Caterwauling

I had a lunch break. Two days in a row. And people witnessed it and are marking their calendars with it.

Because apparently I grow out of my chair and farm vegetables under my desk so that I don’t have to leave to go eat.

Funniest part is, people don’t recognize me when they see me in the cafeteria. Like, no one expects me to move my pudgy pork-roast butt from my supremely uncomfortable office chair in my spider-filled cube.

I’d love to say it’s a new habit but it’s just a break between product/campaign launches, of which I hear I have five next month. Squee.

Took mom out to dinner tonight. Nothing fancy; just a place that’s a step and a half above McDonald’s. (And 100% healthier.)

I was sort of annoyed that an eight-person family pushed their foreign-speaking way in front of me at the cash register when I was calling Mom over to stand in front of me. (And by “sort of annoyed,” I don’t mean “sort of.”)

About this time an elderly gentleman with bright blue eyes and a wonderful smile came over and asked if we were the end of the line. I was just debating whether to let him in front of me (as I usually do — not for rude-ass families but almost always for the generation I respect) when Mom suggested he jump in front of us.

He did, but not without some protest. And Mom pointed out to me that his arms looked exactly like my grandfather’s. Which, I haven’t seen since he died in 2006, but she was right.

She had big tears in her eyes and I felt like I should do … something. He was dressed exactly like my Grampy would have dressed. Same bright blue eyes and kind smile. Same fantastically thick hair. I wondered if he were a vet like my grandfather, too.

In my head I said a prayer that this guy doesn’t go to the V.A. Hospital like my grandfather did, since his idiot doctors killed him with their ineptitude and neglect. I prayed for this man’s health and well-being.

And out of nowhere, I blurted out to the cashier, “I’m buying his meal.”

He looked surprised and confused. People are not nice down here. I had a guy yesterday thank me for being courteous to him because South Floridians are assholes in general. Meanwhile I’d thanked the guy for being kind to me too.

Anyway, he tried to protest but you don’t win fights like that with me. 🙂 He tried to hand me money but I wasn’t having it.

I explained that something about him reminded me of my Mom’s father, and it would make me happy to do something nice for him. He looked around for him, I guess, and I said oh it’s just us. (I didn’t want to say that he’s been gone six-and-a-half years. I figured I’d let him think he just wasn’t in the room with us. Which, I’d suggest he probably was.)

Of course with my lovely (bad) restaurant karma, the order got lost for a while. Mom got to talking to him. He told her he has cancer. He was given 18 months to live … 20 months ago.

He later told me (as Mom was in hysterics and she went to hide at a table) that he’s 89. I told him he gets around better and has more spunk than my mom. You could tell he liked her — he was saying how pretty she was, like three times. 🙂

His wife was waiting in the car. I can only imagine the stories he had to tell her about us!

Anyway, we got our food eventually and he went on his merry little way. He was cute and had asked me if he could run and get his “pop” from the self-serve machine while I waited. Sounded just like Grampy, down to the “pop” and the sweet-little-boy spirit.

After he left, we pretty much sat there and cried through our meals. I know Mom was missing Grampy hard, and I was a bit too. But I was thinking about our friend — his name is Russell, just like my grandfather’s big brother who just died a couple of months ago, but Uncle Russ was a mean asshole — and just so very sad about his health and just how we would never have gotten to know him if I hadn’t decided to buy his meal because he reminded me so much of Grampy.

I normally don’t talk about the nice things I do for others. And I’m not looking for a pat or anything else like that. I guess I just want to record the “God moment” I had with this wonderful, wonderful man.

At one point he looked at me and said, “Wow, you are so young.” I laughed because I feel so goddamned old — work and mom and life and men are driving me to an early grave, I swear it.

But, he’s right you know. He’s 89 and I’m 38. If I make it to that age, and healthily at that, it’ll be a fucking miracle. And not at the rate I’m going.

We thought about his wife in the car, how she’s probably scared to death of losing him and probably thanking God for every day extra that she gets with him.

That’s living, friends. That’s going to meet your maker and saying, “I had it all; it was a good life.”

I guess I wish I could say that I met him and saw that the good guys win in the long run. But if he has cancer, I guess not.

Maybe it was just as simple as a reminder that our loved ones may be gone but are never far away and that there are people right here and now who would benefit from a simple kindness from us that we would have otherwise shared elsewhere.

I don’t know. But I do know that meeting him (at a restaurant I never go to, and one that has locations much closer to me — why on earth did I drive all the way out there if not for this reason?) was meant to change me in some way.

God bless you, Russell. Thanks for crossing my path today, and my mind for a long, long time to come.

Great weekend so far. Met a lot of good people and they made me realize the world is so much bigger than mine is. I may not have their intellect but I also don’t have their travel and entertainment budgets either.

I *have* traveled as many miles as them — between when I lived in Virginia and commuted to Maryland, and now that I live by the beach but schlep into God’s country — I just wish my passport reflected it.

Oh well. Someday!

And that’s exactly right — someday. Even though they’ve lived lifetimes in their 20-odd years apiece, they (unknowingly) reminded me that if I’m stuck, I’m the one not fighting hard enough to get unstuck when it comes to where I’m going and with whom I’ll be making the journey.

Life really doesn’t have to be hard. I’ve just got to start envisioning what I want instead of replaying over and over in my mind how disappointing it’s been, despite my best efforts to cover it up and pretend everything is fine.

Denial is a more-powerful fuel than gas, oil and diesel combined. It’s fueled the world for free for generations. The most-oblivious-seeming people I meet also seem to be the happiest.

Maybe that’s my lesson for today. It’s not about living for everyone else or even yourself. It’s just feeling alive while you’re doing it.

No, no talking about guns. I’m a Democrat, people. 🙂

But what I do want to talk about, as I pour the world’s biggest glass of coconut rum and a splash of Coke Zero for color, are some of the things that make me crazy.

Don’t say rape around me. It’s just a woman thing. I don’t have any stories (that I know of) but this society takes it too lightly and I’m liable to start throwing heavy objects at those who think it’s cute to use the word in everyday rapport.

Not a fan of the word abortion either. I don’t think I have to explain why. I volunteer at Planned Parenthood and donate when I can. I love the local staff and enjoy having a glass of wine or marching in parades and rallies with them. I vote in their favor wherever possible because they are pro-women’s health. They just happen to provide a service I can no longer say out loud, even though I would die to defend your right to have one.

Don’t say a word about my hair. I mean it. Because I squelch the explanation that I got burned really bad as a kid, that for the last 28 years it’s been a sore spot with me because my hair density was reduced by 50% and never grew back. Just … don’t ask. Ever. You just got more of an explanation than I’ve ever given anybody. Don’t look at me and don’t talk to me about it.

And now, I’m not sure which word here is the trigger, but maybe I’ll just say “Dilly” and that will suffice. Because, yeah, heebie jeebies take over me from that nickname someone else gave him.

I guess enough time has passed that I can tell this story. Since apparently it’s become a theme.

I had an executive title at a company. In a cruel twist (we came to refer to those events as “days that end in Y”), he thought it would be cute to take the customer-service-rep turned executive-assistant and declare that she was my boss.

I rather liked the girl, and felt bad for her. She didn’t ask for it. He was being a dick to get a reaction out of me.

So I swallowed the bile when he moved her into my office. And I taught her EVERYTHING I COULD.

You want to give me a twist, motherfucker? That was mine to you. I gave you a competent young woman who was able to hold her own in your 14-carat fuckup of a company.

I quit shortly thereafter without an ounce of notice, with six active job offers waiting for me as soon as I was free.

Everything was getting to me. I mean, everything. Hateful notes from some asshole I had to edit who was always turning shit in at ridiculous hours and making me stay up half the night to accommodate. Then I’d get death threats (I still have a whole bunch of them) for how I edited the shit he wrote while he was on a coke-and-stripper binge.

But it was Dilly I had the problem with. He not only enabled the dysfunction, but he spent more time thinking up ways to create it than actually trying to figure out how to make the company profitable.

But the kid being promoted above me (and I love her, by the way. Genuinely think she’s a great person) did me in. Done. It wasn’t her fault and I never punished her for it. But the camel’s hump was just about deflated and that was a ton of bricks that beat that bitch into the sand.

So, let’s just say something along those lines might have happened in the last week or two. And once again, I look to God and hope and pray that I can hold my composure as I wait for my ultimate reward that never really seems to come. I’ll take that reward in any form, mind you. Some have it all; the rest of us wait and wait and wait for something, anything, to go right.

Don’t get me wrong — I will always do my best in every life domain. And I will never blame the wrong people. But as I’m going through a variation of the above situation again AND on top of that, the world’s biggest what-what is also finding a big fat chunk of favor (undeserved, I believe), I’m having a Double Dilly moment.

That’s the thing about triggers. They fuck you up when you think everything is fine. (And really, what is fucking me up is something I never wanted till I realized I couldn’t have it. And I’d probably hate it if I did but everything changes with one stupid fucking moment.)

There’s no limit on how far triggers will suck you back into the past or how long they will hold you down … or just how far they will push you. Your reaction is unpredictable. And not entirely irrational. Whatever it may end up being.

Maybe Dilly gets his wish. He always wanted to break my spirit … to shatter my hope, my faith, my trust. To become as jaded as everyone else.

You win this round, Dilly. Maybe I should have learned from you in the first place. I just never wanted to live this life without the idealism that sometimes completely fools me into getting through. …

I almost made it a whole week without psychotropics. *pop*

Busted my ass to make sure something happened successfully yesterday. To the point that someone actually said to me, “Holy shit, I had no idea how much work you actually do.”

I’d say a miracle was pulled off. I’m not quite sure I raised my salary in sales yesterday, but I’m sure I came close and I’m OK with that.

Otherwise yesterday went off the rails. Off. The. Rails. I have too much on my plate and you know fat girls — we eat everything put in front of us.

I’m still head-scratching over something that happened yesterday. I think my trusting nature is going to be the death of me once again. It’s my downfall every time, isn’t it?

Oh well. I wasn’t true to myself for 10 minutes and I deserve whatever I get. This from the girl who has proudly said throughout the latest drama that “I am right with my God and I am right with myself. Anyone who has anything to say about me needs to check themselves.”

I’m doing the best I can. Fuck, I’m doing the MOST I can. And I don’t know if the right people are realizing. But at least I know enough people that are, and I truly am right by my God in that respect.

I really like what I do. But must I have to do SO MUCH OF IT everywhere I go?

And for the record, I fucking hate the “Exit at 5” crowd when what they are supposed to deliver to me won’t be ready till 5:10 and they have to jet. “You’ll get it tomorrow!” Grr.

I try not to comment on things that will get my ass in boiling unemployed water. But when y’all are deciding to make cuts, try not to assume the lesser beings will fill the shoes of the talented and dedicated ones that are gone. There ain’t no Command-Z-ing it.

Guess who’s already worked 36 hours and is now stuck in “showstopper” mode despite all my preparations because of it?

My God is bigger than all of this.

I just need someone to promise me that mom and I are going to be OK.

God, I have to hand You all my fear — and there’s a truckload behind what I’m giving you with my hands. I trust that You will hand back strength and confidence and ability and a doorknob that turns easily and opens me up to the things I really deserve.

Pray for me, please. And I’m already returning the favor.