Caterwauling

After the beach was evacuated for lightning

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

You know, I had about eleventy billion loads of laundry to do today. Which was made impossible by the fact that, during the last month-plus, I’ve only been home to sleep and shower. So today it was further made impossible by the fact that there was no detergent with which to do my laundry.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you had someone who lived in your abode and took care of these things and replaced shit after it was used up? Oh, wait. …

So I ran to Boutique Tar-zhay to get detergent. And while I was out and dressed for absolute crap (my weekend uniform is a tank top and shorts. And since today IS my weekend, there you have it), I headed to the shore.

I put my two hours’ worth of change into the meter, parked my ass on a lounger, Tweeted that I was on the beach and … six minutes after my arrival, thunder cracked and some sort of air-raid siren went off. Yes, the beach was being evacuated.

Meanwhile it was about 90-odd degrees and super-sunny and the sand felt like it were on fire. (TheFuckingWeather.com assured me “IT’S FUCKING HOT.”) I walked up to the water with my camera — having fully planned to walk along it for an hour or so — and some douche in an ATV nearly ran me over and shouted at me that the water was closed.

He got a double-barreled salute out of me. Hey, I’m a grown woman and if I want to get hit by lightning and float away in the ocean and wind up in Africa or something, SO BE IT. And did I LOOK like I was there to swim? Bah.

So there went my day off. Six whopping minutes at the beach and eleventy billion loads of laundry that are in progress.

I hung out on Ocean Avenue for a while, mostly just to recoup some of what I’d fed the parking meter. I finally gave up and, I tell ya, as soon as I pulled away, the thunder cracked and the skies opened up.

Four minutes later when I got home, the sun came out again and it was like nothing had ever happened. Until an hour later when the next monsoon hit and flooded my bedroom and balcony. That was almost as fun as losing power.

Gotta love South Florida in the summertime, I hear. The only thing that would save this day is an early bedtime, which would work if my sheets and duvet cover weren’t in the dryer. …

Rainbow

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Four weeks of nonstop activity have ground to a sudden halt for one glorious day. Things pick back up full-force tomorrow and go on indefinitely.

I have to keep reminding myself that this is what I wanted.

I was at my wits’ end yesterday. I had come up with a catchy little ditty I liked to call “I wish I never left D.C.,” sung to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.”

That was Teh Cranky showing itself, of course. I don’t really wish I hadn’t left D.C. Well, not all the time, anyway. I accept full realization that I can’t really be happy anywhere — at least, not right now.

So on my day off, I’m feeling overwhelmed with the ever-growing list of laundry and errands and finding car insurance since I got dropped and my guilt over just wanting to sit around and watch VH1 or maybe clear some shit off my DVR.

But as soon as I catch up, I have to work ahead. I’m going out Thursday night (win!) and leaving on an airplane at 6 a.m. Friday morning (West Coast-bound for two days).

In a normal world, I love this shit. But as I get older, my resources get depleted faster and are much harder to replenish. I’m dubbing 35 “Year of the Leg Cramp,” as I can live with getting drunker, sooner and not having the energy I once did. But this waking up in the middle of the night in pain all the time? Shit.

What would make today at least feel like a vacation day would be to get rid of the Over-Extended Houseguest so I can enjoy my overpriced abode. But noooo, no apartment to herself (for the past two years and counting) for Goddess.

I would love nothing more than to hit the beach today, but I just don’t have the time. And of course the OEH asked if I would buy her a new cell phone AND take her to the beach. I snapped and said to take her own damn self to the beach (we’ve lived here three months now and she still hasn’t wandered down the fucking BLOCK to the ocean). I mean, really, why not get out of my hair for a day? How much more apparent do I have to make it that a source of my frustration is your very presence?

I hate to ask God for strength and help when our world is in turmoil and streets are burning and children are going hungry and, well, life has been a little bit worse. But the older I get, I find that I ask for less and less. I just want peace, you know?

I want to feel alive. I almost wish I never HAD felt alive or relaxed because it seems like such an aberration — however short a period it lasted — because it makes me CRAVE it more. And I take it on my own shoulders that I don’t know how to get it back. I also take it upon my own shoulders that I’m the only one who CAN.

It’ll all be OK. I’m sure of it. I’ve heard a number of times that faith is seeing with your heart before it becomes apparent to your eyes. I guess I’ve always figured that, if you don’t ask for much, then you’ll get it because you’re not greedy, right? Maybe I need to shoot a little higher and get a little more than I was originally expecting — maybe that’s how it works.

And if anyone else knows the secret to “doing life,” and not the kind that involves prison, feel free to elaborate in the comments.