Caterwauling

So I’ve been in full “So move her out, already” (from “About Last Night,” for fellow Brat Pack junkies) mode.

Everyone keeps asking, “When are you moving? Where are you moving? Why haven’t you visited any places? Why haven’t you CALLED any places?”

I’ll tell you why. Because you need MONEY to put down to catch an available space in a place you like. And I? Have $18 to my name till Wednesday AND I’m behind by two car payments. Keep asking me in that disappointed-in-me tone why I haven’t bothered. I’m a bit TOUCHY about that subject right now, here at T-minus two months.

ANYWAY, I got motivated by scaring the shit out of my neighbors by THROWING SHIT off the balcony. (It’s quite satisfying, seeing shit crash to the ground. Try it sometime.) (And yes, I dragged it to the dumpster. I just didn’t want to carry it down two flights of stairs.) So I sat in my car and called a dozen apartment complexes in my targeted neighborhood.

And may I just say that people are assholes. Seriously. I am calling based on looking at YOUR AD, and I am interested based on the amenities and prices YOU ADVERTISED. And you tell me, “Oh, that special is over”?!?! It’s a current ad, noodle nutted son of bitch.  My crystal ball failed to tell me that your March advertised specials aren’t good in, oh, MARCH.

*sigh*

I have an appointment tomorrow. And where money comes back to haunt me, after a half-hour on the phone with these clowns (nicer ones than the aforementioned, but sales monkeys nonetheless) I am told, “Bring money because we can’t hold properties for you.”

!

I should have known better than to say, “OK!” But my theory on money is this: When you’ve got a pile-o-cashish burning a hole in your pocket (let’s dream for a minute here), you go shopping and you can’t find anything. But when you’re broke and you go window-shopping, that’s suddenly when everything looks good.

So, if I see something I like, great. I can go back. If I don’t like it, enh, at least I broke the moving-odyssey cherry.

I’ve been working with an apartment locator service. And by working, I mean I’ve gotten one property in a week and suddenly today, when I got annoyed at the many follow-up calls/e-mails asking if I had contacted that single property and said I was looking forward to hearing about more places, I finally got more. But maybe I was unclear in my price requirements on the phone, because I am unimpressed to date.

Of course, I’m just unimpressed in general that properties in the suburbs cost so damn much.

My current complex offered to pay my moving costs up to a certain point if I sign up for one of our newly remodeled units. Like, it would cost me NOTHING to move, and I’d get a discount off “movin’ on up,” so to speak. It would actually, probably be more cost-efficient to stay in the ‘hood, believe it or not.

And I’m thinking about it. But I also know I’m in dire need of a change of scenery and I’d like my commuting time back. If only driving could be counted as physical activity — gym rats are getting buff and burning calories while I’m snarfing down the Fast Food of the Day and yelling at people who celebrate No-Turn-Signal-Monday (or Tuesday, Friday and everything in between).

Alas, though, if I can just digest the exorbitant pet deposits/pet rents/application fees/security deposits (but NOT move-in fees. Seriously, that’s highway robbery. What’s the fee for? Are you going to help me move my shit? Then fuck off), I think moving to the ‘burbs is the right decision for me at this juncture in my life.

Although, after cheating on my manicurist last week (i.e., going to someone different) and regretting it greatly, I’ll drive back every two weeks without complaint for the TLC to which I’ve become accustomed in my city!

I found myself with an unexpected free evening last night, so I decided to spend time with my favorite person on earth … moi!

Whenever I lived in Pittsburgh and got into a bit of a directionless funk, I made it a point to wander down to Point State Park, where the famed “three rivers” converge. There was something about hanging out at the fountain (here’s a great photo of where I liked to sit) with my journal, staring off into the distance and watching the water.

I am a water person. Now, I can’t swim and I sure as HELL don’t get a tan (the Irish roots overtook the Italian ones, unfortunately, in that realm), but when I think about “escape,” I immediately think of oceans and lakes and, if we’re talking immediate access to infinity, then rivers. I’ve grown up around rivers and I’ve mananged to stay near one.

Thus, around midnight last night, I ended up in Old Town Alexandria (which sits right on the Potomac River) — sitting on the rocks at the edge of the water and watching airplanes flying up from the south to land at National Airport. The planes are so low that you can tell which airline they belong to just from the colors, and you can tell the size by the location and structure of the wings.

You could even say I’m an outdoors-type person, although I’m not athletic in the least. I have my windows/curtains open constantly and I wither without sunlight. I mean, suffocatingly so. And when well-meaning people tell me to buy a fucking sunlight lamp, I want to ram one up their asses because a $99 lamp isn’t going to give me that feeling of smallness, of marveling at Mother Nature, of gazing (with shades, of course) into infinity. My greatest creativity is generated by warmth and without boundaries. Because there’s always the chance of seeing something *different,* you know? Of finding inspiration unscheduled and unexpectedly. Of just not forcing it and not being disappointed if it doesn’t come at all, because witnessing simple beauty is enough to motivate me to seek it again, and maybe the words and images will come next time.

Anyway, I’ve digressed. Per the usual. So, back to the river. …

I went there sans coat but with MP3 player and had what might possibly classify as the best night I’ve had in a long time. Sure, I wanted to toss all the couples molesting each other into the fishy depths of the Potomac (it’s a park at midnight. Go figure), but I had a rare opportunity to commune with nature as well as with myself.

I went there looking for some sort of revelation. Well, maybe that wasn’t my initial goal, but it was up there. I know I’m going to be moving out of this area soon (and at some point, I might acutally pack a box or call an apartment complex, as time is a-dwindlin’), and I just wanted to savor some time in my current stomping grounds.

I ask a lot of the universe sometimes. I have conversations (in my head, of course) with it and ask for guidance and assurance that I’m going in the right direction. The way I figure, the universe has (to date) overlooked me in a lot of ways, even though I feel like I’ve practically been standing on my head and jumping up and down, begging it to (allow me to channel “Meredith Grey” here for a second) “Pick me! Choose me! Love ME!” And every time, it laughs at me and looks at me like, “Why would I?” And I never seem to have an answer.

Anyway, while I don’t get everything (or much of what, for that matter) I want, I do get my little messages answered here and there. And if that means I have the wherewithal to keep going another day or year if that means I’m closer to *something,* whatever it might be, then that’s what I will take and I will savor it for now.

So I was looking for some Big Revelation from the universe as I sat on the rocks and stared down at the ripples of water seemingly rolling toward me personally, I got it. Now, it’s not earth-shattering, but for me, it was what I’d gone fishing for and I would say it was a successful expedition.

So I asked the Goddess (and not me as the Goddess, but rather the superhuman one) whether I were going to turn out OK. I threw that question into the water and waited. And waited. And out of the blue, a song popped up on my MP3 player — one that I heard on the very worst day of my life and I haven’t heard since — that has the line, “Everything’s gonna be all right.” (Shawn Mullins, “Lullaby”)

And I understood, I’ve GOT to be OK. I have no CHOICE in the matter. I’m going to have all the intangibles I’ve needed, and hopefully maybe some of the tangibles. (Mmm, MacBook Pro. Someday!)

So, I didn’t just jump in the water and be done with it. (Again, not my intention, but the visual was there and I was depressed to realize no one knew where I was and that I’d probably be missing for months before anyone even noticed.) But in the water I saw a published novel, I saw a tropical vacation, I saw family and friends and champagne glasses and music and celebration. I saw the anvil that seems to weigh on my heart and my thoughts being lifted. I saw a future I want.

More importantly, I got the feeling that it isn’t as far away as it has always seemed.

Maybe what I talked about in yesterday’s entry is what I’ve been doing all along — working on flourishing in the end. Trying to make the best decisions I can and be the best person possible and attempting to suck it up and get through the here and now with nothing but my character intact in the hopes that in the end (or, rather, in the next stage of my existence), all the good things will be resting on a solid and carefully built foundation and that those won’t crumble and evaporate because I’ve done the hard labor to ensure the great things will flourish from there for a long time to come. …