Caterwauling

My fur-child

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Working from home this week has been joyous. And by joyous, I mean “has sucked rancid butthole.”

Monday, I went without electricity for at least half the workday. And when it would return and I’d reboot, *bam* down it went again.

Wednesday was fire-alarm testing … for four hours. Which freaked the fuck out of the fur-child. Poor kid was attached to my side for the day with hurty ears.

I’m just glad the idiots didn’t activate the alarms by setting the building on fire. Because, that’s about the level of intelligence we’re dealing with here.

Otherwise, I’ve been hauling ass on an awesome project with an awesome team. Out of habit (of anticipating shit), I sent a progress update yesterday and made PDFs of the multimedia files I was working on, to show my progress.

My two contacts on the project asked what the update was all about. I said, you know, to show you what I’ve done and to give you opportunity to weigh in on the direction I’m taking this in.

Both said, “Yeah, hey. We trust you. You bring a level of experience and expertise that we don’t have. Knock yourself out with however you want to approach it.”

Never fails to amaze me when I hear that stuff. Well, I know I am bathed in awesomesauce, but it’s such a vote of confidence when people say we know what you’ve done and now show us what you can do next.

Anyway, I say this to share with my friends in impossible work situations (which seems to be about 95% of you these days) that eventually God gives you a break — a good one!

Actually, I’m not hurting for opportunity at all these days. However, time and energy are at critical shortages. I know I took on too much, but after two months without working, wouldn’t YOU have said yes to six offers? I just hope I dazzle the right ones and don’t piss off the wrong ones!

Local duct tape shortage explained

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I was up to no good last night … I had an interview at midnight. (What did you think I was doing? lol)

I have this cadre of freelance jobs and I like everyone I work with and everything I’m doing. But there’s this wicked witch type at one who has declared war by saying I’m an “un-creative writer” who “lacks original thought.”

There’s another writer on the project, and my stuff is so much more robust than his that I’ve felt bad for him, having to have his stuff compared to mine. Wicked witch-type loves his stuff. It’s fluffy and formulaic while I’m doing copious amounts of research and otherwise finding new approaches to get people to spend their money.

Mind you, there were no constructive suggestions or else I would have taken them. But it makes my to-do list scary if I’m going to invest a lot of time on stuff that she’s going to hate.

My contact says to keep working on my project list, but I stopped. I remember when they brought the witch onto the project, they asked if I would have a problem working with her. And I was all sweetness and light — hey, I look forward to it! I will bet we will create some awesome stuff together!

Yeah, Kyle’s mom is a bitch. She’s the biggest bitch in the whole wide world. She’s a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch. She’s a bitch to all the boys and girls!

*jiggety jig*

Anyway, the other gig pays 75% less to start, is probably going to be a lot more chaotic, and I may go crazy in the process. But the great thing about them is that they are idea people. I’m the writer. Go in your corner and write. Don’t come out till you’re done and we are sure it will be FABULOUS.

Which is how the other gig *was* till Kyle’s mom showed up. The assaults are downright personal. Funny for someone who doesn’t even know you.

After she bragged about how awesome the other writer is, she slammed a line I had written in one of my things. I told my contact, “Really? I got that line from the other writer, when I had to explain to him what the fuck we were promoting because I’m the only one who researched the project. He told me to use it.”

And you wonder whether the line would have gotten her so fired up if she knew it came from the other guy.

I figure, I have two choices here. Quit and go elsewhere, or take her to lunch and declare a truce in a war I’m not even fighting. I think we know what the right thing to do is … to work on another project and avoid the issue!

see more ICHC After Dark

Charlie Sheen kills another 2 1/2 men

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’ve frequently forgotten to take my Paxil lately, which is fine because I needed it thanks to overwhelming anxiety about getting fired from jobs I didn’t like anyway. Funny, now that the “worst” has happened, I’ve never felt better!

I had a horrific dream about the ex-job last night. Sheesh. I’d thought their days of haunting me and causing me grief were long gone. Oh, it was awful. All whirlwinds and airports and wild goose chases and trying to second-guess their next moves.

But really, I realized it’s like trying to outsmart a toddler — my solutions and explanations were far-too-sophisticated when all I had to do was stand still and wait for them to find their way back to square one.

Oh, had I only realized that solution 12 months ago. …

I realize I am the least-interesting most-public blogger among my entire network. (And it’s a big network.) But reviving an old high-school friendship has made sense of it all to me.

Back in high school, I had befriended this evil cunt we’ll call Eve. (Because that’s her name.) I had hit a rough patch with my “gay boyfriend” because he had expanded his social circle to a girl I just did not like.

Maybe I was jealous to some degree that he was splitting his time between us (oh, I WAS jealous). But moreover, I tried to be her friend and I JUST could not understand the “attraction,” as it were. I was cuter, smarter, more adventurous and definitely a lot funnier. Why did he need to expand his harem?

I brought another friend into the mix and we became a very weird foursome. Not four people you’d put into a room together, that’s for sure. (My friendship with the other guy ended in college over money he owed me that I will never see. Why rob the poor girl who helped you out of a crisis? Jeez.)

Anyway, I think Eve thought I stole the other friend from her, as they were tight through ninth grade. I know Eve wanted to join the fabulous foursome. Which, jeez, I was happy to have her around … until she revealed what a social mutant she was. Lord. I could see why everyone would rather have left her at home.

But her dad had just died, and I needed a good girlfriend. (As the gay men just weren’t cutting it.) I could tell my foursome was crumbling from the inside as my “gay boyfriend” became marginally obsessed with his new fag hag (emphasis: HAG). And the other guy had a car, so I think they became more of a threesome.

Besides, they all came from money and I didn’t. I couldn’t afford all our outings. Perhaps they didn’t want to bother asking me all the time. (Oh, how I wish they would have at least asked. …)

Anyway, I was feeling very left out and, well, Eve was kind of a riot when you were one-on-one with her. We played Nintendo and hung out and really just bonded. I thought, fuck all those idiots. I have a new friend who clearly wants to spend time with me.

Now, the long story short (you’re welcome) is that my senior year was ruined by secrets. While Eve and I were sharing our heart’s deepest thoughts, she was sharing MINE with MY OLD FRIENDS.

The twist? She elaborately added detail to anything I might or might not have said. The bitch was planning to become a psychiatrist — she only used nuggets that they would have believed and then really played on them.

Don’t get me wrong — I know I said an untoward thing or two about my now-ex-friends. I was coming from a place of deep hurt and, fueled by Eve egging me on, a growing resentment.

When my old friends stopped speaking to me entirely, I was confused. I missed the gay boyfriend; the rest, I didn’t care about. But he wouldn’t return my calls or bother speaking to me when I cornered him by our lockers. (Yep, next to each other alphabetically. I staked his ass out a lot.)

I don’t know how it all got revealed — I think one day he just felt he had to confront me about something that even he couldn’t believe I would have said. And I was all like, WTF? I never said that. Or that. Or that.

But where I had some credibility with him was the fact that we had been friends since age 10 when we met in the fifth grade. (Neighboring lockers, ahoy!) And he knew that I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t the slightest bit mean-spirited.

And kudos to him for taking, oh, five months to figure that out when we were 17. But alas, I was so beaten-down, beaten-up and just plain beaten that I didn’t even care. I admitted the things I did say. But I did tell him how they originally came out of my mouth.

Anyway, we had a long talk. And talked some more. I learned who Eve really was — she had a crush on my gay boyfriend and was truly just trying to get him to like her … by giving him gossip about one of his oldest friends.

But he didn’t want to disown her the way he’d disowned me. (The start of a pattern in his and my relationship.) He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, I guess for opening his eyes or some shit.

Alas, she quickly turned on HIM. SHE was the one who not walked but RAN away from her newfound friends. She never said a word to me ever again. And my friendship with my three other friends was rekindled for the next few months … enough to get me through high school.

He and I stayed friends till a few crazy things happened in college. I’m still not sure whether it was because he slept with my best friend … or I slept with HIS … that ended it all. But he shut me out once again and this time I said goodbye and good riddance.

I hear Eve ended up taking over her father’s funeral business. Which is a good thing, I think. She should NOT deal with the living. At least the dearly departed can’t repeat the fantastical shit that comes out of her head.

Anyhoodle, secrets ruined my senior year. Before that, I was very quiet. I was always writing, lest I say something out loud I couldn’t take back. And after being picked on my whole public-school life, I have more than the average amount of empathy for my fellow humans.

I KNEW I never said anything really bad because I don’t actually THINK anything that bad!

So, yeah. Secrets suck. So, even at the risk of TMI, I would rather share every detail of every story quickly and publicly. Have people gotten hurt? Sure. I didn’t want it that way. But the ones who know and love me understand that not one word was ever typed out of maliciousness.

Every entry on every page here is rooted back to my perception, my experience, my understanding and the feelings that were invoked/provoked in response to it.

Plus, every story is another clue into understanding human nature. By understanding my own, I “get” everyone else. I know I poke fun at my last two-headed hydra of an employer, and the merry band of miscreants before it. But hey, there are some powerful lessons in those goofy-ass stories.

Every one of them had the audacity to put me down and try to strip me of everything that made me special. I took it. I smiled. I cooperated. And I got walked the fuck all over.

I own it that I lost their respect by not standing up for myself every blessed time they knocked me down. And maybe it’s cowardly to lash out on the Internet. But even when they’re reading, they’re not listening. But so help me, if what they recognize in my words makes them treat just ONE employee better, then hallelujah.

So, that dream about my job? Yeah, it invoked buried memories of she whom I called the “Evel” one. Because, you know, I don’t care so much about being treated shabbily in the workplace. But, you know, none of yinz is a Dr. House.

I can take the crap if it means I’m going to become smarter and savvier. But when I can dance circles around toddlers, well, it’s a hollow victory to go every day without giving these yin-yangs the smackdown they so deserved.

I much prefer being at the big-kid table with all the biggest brains in the industry. And guess what, you miserable assholes? (I see your IP address. Hi!) They regard me as just as smart as they are. They don’t know who YOU are. They wouldn’t even let you SPEAK other than to laugh at you over cocktails later when you flounce off thinking you just dazzled them.

Every one of those bitches is just the grown-up version of Eve to me. I feel sorry for them all. But that is never, ever going to stop me from having the last laugh at every last one of them, because assaulting my character never gave them any.

Chocolate Bacon S’Mores and other delights

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I snuck out of the house yesterday. At age 36.

I have to do it every once in a while. It gives me new appreciation for the Ultra Extra Over-Extended Houseguest. I mean, full-time caregivers at least get the occasional night off or unsupervised grocery store run, right? It’s amazing what a little air will do.

I’ve tried to associate my leaving with “getting something in return.” If I go out, I always bring back dinner. (The chance of NOT eating dinner around here is around 86% any other day.) Or a souvenir, if it’s a longer trip. Anything to show that YOU BENEFIT when I unshackle my ankles for an hour.

Last night I went to a Meetup where one of the little villages was hosting a Wine and Art Walk. I located neither wine nor art, so that was quaint. Seriously, where was the wine-glass-decorating booth? Where were ANY vendors other than about a dozen steel-drum players? (And that rock cover band — Van Halen tunes still rock my world.)

One thing I’ve realized with this blog is that I don’t use it effectively anymore. Before I started getting stalked by a psycho nutjob, I used to review the restaurants and other activities that captured my attention. But I didn’t want him to know that I was lying when I pretended to be living (wherever).

My whole life revolved around Rockville, Md., my last two years in the D.C. area. So I reviewed restaurants EVERYWHERE ELSE. It was probably obvious, the omission. But I didn’t care — I didn’t want that crazy fucker showing up at my favorite haunts. (Oh Growlers and Dogfish Head Ale House, how I miss thee. …)

Even now, I’m fairly ambiguous about where I spend my time. Although, that’s mostly because I don’t want to play “Name That Employer.” I rather like being able to snipe at them with only my closest friends in the industry knowing to whom I’m referring.

Anyway, I’m coming out, since it’s Pride Weekend here and all. 🙂

Last night I went to Relish in Northwood Village. Although there was no free wine in the streets as promised, there was free beer … and the sample of Milk Stout by the Left Hand Brewing Company reeled me in.

OMG, can you say “orgasm,” boys and girls? It’s a sweeter Guinness without the double-pouring business. NOM.

I could have had four beers during the (long) wait for my food. And despite one of the items being MISSING from my order after the 35-minute wait to take it to-go (“to go” is synonymous for “doesn’t always ‘come with'”), I was going absolutely apeshit and didn’t bother checking the bag.

But … the Pear and Blue flatbread? To DIE for. The lamb burger with the tzatziki relish? Divine! (There are like eight types of burger, from chorizo to buffalo to lobster, and a couple dozen “relishes” you can choose for them.) The mahi-mahi with chimichurri wasn’t too shabby, either. And the polenta fries with rosemary-garlic salt were lovely.

Believe it or not, it’s hard to find somewhere “cool” to go down here. Everything’s overcrowded and overpriced. EV-ER-Y-THING. I didn’t notice it so much when I had a job, but now that I’m being careful with money again, it’s rather appalling. I mean, I’d rather take guests to the Keys than keep them here.

But this is making me get creative and find wonderful little nooks in the neighborhoods I otherwise just pass through. I mean, like in D.C., I still think the best food I ever got there was at this dive of a Chinese place called Ho King. (Ask me why I was attracted to the name. lol)

Don’t get me wrong — if I went to D.C. today, my ass would be at CoCo Sala tonight. (Or Matchbox. I do love the Penn Quarter area best.) But that was for friend nights, for special occasions, for splurges.

Most of the time, though, it was just me (usually leaving work at an unreasonable hour), so I had to find my favorite cheap places. And I have yet to find a Five Guys that was better than the one by the Northern Virginia Community College.

I miss the peanut shells on the ground there. That place was dirty and tiny and awesome. We have Five Guys in Florida, but they are all so very pristine. If they offer peanuts (and there are about 30 signs warning you about nut allergies), you get a little paper dish for them. Don’t go littering shells on the floors down here, yo. God, I miss NoVa. 🙂

I just got an e-mail from Kimpton Hotels with insanely good D.C. rates. I think it’s time for a pilgrimage back to the mother land. I miss my friends … my urban-tribe family. I hate myself that I didn’t spend enough time with them. Shit, one of them just moved to New York and another is in Charleston. And two more are in Arizona!

Sigh. Anyway, although Relish forgot the Extra-Terrestrial Being from Outer Space’s sea-salt fries, I still love them. They are friendly and sweet and the place has a great vibe. What I loved best was that there was no line to add a tip on the receipt.

The gal in line behind me asked why there was no line for the tip. Which just goes to show HOW FUCKING MUCH MONEY PEOPLE HAVE TO WASTE HERE.

The cashier cheerfully said that they don’t want tips; they would rather you tell your friends how much you loved it there.

And THAT, my friends, is the way it should be. Not like the asshole at the local Chinese dump who almost spit on my receipt when he examined it and realized NO TIP FOR YOU. For what — steaming some vegetables, which took 25 minutes? Please. For that kind of wait, give me a damn Milk Stout and let me people-watch, like I can at Relish. 😉

So anyway, I’m telling my friends — you’ll love Relish. And if you get the Chocolate Bacon S’Mores (just $20 for a two-person serving), let me know how they are so I can treat my next out-of-town guests to that goodness. …

Palm Beach sunset

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love that little mobile. I picked it up for two bucks in Key West. Makes a lovely sound when the winds are fierce, like they have been the past few days.

It hasn’t felt like it’s been 91 degrees (which it has), thanks to the gale-force winds. Seriously, can a house drop on an evil witch and give me something to smile about, please?

An old colleague had a baby last night. I didn’t even know she was pregnant, although we did commiserate via Twitter a few months back how the moments after peeing on a stick are the longest of your life. I just didn’t have any idea that, while mine was negative, hers wasn’t. 😉

I give her credit, too, because I think she’s doing this on her own. (Her daughter? So friggin’ kyoot!) For all my, ah, promiscuity of years past and rebellion against family and tradition, I have to say that I probably would have had some spawn by now, were I in a functional relationship.

Lord — ME, traditional? *faints*

But yeah, when I inadvertently found myself in the “family” way almost exactly a decade ago, I thought about doing it on my own. For a minute. But really, even though I wasn’t ready to get married, I would have been willing if it were a two-person tag-team operation.

Unfortunately, the only person stepping up to the challenge was my mother, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be around every minute of every day. (Hah. Sometimes I wonder whether my current living situation is my eternal punishment for that.)

Alas, here we are a decade later. And I would be lying if I said I weren’t jealous of my friend. I am happy for her and happier still that I am not the one with the diaper and burp-cloth budget. But I would also be lying if I claimed I didn’t want the whole “happy family” thing. You know, with an awesome dude and a toddler-sized kid rather than a 53-year-old one.

I was thinking back to the years I was in social work, how I hated the fact that we were putting kids in kinship care … throwing them right into the fucked-up family lives that ruined their birthparents in the first place. Now, I’m eye-witness to the fact that parents who screwed up actually make for excellent grandparents. But I really resented being forced to seek funding for parenting classes for incarcerated birth moms when I was far more worried that the children were going to turn out like their parents thanks instead to their grandparents.

I’m not saying my mom is bad. But the same family situation that I FLED in 1992 is what I live daily now. Minus three other generations crammed into a rowhouse a fraction the size of my apartment, but still. Close quarters with people sharing your air doesn’t breed much beyond resentment.

But in thinking a bit about my grandmother, I remember more of the good things. She adored Elizabeth Taylor. ADORED. She owned her Passion perfume set. (I never liked it.) But then when Dame Elizabeth released her White Diamonds, my grandmother immediately bought me a bottle … which I LOVED.

I’ve since become a perfume connoisseur like my grandmother, because of that. And in my grandmother’s memory, I donated to the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation today.

Anyway, I don’t know where the hell this entry is going. First from babies, to families, to grandparents, to perfume and to fatal illnesses. Hm. Looks like a typical five minutes inside my brain. 🙂

I guess I’m telling the universe, in no uncertain terms, that I want more. A good man. Another residence for the extra-terrestrial being from outer space. A loving home. A cute dog. Money enough for classy perfumes. Non-batshit paycheck providers. And serene sunsets that precede peaceful evenings and even-prettier sunrises to which I can look forward.

Plus, happiness enough that if any of the above is missing, I won’t even notice.

Palm Beach sunset

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Just blogging solely because I like this photo. No other reason. I mean, really, what could have POSSIBLY happened in the eight hours since I last blogged? 😉

DSCN2092

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I took a bunch of sunset photos tonight. I never really use my zoom lens but damn, it was worth it.

I can’t figure out what the objects are that are blocking the sun. I imagine they’re either billboards or the standard dueling signs that point you toward 95 north or south. Miami or West Palm Beach? Either way, the roads are filled with old people and foreigners, but there’s always room for you. 🙂

I’ve been super-emotional today. (Every sentence in this entry starts with “I.” Deal with it.) Perhaps it’s because I’ve forgotten my meds for a few days. Or else it must be *that* time of the month, which I don’t even calendar anymore because I got hit with four cycles at once, then nothing for two months, and now who the fuck knows.

I’ve had a weird week. It’s been busy but it hasn’t *felt* busy. The past two weeks were exhausting and aggravating, to say the least. But this week has downright flown. As a dear friend reminded me, I’m a hard worker at heart, and it’s not really work when you’re not clock-watching every 10 minutes on the nose. (Thank you for that reminder. I needed it!)

The freelance job I love is trying to budget to bring me on full-time. God willing, that will happen. I don’t know that I’ll let the other stuff go, or let it go right away, but it’s the first time in a long time that I didn’t accept a job offer and go throw up and ask God to, please for the love of You, let me have chosen right.

The extra-terrestrial being told me, yet again, how MEAN I am today. She said, five minutes ago, “Can we go get a roll of paper towels?” And I said, simply, “No.”

Now, her car works just fine and I know I have a dollar in my wallet if she wants it. But I just wasn’t in the mood for a field trip at 7:55 p.m. Especially since I still haven’t gotten to Apple for my software upgrade. And that’s a good half-hour drive away. And did I mention I look like the Wreck of the Hesperus?

Yeah. Just because *someone* curled her hair and put on makeup 10 hours ago, as she does every day, in hopes that I would offer to take her for a ride doesn’t mean everyone else has anything more than a scrubbed butt. (And we’re under a water-conservation warning. The Intracoastal Waterway that you see in the photo? I could WALK across and barely get my calves wet.)

Anyhoodle, showering is about all I manage to do these days. I have a tan, my hair is almost pure blonde, and I really don’t much care about anything else. Where is there to go when you’re conserving money?

While I was out trying to take photos, of course the local poltergeist came out to haunt me. She has all damn day to sit on the balcony, but of course she waits till the two times I run out for fresh air. (I’m out of smokes, so fresh air it is.)

I got called “mean” outside when she told me to zoom in my camera on the man she’s declared to be my “husband” as he was at the communal grill. I said Jesus H, woman. I never want to be around anyone I date 24/7, 4 weeks a month, 12 months a year and five years and counting like I am around her. Who the hell would want to be near me when they have to have her surgically attached to my other hip? Christ, I don’t want to spend this much time with people I LIKE, you know?

She declared she’s pleasant, unlike me. I informed her she’s unbearable, incorrigible and passive-aggressive. 🙂

I am at that point where, if someone put a gun and one single bullet in my hand, it would be a HARD decision whether to use it on her, find my ex-boss’ evil sidekick (I’d say that’s the brains of the operation but it’s more like the least-useful opinion with the loudest voice), or aim at my own temple. Really, it’s a toss-up.

What brings me joy, though, is the fact that the cat refuses to clean her ass and insists on scooching her filthy crack all over the houseguest’s white sheets. (Which overjoys me, until the houseguest whines as she did just now, “You hate me that much? You’re mean!”)

In any event, with my beloved cat’s shitty (ahem) hygiene, it shows God really does love me after all. So maybe I’ll put down the hypothetical gun and just get my little kicks on Florida State Road 806. (Where the hell is that, anyway?)

Ah, well. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I’ve got lots of work to do this weekend, and I’m marching in the local gay parade. (Hoo-RAY, Sweetie!)

Christ, if that’s what it takes to get me out of the house, I will take it. Sign me up for every damn event parading through this one-whore town!

Hmm.

I was thinking about how much I hate working in general, and I attribute it to being forced to “make a living.”

And while I have a couple of project going, right now there’s really only one I enjoy. Perhaps it’s because the work comes easily to me. And perhaps THAT is because I’ve spent years learning the exact stuff that they need (and pay) me to know.

I was even thinking about billing another client less because I haven’t been able to give them the time commitment I agreed to. Which I could compensate for easily by doing a kickass job (and putting in the hours, well, after hours). But meh. I’m undecided there.

I do want to kick my own ass for that — I need to work my butt off now to prepare for leaner times, right? For when the next idiot employer wakes up with their tampon in the wrong hole and decides that my cheerful face has to go. And believe me, nobody likes scrimping and praying for the next check any less than I do.

But it lies in the new debate in my head, making a living versus making a LIFE.

Now, I really should be trying to make every available dime now if I expect to make a life. I get that. But I’ve sacrificed so much quality of life over the years — whether intentionally or circumstantially — that I’m just pretty much over spending any portion of my day feeling like I’m in prison or simply pandering for a paycheck I know I’m more than worthy of receiving.

Things have been challenging at home these past few days. I keep hearing how mean and nasty and snippy and horrible and terrible and hateful and awful I am. And sure, I have my moments. But as I finally exploded today, does the houseguest really think she’s a fucking joy to live with? Am I supposed to be honored to be the one responsible with keeping a roof over her head for the rest of her life? When do I get a goddamn break already?

And she was most floored at me asking for a break. (Good. Lord.) I said come on already — this is like an arranged marriage. Who the fuck is supposed to spend this much time with anyone, let alone someone they never chose to?

(It’s an ongoing debate over choice here — she always says I told her I “wanted her.” OMG, kill kill kill. And if I did, which hah, did I sign up for five years to life? It’s a sentence, not a choice.)

Like, right now, I need to go to Apple to pick up some software. I could order it but my landlady keeps my packages hostage and loses them. (I love it here.) So I could order online or else I could take the ride. But I have to report my whereabouts at all times, and wait till Princess gets ready because she won’t leave the house without me on her own. And if I go somewhere, I have an instant co-pilot, whether I want one or not.

Reminds me of when I was a kid. I was never allowed to stay at home alone. Even when I was 18. I always got dragged alone for the ride.

It also occurs to me that I have been providing for myself — housing, clothing, food, etc. — since I was 18. My houseguest has never paid rent a day in her life, and she tells me I’m mean when I say I need a week off from having her underfoot. Nice, eh?

Anyway, I know too many people with misplaced tampons (or sticky-side-up maxi pads — I never could tell which was their particular problem) read this and get overjoyed at my misery. But damn, I’m actually sitting here NOT going to the store because I don’t want to make it another fucking family event, like every minute of every day already is.

I don’t WANT to be mean, or exasperated, or whatever the adjective of the day is. I want to be happy. Or, at least, not disgusted and frustrated and fucking suicidal. Seriously, I am planning to get a tattoo (of Bon Jovi, of course) since every day is so painful and I’d like to have ONE of those days result in something artistic and lovely.

Anyway, I can’t have work be a stressor right now. I never wanted it to be. And it surprises the fuck out of me that one of my jobs is a fucking joy to behold. I hope my contract gets renewed at that one. I really do. I’m actually trying to find ways to do extra stuff there, as opposed to killing myself to produce the bare minimum in other places.

Not that I want to rely on one income stream. We already learned where that leads you. God forbid you have talent and drive and ambition and ability when people just don’t happen to like you because you’re not as miserable and marginally talented (i.e., at canning people) as they are. I never dreamed I’d find myself out of a job. Seriously. How goddamn stupid ARE people?

Anyway, it’s forced me to focus on making a living. But with that crisis averted (for now), I want the life part. I don’t want anything else that stresses me out like bad jobs and worse home lives do. I know it’s not like I survived a tsunami or anything like that, but haven’t I endured enough … at least for now?

My dear friend SilverBlue said something on Facebook last night that I not only retweeted, but I want to repeat here for future reference.

It was that if others would spend more time improving their own performance than telling others how they can improve theirs, so much more would get done.

Made me think of the Ghandi quote that you must be the change you want to see in the world. Good point.

Don’t get me wrong — if you can help people to achieve their goals (or the company’s goals because isn’t that what makes the world go ’round? Who gives a shit about your goals?), it’s your job to help them.

Otherwise, it’s like hiring someone as an editor, then getting mad when they spend 75% of their time focused on improving the editorial and educating the writers so they turn in better copy in the first place. And then getting madder that your list of unrelated goals that the person was never equipped to handle, and that you don’t INTEND to equip the person to handle, doesn’t get achieved according to your vision or on your time schedule.

Not that THAT has ever happened to me. Oh, no. 😉

And I *never* wondered about others’ contributions unless they reported to me. But now that I think about it, WTF *did* other people contribute other than a demonic presence that feasts on souls?

Ahem.

Same thing happens to me at home. I’ve been doing fine with the houseguest, despite being together 24/7 for the past three months. But yesterday I just wanted to kill myself. Because it’s another case of someone being so focused on what I’m doing (or what I’m NOT doing, or not doing RIGHT) to help them that I thought, hey, maybe if you focus on your shit and I focus on mine, I won’t be in a bad mood all the time. How about that?

Yeah, keep dreaming. That’s like waiting for people to pull their head out of their butts and get their priorities straight in the office. Never dreamed I’d get canned for improving editorial and mentoring staff. But hey, now I spend my days immersed in writing, so life has gone on just peachily.

Anyway, I figure God stepped in when it came to saving my career. He’s welcome anytime He wants to contribute to the home situation. Meanwhile, I’m just using everything I’ve ever experienced and channeling it into a book series.

The funny thing about my book series is that a ton of stuff I wrote as early as 1988 has come true, like I predicted the future or destiny really does manifest itself. So last night in my notes, I killed off a whole bunch of asshole characters at fairly young (like 40-ish) ages. Is it too optimistic to keep an eye on the obituaries just for fun? 😉