Caterwauling

Alejandro Manzano

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Ah, home sweet hell. Vacation over. Damn, it was nice.

My friend and I got up every morning, had breakfast, walked for two miles around a pretty lake, got ready to go out, enjoyed the afternoon, got ready for our evening plans, and then had fun. So easy, so perfect.

I am now officially a Boyce Avenue groupie. (And their openers Megan & Liz rocked socks, too.) I went along on the trip just to keep my friend company. But now, I’m sucked in to the vortex just like all the 18-year-old girls who filled the event venues. 🙂

After being in the FRONT ROW at both venues, complete with high-fives and handshakes from the guys, we visited with the band afterward. Such nice guys! These three brothers hail from Sarasota and call Orlando their “musical hometown.” Since it’s a nice three-hour drive, I will DEFINITELY be going to see these guys again.

What was really fun was meeting the other fans. I have some new Facebook friends out of it, plus some stories to tell in less-public forums. Some of these young ladies are the foundation for (what I think are) some fascinating character sketches.

Best of all, this means I am writing my fiction again. (Or at least making more notes.) I always had a character in mind who was playing the bar scene as a teen and went on to be famous. I forgot how much fun it is to join the traveling circus. I followed The Inconsiderate Few around Pittsburgh, Juniper Lane around D.C. (well, Northern Virginia) and I really like a local band called Summer Blanket.

So, Boyce Avenue is my new muse, particularly adorable 24-year-old singer Alejandro Manzano, although his (older, but still not enough for me!) brothers Daniel and Fabian are cuties, too. 😉 I see why my friend brought me along — for me, it’s nice to be in the company of a fellow thirtysomething — I may be the oldest person in the club, but only by five days! (Yes, two Geminis on tour together. Look out, world!)

I’m just so excited right now. Life is starting to get good again. But moreover, I have just started tearing through my (copious) notes for the fiction series I’ve been trying to write since I was 14.

I may put my leadership book on hold for a while. It would have to be a comedy, that’s for damn sure. And I have to figure out how I feel about topics like Facebook and blogs and Twitter, and just how much employers need to know and what etiquette versus rules should exist, if any.

Frankly, I need to be 100% sure that I will never have to work for anyone directly ever again so that I can actually be myself and say what I feel (as if I don’t already). Because, really, for all I put online, can you imagine what I DON’T say? Believe it or not, THIS is the super-censored version!

And not only is my ass elephant-esque, but so is my memory. The information has a great shelf life. And while I can laugh about it, I’m not so certain that everyone else can. Not right now, anyway.

Besides, I’d rather think about boys and music and chasing my dreams around the country. Last year I got to do it by plane, and this year I’ll have to do it by car. But nothing is going to stop me from looking for that pot of gold, one way or another. This time, I’m gonna have one hell of a good time on the journey. Oh, wait … I already am!

If youve ever stayed in Disney and ordered a wake up call, chances are that you’ve been greeted at an ungodly hour with an unbearablly chipper “Have a Mickey day!”

Luckily, I stay offsite and use my phone when i need an alarm. But even the non employees are sweet in Orlando. It’s downright bizarre, considering how fucking rude everyone is in the southern part of the state.

Not much to say other than the fact that i am on a road trip with a gal i haven’t seen since high school, with the exception of watching the Super Bowl together earlier this month.

We are having fun. Lots of trips down memory lane. She was talking about some friend of hers from Pitt and I know some folks who went there and I asked his last name. I probably should not have blurted out, “Oh i remember him — I slept with him!”

Slutty teenage Goddess. 😉

We were in Gainsville two days ago for a concert and will see the same band tonight. They were amazing and I am glad i came along on this odyssey. Last night we went to Citywalk and attended Mardi Gras at Universal Studios. It was awful and a huge waste of money, minus the cute boys who gave us beads as we drank our $65 beers.

But our dinner at Latin Quarter was superb. Besides, anything beats being at home!

More to come when i get home. Just trying to find some garlic Mardi Gras beads for protection and hope for the best before we roll home tomorrow. I have no doubt, though, that we will have another fun night with an amazing band. I got a hug from the super cute lead singer, so I will soon be gettin’ mah groupie on and loving it!

Imma cut you

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’ve spent the last two months catching up on my sleep and re-runs of “Ghost Whisperer.” I’ve watched all of my favorite TV programs live and not on the DVR. I’ve talked with everyone (and I mean everyone) in my field and know the gossip better than those who go to every industry show.

And I’ve got an inbox full of assignments, offers and requests for more meetings and conversations.

And I hesitate to go near that particular Gmail account.

I don’t know why — I feel like I have too much testosterone in my blood right now. Like, I thrive on the thrill of the chase. But now that I’ve gone fishing and it looks like I’ll have dinner … a nice one … I’m surprisingly unenthused.

It’s not that the pursuit is over. Hell, in the new career (freelance) that I’ve unwittingly chosen, it’s going to be a constant pursuit for new projects, as current/future gigs begin and end.

This is truly what I want, though. As I told an interviewer the other day, I’m exhausted by the idea of a short-lived (or even long-term) marriage to one employer. It’s not that I don’t WANT one awesome job. But I’ve missed out on a lot of opportunities with people and companies who might be a better fit. Only I wouldn’t know that because I already had the rock on my left hand and, I gotta say, I’m not a girl who cheats.

Anyway, I know I am just whining because I’ve become lazy. I like hanging out with the cat all day. (Although the brat kept me up all night last night.) It was a very hard transition to go from 60-plus hours a week of work to zero. That’s a fucking culture shock. Shit, it was a culture shock to go DOWN to 60, but at least it was a transition.

I guess, for me, work is my long-term relationship. Boys come and go, and I don’t think twice. But I guess I’m looking for my vocational soulmate. And just like with men, I believe we have many soulmates. And also just like with men, I’m tired. I want a break. I want to not always have to be “on” and perky and always coming up with the next brilliant thing I’ll say … at the expense of not really listening to them in the meantime.

I don’t want to fall again … I don’t want to FAIL again. So, here I am, trying not to even get my hopes up.

I know I have to, though. I can’t be out of work. If you want to kill me, that’s the way to do it. And it occurs to me that I’ve treated my personal life that way — I’ve taken more breaks than not. I’ve figured the right one will come along at some point. I haven’t really needed much in the way of companionship in the interim.

What’s funny is that I have such high expectations of employers. I shouldn’t, given my history. I don’t have the same high expectations of boys. Employers, I expect will treat me like royalty and “get” me and help me to surf the learning curve to making this relationship “the one.” Boys, not so much.

I feel like I have to flip those expectations somehow — to set the bar high for boys and stop expecting much of anything from companies other than a paycheck in exchange for services rendered.

I don’t know why I’m so damn crabby. I always do this. I always bust my butt to get to the precipice of awesomeness, and then I pull back. Do I think I don’t deserve it? Have I really let my critics into my head enough to convince me that I’m as disposable as they think I am?

Why is it that, every time things are about to go my way, they fall apart? Is that why I self-sabotage … so that at least it was MY doing that things didn’t have a happy ending or, at least, a bearable next phase?

I know I haven’t done much of anything in my life to please anyone else. But when did I lose the drive to at least prove them all wrong?

Dear neighbors,

Yes, I’m the one belting out the “Fuck You” lyrics today. And you noisy, screaming-in-Spanish, breaking-glass-bottles-at-ungodly-hours, barbecuing illegally on your balcony, pot-smoking fuckers are next on my dedication list.

Love,
Goddess

P.S. Go read Why Problem Employees Don’t Get Fired. And after you read No. 2, promise me that you won’t ever (I mean EVER) mention to the boss that sometimes teacher’s pet is a little challenging. Nobody wants your opinion on that topic. Promise?

When people ask me if I have any family beyond the Extra-Terrestrial Being from Outer Space (aka, the Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest), I say no. After all, I’m an only child and so is she.

Of course, there’s a crazy web of cousins out there whom I don’t really acknowledge. I grew up barely knowing them and, frankly, I’ve endured enough time with most of them (mostly at funerals) to understand why my grandmother kept me far, far away from them.

Now, it’s no secret that I found myself job-free at the end of last year. And even though these yahoos never once picked up a phone to see how I’m doing or ask what happened, I am apparently the most-interesting person on earth right now to two dozen people who share my last name.

A cousin went to see her sister in a nursing home over the weekend. The one in the home proudly announced, “Did you hear? Goddess got FIRED. Good for her! She’s RICH. She DESERVES to learn how hard life can be!”

Needless to say, if that bitch wasn’t lying in a bed immobile, I’d have made sure she never walked again.

Seriously? They all know I was born in the projects, sharing a tiny rowhouse with four generations of my own family and a cousin and her infant daughter. I had NOTHING my whole life. I worked three jobs at a time to put myself through school. I had roommates my whole life (and I hate roommates). Then I took on my mother and all her expenses. It was only in the last two years that I could pay my bills and have a tiny little something extra for me. Fuck her. Fuck all of them.

Rich, I am not. Nor was I. I’d like to be — I still haven’t given up hope yet. But who the fuck is that asshole to say it would be good for me to be penniless? What, because I haven’t sent her money? What the hell has any of them ever done to help me?

Before I blow a gasket, I do need to breathe and remind myself that this is why I was so driven in my life. So I wouldn’t need to beg anyone for a handout. Because I knew for the past 20-odd years that my mother would never be able to live on her own. Because my asshole cousin in the hospital bed used to drain the life out of my grandfather and mother to run all her stupid errands while she sat on her tuffet and promised compensation that never materialized.

I remember my grandfather’s funeral circa Thanksgiving 2006. Said cousin made a grand entrance into the funeral parlor in a wheelchair with her foul-mouthed, loud-ass boyfriend. She expected a queen’s welcome and was visibly (and audibly) chagrined that nobody rushed to worship her.

She tried to make the event all about her, but nobody was buying it. I didn’t even speak to her. She’d taken enough of my grandfather and mother’s time. She wasn’t getting any of mine.

And all these years later, to hear her talking behind my back, wow. I realize that even though my immediate family contained damn-near saints (for how nice they all were), I have a genetic mean streak that is a mile long. It’s a daily act to suppress it or, in my case, redirect it into something creative and useful.

But I am reminded why I don’t talk to these assholes — they will take your words and twist them, or else make up the stories that suit their evil imaginations.

To her credit, the cousin doing the visiting snapped at her sister, “If your lazy ass had ever worked a day in your miserable life, you would know that there’s a difference between being LET GO and fired. If you can’t get a story straight, don’t talk!”

LOL. Go, cousin! Of course, she lit up the family phone tree after she left the nursing home, so I won’t get too excited. But information (false or otherwise) is currency in this family.

And frankly, I’m GLAD they thought I was doing so well. Let them talk. Let all those boozers, users and abusers cast stones. You think I can’t tell stories about them? Bitch, please. If they think that I’m better than them, they’re right.

Sure, there are a couple who are pretty decent people. But it’s not worth it to reach out to them when they are securely positioned in the poisonous phone tree. It’s such a shame that my lovely grandparents are gone and yet these morons still pollute the earth.

I’ve always had my mind set on keeping my last name when I get married. After all, my mom gave me my first name, my grandmother gave me my middle name, and I have my grandfather’s last name. It means a lot to me. But to disassociate from this clown posse? I may have to put the cart before the horse and go change my name legally before I meet Mr. Right. Anything to not be grouped with the uppity trash in my bloodline.

“And although there’s pain in my chest
I still wish you the best
With a ‘fuck you.'”

Editor’s note: I found this in my archives from around 2003 or ’04. Seems just as applicable today, as I’m still dreaming about it.

Imagine a workday in which, if you decided to take a three-hour lunch, nobody but you would care. Imagine not wanting to take an extended break because you are so motivated to get back to your projects in progress.

Imagine really giving 100 percent effort to your job — imagine what you could and would accomplish if you were rewarded, in whatever way, for always being and giving your personal best.

Imagine how motivated you would be to perform if you could just see how your good works impact your target audience. Imagine the whole world working solely to please their customers and not just their bosses.

Imagine not praying, every time your boss comes near your office, that he or she keeps on walking by and leaves you alone. Imagine being your own boss and being responsible for meeting your own expectations, which are usually better prioritized and much, much higher than the average manager’s, anyway.

Imagine being so inspired every day that you dream and brainstorm and produce until you are so exhausted that you are forced to sleep. Imagine looking forward to awakening every morning and not dragging yourself out of bed with a heart full of dread — imagine loving, truly loving, your work so much that you realize you love your entire life.

Imagine your income increasing every time you work harder or longer hours. Imagine your pay being commensurate with your efforts. Imagine having enough money in the bank to take a day, week, month or a season to yourself as a reward for how beautifully your earlier efforts had paid off.

Dream it and it will be so. Envision it, live it, breathe it, want it, need it … and it will come. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Dave Paints on the Avenue

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I finally have an “in” with the artsy community in my area, and it’s lovely.

The guys I hung out with last night are anything but the pretentious artsy-fartsy a*holes I remember from D.C. Now, I miss me some Washington because we have a whopping two art museums in my new world and I’d give my left ass cheek for a visit to a bona fide Smithsonian.

But life in Florida is different in general — slower, more casual, definitely boozier — and my new friends live in the Keys, where “slow” life is pretty much in “damn near stop” mode.

And I love it.

Everyone was so authentic, in an otherwise-plastic community. I have long called this “South New York,” where northeasterners (from Jersey to eastern Canada) migrate and share their hurry-up-already attitudes and complaints about everything. I look forward to the end of snowbird season. I’m no longer one of them. There is nothing in this world worth hurrying toward. Really.

Anyway, I am sort of anomaly, because I think I have been very well-trained in business. I can recite human resources policies, procedures and case laws like the prim and proper professional I was raised to be. Dress codes, performance-improvement plans and pantyhose are ingrained in my psyche.

Yet I was always a bit of a rebel. I always found ways to toe the line between what was expected of me and how I really wanted to act.

No one has ever been able to silence me, though. I thought long and hard about what an old V.P. said to me last week, that I must have had a personality transplant. It was against him and so many like him that I rebelled.

I never wanted to fit into anybody’s expectations, any more so than I had to, to keep my job. I cussed, I walked around barefoot. (I’ll get you on your “no open-toed shoes” rule!) I hung out with whomever the hell I respected, regardless of whether they could help me further my career. I didn’t shut up and smile when I had a flood of raw passion and frustration that I wanted someone, anyone to acknowledge.

I could write a book about how to “walk the line.” But I’d be the first one to burn it and accuse myself of selling out.

The artists, ah. Now there are some kindred spirits. They paint. They make interesting frames. They drink vodka. They are all friends who sail and travel the world together. They dress the way they want, they say what they want, and they are generous with strangers and friends alike.

I guess what I’m saying is that we are reared in the corporate culture to revere the CEO and vice presidents. That they worked hard and put in a few decades’ worth of work to get to where they are. And I am not saying that some of them aren’t respectable, hella cool individuals. But that’s not the side of them that is typically exposed to us.

One thing I learned, in retrospect, is that all supervisors are men. Even if they have girl parts. I don’t know why, as a subordinate, I felt I didn’t have to manage female superiors the same as the males of my past lives. That was an expensive lesson.

I thought that by being “friends” — with all of its honesty, patience and understanding — was the ticket. It’s not. Maybe to a deeper degree, sure. But in the end, managers are asexual. They all want to look good. At the end of the day, it’s their asses on the line, and there isn’t room in the closing credits for any other names.

That’s not always the case. I remember a female friend giving another female friend the advice that it’s the women who will help her along in her career, more so than the men in power. It’s something she has carried with her, and it was sound advice. It’s always been the women in my career that have opened the doors and held them open for the females like me who were rising up behind them.

But my friend is way more worldly than most. She was never threatened. We realized early on that when we teamed up, we were twice as powerful as those in front of us who were trying to hold the doors closed to prevent our entry. And yes, that inner circle included women who just couldn’t give up the territory that they’d fought so hard to claim.

In any case, it was lovely to hang with creative people who come and go as they please. In the middle of the party (circa 11 p.m.), they started painting because that’s when inspiration struck. Nobody was asking “Father, may I?” or worrying that the guy whose name is on the gallery would care that his buddies/partners were going to outshine him with their own contribution to the beauty that surrounded us.

While my own stick-figure scrawls will never gain me entry into the gallery crew, I loved it that they welcomed me as someone who gets them and appreciates their quirks as not just character, but as what makes them successful.

Imagine, doing what you love, making money at it, living where you want and spending your days creating beauty and sailing the high seas at will for inspiration or relaxation. (Or both.)

This bohemian life is calling to me. I remain with one foot solidly planted in my field. But I am hoping to plant the other foot somewhere in this colorful world to give me an outlet for the authenticity that seems to have no place anywhere else.

Went out partying in my favorite area of town last night. I try to avoid that area since I left behind two jobs in a six-block proximity. But to my knowledge, those folks are out of town. And a fresh new wind blew into town in the form of a friend from the West Coast.

Damn, I had fun. Yesterday was supposedly National Wine Drinking Day. I should get a medal for how much I consumed. 😉 But god bless the goat cheese dip and fried hot dog for soaking up enough that I could get home safely.

Anyway, I had this weird dream last night. I was at a Bon Jovi concert. (I know, shocker, right?) And it felt like everybody from my past had also bought tickets and somehow got seated in my section. Argh.

It annoyed me in a way, because Bon Jovi is mine, you know? If we have a beef or a tiff or something, stay the fuck home because that’s MY happy place.

I saw who I consider to be my arch-enemy. He was with two little boys. And his boyfriend was working the ticket booth. The boys clearly looked like the boyfriend. Yet my nemesis was kind and sweet to them and promised to take them for pizza and ice cream after the concert.

In the dream, he tossed a spitball my way to get my attention. I turned into the Tasmanian Devil and can’t remember even watching the concert. For shame!

I’ve been puzzling about that dream for the past hour. I’m laying down the grudge. It’s too tiring. I’ve dragged that cross all over the country and I’m done.

But moreover, I wonder if he found his happiness. Now, for all the nasty shit he’s done to me and many of the others who were in the audience in my dream, all I have to say is that the rest of us should find our own happiness FIRST.

Ahem.

Anyhoodle, on to new (and better) friends. The gal who dropped into town last night, well, it was my first time meeting her in person. But we’ve been Facebook friends for nearly two years.

What’s ironic is that I wrote a restaurant review for her Web site last summer, and after a glorious art gallery party last night, we all ended up at the place I had reviewed for her. It was wonderful coming full circle like that, and I look forward to our in-person friendship and many more lovely adventures to come.

I’ve been spending a lot of time sleeping instead of writing. Which seems to have paid off, as I landed my first official freelance gig today and have dinner tonight with a guy I’m partnering with to exchange business leads. Hooray!

I spent a lot of time last week trying to get meetings and otherwise be dazzling at the Money Show. And I have a ton of potential projects that are being designed with me in mind, with people I’ve worked with before and look forward to working with again. But of course nothing is really ready so it’s been a little frustrating, knowing that I have to have a fallback plan.

But after a baker’s dozen interviews and an equal number of “you’re overqualified” and “you’re expensive,” well, I’m willing to settle for a lot less for now. And I will tell you why — because I can.

No, I didn’t hit the lottery. (I wish.) It’s because I can accept far less money when the benefits include “respect.” Not just me respecting them, but vice-versa.

The best part is the learning curve is minimal, not just with the subject matter but also with the personalities involved. We all know what makes each other tick. And any job, really, is 10% what you already know and 90% on-the-job learning. When you can flip those percentages, that means things will get done sooner and more easily. And that’s worth untold value in today’s so-very-fake world.

In any case, I look forward to either A) not having anything to blog about because I’m so wildly content, or B) concentrating on my next big mission: finding my happiness.

I posted this article on my Facebook page: Why You’re Not Married, and my pastor of all people commented and re-posted for the rest of her world to see. Good to know that she’s now clued in on my bad habits. 🙂 But the first step on the road to recovery is coming clean, yes?

I’m guilty of all six reasons why I’m not married. All. Freaking. Six. Although I am rather proud of myself for proving No. 3 (“You’re a Slut”) wrong when I turned down a guaranteed escapade. Really, been there and done that. As my beloved friend Mel texted me as I was contemplating the offer, the problem with men is that they come with a penis attached. I think that was the deciding factor for me. Perhaps it goes back to No. 5 (“You’re Selfish”) in that I wasn’t in the mood to entertain a penis. But, then that makes being selfish good, yes? 😉

The takeaway to the article resonates with both an echo and a thud:

“Marriage is not about getting something — it’s about giving it. Strangely, men understand this more than we do. Probably because for them marriage involves sacrificing their most treasured possession — a free-agent penis — and for us, it’s the culmination of a princess fantasy so universal, it built Disneyland.”

I don’t think I ever had the princess fantasy. I figured I’d run my own publishing company, which I now do. (Go figure.) But I never got to the, “Then what?” because I figured THAT would be the epitome of my happiness.

Silly, self-publishing princess. 🙂

So now what, indeed. How does one stop being selfish, say, when that’s the only reason she’s made it this far in life? What’s left to give when “what’s mine is mine, and what’s mine is also mom’s”? How do you stop being angry (No. 1) when being nice only gets your Prozac prescription renewed?

I do think I’ve had it right, though, that I’ve been my own white knight on a white steed. Of course, I’m more tan and freckled and I have a beaten-up jalopy. But, you know. Whatever. It would just be nice to actually be safe and free to be selfless when it’s with a job or a man who will actually be there in five years, and he will still be in the same mindset as well.

Gaylord Palms

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The quote in the title was one of many soundbites from the World Money Show. Now that I’m no longer with an exhibitor company (or any company, for that matter), those shows are so much more enjoyable!

My secret is to hang out with people who are way more attractive than me. I hung out with my beloved Empress E, and when the guys who flock to her realize that I’m the easier one of the two, things get interesting. 🙂

No worries — I left the show with my chastity intact. You definitely meet lots of rich guys at these events. Although most of them have reputation for being players, or else they have NO game whatsoever, and it’s fairly easy to escape unscathed … if not still drunk 24 hours after you started your adult-beverage consumption.

It’s always a joy to see the “family” and sad to see them go. But I got a nice dose of my “Vitamin D,” and that’s the real reason I hopped into the car and drove three hours each way. Everything else was just gravy.

Mmmm, gravy.

It was good to be out and about among the land of the living again. This staying-at-home crap is really depressing the shit out of me. And while it’s sad to say that certain readers are dancing for joy to read about my depression and disgust with life right now, well, fuck it. I’m owning it. I’d rather be disappointed and have income than bummed without it. Although I did enjoy talking to someone who was in my boat not too long ago about a “no talented people” rule. *muahahaaaa*

Anyway, one thing I did take with me is that life will go on eventually. My travel buddy left Florida, my income ground to a halt and I’m now captive 24/7 with my mom and a smelly cat. Yay.

But … there are travels ahead when I can afford them again. Paris. London. Coastal North Carolina. Virginia Beach. Seattle. Long Island. New Orleans. Memphis. Nashville. Maybe I won’t get to most or even any of them this year. But I didn’t die or anything. Just the last version of Goddess is gone. But the next one is always under construction.

I ran into some people I met in the past year, and was pleasantly surprised that not only did they remember my name, but they actually really liked me. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’m not with the company anymore. But since a few offered to stay in touch, hey, I’m not going to turn that down.

I told Empress E how shocked I was that I was remembered so fondly. And she said, um, duh. My inroads into this field was always the relationships I developed. I just happen to have a couple of functioning brain cells, too, but it’s more than that. People leave me feeling good. Well, most people. 😉 But that’s my ticket back to success — being remembered fondly, so that when I call them, they are hopefully happy to hear from me.

It’s been such a long, emotional journey. I still struggle with “why” — why all I have is my work/reputation, why the only family I have is a mother in questionable health, why another Valentine’s Day approaches with not a single iota of celebration in sight, why every cat I own has a poop fetish, why I have professional admirers and no professional contentment, and why every day is a struggle to get out of bed whether or not alcohol was involved the night before.

Alas, I still don’t have the answers. I just keep getting up, putting on my best face, throwing a pack of smokes in my purse and plodding along.

The secret to writing an article, a novel or even the story of life’s success is knowing the ending in advance. And I struggle like hell with this “middle part” when the outcome becomes fuzzy. Is it worth it to be loved now when you could be homeless in three months? Not only is it easier to get hired when you have a job, but it’s easier to do everything when you’re not sleeping on the beach. Sigh.

I know it won’t come to that, but that’s my motivation to keep getting up, getting dressed, putting on makeup and trying again. This isn’t the life I wanted, nor is it going to be in the short term. But I feel like I’m running out of fight. I used to think I could do anything. I’m not so sure anymore.

Some people get by on their looks, but even those fade. What if drive and creativity runs out, too? What if that’s what’s happening to me?

Of course, then you look around and see plenty of “successful” people who don’t have anything but sheer luck to go on. God bless them the day that runs out.

And I’ll be ready to help them because that’s who I am and what I do. Even if I shouldn’t. Especially if I shouldn’t.

That’s what makes someone a true success, I think. Having the ability to either kick someone while they’re down, or raise them up higher than they ever thought possible, and choosing the latter.

Maybe that’s why people like me and (say they) want to help me.

Team Good Guys is going to win this one. We just have to go into extra innings. But there will be a victory dance. I promise you that.