Caterwauling

This home situation has gone so far beyond my comprehension, I can’t take it anymore. I seriously think it’s time to bring in professional help.

The Over-Extended Houseguest just asked again if I would take her to the beach. I’m like, it’s been well over two weeks and it IS just a mile away; WTF? But she says she refuses to go without me.

And we all KNOW that I don’t exactly want to go WITH her, so that puts me in a bit of a pickle, yes?

I said if she can’t get to the coast (seriously. A right turn and a left turn. Put it in park) on her own, how is she going to find a job and work and ultimately go bye-bye from hiding out in the next room for the rest of her life? She got mad and left. I demanded an answer.

So she turns it around and asks, “So where are YOU getting friends from?” as I had indicated that I would be busy at some point this weekend.

I said, “The phone book.”

(Which is a point of contention because I’m a meanie and won’t find her one. Because I don’t have HOME PHONE SERVICE.)

I can be mad for the rest of my life. (And probably will be.) Or I can figure out a way to turn this around. And at a time when the workload is waiting to fall on me like a pile of bricks, as “cultural immersion phase” is definitely over, I’m loath to expend any extra energy that I can bank for when I personally need it.

I wonder if it’s learned helplessness, anxiety or passive-aggressiveness. Or maybe it’s rooted in something physical or mental. I don’t know. I’m just so ready to work on my own happiness, but there always seems to be something or someone in the way. And for once, I’m not the one in my own way. Or maybe I am. Who knows.

*stabby*

Have had a couple of long days at the new ranch. Nothing too bad, as one night involved a dinner with new talent and tonight was a combo of learning more about existing talent plus taking on a new daily project. Methinks I’ll need to start taking a dinner break and signing on from home. Just as long as it doesn’t interfere with my beach time, I will be fine.

Anyway, I was talking to one of my boys last night and had a memory of many jobs past, when I had organized a teambuilding exercise at Dave & Buster’s and I was shocked when they brought in a reverend to say grace before we had lunch. This was during my non-believer days, and I was annoyed that I had a rib hanging out of my mouth during this, what I believed to be inappropriate, blessing.

At the time, I worked with abused and neglected children and their crack-ho moms and the grandparents in poverty who were chosen to take care of these kids. It was very hard to see God in anything I did.

I’m sure at some point I asked someone about the unexpected, ah, devotion of the entire staff (but me, it seemed). I was of the corporate mindset that this was a place of business, and a place of very tragic and sad business at that. Ergo, what’s up with all the weekday praise?

Whoever it was, told me that everyone had it tough their whole lives at that agency. (They were big on implying that I had the best opportunities in life. Which, I was born in even-more-impoverished circumstances than any one of them.)

But I do agree that they faced harsher things than I did during that life — relatives being shot for no reason or overdosing or being thrown in jail for life. I admit I never had to deal with any of that, and I admire anyone who can put on a smile and still thank the lord above for what He DID give them, as opposed to focusing on what was taken away.

And that was a lesson to me that I wasn’t ready to digest at that point, but one that really means something to me now. Maybe even back then, though, I admired them for being so very comforted by their belief that something bigger was out there. Especially at a time when I felt there was nothing much ahead for any of us on this plane of existence or elsewhere.

So here we are at Easter/Passover, and my old pastor was talking to me about baptism. She also encouraged me to “come out” as a Christian as part of my metamorphosis in my new life. Which, I got as far as changing my Facebook religious status from “spiritual” to “Christian.” That was a big step for me.

I’d say I wish those old colleagues could see me now, but I really DON’T want to see any of them EVER again. And I’m grateful that God has given me a path that’s about 1,500 miles away from any of them. 😉

Even though I’m finally accepting that maybe the Bible wasn’t just a grand work of fiction and that maybe its teachings are rooted in something real, I still find God in the details. You can’t spend your days around the ocean and its accompanying marine life, sand, seashells and majestic sunrises/sunsets and not wonder about the Grand Design that brought them here.

We humans are pretty fucking smart but there’s no way we could get out of our own way long enough to craft such glorious wonders. Can you imagine a committee coming up with the Atlantic coastline? It would still be under development after a billion years, for starters!

My friend and I were saying how lucky we are — and how lucky we are to KNOW IT — that we were born where we were, when we were. We had rough upbringings, him probably more so than me, and the odds weren’t exactly in our favor. But to see who and what we turned out to be is magnificent, especially considering how high the odds are that we could have been plopped somewhere else where our skills would have been absolutely useless.

Sure, we know finance pretty well and can make a career out of it — but what would we do with those talents in a third-world nation with no access to the stock market? We wouldn’t survive. And thank God for putting us exactly where we needed to be, to develop into whom He intended us to be.

So, that’s my religious schpiel for this very holy season. Thank You for dying the way You did so that I may live the way You intended. I am sorry I couldn’t see God in the life and work that has preceded this time in my life, but maybe what I brought to the situation was the hope that some needed — that they got the change that they were praying for because of some effort that I put forth. And the greatest gift of all is that I didn’t go a lifetime without recognizing that. …

Edge of the ocean

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

“Ohhh, we can begin again.
Shed our skin, let the sun shine in.
At the edge of the ocean
We can start over again.”

— Ivy, “Edge of the Ocean”

I found my new church this morning. My beloved Pastor Barb in D.C. had given me two recommendations in this area. I tried one last week (meh) and the other today. And today’s house o’ worship was smaller and more-intimate and oh my God, so much better than the first. I was immediately welcomed and embraced by half the congregation. And the minister was just awesome. We talked about the stock market and otherwise just clicked.

Sure, it’s not a thing like my old church; nothing will ever measure up to that. But it’s got its good points, too. And since I can’t have the old church (waah), this is as close to a runner-up as I’m gonna get, and I see the potential.

But the real highlight of my day was lunch and beach time with my beloved Vitamin D from D.C. and her daughter B. (So, basically, I got my Vitamins B and D today. Yay!) OMG, so much fun. So NICE, too, to be away from that oppressive old office and just chilling and chatting and catching some rays.

What was funny was that she had brought well wishes from a ton of my old colleagues. And a job offer. 🙂 Well, that wasn’t the funny part, but what is is that she came down here to see Goddess, but Goddess doesn’t live here anymore. She got wind of the totally transformed Beach Zen Goddess, and who only knows if people who haven’t seen me with their own eyes will believe how different I’ve become.

I was a walking stress knot in D.C. Job was starting to suck, traffic always sucked, health was starting to suck, social life was actually recovering from suck, and home life was Teh Suck. So yeah, I had mentally checked out in a lot of ways, when I wasn’t stressed right the fuck out, of course.

But here, I am different. I know I’m different. I have no problem walking around in shorts and a tank top. I don’t give a shit that my makeup is melted off by the time I get into the car in the morning. I don’t quite care that my hair is windblown from driving topless. (Behave, people.)

And if I were still in D.C., I would NEVER be perfectly comfortable walking around in a bathing suit. Meanwhile, now I park on the other side of the Intracoastal Waterway (parking is free before it and costs a fortune, the closer you get to the water). And yes, I walk to my car in my sun- and water-soaked duds. So what, I say. So what?

That’s the interesting thing about a beach town. Sure, there are “beach bodies,” as they were. People don’t really diet down here — they’re active and tan and happy. And sure we have the “snowbirds” (who only flock down here for the winter) and the vacationers. And guess what? They don’t give two shits about what they look like.

You can go into any restaurant or beach shop, and track a case of sand with you. (Dear Self: Go to the car wash AFTER the beach, not BEFORE.) We all look like hell. I never DREAMED I’d become that way. It’s FABULOUS.

But the best part is the internal transformation, and how quickly it happened for me. I’ve been here, what, 10 days or so? I know I have a lot to worry about. But my brain has been nuked and paved, and it’s rewiring itself. Things will happen the way they’re supposed to.

Sure, I’m nervous that I’m not going to live up to the grand expectations of my new peers. Sure, my “goddess” title may be in jeopardy on the work front if I don’t rise to the occasion. But I can only handle one big problem at a time, and that’s my Extended Houseguest situation.

(Thanks for throwing out all the suction cups that adhere the glass table tops to the wrought-iron tables. The ones I told you to back away from. Even though you insist that you didn’t touch them.)

Or hell, maybe I was frustrated and tossed them myself. I doubt it, but anger makes me do a lot of dumb things without ever remembering them.

But in any event, I’ve left Goddess 2.0 or 3.0 or whatever the hell version I was on back in D.C. There’s a whole new goddess in town here, and just like the 58-odd pounds from my frame that I left back in my old world, I’ve discarded nearly everything else that was weighing me down. I used to subscribe to the “life is crap” theory. Meh. Not so much anymore. Life is pretty fricking awesome right now.

And even though the weight loss was pretty small at my weigh-in yesterday (2.6 pounds during the past month. A MONTH, PEOPLE), my soul seems to be floating on air.

Today was a first for D and me. For both of us, it was the first time we went into the ocean. When she comes to town, there’s usually a riptide or other warning that keeps her out of the water. And I never bring a swimsuit; I usually go in about ankle-deep and take a walk because I’ve just come from work or errands. But not today — today, we immersed ourselves in the salt water and got knocked over by waves and had an AWESOME time.

There was an Associated Press photographer hanging around us all day. We thought he was trying to steal our stuff while we swam, but he was legitimately just standing on the beach with a big ol’ camera and a cocktail (we think, anyway).

I overheard someone asking him what his deal was, and he said he was with the AP, looking for good shots. I’m hoping that “good shot” wasn’t my fat wet ass up in the air on my blanket, showing what pudgy pork roasts American beachgoers are. 🙂 And I just realized that BOTH sets of cheeks are sunburned. I’m sure that’s a picture the world wants to see!

Dimming of the day

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

For all intents and purposes, today was a perfect day.

Woke up early, still sludging through the mad deja vu but not being impeded by it. I meant to go to a Weight Watcher’s meeting at 8 a.m. but I really wasn’t ready till a half-hour after that. And I had plenty of time before the next meeting at 10 a.m. So, I went to an awesome indoor farmer’s market to buy supplies for the week and kill some time.

(I’d love to start linking to my new haunts, as it would help on the Google front. But alas, I am cozy in my illusion that my actual location is still not yet public information. So humor me, k?)

I did hit the 10 a.m. meeting and it was awful. I brought the median age down by 30 years. There were about 35 women there who would not stop talking. The leader was pretty good, although she started at 10:10 and that’s unforgivable because you’re supposed to be there at 9:30 to weigh in so that the meeting starts promptly. Ugh.

A lady overheard my weight loss total (58-ish pounds) and announced to her friends how well I was doing. I got lots of congrats from the group. That was nice. I ain’t mad at that.

But I think I’m going to try to hit a different meeting each week, depending on the day. Although, I did end up having my ear bent till it was broken by the girl next to me. She was the only other young’un there and said she usually goes to the Wednesday night meetings. Which I will be sure to avoid. 🙂 I was trying to run for the hills without exchanging contact info, and I succeeded. I’m not looking forward to putting myself in jeopardy there.

I ended up going to another farmer’s market that actually had a big ol’ strawberry patch that you could go through. And then I went to ANOTHER market.

I tried going to the beach, but all spots were full. I know, waah, right? But I had to meet Comcast at home anyway. Which worked out because the guy came earlier than scheduled. So, whee and score one for Comcast! (Actually, score one for Goddess for not being completely bamboozled by that goddamned monopoly for a change.)

I also got a car wash. Whee. For the $30 that it cost, I at least expected someone to lick me where I pee. But oh well. Maybe next time. 😉

I tried the beach one more time and still couldn’t park. And then, duh, it hit me to PARK AT WORK. And walk the few blocks. Lord, how easy was that? And why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? The glory of working in any downtown in any city is that you are guaranteed parking for events. I was smart enough to park there for one of the farmer’s markets; why the hell didn’t I just leave the jalopy there in the first fucking place?

One of my buds, Vitamin D, is in town. I swear I felt the air change upon her arrival. The morning was hot, sticky and cloudy, and the sun came out after she got on the ground. (Dear AccuWeather, you’re welcome.)

We have plans to meet tomorrow, and I’m beyond excited. This woman straight-up took care of me for the past four-odd years. She’s helped me to go from a meek, wounded little church mouse to confident, ass-kicking goddess. And to have her on my turf, so soon after my lightning-fast departure from D.C., is Teh Awesum.

I also did some other shopping today. Nothing extraordinary; just looking for a cute bistro set for the screened-in balcony. Still looking for the right one, although I found a halfway decent one at Albertson’s — right size and price, even if the colors aren’t there. I may just go for it to at least have somewhere to sit and eat a meal around here. Not that I cook anymore. But y’know, for when I do.

I had dinner at my new favorite Jewish deli/restaurant. Mmmm, turkey pastrami, latke and a vanilla egg cream. The egg cream wasn’t as good as Junior’s in Manhattan, but then again, nothing is. But I was still pretty happy nonetheless.

So tomorrow brings church and lunch and friends and beach. (God, I love it here.) One perfect day to follow another.

Of course, all perfection is typically ruined by an Extended Houseguest. So today when I got home, she was up my butt about “Well, I didn’t drive all this way to Florida not to go to the beach.”

As if it’s my fault, of course, for not taking her.

So she asks if I will take her to the beach tomorrow. I said I have plans, and her reaction was, “You have friends here?” I just said yes. No sense in engaging.

So she was pissy and asked when I’m going to take her to the beach. Hello broken record; we’ve lived here 10 days and I’ve heard that question twice that many times. And I’ve answered it the same way each time: You drove over 1,000 miles to get here — you can drive the extra three to get to the fucking coastline.

I forget what she said to basically say she can’t do it AGAIN. I don’t listen anymore. I can’t. I am seriously afraid of what I am capable of, and not in a good way, when the Charlie Brown’s teacher “waah poor piteous me” shit starts.

Oh, I vaguely remember. She said she needs company. And I used the opportunity as a teachable moment, to remind her that I HATE company and I enjoy doing things by myself and my idea of hell is being trapped with someone, doing something I would have loved to do on my own.

I don’t think I articulated that I don’t mind doing things with people I LIKE. But Jesus, if she’d told me she resented me as many times as I’ve told her how much I resent HER, I wouldn’t be up her ass and just begging for babysitting services. Lawd almighty.

I really think she’s hanging in there till I shit out a kid or something so that she can find her purpose in life as a nanny. Well, I can’t meet any good men while having my mommy in my house, and I certainly can’t fuck them here without her probably coming in and asking why I’m screaming.

I think the kid ship has sailed at this juncture anyway, and I think I’m OK with that because I’ve got a million other things to do that don’t involve projectile vomiting. Besides, if I would ever do to my progeny what that woman is doing to me? That would drive me to walk into the undertow and not even fight it. Why ruin another life in this family, right?

Sigh. Anyway, my friend Vitamin D said I sound and seem exponentially happier than when I was in D.C. just two short weeks ago. Other than the “wanting to cut off my ponytail and hang myself with it” home life, she’s absolutely right. I used to work late to not have to go home; now I go to the beach instead. (Alone!)

And not only is my skin, outlook and health improving hand-over-fist because of it, but I think I’ve rediscovered that part of my brain where I used to generate ideas and dreams. Don’t quote me on that, but if the sound in my head is of cogs turning and not teeth grinding, I’ll know for sure that I’m happy. Since I have never experienced that emotion before, it’s gonna take some research to prove that’s what I feel.

But my gut says it’s so. And for now, that’s enough. And so much more. …

Today shall be henceforth known in my world as “mad deja vu day.” I mean, absolutely everything today triggered a “memory.” I don’t know how else to explain it.

It’s a bit disorienting, of course, to feel like you’ve been here before even though you’ve clearly only been in town for a week. But I’ve been begging the universe for deja vu, and my wish was granted in gobs.

Deja vu is not necessarily like a GPS, as that would be psychic ability, and I’m pretty low on that these days. But it is definitely like a spiritual marker, showing me that yes, in fact, I’m on the right road. Every conversation, every color, every image that has been a part of this day, has happened on another level of consciousness. And I bloody love it.

Today the Extended Houseguest texted me that she wanted me to take her out tonight. *eyeroll* I didn’t respond because the spell-check function on my iPhone would have distorted the message beyond recognition. I’ve been going to the beach practically every night because I don’t want to go home.

I’m sick of tripping on her boxes in the kitchen and dining room (all mine are unpacked). Sure, I have boxes in the living room that I haven’t opened yet, but they’re out of the way. And they’re also my “rainy day” project as Comcast is coming again tomorrow (after missing their Monday visit by FIVE FUCKING DAYS) and I can’t assemble the coffee table in the tiny space where the technician will be working or else that cheap POS will break. (But it’s a cute POS. Just cheaply made.)

So I actually asked her how the job hunt is going, as I keep buying newspapers, bringing home the Employment Guide, and otherwise leaving job-search Web sites up on the computer. Her response was an expected, “No progress, since you just DROPPED me here in a strange city.”

I mocked the “dropped” bit and reminded her of when she said I “dragged” her here. OMG, here’s the world’s tiniest violin (the NanoViolin 2000). I had given her instructions to drive into downtown (it’s three streets away. With free parking) and just hoof the main drag and see where it takes you. Just tell me you did that, yes? No. *scream*

I love to help people. I never passed up a charity case in my life. But taking care of all the needy people in my world has really burned me out toward taking on another stray. I mean, I already pay the rent. (And lots of it. Sheesh.) Put forth a little effort, shall we?

I realized I could live happily in my master suite. I have my bed, my computers, my bathroom and my cats. All I need is a mini kitchen and I’d be set. I could easily trade in 1,500 square feet for a third of that. I was thinking of getting a studio in D.C. if she would have ever moved out. Really, I’ve thrown away thousands of dollars’ worth of crap; I am actually sort of digging the Spartan lifestyle.

So, I never did end up going out or taking her out. I had said something “mean and nasty” to the effect that I don’t want her vacuuming my room or taking my trash out of my bathroom again because it’s the only space that’s mine even though I pay for all of it. In other words, you have the run of the place; let my tranquil space be just that. And if that makes me mean and nasty, so be it.

Of course, Mouth of the South here couldn’t stop there. I said I think she doesn’t want me to have anything of my own. Not my own space or time. I can have my job. That’s it. But God forbid a single 34-year-old girl can enjoy a space of her own — especially knowing how much I loathed roommate-land. I turned against some very nice people who happened to hold that title, which would never have happened had we all had separate quarters in separate parts of town.

I’ve befriended everyone at work. (I think I’m the 13th employee to be on site. It’s that tiny. I love it.) But there’s a gal who’s looking to move closer to the job, who needs a roommate. She has one who sounds like Satan’s Handmaiden, and Satan has an ungrateful Spawn to boot. So yeah, it totally crossed my mind that she would be a perfect roommate. I wouldn’t even need half the rent — just SOMETHING to make the bills hurt less. We could carpool and, since we’re the same age and looking for a few good men, roll over to Lauderdale and stir up some drama.

But alas, I can’t even make the offer. It’s probably best, given my hatred of sharing my space at home. But I can do anything for a year. It’s this year-and-a-half with no ending in sight that’s making me fucking nuts.

Of course, the EH told me “You can HAVE your house, and everything in it.” I said OK. I mean, the Guilt Trip Express left without me. I said I was very serious about my timetable of transitioning her on her way. Again, she ran to her room and that was that.

You know, I always thought that if I worked really hard and was the best person I could be, that good things would come my way. That all the hardship and bullshit was worth enduring for the greater payoff down the road. That time is here, my friends. The workplace that could very well be as close to a dream job as I’m ever going to get. The pretty apartment. The beach down the street. The money I’ve busted my ass to deserve.

And sure, I know good things are meant to be shared. But I think about all the people of my past who sapped everything from me — going beyond all the heart and soul and resources I was willing to give without being asked, and using me for EVEN MORE (i.e., the little I had left over for myself) — and I presume they were calculating about taking everything they could get.

But I don’t think she’s that way … not intentionally. I just hit my wall of “what I am willing to give” about a year ago, and everything else I’ve had to give since then feels like I’m being raped and pillaged and plundered.

I work with a lot of people who have become rich and famous. Or, at least, wealthy and well-known. And I plan to be among their ranks, sooner rather than later. And I want to be able to pick and choose who gets what I have to give. I may never have kids at this point, but I really look forward to being generous with my resources with those who are worthy because I CAN be, not because I have to be.

I have a second cousin who was always generous with me. She saw me struggling and did her best to lend a hand, the way my grandparents helped her when she needed it most. So of course she never wanted to be paid back; she always said to pay it forward. Long before the movie of the same title. But Jesus H, how big is my bill and when will this account be settled?

Of course, she helped me because, even though I was doing my damndest to better myself, I could never seem to catch up, let alone get ahead. But that’s the thing — I did my best to improve my situation. It’s like when you have an employee who tries so hard but never seems to get where they’re going; you’re more likely to throw them the lasso and quietly help them to shine. But the employee who waits for your guidance and won’t move without it, well, isn’t that valuable to you. Maybe they can be, but at what point do you say, maybe it’s time for you to pursue other opportunities that might be a better fit?

I was almost feeling sorry for Samantha Ronson this week, as I read the latest US Weekly and apparently Lindsay Lohan has moved in with her because she’s broke and can’t afford her mortgage and nobody wants to hire her because she’s a loose cannon. And allegedly they fight like dogs but Sam can’t exactly kick her out onto the street.

I know that feeling, that “if I give up, there’s no one else.” And you just don’t DO that.

I also know that my success has been due in large part to my army of cheerleaders. Even if they couldn’t help me or position me for success per se (although there have been a number of those), they made sure to fluff up my ego to ensure that I was dressed for battle when the next round began. And they picked me up when I endured TKO after TKO. My Extended Houseguest was always the loudest voice in that crowd.

So yeah, it hurts that I can’t muster up a half-hearted “go team” for her. Which is what has kept me grinding my teeth and dragging her along like a kid sister with peanut butter in her pigtails who has to go everywhere you do because she looks up to you. But eventually that kid sister washes her hair and finds her own friends and does her own thing. And if that kid sister is actually the person who gave BIRTH to you, you’re way less inclined to want to wash and brush her hair and walk her to school.

Blah. I am delirious and I haven’t yet opened the wine. Which, I was going to go out tonight and see where the singles were in my town, but I figured I couldn’t leave the house by myself. (I had to be here for UPS to deliver ANOTHER WRONG CABLE for my old computer. I swear I am going to just die right now over my locked-up data.)

So, for me, there’s always tomorrow. And I will try once again to not feel like I’m in a shotgun marriage and I’ll continue to have hope that a real marriage — one I want to be in — is still something that’s in the cards for me. Because I know for a fact that if it isn’t an equal partnership, I don’t want to be a part of it. Had enough of that to last me six lifetimes.

Salt water bird bath

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love the colors in this photo. File this under, “I still can’t believe I live here.” I mean, I am a traveler and thus I am happy as a pig in poop to be out of D.C. But it hasn’t yet hit me that this move isn’t exactly temporary.

Seriously, all is going well. Too well. It’s weird. Like, no really, when is the other shoe (flip-flop?) going to drop? My beloved new boss said it’s so funny, he loves looking over and seeing me there — like, I really said yes to the offer and I’m really here. I’ve caught him just smiling to himself after ensuring that I’m around.

It’s so cool, to be valued already and to be extremely aware of it. He’s far less worried than I am that I’ll be as much of a a star — and more — as I was at the ‘Ranch. I can’t wait. I’m going to blow my own mind. Once I figure out which box I packed it in, of course! 😉

Had a ridiculous exchange with the Extended Houseguest this morning. She came to bother me with something and got pissed when I rolled my eyes and ignored her. Like I’ve done for almost the full past two years.

So she asked me what my problem is and why I can’t talk to her. I said very clearly that I feel extremely resentful toward her; that’s why.

And living up to her Cleopatra moniker, she was absolutely floored and said, “What reason do you POSSIBLY have to be resentful toward me?”

Oh. My. GAWD.

My only response, other than wanting to find a sharp object, was to ask incredulously, “How could I NOT be?”

Seriously, this selective amnesia shit is pissing me right the fuck off. She acted hurt and went to her room. Er, she went to what I have clearly declared to be MY GUEST ROOM. The one I would like to have available to people who are WELCOME to stay with me. Who won’t stay INDEFINITELY. Who might contribute a haypenny or two to the upkeep of the hacienda?

No wonder I hide out at the beach every other night before coming home. Although I would really LIKE to want to come home, but why on earth would someone my age who’s responsible for all the bills want do do a crazy thing like that?

I’m sure the days of angst-ridden blog posts aren’t permanently behind me, but it’s a different world down here in South Florida. I just don’t have that many opportunities to feel stabby. (Except for being at home, but that’s a given.)

I went all “D.C. driver” on some asshole who nearly ran me off the road and cut me off. Let me explain, my new town? Has a speed limit of 35 mph. I’m not kidding. This was enough of a transition for the girl whose car doesn’t function under 75 mph on a slow day. But when you’re running me off the road in a fucking BEACH TOWN, come on already.

And the crazy Washingtonian in me got fired up and started SCREAMING at the asshole who nearly killed me. Compound expletives, people. Even I astounded myself at my creativity there. 🙂

So of course he jammed on his brake to put me right in the middle of the railroad track. Which pissed me off even further.

But I am also nuts enough to engage and I started following him with the full intent of ramming him if I had to. But as I had a precious parcel (my amazing friend T), I opted to turn onto another street and return to “Beach Goddess Zen.”

It was funny how easily the road rage returned. Of course, truth be told, I was talking about my mother at the time, so that explains it. 🙂 But had we been conversing about anything else, I presume my reaction to that jagoff would have been way milder.

It’s an interesting cultural shift to go from the heart of everything to, well, the edge of not very much. This is the land of flip-flops and board shorts. Sure, you’ve got the people who must get plastic surgery every time the temperature surpasses 85 degrees. (Which it does. A lot.)

And the best shopping malls have every designer label imaginable, and people are wearing them right out of the store. But really, everyone down here is pretty much riding their own melt. And I can’t believe I never considered this as a lifestyle before now. Of course, I never had the invitation, so there is that.

As I’m trying to un-burn out (my new boss said he’s aware that I’m “toasty”), I realize how truly addicted I was to my old job. Seriously, I was like a junkie. Had to get my fix, as often and as much as possible. So I find myself in a strange position here that I need to feed my addiction but that I’m also quite happy here in detox, too.

I remember when I gave my resignation, so many people asking me what my new title was. It was the same as the one I left, which just mortified them. But in a discussion about business cards yesterday, it was clear that I could put “Goddess” on them and nobody really gave a shit. It’s like, you have a job to do and you’re expected to do it. If being called one thing over another helps you to do that, then call yourself that. End of discussion.

I rather like that way of thinking. I don’t have to adhere to X number of allocated vacation days (not like I used them anyway — I just got a full payout of my unused four weeks’ vacation and it seems like SO NOT ENOUGH for the time I never got to take off that might have kept me from burning out); everyone takes care of their lives first.

As this is my first week and all, I’ve gotten apologies left and right from those who are dealing with health or other life issues who can’t entertain me right now. My god. I told them they’re setting the example I never really had — and I know that it’s OK for me to deal with my shit when it comes up. That’s more valuable to me than anything they have to give to me right now.

As I said, my beloved T is in town. And the poor girl is deathly sick. But unlike other companies that will drag you out of bed to come in and attend meetings, she was encouraged to convalesce from the quiet and comfort of her hotel room.

Because she’s my friend, I went to visit her last night and fill her in on the day’s events. And when I visited? I was armed with chicken noodle soup with matzoh balls, courtesy of a very caring CEO who takes care of his people.

How many CEOs do that?!?! Taking time out in the middle of his very busy day to go to the most-awesome deli in the world (seriously. I went there as they were closing to order a grilled cheese and soup for myself and OH MY GOD, *orgasm*) because he was worried about one of his people.

So when everyone was asking me why I made this move — what this new company had to offer that the old one didn’t — it’s the things like this that I saw. Sure, it’s a growing empire with a brain trust that could cure cancer if it wanted to (oh, the smarts contained in that office are mindblowing). But beyond the brain, there is heart … and lots of it.

It was hard for me to leave the old ranch because I was a superstar there. I never took advantage of it. Perhaps I should have. But going from a place where my list of achievements was a mile and a half long, to starting all over again with a blank slate plus a brain that’s best served with butter and jelly right now, has been very hard for me.

But what I love is that they’re ready to push me when I’m ready to be pushed. That doesn’t mean I’m sitting around, waiting for my brain to grow back. But I’m starting off with big, scary projects that are absolutely in the center of my comfort zone. And with people who want to see me succeed as much as I want to succeed.

And my marching orders include, “You will work on this from the beach.”

So for everyone who got pissed at me for jumping ship (and who are apparently STILL licking their paws over it), I wish y’all would back down off the ledge with the sniper rifle and understand that, while some people find what they’re looking for, what I’ve needed has found ME.