Caterwauling

Balls

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So I went to the doctor yesterday. And hoo boy, was my BP over-the-top. I think the first number was like 180 over 210 or something.

The funny part was, I don’t get nervous at doctor’s appointments, beyond that moment where they run the debit card to take the co-pay, of course.

It’s kind of a funny story if you’re into seeing me in anguish. (Which, you know who you are. *waves*) They took my pressure probably four times and WOULD NOT LET ME DRIVE HOME until it was at a reasonable level.

The funny part was that it was probably the only non-pregnancy-related panic attack at any gynecologist’s office in all the lands!

Oh, but wait. There’s more!

So, they stuck me in a room to CHILL THE FUCK OUT. And, oh, FORGOT ABOUT ME.

Yep, my doctor got called out to deliver a baby. So about an hour goes by and someone sticks her head in like, O HAI, yeah, your doctor left. And I hadn’t even gotten my schmear yet!

*thunk*

All told, a 10-minute appointment clocked in at about two and a half hours. Maybe it was three. I totally lost count.

But wait, there’s more!

Went to close out my savings account right after that. And went into a hysterical laughing fit as the cashier handed me CHANGE. My savings was in COINS. I know it’s not funny, but I’ll let you know where I end up spending my 67 cents!

One of my beloved readers gently reminded me to start using the Law of Attraction already and quit attracting bad upon bad. I’ll do my best to shove a ray of sunshine up my butt next week, I promise!

Actually, the good news is that I forgot to eat for a couple of days. Whee cigarettes and coffee — down four pounds without even trying!

See? I can be positive! C’mon universe, let’s call this the beginning of a great streak and keep it up!

Edge of the World

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Today’s headline was stolen from last week’s newsletter from my old church in Maryland. And after a week of practically mainlining old anti-anxiety pills I’d stashed in the freezer for such an occasion, I realize that what matters ISN’T all this.

What matters is that I end up in Key West (pictured, Garmin-style) or thereabouts. That I don’t have to panic about money even though I’m working my ass off. That I don’t have to deal with people who think they “know editorial” because they took an English class.

I want to write books, damn it. Fictional, beach-reading novels and leadership non-fiction. And I want to trade. I mean, I know a whole lot about the markets and every conceivable strategy to make money from them. All I need is money to get started!

I have a very tiny sum stashed aside as my emergency fund. And when anybody asks me for a “hot stock tip,” I tell them not to trade with money they can’t live without. And this month, I have to bust open my iddy biddy widdle nest egg to pay the rent.

One could argue that, sure, I could have invested that money and it would have been worth twice what it is. Or, seeing how the markets are in a downward spiral and have been since August (and will be until the Eurozone gets its finances in check), I could have had nothing to fall back on except homelessness and broken dreams … dreams that already have been slimmed down like a fat girl on a diet.

I agonized a lot this week. Worked my ass cheek off. WORRIED my other ass cheek off. Lost a lot of water weight in tears. Replaced that lost water weight with Guinness. 😉

Yesterday I had to walk away and have a damn weekend. It was glorious. Today it’s back to the digital salt mines, but there’s a reason why God wants us to rest. It’s called perspective, and getting some.

A friend asked me the other night what I’d do with myself if I hit the lottery. That’s easy. Get a car that isn’t a rattling deathtrap, buy a house in the Keys, sign up as a foster parent and start trading and either prove everybody right who thinks I’m good, or lose my risk capital and have to go back to work.

I’ve been in contact with a lot of key people in my field this week. And at a time when I’m feeling low because my editing ability came into question (I know, right?), it feels good to have the ear of key CEOs and executive VPs all over the country.

Anyway, to answer the question of what’s important to me, really, I want a job I love and a regular paycheck. I want to trade or do freelance on the side so I’m not worried what happens if the job goes away. I want my mom to be healthy and happy so I don’t have to worry about her as much. And I want to live in a place that brings me more joy than nightmares.

I’d say those are the beginnings of a life plan, right there.

Two nights ago, I had the best dream. I had sat down in a restaurant, looked to my left, and saw my grandfather waving at me. I had enough sense in my head to jump up and hug him and tell him how much I love him.

I awoke shortly afterward. I said a little prayer, thanking God for the dream and for being present in it enough to hug him. I haven’t dreamed of him since he left us five years ago. This was good. I was happy. I also thanked God for taking care of him, my grandmother (it was her birthday, oddly enough), my great-grandma and my kitty.

Today when my alarm went off (at 5 a.m. I’ve been working for 12 hours and have a couple more to go), it was a different story today. I was startled, scared and sick. I had a premonition that I immediately told my mom about when she woke up.

The premonition came true just a couple hours later.

I was just typing the other day about hideous, evil, awful people that “You don’t deserve what you have, but you’ll deserve what you get.” Well, I must be burning off a firey fuckball of bad karma, because today should have been victorious, but it all went *poof* in seconds.

I know life isn’t fair. But allow me a few minutes of pity party here. I try SO HARD. I am as good a person as I can be, and certainly better than most. And it really chaps mah coochie when everybody else is at least appearing to be doing so much better.

I wrote an blog awhile back on trade-offs. Like, I really want to go murder the Evil Landlady for all the repairs she gleefully ignores. But I can’t be kicked out because I don’t have a job to go get a new place. Or any money to pay for it, for that matter. *arches eyebrow*

I cried most of today. And I just finally canceled my Weight Watchers membership. I thanked them for the success and the couple good years they gave me. But oh well. Maybe some other time I’ll get to take care of me again. Load up the Waaaaahhhhmbulance.

Right now I’m in the rut of “college and working hard really DOESN’T mean success, but thanks though!”

God, I know You pick people like me to test us. And I know Your kingdom will be way nicer than this rathole that I’m grateful to have because a leaky roof is better than NONE AT ALL. It’s just … I felt like I had my joy, that no one or nothing could take it away. And today, I can’t seem to find it where I left it last.

I know I pride myself on not asking much of the universe. But maybe if I did, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I get shortchanged.

#SadPanda

I was planning to write a three-part “syndrome” series with our office archetypes. You met Helpful Horvath, the grand master of creating churn. And Snooki, the person who has no patience for you from before the moment you open your mouth, but is so integral to the company that you just have to find ways to please or otherwise avoid him or her.

My third one, well, I haven’t named yet. Because I still don’t actually know that every company has one of these. I pray they don’t. I really do.

First, let me say this. I write all of my blogs “to” Rockville, Md. Whenever I fire up my dashboard, I think of my beloved friend Vitamin D and I guess I appeal to her — for laughs, for nods, for approval.

I’ve been envisioning telling her the story I want to tell all of you. And all I can hear is her saying, “Ay yi yi!” Because there is nothing else to say.

I had occasion to talk to someone I don’t normally cross paths with. I wouldn’t say I’ve wronged anyone in this field (fun-poking blog entries notwithstanding) but there are folks I just avoid because an ex-employer got custody of them in the divorce.

Plus, I had a lot of hurt to overcome. You may see a lot more forgiveness in my recent entries; that’s because the burden just got too heavy to keep dragging through the desert, you know? I’ve grieved; I’ve moved on. I’m a vocationally single girl. Party time!

Anyway, let’s just say my eyes got themselves opened. And I find myself at a sadly familiar crossroads, where I either choose to lose all faith in humanity or simply kick myself for being so trusting YET AGAIN.

Seriously, you’d think I’d learn.

So of course it occurs to me to blog about it, to help me make sense of it. Which is pretty hard nowadays because everybody knows everybody in my world. So that’s out.

The thing is, there are lies and misdeeds, and then there’s just plain “asking for it.” And in my field, you have to have a caste system for bad behavior, because it’s so rampant.

However, I can pretty much forgive professional backstabbing. (See how jaded I really am?) But it’s when people start making it personal that really puts a bug square up my butt.

Now, I say this as the same asshole who nicknames people who make me mad. But I imagine any therapist in the world would tell you this beats actually doing something regrettable.

I say all of this because I take my relationships very seriously. Where I’ve failed romantically, I’ve succeeded professionally. I have many long-term relationships that I cherish. Even if we only go on a “date” occasionally, I expect honesty and loyalty and that I’m still talking to the same person every time we connect.

Garrr, I feel like I’m digging myself deeper into this abyss. So, I’m going to forget naming this archetype, in favor of this:

1. I have enough to answer for when I get to heaven. I’d like to see my friends when I get there. If you’re not going to be there with me, I really don’t need to associate with you here.

2. I’m disappointed. Irrevocably so.

3. You don’t deserve what you have, but you will deserve what you get.

I’m not going to lose what makes me “me” because of “you.” But you have lost “me” and if that doesn’t speak volumes about “you,” I don’t know what would.

Roach-mopolitan

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I came to an awful conclusion last week, that the office archetype I call “Snooki” exists everywhere.

No, I don’t mean the “Jersey Shore” chick herself. But my “Snooki Syndrome” is named after someone I once knew who wore her hair that way. She had some good qualities, but I was mostly only acquainted with the ones that escalated my anxiety.

And yes, I’m an asshole. Rather than stand up to these people, I cope by giving them nicknames. Because, you know, a girl’s gotta feel like she’s got some modicum of control over a situation!

You know the type — that person who is just so no-nonsense … tells you straight out that she doesn’t care a whit about you or what makes you YOU … doesn’t necessarily think she’s smarter than everyone else so much as she just IS because she has experience none of y’all don’t and therefore she is automagically above you … and you decide that your No. 1 job responsibility is keeping that person happy or, at least, doing what you can to stay off her radar.

Not pointing fingers. *hands in pockets* Just, observing a very familiar and long-running pattern.

I got to thinking about all these yahoos on Capitol Hill, who whip out their dicks on Twitter or in men’s rooms or what the fuck ever. They take the easy way out by resigning. (Thank you, Anthony Weiner, for giving up your seat and the voters replacing you with a REPUBLICAN in the most Democratic district in the nation’s history. YOU FUCKING SUCK.)

But all these goofballs make a comeback. Maybe they’re not restored to their former glory, but they get their extra 15 minutes on the fame clock when the rest of us don’t get our FIRST 15. (Unless it’s pounds. Got those!)

I guess what I’m saying-but-not is that I don’t want to play anymore. I want to make up my own rules. Everybody else’s rules suck.

I’m sick of Snooki incarnations everywhere. I’m sick of that violent burning pit in my stomach that every meeting is just an opportunity for public excoriation. (Had my first 10 years ago; haven’t had my last, I’m sure.) That dodging the bullet one day or week doesn’t mean you’re wonderful or worthy but, rather, you didn’t fuck up enough to be on the radar this time but HOO BOY you can bet your sweet poohnani that your time is a-comin’!

I want to be pushed to be better. There are just ways not to do it. It is said that the typical Gemini will hold a grudge forever. While there is a grain of truth to this, I would prefer to call it “guarding the flanks.” Cross me once, I will be nice to you, but I will NEVER let my guard down again.

I would never wish to be embroiled in a Washington-type scandal. But at least it would be DIFFERENT, you know? I don’t do well with stress and it’d probably kill me. But I’d like to see one of those scandalized actually put their heads down and WORK THROUGH IT. It’s too easy to say, “Gee, I did something stupid. I apologize to my spouse. I am entering rehab. And I am going to give up my career because I was dumb enough to take a picture of my dick and put it on the Internet.”

Maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe I just wish I had an excuse to light the whole thing on fire and walk away from the smoking pile of uneasiness and try ANYTHING else.

Goodbye career as we know it. Certainly, goodbye roach-infested Amityville. (That’s my next rent check, by the way. Mom designed me a whole series to piss off the Evil Landlady!) Goodbye everything that isn’t working. Which, is JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING.

I’m not unhappy; more just struggling with illusions that things would be different. I don’t think I’ve ever taken the easy way out. Is that the option I’ve been missing all these years?

I don’t know what the secret is to finally arriving at a different (happy) ending. If you know it, do share.

My family had its own weird vernacular for a lot of things. That’s probably why I made the written word my absolute passion, as I had to unlearn a whole lot of incorrect stuff. Although, I have to give them credit for teaching me about the Wreck of the Hesperus. I think I won a Trivial Pursuit game with that one. 😉

Anyway, we have a syndrome in the family whereby someone is what we call, not so affectionately, “Helpful Horvath.” That’s the person who seeks to point out something either obvious or useless or a combination thereof.

If you’re in any kind of environment that involves other people trying to show how much smarter they are than you, you’ve encountered this character. My favorite is when they catch something and put it in an e-mail that’s cc’d to exactly the people you DON’T want to know either that there’s a mistake or room for improvement.

Most times, they are just a waste of oxygen. Other times, they create an uproar where none should have even existed. Because, you know, that thing you did right that you were told to do is now up for scrutiny and discussion.

Helpful Horvath often escapes looking dumb in these scenarios. After all, THEY are looking out for the company’s best interests, yes? And you’re just the jagoff who “missed” a detail. Guess who always gets the gold star? (Hint: It ain’t you!)

I have a problem with authority in general, unless there is some amount of kindness and mentoring involved. But HH is always No. 2 on my poop list.

Of course, you can sit back and wait for the day that their act gets annoying to people other than you. That’s always fun. At some point, the people who are SO glad for those extra eyes and ears realize that the rest of us who just quietly work and fix our errors without fanfare are the good children … the ones who are seen and not heard.

Don’t get me wrong — everybody needs an independent pair of eyes. But if you’re not ASKED to lend them, prepared to have them poked out, Stooges-style!

Harvest moon

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My weekend took place from exactly 12:34 p.m. yesterday till 7:02 a.m. today. I was also awake the previous night with panic attacks (that were unrelated to 9/11). And even though I just had coffee, I have officially hit a wall. *thunk*

Today was a good day. (So, of course, was yesterday. Thanks to those who made it possible!) We need a bunch more of these and a whole lot fewer of the prior seven days around these parts.

I’m having a weird time adjusting to working with people who are fine with blogs and social media, and who follow me there. That means I can’t fire off a cryptic status update that coincides with the time stamp of a received e-mail. Damn! 😉

Of course, I’m also re-learning my place in the (albeit home-based) workplace. I hate meetings more than anything else on earth. But give me a never-ending e-mail chain that’s cc’d to four of your six e-mail addresses, and toss in multiple status calls to boot, and I’d take a regular face-to-face meeting any old day of the week. (Just not EVERY day of the week!)

I found an old note to myself from the job I loved the most. And it reminded me that there is no such thing as a job that doesn’t invoke fantastical images of crime scenes and me grinning wildly while wielding a bloodied butcher knife.

I can still remember what made me write this simple note:

8/24/05

“Coming off the I-270 ramp today, I lost my shit. I emitted several wracking sobs. Oh, God.

“Well, at least, it took eight months. At my last job, it was about two months in that I got violently ill every single morning. And there, it never really abated.

“I’ll be OK. This too shall resolve itself. I refuse to concede defeat. Damn it.”

That was the last entry in that particular journal, which still has a good 200 pages that have remained empty all these years.

Things did get better, thanks for asking. It really was just a bad run. Not like other places where the milk turned sour and everyone continued force-feeding you the curdled crap till your soul died and you had to grab the paddles to muster up just enough life in you to leave.

I feel like I needed to see that note right now. I think it reminded me that you see relatively the same cast of characters everywhere. And that I needed to return to my roots for a minute to remember who I was, and what my goals were. Which is simply to smile, keep going, rack up as much experience as I can and always try to be A better person, if not THE better person, whenever possible.

I’m still looking to God about what to do next. But that’s what’s different this time around. I’m not digging in my heels and making it work if it kills me. If it does, then great. If not, the world doesn’t end. It never did, and it won’t if I don’t let it.

Washington National Cathedral

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So this blog is just a few months shy of turning 10 years old. And with another 10-year anniversary happening, oh, on Sunday, I’m in retrospective mode.

I wrote about That Day on the three-year anniversary. No need to rehash any of it here. Suffice it to say that I was in a contentious meeting for a miserable job. And when I heard a plane had crashed near Pittsburgh, I was hopeful that my building would be hit, too.

A decade later, I’ve seen a lot more of the world. But after a truly aggravating week, I’m not overly sure I’m in that much of a better place.

The 37-year-old me would approve of the 27-year-old me’s decision to leave Pittsburgh and move to Washington, D.C. I don’t know that I’d do it today. Sure, I’m always game to cross state lines, but to move eight miles from the Pentagon that had just been hit by a plane? Strikes me as something more fit for the “young” me.

I was just watching a 9/11 retrospective, since those are OH SO in abundance right now. I used to feel so helpless watching the news coverage … like I needed to DO something or BE there. Now that I’ve met plenty of people who either lost family members there, who inhaled so much smoke that their lungs won’t support them for a long lifetime, and who spent so much time providing therapy and other health services to first responders that they themselves are damaged for life, meh. I’m OK in Florida, far away from anyplace that anyone would want to attack. (Other than the parking lot of the farmer’s market. Damn old people and their lethal walkers and Cadillacs!)

I don’t have the death wish I did back then. But I was at least dating and having lots of sex (admittedly not all of it GOOD), so 27 was a better year in that regard. 😉 Of course, I felt like there had to be something more out there. But, what?

I don’t know that moving to D.C. was the answer. But at least it was momentum, you know? If I was going to die somewhere, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be stuck in Pittsburgh.

Of course, I got to D.C. in early 2002 … and we got smacked with the whole sniper debacle. And I hated that job so much that, just like I prayed for death in that hideous meeting in Pittsburgh, I begged any spirits who would listen to bring the sniper to my job and wipe out the executive management team in their special designated parking spaces under the building.

Oddly enough, we DID have sharpshooters parked on the highrise next door. At our prime location on I-395, our office area seemed a natural place for those crazy mofos to take a rest, fuel up and sleep in their car for the night at the soon-to-be-abandoned Bennigan’s in our backyard.

Ah, Benny’s. *swoon* Lots of good drunken fun there. God bless that place.

(In case there is any doubt, I’m inebriated while typing this. Because I don’t want some sappy stupid memorial to this event. Not on this page. It just isn’t right.)

I’m using this pic of the National Cathedral because I consider D.C. my home. I always will. Just like only I can talk shit about my momma, I don’t take kindly to anyone attacking my adopted motherland. The cathedral had some damage after the recent earthquake, and it felt like a small fault line formed through my heart when that happened.

There’s been some discussion online today about what 9/11 would have been like had we had today’s social media tools.

And while I wish the victims would have had access to as many ways as possible to say goodbye to their families — as the Internet was a mess and cell service was near-nonexistent that day — I think we had enough grotesque images in our minds and on our TVs to scar us for life. We knew. We KNOW. We always will.

I don’t know that I would have left Pittsburgh without 9/11 reminding me that I had a whole life left ahead of me to lead. In the same vein, I would never have left D.C. had a friend (age 27. Go figure) not died of an aneurysm and reminded me that I might as well have been dead, the way I was living my life at the time.

Right now, I still have a stressful work burden. I still worry about money. I still can’t please everybody. I still walk on eggshells most of the time and try to just be pleasing.

Of course, this week, I found myself irritated every day from Monday through Thursday. And I dropped my “pleasing” mask, for the most part. God I am so tired. I am truly a thousand years old spiritually. I am too old for this shit anymore. I really am.

My hero right now is Carol Bartz, the ousted Yahoo! CEO. I feel just like her, getting screwed absolutely all over the place. And I love her because she didn’t take it like a man. She didn’t smile and thank everybody for feeding her a shit sandwich. She announced her exit on her own terms and called that merry band of “doofuses” by name. I tip my hat to her. At some point you just get tired of moving your panties aside so everyone can fuck you dry.

I’m not commemorating this anniversary with anything else than watching a Steelers game at a high school friend’s mom’s house. We’ll celebrate her son’s third birthday and I won’t let my mind wander too far back to where I was. But I don’t think I will ever stop looking for what I’m supposed to do “next” with my life.

It’s funny. For all the frequent-flier miles and passport stamps and souvenir postcards from dozens upon dozens of cities that are in my collection, I just don’t feel like I’ve gotten far enough from where 27-year-old Goddess was. On the other hand, I don’t think I would even know her if I met her on the street today.

One thing I do know is that I’m tired of running, only to keep ending up the same place and not even burning one damn calorie from the adventure!

“Last night me and Kate we laid in bed
talking about getting out
Packing up our bags maybe heading south
I’m 35, we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said son take a good look around
This is your hometown.”

— Bruce Springsteen, “My Hometown”

Life on the Gulf

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’m beginning to think that God puts certain things into my life to cause me to pray more. Well, looks like He got His wish.

If I EVER have another week like this one, who knows what will happen.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, indeed.

What happens when what you’ve been waiting for is here, and all you want to do is give it back?

Dear God,

Amen.