Caterwauling

My weekend horoscope, which I just saw today as I was cleaning out the ol’ cesspool inbox:

“In general, Goddess, you are someone who is open to the unexpected experiences that can change a person’s life. Today, this kind of surprise could be coming your way so keep your eyes wide open. Try and prepare yourself for an experience that will satisfy your curiosity, and your incredible openness toward the unknown. Your life may never be the same afterward.”

If there’s a life that needs changing, this one is it.

Speaking of stars and moons and celestial beings and stuff, do any of you local denizens know any decent psychics? I found one in Vegas I want to try, but I admit, I’d rather do a face-to-face than a phoner.

One last thing, since I linked to Erin’s blog, I encourage all of you to read “Are You Overcommitted?” A highlight:

“I can’t possibly help everyone who requests help from me. And that’s hard for me, because I’m your go-to girl when it comes to giving. I can’t stand knowing there are people out there who need my help and I can’t give it to them. That’s when I realized I’ve become overcommitted. … So I’m learning to triage.”

I found that entry at just the right time that I needed to read it. I’ve got six voicemails on my iPhone from numbers I don’t recognize (maybe because I’ve never programmed the numbers I need to know), and more communications in my five e-mail accounts than I care to tally. Today’s a triage day, as Erin calls it. Whoever needs the love most is going to get it, and everyone else, sadly, has to wait in line, ’cause there’s unfortunately only so much Goddess that can go around.

And even in saying that, the despair I would normally feel at not being able to save everyone/everything is lifted as I feel like maybe, just maybe, I can regenerate enough spirit to be able to go on to help even more people who need it.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this angsty. And by a “long time,” I’d say it’s been about three or four weeks. 😉

I like to think I’m fairly carefree and happy, but all those cares that I’ve been trying to pretend don’t exist, well, do, and they hit you like the proverbial ton of bricks all at once after you’ve neglected them for awhile.

I don’t want all these cares, these problems, these things in my head that either don’t belong there or that I don’t know how to turn into something constructive.

I’m starting to understand why I don’t drink much, because when I do? I feel good (at least until the next morning. har har har). I return to that old self, the one that just wants to go find some trouble to get into or who can’t remember just exactly what it was that had her scandalous panties in such a twist four beers earlier.

I have been seeing a lot of signs lately, and you know I depend on them to tell me I’m in the right place. And that’s a relief, but because the signs are so few and far between, I wonder if I’m just taking the long way to get from point A to B when there are more-efficient routes that I just can’t discover because I’m not looking for them.

I think my answer to complacency is to just ruin everything. If I could wipe my credit report as clean as my short-term memory, I’d be golden. When I go out with my friends, they ask, “Whatever happened to that guy? Or that one? Or what about that class you were taking or that book you were bragging about? You didn’t go to the class or finish the book? What guy are we on now for the year?”

Don’t worry kids, I’m hardly a slut. I’m pretty much just a tease. 🙂 They say men fall in love until you screw ’em, and women fall in love after. So I prolong it as much as I can.

I’m finding that the more tired I am, the more violent the angry streak is. It doesn’t come out often, but I’ve had more fantasies of filleting people who cut me off in traffic than a girl has a right to. I don’t like Angsty Goddess. And I try not to indulge her that often. Because as we all know, Karma is one haggedy-ass bitch when she has to stop what she’s doing and pay your crabby butt a visit.

I was doing fine until a friend pointed out that I seem like I’m about to snap. Here I thought I was holding it all together so well, but like my mom used to tell me when I was little when I refused to go to the bathroom, “It’ll come out your ears if you don’t.”

That sufficiently terrorized me back then, and I wonder if that’s what happens when you don’t address the sources of your stress — the steam really does come out of your ears when you think you’re smiling pretty.

I heard a story about someone being kicked off a plane for her skirt being too short. I remember in my early career, wearing the shortest skirts I could find. I wasn’t trying to impress/offend anyone — it was just my style. I figured I’d do it while I was young. That and unless you’re stick-figure skinny, your skirts tend to look shorter because you have more ass to cover. 😉

And I always felt like, when I was being addressed for the short skirts (Harper Valley PTA, anyone?) and whatever else someone perceived was “wrong” with me, little by little they were tearing away at my individuality and, yes, even my self-confidence.

So now I’m older, and I mostly dress appropriately for my age and whereabouts. I could do better. I think any infraction I commit tends to come from a place of just trying to feel like I “won” some small battle to compensate for the bigger ones that I might be losing.

But I’ve got to rise above all of this. My motivation is sort of waning and I don’t know what to do about it. And I know me — nothing motivates me more than fear. I stay in a groove of safety and complacency (which I hate) so I shake it up with rebellion. And I have to recognize whether I’m rebelling for a cause or because it keeps things interesting.

I know the drill, though. I shape up for a while and go ADD again. Or maybe that’s my defense mechanism against knowing what I want and not going for it.

And that’s the thing with me. I ALWAYS know what I’m supposed to be doing. I know what needs to be done next. I tell everyone I have no attention span for details, but no one puts more thought into anything than I do. Their heads would explode if they thought things out so exhaustively. Which may explain why my own head is throbbing pretty much constantly.

I struggle between wanting to be comfortable/secure and purposely stirring up the pot. I don’t want to be blindsided when I think everything’s going OK, but I can understand it if something fucked-up happens when I’m veering off-course.

I don’t know what point I’m trying to make. I guess as I’m trying to get healthy again, with the doctor’s appointment looming this week, I wish I hadn’t let things go for as long as I did. But I always get a chance to start over. The recovery is harder, when it comes late in the game, as opposed to catching/treating something early. But why do something when it’s easy to address, when you feel a sense of victory when the challenge is so much harder?

I need to reverse that way of thinking. I have a lot of damage to undo. And I’ve always been able to start over again, right from where I’m standing. I count on it. The past scares me so much more than the future ever could.

I don’t know why I lapse into these funks. Maybe to remind me to be good and be grateful and to get my shit together.

Maybe one of these days I will unpack my boxes. I don’t know what it is with me that I allow myself to live so uncomfortably. I don’t know where anything is, and I don’t want to know. But wouldn’t it help me to move forward if I knew that everything from that scary past has its permanent place so that I can build from there?

All right, I’m about to explode. Getting some stuff off my heaving bosom today:

1. Don’t correct me if you’re INCORRECTLY correcting me. I do know what I’m talking about sometimes!

2. Don’t be nice to me after being a total jagoff. Granted, some of y’all lack the gene that tells you that ya fucked up. But it’s your fault we’re not buddies anymore; it’s not my fault for not wanting to spend time with you like a freaking delta doesn’t exist between us.

3. There was a question I didn’t answer. Wasn’t for any other reason than to want an extra few seconds to think about it. And even then, the answer was probably going to be, “If you really want to know. …”

4. This goes out to a whole lot of people: Just get on with it already. Move in, move on, move up, move away or move closer. It kills me to know how things are going to turn out but everybody’s delaying the inevitable. And I’m not immune from being “yelled at” in this section, either. I know it.

And as a bonus that’s not about me, because it should ALWAYS be about me but I can make an exception when I can’t actually SAY everything I want to:

5. Holy crap, did Madeliene McCann’s parents kill her? That story always sounded fishy, leaving the kids at home alone and in bed and all. Now everyone’s wondering whether they drugged the kids and they might have given too much to the “missing” 4-year-old and later hid the body.

Interesting. I mean, I’m no fan of kids and I’m totally in favor of knocking ’em out once in awhile to get some peace. But that those parents went on an international campaign and celebrities donated tons of money for search efforts that might turn out to have been wasted, that sucks.

They could get a couple of years in jail for manslaughter, but is anyone going to make them liable for fraud? I know they’ve been grieving and regretting what may turn out to be their own stupid series of mistakes, but damn. Meanwhile there’s no fund-raising being done for the people who REALLY need it? If something happened to any of our families, would anyone launch a worldwide effort to save us?

Hey, I know. Why don’t we use the rest of the money on a search-and-rescue mission for my sanity? Although at this point, it’s more of a recovery effort, but I’d like to know where it all went. …

I awoke at 4 a.m. to a cat breathing in my face. A couple of mornings ago, I awoke to the same one sneezing down into my face, and you just KNOW what kind of day you’re going to have, after such an auspicious start.

Of course, it’s now 5 a.m. and I’ve discovered that said cat left me to go crap on the living room carpet. I think Michael Vick was on to something with killing vicious little four-pawed wonders. When he gets out of jail, he’s getting a package (maybe even with airholes) from me!

Yes, the acerbic wit is at full throttle today. I can’t even write it off as Tourette’s — I think everything and everybody sucks and I’m not afraid to say it. In fact, I know I let quite a few comments slip today, but enh. They’ll live.

I’ve been lying awake for the past hour-plus. (You’d think that, with all the Guinness I consumed tonight, I’d be in a coma till at least Sunday.) And there’s no end in sight to being so tightly wound that I could eat coal and fart out a diamond. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be able to crap out a full tennis bracelet by lunchtime.

I had some funny thoughts while I was tossing and turning, but now, I got nothin’. Well, they made ME laugh anyway. But I suspect other people can’t take a joke … even if they themselves are a walking punchline. (And not a very good one.)

Oh well, back to bed. Maybe this time I’ll get in more than two hours before a cat breathes, belches or barfs in my face. …

According to my horoscope, the theme of the day might be misinterpretation, as nobody really gets what the other is actually saying.

I can see it in action already — I heard the jobs report on CNBC with my own two ears (they played Europe’s “The Final Countdown” as they counted down to the report. My ears are still bleeding). Yet, I’ve heard about 12 analysts with about four different interpretations of it. No wonder nobody knows what to think — it’s pointless to hear the unbiased data, because every idiot who gets paid to talk will do so at length, and they will convolute it to the point that you’re not sure whether the number staying the same is good or bad. *scream*

Speaking of taking away our own interpretations, some little turd asked me what I do for a living, and I gave the 10-cent tour of it. And his response was, “That’s all you do?” And it wasn’t in the usual kidding tone that my team uses when we work 14-hour days. It was condescending, I thought. And I figured, hey, I don’t know this person, so maybe it was an attempt at a funny. But it wasn’t, bottom line. I already know that the processes are excruciatingly long. But I saw a similar position advertised somewhere else that has half the workload, so nobody gets to scoff, mmkay?

I meant to work late last night, but my head really wasn’t screwed on right. I had plenty of time to work on a project, but I’m beyond burned-out and the submission was subpar and I am growing less and less eager to save the day. So I figured I’d get up early today, whip the project into shape and then go catch a lunchtime seminar that would make me smarter. Ha ha ha. I’m trying to work on this uninspiring project right now, and bye-bye seminar. At least I’m in my jammies. That does count for something.

I feel like it’s a struggle to have fun lately. And that our biggest competitors aren’t outside, but inside. Instead of uniting forces to crush the competition, we’re too busy trying to not let our neighbors let the air out of our little red balloons. It’s exhausting. And uninspiring.

I read somewhere yesterday that we need to spend a half-hour each day improving ourselves. Whether it’s reading a book or attending a workshop or gathering information/materials to apply to developing a new skill, we need that half-hour “date” with ourselves to feel like we’ve grown each day. And while I’m in favor of that and am sort of pissed at myself for sacrificing today’s seminar, I’m also falling into a “be kinder to myself'” groove. And if that means just barely managing to survive a day like yesterday (it was a terrific day — I just totally lacked having anything left to give) and making up for it when I’m feeling a bit better (i.e., today), it’s all right by me.

All right, I’ve avoided this mosh pit of an assignment long enough. I like working when I’m crabby — I tend to be harsher and, ultimately, more creative. Never underestimate the value of time to process — I’m so angry at this project, I’m going to kick its ass and make it behave simply BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Hoo boy, unless you’re going to kiss my ass or at least not piss me off today, I might recommend steering clear until this shitstorm passes. …

I’m officially useless today, although I’m trying to get into some sort of groove before I wrap up this miserable day.

Stella needs to get her groove back, but she isn’t sure how. A beach and Taye Diggs, however, might be a good start. …

Steve Jobs might have pushed his fist up our asses elbow-deep yesterday when the iPhone went on sale by $200, but he’s proposing to make it up to us with a little cuddle.

In an open letter to customers on the the Apple Web site, Jobs says

“Even though we are making the right decision to lower the price of iPhone, and even though the technology road is bumpy, we need to do a better job taking care of our early iPhone customers as we aggressively go after new ones with a lower price. Our early customers trusted us, and we must live up to that trust with our actions in moments like these.

“Therefore, we have decided to offer every iPhone customer who purchased an iPhone from either Apple or AT&T, and who is not receiving a rebate or any other consideration, a $100 store credit towards the purchase of any product at an Apple Retail Store or the Apple Online Store.”

$100 is probably the sales tax on what I want at the Apple store, but my friend suggested getting an iTunes gift card instead. Given that headphones and chargers go for $20 apiece and iPhone skins are $30ish, that’s about all you can buy in the retail store for that amount. But having the ability to buy some audiobooks or a few extra albums? The inflammation of my anus is slowly subsiding as he pulls out. …

Why is everything technology- and human-related going awry today? I’m so OVER all of it. And all of you. You know who you are. Something weird is going on that I can’t quite explain, too. That isn’t helping with this disquieting feeling.

I am debating about going back to the personals site. There were some cool people on it. But I know how I get when I hear from people who otherwise dropped off the earth (i.e., I don’t juggle them back in); I’m sure these guys won’t want to hear back from me after I’ve been silent for a month.

Oh, well, the one thing I do best is start over from scratch. Here’s to feeling compelled to stick around next time. *clinks coffee mug to screen*

I’m sensing a liquor-store lunch today. Here’s to hoping I don’t run into anyone I’m trying to avoid!

To quote my friend quoting “Idiocracy,” “Ow, my balls.” And from the fact that we’re walking around bowlegged, ow, my ASS!!!

iPhone 8-gig model listed at $399

The early adopters in my office will be busy rubbing aloe on our burning assholes from Steve Jobs’ 3,000-mile-long dick that somehow got implanted in them. Thanks, Steve. You can’t put a fucking laptop on sale (lord knows I’ve been waiting), but the iPhone wasn’t out two months before this sale.

I feel so violated. *cowering in corner, sobbing for innocence, and $200, lost*

I’m looking for a paper bag to breathe into because I’m about to pass out.

I need a vacation more than oxygen itself. I want a new car.

But for the first time in my life, I have a savings account. And I like that security.

But …

When I wasn’t working a few years ago, the credit card companies refused to talk to me about my hardship. They said they wouldn’t try to make arrangements until I started missing payments. Hahaha — I showed them. I stopped paying EVERYTHING.

And who the hell can get back into the groove of paying when you’re barely making it anyway? What, give up what little luxuries I do enjoy to pay bills to people who didn’t care that I was about to be living on the streets, just so long as I paid my 22% interest on those groceries?

Anyway, Citibank has been following me around and calling about 70 times a month and spending more on postage than I owed on my card. Finally — finally — they came up with a 50%-off offer from my balance (about $1,000 of which is interest from AFTER I STOPPED PAYING). And I said sold — I’ll take it.

I just cleaned out my savings and paid the three-year-old bill. Whew. Oh my god, I’m so broke, it isn’t even funny. But to have that thick, dry dildo removed from my asshole? Priceless. My va-jay-jay is no longer painin’ over that dilemma.

Sure, I still need a vacation and I don’t have any emergency money. But I’ll earn more — I just have to figure out how to spend less when I don’t spend all that much in the first place.

Anyway, I don’t know whether to shit or go sailing right about now; I would, however, like to crawl into a fetal position under my desk and suck my thumb for awhile. But if this bullshit doesn’t help my fucked-up credit score, nothing will, and that’s the only reason why I did it. The new car can wait until the duct tape stops holding this one together, right?