Caterwauling

1. Work isn’t supposed to be hard.

Challenging, yes. But being bone-dry exhausted every day from stuff that frankly takes up way too much time and doesn’t sharpen anything resembling a marketable skill set isn’t indicative of growth.

2. One shouldn’t feel guilty for doing what one was hired for.

I make no secret that I am a journalist masquerading as the chief bottle washer, cook, maid and fluffer. Today I had a massive editing project. And I hate the feeling of utter guilt that I was doing something I love — that I spent my whole life training for — instead of doing something hard. (See Item 1.)

As we get older, many of us lose that feeling that “things will turn out OK.” We’ve seen the other side of “OK.” We know everything happens for the best but that doesn’t stop it from stinging like a motherfucker.

I have lots of friends trying for babies, buying houses, buying cars, etc. And I guess I’ve been in my field too long and been tossed out on the street too often despite being the hardest-working asshole on the Eastern seaboard. But I keep my car I bought in 2001 and it kills me daily to afford my rent in a chi-chi ZIP code.

I was saying to a friend whose spouse wants more kids but magic isn’t happening yet this time around, I never felt the pull to be a mother. And that must make me an oddity.

Don’t get me wrong. Last guy I really had some feelings for, I figured we’d march down the marriage and kids route. I’m pushing 40 and he’s pushing 50. I figure, waiting isn’t the option it was when we were all 23.

So, if I was gonna hang in there with this moving-at-a-glacial-pace entanglement, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to say, hey, I wouldn’t be upset with this sort of outcome.

I guess that’s ring-chasing to a man. But Christ, this is someone who told me he wanted at least two kids and even though I’m in no fucking rush, I thought I’d put it out there.

I figured it was faith.

There was no water in THAT pool when I took the leap.

Oh well.

Faith is something I’ve struglged with forever. I never felt the “pull” to have kids because I’ve never met anybody I felt overwhelmingly bullish about procreating with.

That and I grew up poor, with five generations crammed in the two-bedroom rowhouse where I was born in a bad part of town. I never wanted to do that to my kids.

And I always thought I’d be more valuable to a man if I stayed kid-free. I’m thinking “not so much.”

If I got knocked up now, I’d have to quit my job and find another. There’s no way I could handle it all. Even if I could leave at 5, that’s an hour commute and if I had to cook and put the squirt to bed by 7, I’d see her for like 15 whole minutes.

I often think I’m so clever, that I’m free to travel and do what I want to do. But the truth is, while I crave the jet-setter life, if I’m stuck in this area and with a full-time-plus job and with responsibilities out the wazoo, then maybe I wouldn’t hate having a little structure … a little something to “work for” … if you will.

Maybe that’s it. People don’t necessarily have faith that it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to. But that if we’re stuck in this life, we should do it our way … however we define it.

But I look at one friend struggling with infertility and you can’t help but root for her. She knows what she wants. She tries EVERY avenue. At EVERY expense. After EVERY heartache-filled loss.

You root for her because it’s what she wants. She has put it into the universe that she WILL be a mother, damn it.

People don’t root for me because what do I want? I want safety and security and a feeling of achievment. Big deal. I want a cute apartment and a car that doesn’t need repairs every three weeks. Whoopee.

What if I put it out into the world that I want the world’s best relationship under the sun? A true partner? One I can build a life with and travel internationally with and maybe even (ring-chasing alert) marry?

What if I wanted a kid? Would the universe finally cheer for me and … more importantly … would it support my dream just for “putting it out there”?

But what if I said I want to be CEO of a company and own the highest-tech penthouse in all the lands where I could entertain my staff to reward them for how hard they work for me? What would the universe say then?

I guess it would tell me to believe in it and work toward it and it will come. And to have a little faith. OK, a LOT of faith.

The hard work part is easy. It’s the believing that trips me up every time.

This day had just as many great things about it as utterly forgettable moments. I guess that’s what the universe calls balance.

I worked all day on the Monday holiday to finish a very important project. But instead of having a parade thrown in my honor (hyperbole, for those of you who don’t know me. The best way to honor me is to leave me alone, at least for a couple of days), I get the guilt trip about four other projects (in addition to my daily load) that I didn’t finish.

My rule is, daily load wins. Every time. Those are my rocks in the jar. These side projects are sand and water, baby. And until the pressure fuses the sand and water into solid rock, I can’t say I can find more extra hours in a day to beat my head against them.

But I did hear somebody at the top of the food chain likes me very much, and that’s nice. It made me cry, that’s how much I needed to hear it.

Funny you have to hear it through a third party or else you won’t hear it at all. Of course, when everyone else is planning houses and adding amenities to them and trips and other shit it feels like you’ll never have no matter how hard you work for it, I guess being loved doesn’t pay as well as being feared but at least it’s something.

Ever receive your W-2 and remember that you …

1. Took 12 lunch hours total all year
2. Lost four full weeks of vacation
3. Never left before 8 p.m.
4. Worked pretty much every holiday
5. Killed yourself so that you could take two days off and arrived at the airport 48 minutes before your 6:25 a.m. flight because you were WORKING until 6 a.m.
6. Don’t make enough to make any of that worthwhile?

Yeah. That.

Remember, hard work means taking less home.

“They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you.”

— Lana Del Rey, “Video Games”

Went to a party last Saturday night.

No I didn’t get laid but I didn’t get in a fight either, Lita Ford.

I went alone. As I always do. And the first question everyone asks, if they bother to talk is, “Who are you here with?” Because they’re all coupled off, as happens in my age group.

I did invite a friend to go along. Story for another day. Useless.

I also had a birthday gift for a friend I thought would be there, whom I didn’t know moved out-of-state two weeks ago.

So, yeah. Anybody else have any surprises for me?

I realize that for all my extroversion at work, I have developed a bit of social anxiety, methinks. I have zero desire to initiate a conversation. I cannot STAND small talk and refuse to generate any. And honestly I was happy sitting outside in the freezing cold by the bonfire by myself.

I mean, I joined a bunch of conversations. But nothing really took off. For saying I’m a damn journalist and can ask great questions, I just … don’t always ask ones that generate much follow-up.

Polite but detached. Eye on the door. Ready to defect. That’s me since I moved to Florida.

The thing is, I have nothing to talk about but work and mom. I have unparalleled expertise in both. I don’t have time to read the damn headlines or have a hobby. What on earth can I say that people will relate to?

My boss and his wife were the only people I knew outside the party hosts. We’re cool and I’m happy to socialize but if there’s one thing I know about couples, it’s to not go near them too much. Because, women.

Besides, I occupied my time making all the other coupled-off women cringe when their significant others shook my hand and said hi.

Meanwhile, I was contemplating my escape (did I mention I stayed sober till about 2 a.m.?) around midnight when a nice gal struck up a conversation with me. And she and her boyfriend were just awesome.

She was terrific at the small talk. And it quickly became Big Talk.

I cannot tell you how grateful I was for her. She asked me to friend her on Facebook while we were talking, and her boyfriend friended me today.

It was as though God Himself wanted us to connect. It’s like, all the Swiss cheese holes in my heart, she had answers for. She’s beautiful and brilliant and telling ME I’m beautiful and brilliant.

I admit, I go to these parties hoping that they will help me become the social butterfly I once was. And that maybe going to parties with cool people means I’ll meet a cool person to add to my circle.

I also admit I wouldn’t mind meeting a guy at one of these things, especially since the hosts just have the world’s nicest group of friends ever. But coming out of it, making a genuine connection for the first time in a long time? Even better, I think.

“You deserve better than what you sometimes get. But if you accept less, people have no reason to give you more.”

Ergo my “bukkit list” of resolutions that all revolve around working less. That I still haven’t managed to cross off said list.

The year is young, but Goddess feels old.

Truth.

14 Fucks I Refuse to Give in 2014

“If I learned anything in 2013, it’s that love — the overwhelming, this-is-the-one kind, the love that makes you weak in the knees, if not slightly duller in the head — isn’t real. It exists outside of reality, in a world devoid of calories and Kardashians.

“I prefer the little loves. … Neglected nuances, subtle sincerity — that’s where love lives.”

My favorite was No. 12, about saving destructive relationships.

Last week I talked about how things sometimes just end, yet we find reasons to keep them on life support. Or dig them back up and see if maybe they’re still alive. Whether of our own morbid curiosity or because someone nudges us.

And with so many cases in the news right now about people who are dead but either they’re being kept alive because they’re pregnant (fucking Texas) or the California family that isn’t ready to let go of their daughter after a tonsillectomy basically killed her (although I blame medical incompetence. Because, reasons), that shows us: Dead is dead.

So after I blogged last week about how things just end sometimes, it pains me now to admit I let the random third party get into my head. And I followed the plea to “Be a Friend!” to someone who just didn’t show much interest in having me as one.

Look, I am That Girl. The one who gets scared about being friends with anyone in my professional field because it’s too tightly knit and your business is up for discussion.

Let me say this: I had great and interesting and certainly colorful histories with many people. I will love what we had (friendship or otherwise) for always.

And maybe I didn’t work hard enough to save some relationships. But I think I should get an A-plus and a Purple Heart for some others.

But … I’ve put a lot of distance between myself and my beloveds. Some for good reason, some out of laziness and some because I figured to let it go quietly and remember the beauty rather than what could have come next.

Besides, even if they really do care about you and want the best for you, which I believe for the most part, it’s a world where everything you say/do can/will be held against you. And in a world where your social connections are what make or break your career, it’s better to retain some mystery.

Again: Because, reasons.

And for the record, I DID try to step up and “Be a Friend” this week. And … crickets.

I told myself last year that I wouldn’t continue to try on this front. And I got happier. I really did. So to bring anything bad from 2013 into 2014, well, shame on me, I guess.

But you know what? I am not going to be mad at myself for taking every opportunity to be not only THE better person, but also A better person.

Here’s to everyone getting, being and doing better this year. And while I do believe we as a society and network of people all need each other, maybe we all need to expand those circles to get closer to where we’re going.

Here’s to new connections …

Ever get a social media friend request from someone toward whom you not only harbor an unlimited amount of vitriol, but who also someone whose real name continually eludes you because you have SO many creative, compound cuss words that fit said person so much better?

When I saw that notification come through this week, intestinal distress hit instantly. Like, what’s the motive? To see what I’m all about, to call me out, to threaten me, to prove a point?

I see nothing altruistic about this development. And yet, terminal curiosity is enough to make me say yes.

Now to practice the world’s biggest feat of self-restraint and not type anywhere in public anything about What a Homely Old Ridiculously Obnoxious Twat-cicle Hot-ass mess Yardbomb I perceive said person to be (with reason, of course).

Whenever I start to feel like, wow, things are good and maybe they’re going to turn out OK after all, I suddenly look skyward for the meteor that immediately started mapping its coordinates and charging toward my Cabbage Patch Kid shaped head.

Everyone is happy and cool that I’m setting boundaries and not planning to have a year like I did in 2013. And yet, I am in the middle of a mess that is largely of my own making (because when you have 10 fires to put out, generally you pick the one that’s going to cost the most money if you don’t).

Now, I feel like there’s no WAY I’m going to be able to climb out of all this rubble from the ones I had to leave smouldering in the meantime.

Otherwise known as, Thursday.

I’m still stuck on the whole husband-hunting thing.

The hell, man.

My mom and my friend I just visited both had the same commentary: Wouldn’t he be the lucky one to land me? Because, I am a catch, damn it.

Plus I think you need a few hundred more dates for that, yes?

I found a journal I was keeping at this time last year. I gave him all the space he needed. And he needed plenty.

I don’t mind working on a relationship. I look forward to it. But dating shouldn’t be hard.

Sorry, but I want someone who’s thrilled to get my time.

So when the impartial third-party friend said, wow, you two are just so GOOD together, I meant when I said it that this particular ship has sailed.

And sunk.

Funny how you are a certain version of yourself at a certain point in time. And so is the other person. And I’m not that girl anymore and he’s not that guy.

Would our newer versions of ourselves like each other more? Maybe, maybe not. Can’t say I’m in a hurry to find out.

I read something on Thought Catalog today, that we should abolish dating and the farce of going to places we don’t normally visit in clothes we don’t normally wear while trying to represent ourselves in otherwise-unnatural habitats.

Dates should all take place at Starbucks or somewhere that’s “us” (individual us, because that’s what we are and will always be). Save the fancy dinners and the zip-lining for when the coupling happens.

Because otherwise, you (like me) might convey that you’re husband-hunting when EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER MET YOU can attest that you just want someone to have a little fun with … who shares the same interests and who looks good and has bright eyes and a killer smile who brings out your playful side and who, if you’re lucky, throws you up against a wall and pulls your hair a little and makes your thighs and other places quiver.

Husband-hunting. Pfft. I ain’t mad, homeskillet. I’m just sorry that you couldn’t stand the idea of being Goddess-worthy. It’s a lot to live up to, I understand.

As Prince once sang: “The beautiful ones, they hurt you every time …”