each new life. I do believe in the whole “nine lives” theory, but it doesn’t end after nine lives. I think we just go to a big ol’ Club Med in the sky, rest up for a few millennia, and start over as unjaded new souls in the first life of the next cycle for each of us.

I believe we carry imprints from previous lives (i.e., my irrational fear of falling might have come from plummeting to my death in another world), and I believe that our souls recall unresolved relationships. I think we collide with those folks again and again, through the centuries/decades/millennia, until we finally find our ways to each other, for whatever reason. Come on, there has GOT to be a reason why IKEA Boy and I, after years of soaring highs and devastating lows and even a few years of silence, can be the best of friends. Something in this life keeps drawing our paths together, and I’m sure I’ll see him next time around as well.

Same thing with Shan, how we started chatting the day we met, as though we had known each other for decades. And with many of my other friends, with whom I may lose contact for months or years at a time, but the conversations pick up right where they left off. That’s special, and I believe the foundation for those friendships were laid back when e-mail was merely a stone tablet thrown through the air! 🙂

In another poignant instance, one of my great paramours in this life, CR, is also in his sixth life. He’s now married with two adorable kids. While I believe that we are pretty much done with each other in this life, I know we will definitely meet again, somewhere in another existence, and we will figure out what it is we keep doing wrong that prevents us from being together. And by life number nine, I think we will be each other’s final destiny. That’s why I was okay with letting him go … the time isn’t yet right for us … and maybe in 500 years, it will be. I can wait … we have forever!

And that’s why I am so fucking disappointed with my ill-fated encounters with Brat and RK. I was meant to meet them in this life. I knew it from the moment I made eye contact with both of them, that they would be special, that maybe they always WERE special, in previous times. Perhaps my soulmates for lives seven and eight, respectively?

I also believe we choose our parents, and I stand by the fact that we are meant to have the names we are given (I could give a lesson in numerology to those who are interested!).

Sometimes I wonder, though, who I pissed off in my last life to be so utterly miserable with this one. My misery only started last year when I started working for Second Choice, and it has continued since. I do have my happy moments, but overall, I find I am at my happiest now when I am on the phone with my mom, at IKEA Boy’s house or out at Benny’s with Shan. I don’t have enough of those happy moments, and I need more, damn it!!!

But I don’t believe in Judgment Day and purgatory and heaven and hell. Hell is what you make of it, and it’s very personal. Same with heaven. Some people want to be munching on wafers and sipping wine with the savior; I personally want to be surrounded by my favorite souls at our favorite gay bar. Only “getting high” would take on a new meaning, I suppose!

4. What is your favorite religious ritual (participating in or just observing)?

When I lose something, I call upon the appropriate saint to lend me a hand. It usually works. 🙂 My other favorite religious ritual is screaming to god when someone leads me to an earth-shattering moment through expert hand or tongue stimuli. hee hee

5. Do you believe people are basically good?

I’d have an easier time answering yes to a statement along the lines of, “Do you believe people are basically naive and/or ignorant?”. I desperately want to have faith in humanity, yet it’s so hard when I’m hearing about serial snipers, arsonists and terrorists. Closer to home, I find that the lower my expectations are of people, the less frequently I become disappointed. If I expect them to act like veritable bumps on a log, then I can’t be angry that they didn’t do or say something that they should’ve.

Further, it’s difficult for me to let someone do something nice for me … although I’ve met many benevolent, generous folks in my life’s journey, it still greatly takes me aback when they want nothing in return for their kindness. It’s a shame that I’m so damn surprised when I experience and/or witness people expressing goodwill toward others. I always look for that attached string, because more often than not, I’ve found it. Quite honestly, I will probably never STOP looking for attached strings.

I’m just disgustingly grateful for the fact that, as a soul in my sixth life, I’ve been around the block a few times and can spot a fake from 10 miles away. I know when people are “in it” for themselves, and I can smell a lie like I can smell cat shit that didn’t hit the litterbox. That’s why I’m always hunting for those strings; some people use invisible thread, but it’s still there. Although … I must admit to truly enjoying when people get all tangled up in the strings they dangle, because I can play the game better than the best, if I so choose. I love to watch people get too comfortable before they eventually step into the mess that they made. That doesn’t make me cruel — I consider it more like being a vigiliante … I like when karma bites people in the ass. ‘Cause it always does, and I always love a good show!