Caterwauling

So, I’m bummed out a bit.

It’s Christmas. And it’s cold in Florida. I mean, COLD. Nineteen-degree windchill in the morning cold.

On Dec. 4 of last year the King Crackhead at my old job shitcanned the two most-productive employees. I was NOT one of them. But I figured my time was coming. After all, why keep competent people?

I was on edge until March 16 when I started my new job.

The prior year, I survived a round of Thanksgiving layoffs.

I’ve been dreaming of a side business that I hope will become a full-time one. It’s capital- and labor-intensive. And involves real estate. And overhead. And shareholders. Gah.

But at least shareholder meetings are annual instead of multiple-per-week events.

Next Christmas, I have no desire to wonder whether my days are numbered, and just how many are left. It’s not cancer, for Christ’s sake. But it sure feels like it. And pinot is my chemo.

I’ve had a lot to drink and I’m sure I’ve said too much. I’m cold and I’m sad and I’m really missing someone right now. I’m sick to everloving DEATH of feeling like I can’t live/work/love where/who I want because it doesn’t fit into someone else’s plan.

Plus, I decided to stop taking my Paxil. Sure, from the tone of this blog entry, it seems like I should go swallow six of them ASAP. But I’ll tell you, it’s the first time in a year that I’ve felt ALIVE.

I haven’t had an idea worth a good God damn in over a year. I’ve had one mood for 400 straight days. I’ve been complacent. I haven’t been hungry for change.

A few days minus my mother’s little helpers, and BOY am I seeing the world through my old eyes (with the new prescription!).

I’ve felt the stirrings of that old fire that used to define me. I’ve grabbed life by the balls and told it to turn its head and cough.

Where I’m stuck right now is whether to keep this hamster wheel going … or to jump into a parallel wheel … or to say fuck it because I’m not a hamster and I’ll take my chances in the water even though I have NO CLUE how to swim.

I’d rather dive in before someone throws me in.

And I’d rather cha-cha the whole way to my little dream side venture in my own time.

View from Duval House, Key West

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I was sitting in BWI on Sunday, after a lovely 18 hours with a dear friend who trekked south to see me, waiting for a flight (of course).

I got to the airport early. And of course the plane was delayed repeatedly due to the weather.

As everyone knows, to say I’m a frequent flier is an understatement. I’m more at-home in hotels and terminals than I am in my Palm Beach penthouse. (Although I do adore that, too.)

I was sitting by the California Tortilla, enjoying a cuppa joe from Mayorga (how I miss Maryland!), when a pilot from Southwest asked if he could borrow a corner of my table for a moment.

I said sure and we struck up a conversation. He was feeling kind of bummed because of the weather (increasingly heavy rains) and the pile of delays that were making his customers (and himself) more than just a little bit antsy.

I shared that I fly about three times a month. And that there’s no way I could do what he does out there; nor would I ever be so bold as to claim that they could do their jobs any better.

I said, look. I really appreciate how dedicated you are … how you want to get this show on the road and get your passengers to their next destination. And frankly, I don’t really care about the delays so much — I’m just glad that you get me home safely and securely.

If an extra hour or two means you have a better “drive” and you put me on the ground at home as uneventfully as possible, well then, know that I’m silently applauding you from my seat in the back of the aircraft.

He suddenly smiled — beamed, I tell you — and said, “You have just turned my whole day around. Thank you!”

I smiled and wished him safe travels. He waved and walked away.

I tell you this story not because I did anything wonderful or even out-of-the-ordinary — at least, not out-of-the-ordinary for me, anyway. I don’t pay compliments out of my ass, but I do my best to make everyone’s day easier and, if possible, a little brighter.

And I get a lot of crap for that.

In any case, at a time when evil bitchiness is permeating far too many areas of my life … at a time when I am really trying to get the hell away from it because the negativity impacts me far too much … I am reminded that I may get shit on as a “nice girl” — hell, people downright use your hair to wipe their ass, if you let them — I will have made a difference in the world when all is said and done.

I might not have made billions of dollars for my company or millions of dollars for myself and my associates, by the end of my life. But if I have done something each day to take someone to a new level, or improved their day by one little degree, then I’m OK with that.

And to hell with anyone who wants to make me feel that my identity is flawed or isn’t enough. Because I may not be able to live with anyone else, but I am quite content living with myself.