Caterwauling

Too busy to post. Or, for that matter, to form a thought. But doing better (mentally) overall, so put that one in the “plus” column.

Anyway, this is the latest song in heavy rotation. Enjoy!

Catie Curtis, “Troubled Mind”

I am glad the Olympics are over, as “Medium” is on tonight again. Yay!

However, I am bummed that it’s not an “American Idol” night. Because EVERY night should be an “Idol” one. I am just jonesing to see Chris Daughtry (who sang “Wanted Dead or Alive” last week. *drool*). Sure, maybe I was just hot for him because I am stuck in the ’80s hot for Jon Bon Jovi, but the boy’s a cutie. I mean, last week, I was throwing my underwear at the TV when he was on. Problem was, I was still in them! 😉

Reader Poll Monday:

1. What is your absolute favorite website?
Grey Matter, the official “Grey’s Anatomy” blog

2. What would you do if all of the sudden, that website were blocked by the government?
I’d still have the TV show, although I’d twitch from withdrawal during the week between episodes!

3. Do you regularly wear perfume/cologne?
Angel by Thierry Mugler and Euphoria by Calvin Klein are my two in heavy rotation these days

4. How many hours of sleep do you usually get each night?
Not a lot. I fall asleep right away but somehow kick off all my covers and notice it around 3 or 4 a.m. I’d say I can get a good four hours on average.

5. When is the last time you made whoopee?
Whoopee! Hah! 🙂 Is it terrible that I can’t remember when?!?! I just know that I’d had better and sort of got turned against the thought of it after that particular odyssey. Like, Meredith-and-George (on last night’s “Grey’s”) bad. (Good lord, didn’t that hurt to watch?)

6. If forced to choose, would you rather have a tattoo covering most of your face or have blue skin?
Blue skin would probably hurt a lot less to acquire. And I could always cover up with tan in a can.

7. Do you like pickles?
LOVE pickles

8. Are you comfortable in social situations where you don’t know anyone?
Those are the only social situations I’m ever in, and quite honestly, I love interacting with strangers. Good mix of intimacy (as in, I don’t care what they think of me) and distance (because the interaction time is finite). I’ve done a lot of years in sales and don’t think I’m too terrible at it.

9. Coke or Pepsi?
Diet Coke, but real Pepsi.

10. Ask me something.
Funniest online dating adventure?

Da BurghOriginally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

In the past 60-odd days, I’ve been in Nevada, Colorado, Minnesota, New York, Maryland, Virginia, D.C. and Pennsylvania, not to mention that I traveled through Jersey and Delaware.

But by far, the most aesthetically pleasing place is Pittsburgh. Here’s the first thing you see when you emerge from the Fort Pitt Tunnels. (*aaah*)

I feel nostalgic for the city, even though it’s not my home anymore and hasn’t been for some time now. I guess I really don’t feel like I belong anywhere at this time and place in my life, and home will be wherever I make it.

I shot up to town to see my grandfather to surprise him on his 80th birthday on Friday. I sat down next to him in a restaurant and scared the shit out of him — only Mom knew I was coming.

It was good seeing the family. To say I’m lonely and disconnected from humanity where I am right now in my life and location is an understatement. It’s good to be reminded that while my journey seems to be like a solitary one for now, I always have somewhere to go to remind myself of who I am.

While I might never live in Pittsburgh again, to me it’s the place that would take me back in a heartbeat should I ever change my mind. Luckily, a simple whirlwind visit holds healing powers enough to tide me over, so I’m glad to have a reason to return occasionally … and to leave again when I’m ready.

MarquisElevator

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

The elevators in the Marriott Marquis made me overcome my fear of escalators in a huge hurry because the elevator bank had its own rush hour every day — trying to pop into your room on the 27th floor required a good 25 to 40 minutes of combined wait time in each direction. I swear, if I could’ve taken a cab upstairs, I would have!

Speaking of cabs, we had a great dinner at Shula’s, just up the street. As we didn’t have an hour to grab coats, we cabbed it the whole block and a half. LOL. On the way back, we were brave and decided to run through the COLDEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR without any winter coverings. I myself was in a skirt, tank top and a blazer, so when the wind chill was -7 degrees, you can bet I was a Dawnsicle. *Brr*

Anyway, I have a story. (I always do!) I was ripping past The New York Times building and trying to fly across the street onto Broadway when I almost fell over this woman in a wheelchair who was trying to go the opposite direction. Now, on a normal day, I would step back and let her go first. But that night? Holy Christmas no. I almost went ass over teakettle over her chair (as I didn’t see her!), so I literally leaped ahead and did the world’s most half-assed apology ever spoken: “Sorry, but you have a coat!”

I’d say I’m going to burn in hell, but that’s OK. At least it’s warm there! 😉

Back in the day, I used to love to blog about “American Idol” and the triumphs and seeming injustices of it all, but the bottom line was that I was in love with the “characters.” From Simon to Randy to all of the contestants, I identified “my” winners early on and cheered them on till the end.

That said, I am lovin’ me some Mandisa this season. Unless she does a horrible performance (and I highly doubt it), she’s got my text-message vote till the end of time.

Simon had been a dick about her after her audition. And when she made it to the finals, she had an opportunity to confront him about it. She did so with grace, poise, dignity and CLASS. I fell more in love with her than ever before.

She rocked SOCKS the other night when she performed. In fact, I only managed to stay awake to watch her and Kellie Pickler, as I was exhausted from travel and actually BORED by everyone else who followed them that night.

I was talking to my best friend about her today. We were raving about her inner calm and her outer showmanship. And we expressed a lot of envy about her confidence. The whole thing about Simon insulting her was based solely on her size, and she doesn’t let that matter to her. She went to him and said she FORGAVE him for what he said. She admitted that she’d felt very hurt by his words but that she could move on from it. And that totally won his respect … and my admiration.

She reminds me very much of me — an earlier version of me, though. She dresses how she wants, she emanates passion and excitement and originality, and she isn’t afraid to be herself. I try to be that way even now, but there’s such a layer of trepidation anymore that I’m having a hard time shaking off.

My friend and I were talking about how we are always overflowing with ideas and motivation and that we want people to sit up and take notice of us — to see us as well as listen to us. But the years have corroded our respective self-images so much that we’ve sort of become afraid of being seen. I think there’ve been so many instances of us being seen and not being taken seriously that we just keep our brilliance and magnitude to ourselves. And maybe no one would expect any just by looking at us. Boy, are they wrong if that’s true.

If you look at ‘Idol’ contestants, you’ve got the butterfaces with good voices, the pretty people with OK voices and then the so-called “underdogs” who don’t supposedly look like traditional pop stars but who can, as an old boss of mine used to say, “SANG!” But really, those in the last category are gorgeous on the inside, and with the right training and encouragement, it comes to the forefront and transforms said budding star into an actual star.

It’s always been my belief that there is beauty in everyone and everything. Even though I’ve (of late) stopped including myself in that general statement. I’ve sort of lapsed into an oblivion of feeling small and insignificant and maybe even not worthy of notice, and while I’m not exactly OK with it, it is what it is and I’ve figured it’s just a phase.

The thing is, after you’ve heard enough voices tearing you apart, you learn to anticipate what they’re going to say and you end up with those evil little voices chanting within you — preparing you for the worst. Problem is, you rehearse them so often that they can become all that you hear above the quiet yet strong voice beneath it that would lift you up to where your spirits should be.

But you can’t keep me down for very long. Rather recently, my mind somehow rewired itself and made me really, truly want — I don’t know — *something.* And maybe what’s popped into my head is what I want and maybe it’s what I’ll get, but god, just to have some kind of dream to hold on to, however unrealistic and/or unattainable it might be right now — it’s like my psyche threw me a life preserver.

Sometimes I get scared to dream. Like, what if I get my hopes up? Can I stand to be shattered again? Should I just lapse into a fog and not really want anything so I won’t have yet another disappointment to overcome?

And then, I mentally kick myself and think about my novels that would go unwritten, the poetry that would never evolve into a verse, the potential creativity and love and contributions to this world that would go unrealized. I have to sometimes force myself to stop saying, “It’ll never happen” and reprogram myself to say, “It hasn’t happened YET.”

I always say, “Speak it into existence.” Want something? Go after it. Picture it. Envision what you’ll be wearing, what you’ll say, what sensory influences will mark the moment when you finally achieve your milestone. Don’t be afraid to dream … instead, be afraid of all the great things you’d miss out on by squelching your wildest thoughts.

Achievement begets greater achievements. And if we’re so dead-set against others holding us back, why do we hold OURSELVES back?

So, until I finish gathering the irreverent strength that I know is hiding within me somewhere (as I’ve seen it before and need to dust it off), I will be cheering on Mandisa as she takes advantage of her chance to set the world on fire in any way she can.

My turn is coming next, I can feel it in my soul and my bones. I might not be on a nationally televised stage, but hey, you never know what can happen. The first step is re-emerging from my self-inflicted shell. The second step can be as far of a leap as I’m ready to make. …

Via Tiff, a treasure trove of earthly delights — the “Grey’s Anatomy” blog!

Some insights from Shonda Rhimes about the recent two-part episode with the patient with the bomb in his chest and Meredith was holding the bomb to keep it from exploding and blowing up half the hospital:

The last thing I want to say about this episode has to do with Meredith. Because all she really wants is some kind of reason to live. I’ve heard a lot of talk about Meredith being whiny but the truth is, she’s got a mom with Alzheimer’s, no other family to speak of, and the man she loves is married. She’s pretty freaking lonely, people. She’s got a right to get her whine on. So, when she falters, when she doesn’t want to pull her hand out of Mr. Carlson, it’s partly because she’s got nothing to hang on to. As she says in the first episode, she needs a reason to go on, she needs some hope. Which is why she has to picture Derek to get through it. And at the end, when he shows up at her house (and he shows up just to see for himself that she is alive), she has to ask. She has to ask him about their last kiss because if she’s ever going to get out of that bed again and keep going, she needs a reason. She needs to know there’s someone out there for her. She needs some hope. And Derek (can Patrick Dempsey be any more amazing?) describes that last kiss, the last kiss they had as a happy couple, in such perfect detail that Meredith knows she’ll be okay. Because he wouldn’t remember that kiss so well if he didn’t love her. He couldn’t. It’s her sign.

Jesus Christ, it’s like she described MY life. … (*sob*)

TimesSquare

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Just a quickie shot of Times Square from the ol’ camera phone.

D.C. so totally sucks as a city in comparison to Manhattan. I like having the ability to be alone but not lonely in NYC — there’s always someplace to go and always with companionable coexisting on the bustling city streets.

We had some terrific food while we were there, but the most memorable was Benito’s II in Little Italy, where one member of our party has been going for upward of two decades, so we were treated like family and stuffed to the gills with a seven-course meal containing the likes of veal parmigiana, manicotti and tiramisu — not to mention the many glasses of Amarone.

Like one esteemed colleague commented, it’s nice to enjoy wonderful meals with the company, because when we return to D.C., we go back to ordering dinner from the clown’s mouth. 😉

Just got home from a week in Manhattan for a sales convention, which I actually love because it gets me out and talking to customers. This one was particularly grueling because I was popping Midol with my coffee, but it beat being in D.C. any day.

The event organizer has become fondly known as the “booth bubbe” because she’s got band-aids and chocolate and hand lotion and every supply you could possibly need to get you through one of these extravaganzas. Me? I’ve just started calling myself the “booth bitch,” and I should probably be offended that not a one of my colleagues disagreed with such a term. 🙂

Anyway, lots to say but I gots work to do. Here are some of the tunes I was listening to while zoning out in the quiet car on my train. I’m a lyrics fiend, so you can see why I like them:

“I’m smoking a cigarette as I wait for my train, scanning the faces for something of me that remains.”

Jodi Sheeler, “Boston”

“If you take the first step, I’ll follow you through.”

Kendall Payne, “Honest”

“When I tell you I’m falling, you tell me I’m strong.”

Patty Griffin, “Blue Sky”

“Expensive cabs and shitty food, washed down with canceled flights.”

Jewel, “Till We Run Out of Road”

“If I rained for you, it would just be water.”

Heather Nova, “Heart and Shoulder”

“I will never be with you.”

James Blunt, “Beautifiul”

“They try so hard to break out of their little worlds.”

EBTG, “Downtown Train”

“When your hands start to shake, and I promise you — they will. …”

Edie Carey, “Fall or Fly”

This is a post about 30 years in the making. And that sounds about better than the reality that my healing is about that much past due.

Skin is the thing that holds me together, contains and constrains me — but it’s also the thing I want to tear away and escape from at any given time. Yet it’s the thing that prevents me from scattering into a million pieces, no matter how paper-thin, easily bruised and fragile it seems to be.

I watch movies and read books and create grand scenarios in my mind about all the amazing things in life I have yet to see and experience. The thing that gets me motivated in the morning is the possibility that maybe THIS is the day that holds some magic — ‘THIS,’ whatever it might be, is going to be the catalyst that interrupts this random series of psychological boo-boos and the routine that I try my darndest to not resent.

It’s not so much the routine that suffocates me, but rather my fear at trying to break out of it. Don’t get me wrong — I am not afraid of shaking up the world. Far from it. But my skin is tired, raw, covered. Nobody is better at hiding within themselves as I am.

I have a very hard time articulating myself sometimes. I know, most of you will find that odd, but it’s true. I can form the thoughts in my head and come out with them if they’re funny or off-the-wall or maybe even heartfelt. But when it comes to asking for something that will assist in my mental well-being, I can’t do it.

That’s when I get testy, abrasive. If you spot something in my tone that betrays me, I guarantee you that something has been building. And building. And it’s ready to blow by the point you think, “Gee, she seems a little terse today.” That’s because I have been simmering and seething and plotting how things SHOULD be, but I’m too much of a damn puss to SAY it.

Instead, I grit my teeth, force a smile and dig my nails straight into my skin. I don’t know if that necessarily qualifies for self-injury, although when I start ripping off my nails in a fit, that’s a pretty good indicator that I’ve hit my damn limits.

Why don’t I fight for myself? Maybe it’s that I’m a girl who was brought up to not take shit from anybody BUT who doesn’t know any constructive coping mechanisms. All I know is that I hate injustice and I will fight against it at all costs, but maybe I need people to fight for/alongside me. Strength in numbers, I guess. Weakness in solitude, then. And maybe that explains a lot, for me anyway.

And that people LET me quietly suffocate myself. I know they see it. I am not going to answer on the first ask, if it even comes at all. You know I don’t trust anybody. But it’s all I can do some days to keep from lighting up the sky like a Zambelli’s fireworks display if my skin is so much as barely grazed. I’m holding in A LOT. It doesn’t take much to get it out, but for the fact that I don’t see anybody trying, I have a way of assuming my wants/needs/thoughts don’t mean anything to anyone but me.

Call me a martyr or whatever you will, but I can’t talk past the burn in my chest and the lump in my throat. Today I burst straight into tears when I was getting my nails done and the phone rang for the THIRD time and I’d gotten CUT for the third time reaching for the phone, and a year’s worth of frustration came out of my mouth in 90 seconds. It’s THAT easy to get me to open up. My blood flows as hot as anyone else’s, and some days it’s more toxic than others. But boy did I feel (a slight bit) better (for the time being). (And yes, I tipped VERY well today! Because, yes, I am grateful for anyone who listens.)

I have often wondered if I were in different skin, would I be different. What if I weren’t always trying to hide it — would I hide myself less? Would I want to be seen as well as heard? Would I finally feel JUSTIFIED in saying, “Hey, SEE me. LISTEN to me. GIVE ME what I need.”

Makes me think about when you have a crush on somebody and you’re terrified to let them know. Even though the worst thing (you think) can happen is that they don’t feel the same way, if you’re young or if you just have bad taste, the person who doesn’t feel the same way tells your peers and the jokes/rumors begin and you feel like the laughingstock of the world. You go from 60 to zero — from feeling like you’re empowered and taking charge of your emotions and your needs … to someone whose heart was liquefied for someone else’s entertainment.

Or, like in a previous job, they bragged about hiring the “best and brightest” but then they trampled our spirits daily. Gee, thanks for telling me my ideas sucked and then IMPLEMENTING them behind my back. The good people left; the mediocre ones continue to stare at the walls. I think it’s a compliment that I was the “problem child” only because I constantly had new plans to further the success of the company and was willing to achieve them — if only they would’ve gotten out of my way and let me.

I’m one of those people who’s channeled all of my passion into my work. And when that gets tough going and/or all-consuming, I have no other place to regenerate the faith that I’ve lost.

I think the submissiveness in general comes with the ending of the official “youth.” You go out into the world, educated and motivated and energized and ready to conquer. Then after a few years of having the spirit beaten out of you, you succumb to one of two things: quiet desperation, in which you just keep your ambitions to yourself and put in your personal time in hopes that you’ll figure out how to make this all worth it in the end, or else you figure out the limbo mark, where you put in “just enough” to stay employed and you can channel your energy into personal pursuits.

I look at my friends who, like me, are in the first category, unquestionably. And then when they go on to have kids, they really don’t mean to but they start to slide a tiny bit into the second category. Not that they’d ever lose their ambition, of course, but when you’ve got other people to think about, you suddenly find your voice to say “no” — as in, “Nope, somebody else comes first now.” Somebody whose needs are equal in importance to your own, but somehow more urgent.

Because for all of us who’ve been told to schedule our doctor’s visits or personal business for a more convenient time (for whom?), a number of us have gotten out of the habit of even scheduling them at all. And then you wake up one day with your blood pressure through the charts and a filling that’s been missing from your tooth for three years and you haven’t had your tension-headache prescription refilled since 2001, and it’s like why even bother starting to take care of yourself now? Why bring attention to yourself and your problems?

I think it goes back to middle-school days — you learned quickly that the surefire way to not be harassed was to fade into the background. Which was so unlike me at the time — I had a weird little sense of style and I liked my hair-metal music and I wrote poetry and had a gay boyfriend. Believe me, I was known! I wasn’t shy and all the teachers knew me and they treated me like an adult because that’s how I addressed them.

I don’t think my spirit got broken all at once, although I can identify times in my life when chunks of it were decimated in one fell swoop or continually corroded until I realized that a part of me had gone missing but I’d been too preoccupied/busy to notice while it might still have been salvageable.

There’s a part of me — irrational, I know — that sometimes wonders if maybe I’m not meant to get ahead. Like, on paper everything should be fine, but in practice? Not so much. I often stop to wonder why I keep trying anyway.

Like, why do I keep buying nice “weekend” outfits and wearing makeup simply to run errrands under the auspices of “what if I bump into the yet-unmet love of my life? I wouldn’t want to look like hell and have him run on by”? Why don’t I just accept that I’m not a pretty girl and maybe I find myself alone more often than not because maybe love and luck and good fortune are meant to be dangled before me yet never truly attained?

I hold my breath a lot. I don’t mean to — I just immerse myself in my stillness. It’s a waking apnea, if you will. Sometimes I think that if I’m still enough, no one will notice me. Or, more accurately, they will not notice everything about me that I try so hard to pretend isn’t so or that I work very hard to disguise.

My mom gets upset that I don’t get out and meet people — I used to be such a party girl. If there were an event, not only would I close down the show, but I’d also bring a handful of friends to liven up the festivities. She thinks people bring out the best in me and that my hermit-like state in which I hide is effectively drowning me.

Now, there’s just no time or money left over at the end of the day to do much of anything, and my weekends have become errand-running, sleep-deprivation-correcting odysseys. And “personal days” end up being more work to prepare for/deal with loose ends during that they hardly seem worth it.

The sad part is that I have become my own worst nightmare in that I am too tired to care. Or maybe, I have moments of being happy that I don’t have to “be seen.”

Don’t get me wrong, I will put together an outfit and do my makeup and go through all my rituals to look presentable. Even though I’m feeling like hell inside and often looking like it on the outside (by society’s standards, anyway), I can’t give up trying to project the way I WANT to be feeling. Instead, I make myself sick with stress and I bottle up things that should never go unsaid or unacknowledged, for fear of bringing any more drama on top of what I’ve already got.

I don’t know. Right now, my bones feel too tired to hold up this skin and all that resides within me. I wish I were able to just “say when” without the all-consuming terror that by me asking for some breathing room, I’ll only end up with someone cutting off my oxygen supply.

My skin has gone through some serious wars and the battle scars run deep, and it shows in all of the heartbreak and neuroses I’ve revealed today. They say you won’t know true heights until you’ve known great depths. And in this, I’m hoping that after great pain can come great joy, health and strength … and I wish for the wherewithal to obtain them, as they don’t seem like they’re ever going to come to me on their own. …