Caterwauling

What a weird little day. I awoke before 6 a.m., sobbing. Which usually denotes a weekday, so I was understandably confused. 😉 I don’t know what the hell I dreamed about that made me nuts, but seriously, I thought the ritual was to cry oneself to sleep and not into waking instead!

I do remember one of my dreams. I was in Old Town Alexandria, at a wedding. My own. (Stop laughing — I dream in fiction!)

It was a breezy summer day and I was wearing white (Dear Peanut Gallery: I KNOW. Move along now.) and a bunch of us were at The Chart House, hanging out on the pier and laughing, drinking and being merry.

I’ve never eaten there, as it’s out of my price range. But I used to love to go hang out on the boardwalk and sit on the rocks of the Potomac River and watch planes descend into National Airport, so it seemed right to be there.

I saw lots of familiar faces (several of you bloggers were there, even if I’ve never seen you before, I recognized you from your profile pictures). But more importantly, I saw the groom. So, any man who meets me in the next 100 years should be forewarned that I will be peering into his face to see if there’s a match or even a passing resemblance. 😉 I don’t ever see faces in my dreams, so this was strange in and of itself.

But the real bizarro part of it all was that everyone was doing a champagne toast, and I announced that I would be leaving the workforce to be a full-time wife and mom.

*faints*

*loads gun, cocks barrel, splatters brains on wall*

So I was telling this dream to my mom today (she requires encouragement that I’m not entirely disinterested in the concept), and she swears she had a dream the same night of me with two little boys. Hahahaaaaaaa, funny! *shudder*

Talk about taking dreams and turning them into nightmares!

CHEERS!

I expect I was thinking about kids because my best friend had called when I got home and we talked for a few hours, well past 1:30 a.m. She told me how she’d handed sippy cups to her kids, ages 1 and 3. The 3-year-old sat next to the younger one, put her arm around his shoulders, clinked her sippy cup to his and said, “Cheers!”

My friend was stunned because she’s never had a drink in front of them. But before we knew the first one was even in existence, she and I had done many rounds of clinked glasses. (We clink both the top and the bottom. It’s our rule. Not sure why — we were drunk when it came about, and it stuck.)

So, I’m sure her daughter learned it in utero. In any event, we’re so proud!

It’s bad enough that I’m rolling home past 10 p.m. with a pile of work still undone, but to come home to cozy up my favorite spot on the floor (as who could afford a couch with fucked-up memories of vacation plans gone awry to recover from?) and see a big, wet shit streak on it courtesy of my elder cat just makes those long, crazy days worth it. Not.

Some days, I just get tired of having to be OK with the fact that this is how it always is and this looks to be the best it’ll be for the time being. It’s hard to dream from a shit-stained floor. Or maybe I’m not OK with it but I’m just too tired to react.

I was talking to a freelance instructor this week — an otherwise wholly unimpressive sort — about how she got her own business launched. And she said, very simply, that those who can’t stop thinking about it are never going to do anything BUT think about it. It’s the person who says, fuck it, why can’t today be the day, who’s got the best chance of making it work and just doing it already. It’s just that discipline thing that’s been my barrier, but when am I going to be motivated enough to overcome it?

I looked at her and realized that I’ve got just as much to offer, intellectually, not to mention I’d add my own brand of sparkle that would put everyone else out of business. And I wonder why not try. Seriously. Exhaustion and ennui have become a security blanket in my life. I feel OK if I’m disappointed and annoyed. I’ve learned to revel in my existential discontent. In fact, I don’t know how to function outside of it.

But I need to figure out how to reverse that and start loving being alive. A day without dysfunction, even if it’s all only in my head — can I handle it? Be encouraged enough to try a second day without wanting to tie a noose around my neck and jump off a chair? consider it a victory to achieve something more than scrubbing the cat shit out of the carpet? I s’pose there’s a first for everything!

Talk about the poison pen:

These trinkets were available to attendees of my company’s fall picnic today. There are days when I want to light myself on fire instead of coming in for the day (early morning, regular business hours, evening, night, weekend — whichever), but then there are days like today when I’m fed and too stuffed to think. As you can tell, I’m doing everything within my power from getting started on real work. …

Me: “If you squint and cross your eyes, there are actually quite a few attractive men in our building.”

A colleague and I were chatting the other day, discussing the eye candy (or paucity thereof) in our building. We probably threw out three names, tops, and agreed on exactly one of them.

If only those boys knew how we talked about them when they thought we weren’t watching them. … 😉

Yesterday I accomplished more at work between 4 p.m. and 9 p.m. than I did between 9:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. Figures.

I had to run out and get cat food before going home, when it occurred to me that dinner wasn’t something I’d considered. So I’m in this shopping plaza and conveniently parked by about nine restaurants. I go into one. Get in line behind someone who’s served. Easy, right?

The kid behind the counter looks exasperated and horrified that he might have to serve another customer. He asks if I’ve placed an order. I said no. He looks to have a panic attack, looking around at the other employees like it would piss them off to do one more sammich. I said look, I’m trying to find dinner at 9:47 p.m. and you close at 10; I wasn’t aware that you had a choice to not serve me. Because it’s not like I really wanted to have dinner that late yet here I was with money to spend at that establishment. He looked nervous. I wasn’t going to deal, though. I have my limits, so I topped off my visit with a merry “Have a nice fucking night!”

I hate people.

I tried three more places before I could find someone who would talk to me. And that restaurant was out of what I normally order. 😉 But yeah, what’s up with all these tip jars? That would require providing basic service on the bare minimum. I have yet to see someone go above and beyond anymore, let alone get the regular order right.

Anyway, while I’m on a tangent (and running late for work). …

What I would like to know is how Red Swingline Stapler chick can get away with wearing a denim skirt on a Wednesday. Was I not invited to the hoedown? She gets an undeserved window and dressing comfort? Gah. Way to make an impression on your new colleagues. *kick*

I didn’t sleep last night (see: bitch, crabby), twisting over way too many things in my mind. I’d left a comment on someone’s blog yesterday (because it’s all about me baybee), that I have a hole where happiness should be. And the suck in life, whether big or small, tends to grow in size to fill the void.

I’d advised my friend to put on her shitkickers and push the suck back into its corner for as long as possible. Some days, I need to take my own advice.

I need a vacation. And Xanax. And a screaming orgasm. Whichever comes first. 😉

I woke up with one of those headaches that feel like someone’s driving a stake through my brain. You’d think they would have been wise and aimed it a bit lower — if it had gotten my heart, we’d all be put out of my misery. 😉

I sit by my floor-to-ceiling window every morning, doing a little bit of work that would take a lot less time were I actually not still half-asleep. And I usually watch people on the street below.

One of my neighbors reminds me of me — built like me (poor thing), dresses like me (trendy jeans and shirts — I look like a freaking Old Navy ad on weekends). And I always notice that she looks, I don’t know, thinner on the weekends. Like we all stuff our pudgy pork roast asses into dress clothes and pantyhose all week. You can just tell how uncomfortable we are. I know I personally radiate tension when I’m in shoes that would best be used as a murder weapon instead of a self-torture device.

Don’t get me wrong — I love to play dress-up as much as (or even more than) the next girl. I like heels because I look better in them. I like skirts because at the right length, they too can add height. But I, and I suspect it’s true of my neighbor, look much better when there’s cleavage of any kind (boob or toe, not butt of course!) showing. It helps when there’s a little bit of skin to break up a sea of georgette and gabardine.

I’m not suggesting walking around in pasties (oh God no) but just a little freedom to let the skin breathe wouldn’t hurt matters. I feel so puritanical lately, that if I see a glimpse of someone’s skin like at their neck I think “Scandal!” GAWD. I really need to get out more. 😉

While I’m complaining, I hate closed-toe shoes in general — dark shoes make me look shorter than I am (5’3″ and 3/4, babyee) and if they’re flat and closed-toe, I look like a pint-sized pudge muffin. Even though I wear a lot of black, it’s rare to see me in black shoes unless they’re strappy and wildly inappropriate. The pain of walking in them is worth it if you’re going to look good doing it!

Today’s horoscope: Evaluate your surroundings. Are you where you’re supposed to be? Could some old feelings of guilt or misplaced loyalty be keeping you chained to a situation that simply doesn’t fit anymore? Be honest.

No real comments on it. Just something that’s been niggling at me today. It’s sort of freeing, really. I have my reasons for doing what I do (and not doing other things). My visions are bigger than anyone can imagine. But there is some sort of, I don’t know, obligation if you will. To people, places and things. I’ve relinquished control in a big way to Fate and the powers that be.

Sometimes I think creative people get screwed in life. Now, I profess my love for my labrynth-like mind and spurts of brilliance that compensate for those other moments that are completely devoid of brainwaves. But what I fail to be able to do is motivate myself — I expect creativity and inspiration to come in time.

Boundaries elude me and I find myself daydreaming at work and thinking about work when I’m supposedly on “my” time. And that’s fine but I feel like I’m not accomplishing much of anything in either realm. But I’ve also got to force myself sometimes to be OK with not saving the world. I make myself nervous sometimes when I finish a day no closer to any goals I might have had — lofty goals at that.

I had one of those big “what if” moments the other day. What if I abandoned all decorum and restraint and reached out and shook the world off its axis. What would have happened? Am I more afraid that everything could turn to shit and life will spiral out of control, or am I not prepared for a situation in which everyone sits back and says, “I had no idea you could rock socks that way. What else do you have up your sleeve?”

Maybe I’m just afraid that I won’t take everyone’s breath away. And I couldn’t handle that particular aftermath.

“My hero said
You can’t hold the hand
Of a rock and roll man
But what if I can
What if I can?

What if I
Look to the sky
Check out the stars
How they shine
Into your eyes
They’re just like mine
Searching the darkness
For some kind of sign

Building our life
On the dreams we string together
Like Christmas lights.”

— Nina Gordon, “Christmas Lights”

Audio for this post would be very Homer Simpson-esque. 😉

CakeLove is offering 30% off its cupcakes in October. It’s the only place in the world where you don’t feel ripped off when you pay three bucks a pop, but hell, now they’re $2. What’s not to love?

Short but sweet. Fewer questions but longer answers. And in case ya’ll didn’t notice, I like to ramble!

1. Comparing your life as it currently is to the way it was a year or two or five ago, are you more content? If so, why? If not, why?

My life has changed a lot, but not at all, in some respects. I’m still a workaholic who can’t prioritize a personal relationship to save my life. Maybe I just haven’t met the right person. I don’t think any of the past ones were, so I’m not looking back or anything. But yeah, there’s that definite void of a true tag-team partner in this crazy odyssey. I’ve just wised up and gotten past the “bad boys” and am now looking for better-quality people.

It’s strange insofar as the person I am. I feel like I’ve become more comfortable with who I am, but I’ve learned to hide her more efficiently. I think, to some degree, I’ve always worn my heart on my proverbial little sleeve, but I think that shirt went through the dry cleaner’s one too many times and that heart has sort of gone into hiding. I’m more anxious than I was years ago. I used to have this grand worldview that everything would work out in the end. And while, I know, I’m far from “The End,” I can’t help but wonder if this is intermission and if so, did I waste that time not working toward any solid goals? Because I didn’t expect to be so tired and even disenchanted at such a young age.

But that’s the thing. I’m disenchanted, of course, with lots of things. And not to complain about work, but it doesn’t afford me enough time to pursue non-work interests. So I have a very hard time defining my identity as something other than what it is in relation to my role there. (OK, here. I’m writing it at work because it’s 7 p.m. and I ain’t near done yet but I found a hole in my schedule wherein I can do some personal thinking.)

What I’ve found, to cope, is to have what I call built-in downtime. We don’t really hang out and do happy hours and stuff, but we do really enjoy each other on the team and if we can swing a few minutes to talk, we love it. So basically yeah, I goof off for a few minutes here and there during the day. It’s nice and it’s great for trust-building. But if I ruled the world, it’d be done in a bar instead. Which was what I did years ago.

So, am I more content? Not at all. I’m more restless. I know my life will unfold the way it is meant to, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing time away sometimes in that I want to get to the “good part” faster.

2. What do you hope the next year will bring? Do you expect things to more or less stay the same? Or do you see big changes? How do you feel about that?

If I didn’t have the hope that life would be better next year, I wouldn’t be here. Not to intimate in the least that I am suicidal, but I can absolutely see how someone would get to the point where they’re ready to end it all. Once you lose faith that there’s got to be something bigger and better out there, you don’t have anything left.

That said, realistically I see myself in the exact same place — job, apartment, rut — next year. But do I want to be? Oh hell no. I want to work less and play more. I want to be in love — really, truly, head-over-heels addicted to someone who’s equally enamored of me because they’d be nuts to let me get away. I want to rush home to either see that person or to enjoy the fact my apartment will have finally been unpacked/decorated/furnished. I want to call my friends and suggest going out because I haven’t been so supernaturally drained from work that I actually have something left to give to them at the end of the day or week.

I’m telling the universe that I want everything it has to offer. I’m tired of thinking that the things “everyone else” has are not meant for me. I want those “normal” things, too. I am capable of so much more than I’m doing and giving. And the right people will finally wise up and figure out how to tap into that potential and benefit from it. I’m not purposely holding out on anybody — all they have to do is ask.

3. What would your ideal life situation be? Do you feel that it’s within your grasp, or merely a pipe dream?

A perfect segue. I am very relational in nature. Big pictures are the only pictures I can deal with. Details bore me and routine frustrates me. Which is why I flit from job to job, and person to person, with ease. I interview each, exhaustively, and move on to the next day’s story.

But I’m tired of that. I want to get to know someone or something really, ridiculously well. I crave comfort. I hate having a meltdown and not knowing who, if anyone, to call. I hate having my car acting up and not feeling like there’s anyone I can contact for a ride if I needed one. I’ve gotten rid of the people who feel like I owe them my firstborn if they do me a menial favor, but that doesn’t leave many others. I’m fine with that, most days. But other days I wake up and go, yeah, I really wish I could just have a hug right now. A real one.

Here’s my pipe dream. I don’t sleep much in general, and never around anyone else. And I think y’all would be surprised how absolutely uninterested I’ve been in *that* not just lately, but for a long time now. Not to say that I’m not a sexual being. I am. TRUST ME on this. But I’ve done the emotionally detached thing for way too long. And I’m through. I want to care that this person is here in the morning. I want to not be plotting my getaway excuses in mid-thrust. I want to know that if I fall asleep, I haven’t “lost” the game. That’s a level of vulnerability I haven’t achieved yet. Maybe I never will. But I hope to. And I will probably fight it kicking and screaming, but that’s half the fun, I suppose!

I want a reason to go home at night. I want a reason to stay in a particular city. I want to be able to use my ridiculous overabundance of nurturing skills to give someone else everything it is that I also want for myself.

4. Ask me something.

At what point in your life do you think you would look at it and go, “Yeah, this is what I’ve been working my way toward”? What will you have achieved that you can say, “I did good, damn it”?

So I was having my traditional Monday morning panic attack, gulping down my last bit of sunshine and air before hitting the salt mines, when I decided I should remind myself of a much worse plane of existence. So, I fired up my ex-employer’s website, and lo and behold, I was rewarded.

A photo of the two laziest employees was displayed prominently on the front page. And in that, I took comfort that the poster children for that mess of a place were correctly chosen. They were trying to exile the one, but I see they are content to not even graze that limbo bar of mediocrity and put somebody in the position who can do something with it. The other assaulted me in a ladies’ room and everyone got mad at my boss for creating a hot fuss about it because they don’t like conflict over there, especially if it involves someone standing up for someone else.

They also have a place where you can send ideas. That cracked my shit up — when we asked for suggestion boxes and the like, we were laughed out of Dodge. They were afraid of what we might suggest — god forbid we solve a problem or ask to implement something low-cost and useful to improve morale. I’m convinced the e-mail address is going nowhere — I was going to suggest that they just close up shop and sell the building and refund the subscribers’ money, but I’m sure it would have just resulted in a big 404 error, just like my career there did!