Caterwauling

As a dear friend turns 28 for the 13th time today, I am going to take a break from my self-induced delirium wherein to deal with reality for just a moment. Because, let’s face it, my whole “gang” is turning THAT AGE en masse and, well …

IT SUCKS.

We’re all pushing *cough* a multiple of four *cough* and life is not what any of us anticipated. I mean, that in and of itself is to be expected. But I don’t think any of us knew how hard it would be.

This isn’t an era where you get a job and stick with it and expect to have a comfortable retirement.

This isn’t even an era where, if you give your heart and soul to your job, you’ll even be on the payroll a year from now. I never thought *I* would get cut after a lifetime of performance. I still can’t quite feel secure after that happened.

This isn’t an era where creativity or dedication means much. It’s all about who produces the most and costs the least — bonus points if you fit both bills at once.

This isn’t an era where you take for granted Christmas parties and bonuses.

This isn’t an era where you take for granted gifts. If you’re lucky enough to have a roof over your head for the next month, you’re lucky enough. If you have a tree, even better. Presents under that tree? Whoa, there. Don’t get all crazy now!

This isn’t an era where you can finance a car or a house or, in my case, even a laptop without — if not “BEING DENIED”, then being terrified that your ass is gonna get shitcanned and you’ll be stuck upside-down in a loan your hopeful self shouldn’t have been delusional enough to take.

This isn’t an era when “graduated student loan payments” doesn’t invoke fear and regret that you didn’t contribute a little more while you could because you might not be able to pay anything at all, three months from now.

This isn’t an era for fidelity — relationships, work, friends, anything. Everybody’s got their eye on something or someone else. When it comes to work, you kind of HAVE to have a backup plan to your backup plan. It naturally bleeds over into other matters of the heart. What if the only way to get what we want, including security, is to spread out our risk, like we do in the stock market?

This isn’t an era for falling in love or paying for weddings or having kids or working toward the dreams you’ve cobbled together over the years — and, for many of us, lost sight of. Who can worry about falling in love when you’re staring at budgets — work and personal — all day and not making ends meet within the county limits?

I really try not to dwell on the negative. But if someone wants my heart — work or personal — tell me it’s going to be OK and make me believe it. I know there are no guarantees but I’ll take anything more than this.

O, she of little faith. What’s it going to take to make her believe again?

My day started out looking like it would be easy. After I managed to get through last week with my clean homicide record intact, I probably shouldn’t have asked for more work. But I did and now I’m happily buried as usual.

I forgot my gratitude journal under my pillow and I wish I had it nearby. It’s been helping me immensely. Today I am thankful for my pretty Christmas tree, lunch with a friend, health insurance to go to the doctor on Thursday and pretty much choices as far as the eye can see.

As for the health one, I called a new doctor’s office for my annual “well woman” visit. And was floored when they said, “Are you male or female?” Not just because I don’t SOUND manly, but because I asked for a damn pap smear.

I know men of my age have a much-less pleasant experience at the doctor’s. But are they now able to opt for my exam instead of theirs? Either way, I’m not sure whether to be puzzled or offended at the question!