Caterwauling

(To steal a great entry title from the lovely Nic!)

Actually, it’s a day full of ripping on off others, as the following came my way via the lovely K.:

Just in case you are having a rough day, here is a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological journals.

The great thing is that it really does work.

1. Picture yourself lying on your belly on a warm rock that hangs out over a crystal clear stream.

2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water.

3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air.

4. No one knows your secret place.

5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world.

6. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.

7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of the person you are holding underwater.

See? It really does work. Aren’t you feeling better already?

Today I went to the place where I took my mom and grandfather when they visited me here last year, a restaurant on a lake. I didn’t eat there — I just walked around the lake and enjoyed the unexpectedly hot, sunshiney weather.

I took my mom there when she visited two weeks ago, and she marveled that my 80-year-old grandfather had managed to get around there — it was a hike. I remember walking very slowly and being ready to help him if he needed it, but he was good. He was thrilled to be spending the day with me, in a pretty place I picked specifically because I thought he would love it.

I remember apologizing to him, for the length of the walk. And I remember him telling me not to worry about him — that he didn’t want to miss out on anything and he was happy to get a little exercise. Moreover, he was happy to be able to get around.

*cue the tears*

I often wonder whether he’s still *around.* I notice that anytime I talk to Mom on the cell phone, the line is full of static. Not horrible, just noticeable. I can hang up from that call and talk to absolutely anyone else, and the line is crystal-clear. Mom got a call the other day, and the inbound number was all zeroes. We’ve long believed that’s a long-distance message from heaven, and I’m glad she got it. It was silent when she picked up, but that was OK. She knew.

In any event, I digress. What came to me today is how much my grandfather really enjoyed the little things. Every moment meant something to him. He didn’t complain when he had to walk a little farther than someone his age should have been expected to. Instead, he saw the rainbow shining through the fountains. He marveled at the architecture of the bridge. He remembered a story from when he was a little boy. He simply beamed and basked in the glory of being given another new, enjoyable experience.

And then there’s me. I’m not ungrateful, but lately I come off that way. I’m the first one to say I don’t wear a seatbelt because I have a death wish — that if I’m going to be in a crash, I’d better go flying. Don’t let me limp away with a small injury. 😉 And damn it, I don’t look at the road while I drive — I’m pretty fucking surprised I’ve made it this far unscathed. *knock on wood* And when anyone asks what I’m doing for the weekend, I’ll say that I’m drinking myself into an oblivion or that I’m jumping off a bridge or slitting my wrists. But I always say, “See you Monday!” afterward, so I hope people know I’m kidding. 😉

My grandfather hated to hear me talk like that. He was so afraid of living life without me in it. And now that I have to go on without him, well, it blows. No matter how bad things got, he was the only one who could see the bright side. And maybe he faked it sometimes, but it always came and he was the only one who wasn’t surprised when things took a turn for the better.

I guess I could hear him in my head today, saying, “See? Everything’s working out. I knew it.” He had faith and strength enough for all of us. So now, when it comes to having my own, it’s hard because I knew back then that if I gave up, he never would. But now if I give up, there’s no telling how I’ll ever get it back. So, defeat isn’t an option.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. But I’m sad because he isn’t here to celebrate, because there was never anyone more proud of me than him. Like Mom and I always wonder, how on earth will either of us ever find anyone who loves us as much as he did?

“Like sand on my feet
The smell of sweet perfume
You stick to me forever
And I wish you didn’t go,
I wish you didn’t go
I wish you didn’t go away
To touch you again,
With life in your hands.
It couldn’t be any harder.”

— The Calling, “Could it be Any Harder”

Mom worries that when we move, he won’t be able to find us. That she has to give up his house and that I’d at least had him at this one. I remember he’d left behind a Starbucks cup on my balcony. I left it outside for months — it was my little reminder that when he’d been here. And shortly after I threw it away, he died. I remember him smiling and smoking and talking to my cat (Kadie) who had wandered onto the porch to join us.

I didn’t know it would be the last time he’d visit me. And I would never get back to Pittsburgh to see him — we would only go on to meet in Breezewood, if and when I could get away from it all. I feel like I lost out on so much, and that he lost out on so much more to come in my life.

But to Mom’s point, I think he’ll find us — he’ll always be around. And all we can really do is keep making him proud, because he expected great things from both of us and we’ve got to honor him in that way. So from this moment on, I’m resolving to stop fucking up, to not live so adamantly on the dark side, to find the joy in everything.

Well, I’m sure I’ll never *really* stop fucking up. 😉 And my own special brand of sarcasm defines me. But that last part? He set the best example in the world, so it shouldn’t be too hard to follow. …

In determining which “Grey’s Anatomy” character I am, I assure you if this were true, I’d be staring in the mirror all day, fantasizing about myself. 😉

Take the quiz by clicking here.

My best friend reminded me last night what a psychotropic hayride I’ve survived during the past four months — losing my grandfather, getting a promotion, manic apartment-hunting, not going on a homicidal rampage over my personal-life hell, inheriting my Mom and now moving.

And the fun’s only just beginning — now it’s on to launching a huge Web portal that’s been a pain in my ass for the past few weeks, hiring someone to help me at work, moving and all the joys it brings, getting back security deposits on places I didn’t want, affording (financially and emotionally) this adventure and, ultimately, simply healing from all the freaking chaos.

But the bottom line is that I’ve made it this far. And while it sure as hell ain’t smooth sailing from here, I’ve built up the momentum I need to get through this next part.

Some days, the only thing I want in this world is to be somebody else. But when it comes right down to it, no one else could possibly handle everything that comes easily to me. Even the hard stuff will dissipate eventually. And the smile I’ll have plastered all over my face might be delirium-induced, but eventually, the joy will rise to provide substance behind that stupid grin. It always does.

Victory is never hollow in this neck of the woods. If anything, it just gives me a rest before the next set of challenges come around. And I’ll be strong enough to handle the next batch, because this current odyssey is preparing me for whatever lies ahead.

My psychic visions? RESTORED!

I am offically accepted at the apartment I dreamed about last night. No crazy-ass security deposits, either. Just the regular rate that normal people pay. And this is a NICE place, too, not like that silly dump that tried to screw me over.

Now I can finally give the movers a destination address. 😉

Better days ahead, kids. Everything works out in the end, the way it’s supposed to. Today is all the proof I need to keep believing in that.

w00t!!!

“So, I’m going home
To the place where I belong
You know, your love has always been enough for me
I’m not running from
No I think you got me all wrong
I don’t regret this life you chose for me
But these places and these faces
Are getting old
Be careful what you wish for
‘Cause you just might get it all …
So I’m going home.”

— Daughtry, “Home”

Or, potentially, in my dreams. And that could be glorious or sarcastic — at this point, we don’t know.

I wandered up to the apartment building I’d dreamed about, and holy shit, it was PERFECT. It’s true, the places that don’t advertise and don’t stand out from the road are the best ones.

The building got new owners this month, so they dropped prices by $100 and are starting even more renovations in the near future. But their credit guidelines are even more strict than every other place I’ve been to. Damn.

I applied. What the hell, right? The worst I’ll hear is a no, and the second-worst I’ll hear is that I have to put down one month’s rent. But since April rent is free anyway, it all works out. And if I leave the place in good condition, there’s always that chance of *gasp* getting a security deposit back!

In any event, I didn’t sign the lease on the other place, of course. I will hear later today whether or not I can get in at this new place. Jesus H, it’s like I’m job-hunting all over again. But this one is worth sweating it out — it’s that nice. And modern. And cute!

The washer/dryer are so tiny, though. I can probably wash about five pairs of scandalous underwear in a load. But it sure beats not having any at all. And the closet space! *swoon* The master bedroom’s closet is the size of a small den. I think it should be Maddie’s room. It was set up in the model apartment as a little yoga studio, so I’m in love, as I might end up using all that yoga crap I bought but never used.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding — I’ll just buy more clothes to fill it with! 😉

In any event, I’m going to just hope and pray and wait, at this point. And if I get it, it’s a sign of better days ahead. And if not, I go back to Plan B. It’s that simple. …

Sabre wrote something a long time ago, when she was scaling her mountain of shit, that when all the drama and hassle was over, she wanted someone to explain to her in very small words why everything had to happen the way it did.

I find myself posing the same request to the universe.

But to look at her today, you’d never know that life put her through the wringer. She’s happy, she’s confident, she’s got her shit together. And if she can do it, why the hell can’t I? 😉

I didn’t sleep much — I never really do — and I dreamed of an apartment building whose management never called me back. The place was on the upper end of my budget, very small, completely nondescript from the outside. But it’s newly remodeled and located in the heart of everything that matters to me.

I’m going to drop by today. I’m sure they don’t have a unit available for, oh, NEXT WEEK, but on the off-chance that this is the one stone left unturned, I’m going to take a look. And if not, I proceed with the place that’s waiting for me.

I’m usually so impulsive, and lately I’ve been very cautious. I think I have one of those addictive personality disorders — it’s all-or-nothing with me. I can stop smoking for two years or I can blow through a pack in two days. I don’t touch a drink for months and then I get stumbling drunk seven nights in a row. I throw myself headfirst into relationships and then go months without thinking about having a social life. So when it came to this moving bullshit, I decided to explore all (50 of) my options. And you know what? Having more choices just makes this even harder to deal with!

I’m used to making decisions on my own. Not a one of them did I wait for someone else’s input. So now that I’m starting to make decisions for someone other than myself (i.e., Mom), I sort of don’t know what to do with myself, at times. I have no problem living with my choices for me. I want experiences and, damn it, I make them. But I’m the only one who suffers when they blow up in my face.

I was thinking about the major life decisions we face, and how life in the Big City sort of precludes getting input from others. Like when you’re a teenager and you have to bring home your dates so your family can determine that the boy isn’t going to be a serial killer or — worse! — a horny lad who feels you up at the end of the night. 😉

I feel like that familial aspect is missing from not just my life, but this area. No one sees your apartment before you rent it. I don’t think anyone I know has met the last few people I’ve dated. Hell, my mom hates it that she can’t even put a face on most of the friends and colleagues about whom I tell stories. So when it comes to the things that matter most to me, well, I’m on my own.

It’s not that I want anyone to make my decisions for me. I guess I just am always looking for, if not a nod of approval, an acknowlegement that I’m smart and strong and that anything I do will turn out fine. And everyone does say that to me … over the phone. But you really miss the physical cues.

For instance, Mom used to tell me how I lit up around certain people. How she knew there was magic when she saw me with someone because my behavior changed — subtly, of course — but because she knew me so well, she knew I was happy. I don’t get that feedback anymore. How do I know I’m happy when I can’t see that for myself? Do you know how many people have tried to thwart any level of peace I’ve achieved — do you think they’d just see the happy and let me have it already?

Snarling Marmot, a lovely gal who I miss terribly since she’s left for the Wild Wild (Mid)West, was the one who even got me thinking about that. As she wrote recently, “I have a much wider circle of friends in this ‘burg than I did in the vast expanse of Northern Virginia. And I find that somehow sad. In the giant metropolis, we were programmed not to get close, to keep our distance, keep our anonymity. It was some sort of weird preservation mode. Only your tight circle of friends was okay, no strangers allowed.”

I think I have good friends. Not an abudance, but I don’t really need that many. I’d rather have quality over quantity any day, and that has made a lot of people from my past think I was asocial, iconoclastic and just plain weird. But life ain’t a popularity contest, kids. I’d rather have a handful of people who know me well, than 100 who wouldn’t pick up the phone in the middle of the night if I needed them.

Then again, when have I ever called anyone when I needed something? Point taken. 🙂 But then again, when I do ask, nobody says no because hey, I’m low maintenance!

God, I ramble at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, don’t I?

At moments like this (and at hours like this) I really do wish I could just pick up the phone and rant. But that’s why God invented the blogiverse, eh? And it’s probably good that no one can see me right now, in last night’s makeup and having ice cream and coffee for breakfast, so maybe I should just be careful what I wish for, after all. … 😉

So the place I took awhile back and called to cancel, well, they never got the message. Not only is it still available, but they called to ask me to come in to sign the lease.

Hmm.

I never heard back about the place I wanted being able to waive the insane security deposit. And my apartment? Jesus. The best of the best units, well, has bugs. Big, bad carpet beetles. They are bombing it right now, which means it’ll be three weeks before it’s available. In fact, the day it is liveable, well, is the day my lease is up. Meaning, I’d have to extend my current lease in order to be able to move into it.

There’s a second choice here at the ol’ homestead, which involves subletting from a man named Pedro who is super-nice, but his answer to all of my open-ended questions is, “Si.” Meaning, I need to get him to paint and clean the carpets (I did get a maintenance check of the appliances and stuff, but I need to get him to agree to the other stuff), but I feel icky about subletting from someone with whom I cannot communicate. (My landlady happens to be fluent in Spanish, but I’m already worried about getting screwed by the rental office, and trusting them to communicate is making me weak.)

So I went out to lunch today (mark this down — fifth time in two and a half years), and saw a great, great, great apartment complex near work. And the 2BRs ONLY start at $1,725/month! *snicker* They did have a special for a mere $1,600, and I do love the places, but damn. I almost hanged myself with the phone cord when I called. Seriously?!?! I could afford the 1BR by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, but that’s no longer an option at this point.

I’m going to go visit the available place tomorrow. And I will see “my” unit, as it’s vacant. And if I don’t absolutely abhor it and get a skin rash just by thinking about it, I’m taking it.

Dream place? Oh lord no. Dream location? It’s in an up-and-coming area of D.C. and not much cheaper than the other two places I mentioned. But a hundred bucks a month saved is $1,200 a year saved, so take a wild guess at my motivation here. Two full baths, washer/dryer, you name it. Bedrooms are tiny and closet space is at a premium, but I’ve moved beyond The Picky. No picky left in me, kids. None whatsoever.

I keep saying that the second I sign a lease, everything else is going to fall into place in the rest of my life. And I believe that wholeheartedly. So maybe if I just knock down the first domino, everything else shall follow suit.

Perhaps of all the signs I’ve been hoping to see, the only one I need to observe is “Stop.” Just, stop. Just chill the fuck out, drop your belongings wherever you happen to be standing, and start living life instead of wondering where you’ll live it.

Everything else is going to fall into place now. I can feel it.

Dear Self,

Love,
Self

It’s 3 p.m. I need to cancel my dinner plans, as there is no way in HELL that I will be able to be in Arlington for 6 p.m.

And yet, I don’t want to treat this as yet another “no big deal.” I already don’t know when the hell I’m going to find the time to pack up my house and move, and if I can’t even free up a fucking night for dinner, well. When I start whining about my life, you have the right to point me toward this blog entry.

I’m gettin’ real tired of my relationships not working out because everybody’s too busy to put any time/effort into them.