Caterwauling

I haven’t been catty in a while. That’s because I’ve decided good things come to good people and damn it, I’m sick of jeopardizing my karma simply by calling things as I see them.

You’d be proud of me that Whorothy changed her Facebook photo a week ago and I haven’t said a word. *halo*

Actually I have to hand it to her, she is pictured with a guy who is about the same level of attractive (*cough cough not*). She even looks happy and, dare I say, as pretty as she’ll ever be.

I don’t know that it ends her saga with the boy I cared about. (I don’t use the word “whore” lightly.) After all, men can be idiots when it comes to the girl they think they love.

But what it tells me is that I have more important things to worry about, and that clan ain’t in the top 50.

So I really really really really really want to start a new blog. A profeshunal-type one. Like, with my name on it and shit.

I’ve mastered about nine jobs and I’d like to yap about that. In a profeshunal way, of course — not the existential madness to which it drives me that I cover more than adequately on this page.

I’d also like to find something that makes me happy and sane and bursting with self-love. Which, OK fine I’d probably NEVER launch the new fucking blog if I’m waiting for THAT day to come.

But … there has got to be a way to marry what makes me happy with what pays for this brokedown palace and the swigs of booze that get me through (or over) another day, yes?

I’d love to spew all the joyous things I’ve learned about my field, all the bullshit I’ve learned to sidestep on the way up, all the shit in which I’ve stepped that keeps me stuck, the really funny shit that crosses my mind every given day that I cannot say to a soul, the horrid impact my work life has had on friendships and relationships, the hideous things being a workaholic has done to my ability to exercise (hah) or diet (HAH), the things I tell myself to keep myself off the ledge, the things I do to get my revenge on the world and the sense of humor I haven’t yet managed to lose.

Hmm.

What might you call a mess like that? That would still allow me to use my true Goddess identity?

Every morning during the 7 a.m. hour — usually my commuting time but it even happens on weekends — I craft a blog entry that I plan to write and capture for life. Then somewhere around 8, my day starts its descent and it never happens. Should a post appear, it’s a mere shell of the prose I tried so hard to craft on my mental chalkboard.

And it is a chalkboard, indeed. Maybe I’m old-school. Maybe it should be an erasable whiteboard or perhaps even a PowerPoint presentation, since our industry simply couldn’t run without it. But there’s something about the broken white lines and the realization that a thousand ideas have already been written there, erased hastily to make room for more, that comforts me.

Brilliance has occurred before. And it will again. Even if not this particular go-’round, but maybe in the next cloud of white dust.

So I caught someone lying to me recently. They don’t know it yet. Whether they don’t know that they’re lying or that I’ve figured it out, however, remains to be seen.

Everyone says to call them out on it but I wonder whether leverage can be my friend here. I mean, they are so blissful in their delusion that I am hanging on this lie, it’s entertaining. But I’m not ready to call them out on it.

I mean, I am pissed beyond absolute belief that anyone dare take someone as kind and good as me and decide to fuck with me for their own delight. More pissed, really, that I can’t legally mow them down with a speeding vehicle.

Of course, there is always the slim chance that this isn’t a heaping pile of bullshit under which I’m trying to catch a breath. But for the fact that I’m unable to say this aloud without eliciting gales of laughter, well, tells me something.

I hate how I have to basically sucker-proof myself. To be ready when the bottom falls out. Because it always does, really.

I have plenty of faith and I know that my God and I are a majority and no asshole who thinks they can undermine me is ever truly going to win. But faith doesn’t always defend against injustice. And I hate when I can see it coming and I feel powerless to stop it.

Or … am I?

I find time and again in this life that even just a word from me can either uplift or shred someone to absolute ribbons. I think that’s because I say and do what I mean. And I don’t fake enthusiasm or whatever emotion they may be looking for. It’s disingenuous … and disloyal to all involved.

I find it intriguing that everyone wants my buy-in, but no one’s willing to do what it REALLY takes to get it. Or if I even want them to, really.

They say God puts you in the right place at the right time. But that you’ve got to “get out there” because He can’t send Luck and Opportunity to your door. I just can’t wait to be able to look ahead without trepidation, disgust or feeling like everyone’s only seeing what they want to see instead of what’s very clearly there.

I’ve noticed at all my jobs that there’s a “buddy system” in effect everywhere. That is, everyone has one good friend whom they trust, and can confide in and basically stay out of trouble because they look like their heads are down and that they’re, if not happy, then at least not out to shake things up.

I tend to be different. I like to be friends with everyone. Of course, I don’t feel overly close to anyone anymore, although I do have a few standouts from every job. Yet, I feel like people see when I start to form friendships and make sure to let me know that they’re watching. Not an invisible threat but rather a reminder that surveillance cameras could capture any missteps. And nobody will define what a misstep means but you’ll know a landmine should you step on one.

With the broader group, I tend to prefer people knowing where I stand, and where they stand with me. Of course, I try to hide my perma-eyeroll status with some, and it delights the shit out of me when others come to the same conclusion about certain people but with no assistance from me.

Alas, our opinion doesn’t seem to matter. But a girl can dream.

The people who get ahead are the ones who isolate themselves, or allow themselves to be isolated. Their buddy, chosen very strategically or maybe that buddy chose them, probably has control of some purse strings or at least access to the ear of God. (Their god, clearly; not mine.)

I don’t know. I’ve never understood why I can’t just be myself and everything be fine. I mean, is my authentic self that bad? Why is there no place for it in this world?

As my circle expands, I discover that even spheres have edges. Why do I always feel like I have to hold back the bulk of my heart’s contents to keep myself out of trouble?

Anyway, I miss the buddy I did have for a brief time. We still talk all the time but not about the stuff I just don’t know what to do with. I miss all the buddies I adopted over the years … it just isn’t the same when we move on to different trenches, and that’s sad. But at least we were there when/where we needed each other.

I remember when the Veggie Patch had my balls in their hand for blogging about my misadventures there. How the HR director said she only tells her husband about her day and I said, well, what about those of us who don’t have that person? What if the only “person” we feel we can confide in is the Internet itself?

We all see how that ended up. 🙂 But squelching things over the years hasn’t done wonders for my physical or mental health, either.

I’ll always be true to myself, but I feel like I should show less and less of it. And really, what’s the point of a world without what I have to contribute to it?

Remember when I said I found a house I wanted? Well, they wanted a perfect credit score and that ended that.

But the house next to it opened up. My good friend rents it. And he’s moving out this summer.

The landlord called me a week ago to tell me to go over and see it and see what I think. I’ve tried the past two weekends to see it, but my friend’s been busy. So now the landlord is mad at ME for not getting there!

Jesus. Do I have a passcode to the gate and a key to the house?

I am not mad that the guy is stalking me when I was holding off on signing my lease till the last possible day, knowing this house was coming on the rental market. I frankly don’t want to fall in love with the place because it’s going to be a massive bitch to break this airtight lease I was forced to sign.

I mean, they put in a clause that I cannot bash them on social media or else I’ll get sued — it’s like they know me or something.

Unwanted attention, unasked-for stress. Story of my life, I guess. Too bad you can’t sue those who invade your peace of mind.

I know I’ve gotten men across the world to refer to me as Goddess, and I have earned that title. Damn it. 🙂

But I’ve been really struggling with how to reward myself for getting through the last fiscal quarter without any sort of assault charges levied against me.

And to me, that usually involves making a “big” purchase.

Don’t get me wrong — frolicking through Marshall’s for a dress that costs more than $15 or shoes that cost more than $20 qualifies.

I’ve been arguing with myself over a laptop purchase forever. Then one of my friends told me I can do some work for him for a day and he’ll pay me in the form of a laptop.

It’s not the one I want (it’s not even a Mac). In fact it’s an el cheapo Windows machine. A new one. With software.

But I’m going to squelch the inner princess and be grateful that God found a way to answer my little prayer. After all, momma’s got car repairs and now she can get them done with that “luxury” purchase off her immediate radar.

Weird how prayers get answered. They really do — not the way you expect or want. But I’m nothing but grateful here.

Can’t wait to see what the next prayer answered is. Now that I have proof that those sorts of things happen!

There’s a reason why I haven’t made it as a writer, and this blog is Exhibit A.

Of course, this is sort of my litterbox where thoughts go to die, rather than the pinnacle of broadcast journalism. I wonder whether it would be better if I could actually say what’s on my mind instead of dancing around like Yosemite Sam shooting at his own feet.

I think my field has finally lost its magic for me. I said yesterday that I lost my passion. I don’t think that’s true. I think I’ve just grown up enough to realize that if I’m not going to get rich off of busting my ass to make other people’s dreams come true, then I want my vacation time and I want to not be stressed to the goddamned hilt every day of my life.

I always say that I “combat edit.” When something comes in that needs a lot of work (multiple times a day), it’s a triage situation. I immediately stiffen up and get to work.

When I launch a broadcast (after editing, laying it out, picking a headline and proofing and doing a thousand other things that can be picked apart by passers-by who don’t spend their entire mental capacity on one article), I have to walk away from my desk and literally go crack my back and rub my own shoulders and basically dump my brain of everything I’ve just had to stuff into it for the past however long I had to spend on said project.

Not to mention the 10 other things people requested of me in the meantime. And then the writers ask me where their broadcast is, not realizing how many technical snags I hit, off-topic requests I received, and basically the extra time I tried to spend making their stuff the best it could possibly be.

Oh I am getting tense just typing about it.

I don’t put a company name on it. It’s just everywhere. I just don’t see people ever understanding how much physical and mental effort it takes to do what I do for a living, and nobody appreciates it at all. Even the other day someone said to me, “Why does it take you so long to edit?”

And I bit my tongue before asking, “And why do men seem to think it should only take a lick and a promise to get a woman off?”

And lo, speaking of promises, I’m hearing some. Of course, I’ve spent enough years working alongside marketers (and to some extent I’ve become one) that I’ve become the Show-Me State. (No, not that my ass is as wide as Missouri — I just will believe it when I see it.)

It got me to thinking why I’ve never had a relationship that lasts more than lick-and-promise land. Because I have zero desire to be disappointed. If I can see disappointment from 30 miles away, I evaluate whether it’s worth it to hang in there and see how it turns out (and resolve to be OK no matter what happens) or just let it go and be happy on my own.

I tend to trend toward the latter. But when there’s money involved, well, I just make sure not to feel too hurt when I feel the “I told you so” bubbling up in the back of my throat … although I mostly only end up saying it to myself.

God, I know You have a plan for me to finally win someday. I just wish You could help me burn calories from all the stress and sadness and frustration I have to endure in the meantime.

I think this will week will go down in history as the one where I lost my passion.

A lot of good things happened. But they were canceled out, one by one, by other crap.

I think the good will eke by with a win. I really do. It has to.

There are plenty of reasons to be excited about the future, but today is one of those days that remind you more of the bees and thorns than the pretty flowers they’re attracted to.

I’ve been doing a lot of praying this week. Not asking for anything but understanding and protection. Without that, nothing is possible. With it, everything is.

The interesting thing about having a mother who’s a psychic is being privy to shit you otherwise wouldn’t know about. She can name names and repeat conversations she “hears” and describe people with alarming accuracy.

There’s been some b.s. afoot that I haven’t totally clued her in on. And yet, she point-blank asks me questions about shit she just shouldn’t know about. And warns me about certain people who are setting me up behind my back. People who either present themselves as friends, allies or otherwise people who aren’t out to screw with you.

I find that funny, because I’ve spent my life being genuine and helpful and eager and personable and sincerely putting my faith into folks. And to find out (I’ll admit, sometimes this existential information serves to confirm gut feelings that I couldn’t quite put a finger on) people are out to get you, to the point that they can affect your very livelihood for their own gain, is just cruel.

I know everyone’s got their own best interests in their own clearly cold and cruel hearts. But why on earth am I even a consideration in their existences? And what kind of protection spell can I cast to keep them far away where they belong?

Anyone else get to the midpoint of their commute and immediately start singing, “Halfway to Hell”?

I only bring it up because three of my boys quit yesterday.

I hate losing good people but you wonder what kind of message this broadcasts, and if it will mean anything.

Of course, if I were to walk down to the beachside casino just a mile away from here, I sure as hell wouldn’t bet on red.

The house always wins, even when it loses.