Caterwauling

There’s good news all around me — two sets of friends who have been trying for years to conceive, just gave me their good news that they are expecting … a friend who unceremoniously got tossed from his job just landed a better one … a long-awaited divorce is coming through for another friend … and still another got a dream job.

The list goes on. And I haven’t found myself on it. But I hope with all this good momentum in the air, something will finally pan out.

I found the cutest apartment. Clean, modern and on the Intracoastal. But before I could hand them a check, someone else took it. I’m crushed, to say the least.

It wasn’t a dream apartment but given the nightmarish one I’m in, it was an upgrade.

A friend has come through to help me save the day. But inventory, the second it hits the market, comes off the market.

Apparently other people don’t have 100,000 riveting words to write/edit per week and can actually jump up and see places when they become available. Lucky them.

Florida isn’t like a normal area where people give two months’ notice and there is time for new people to see/claim the unit. Nope. Shit is empty for a minute, and therefore whoever has the cash in-hand fastest gets the unit.

I was telling mom, getting an apartment here is like being single and 40. You’ve waited this damn long for the perfect place or person — do you really have to start taking certain “must-haves” off the table in order to get SOMETHING you can live with?

And if you lower your standards, will what you find ever be enough?

Thank God for the ability to move again, or to break up with someone. But damn, the financial and emotional torture having the wrong one — or none at all — puts you through in the meantime …

The Debilitating Scars of Bullying

“Adults who have been bullied as children can unconsciously regress into the role of the victim. They may not create situations in adulthood where they’re bullied, but they feel as if they are.”

Hmmm.

The other day, my friend Michael said, “You hide behind this ‘air sign’ b.s. and you never say what you want. I know you. You know exactly what you want. You say you’re fine with ‘whatever’ and maybe you are. But you act like you don’t care and you do. Say what you want.”

In any event, I’m not a fan of people conveniently blaming their childhood or their relationships past or jobs past, as a way of not dealing with the present.

Conveniently blaming, I said. God knows we’ve all been scarred by one or more of them.

In any event, I won’t name names or write stories. But I wonder if I really worked through some of the “feeling very small” incidents from my youngest years have contributed to the mess I can be, more than I ever realized.

I like to use the phrase “bread and circuses.” Well, I really like to use the phrase “OOOH SHINY.”

In any event, there’s a disturbing pattern in my world that can be traced back to Ancient Rome. And it’s that, when things go to shit, we have to distract ourselves with shiny and fun things.

In Ancient Rome, it was the government providing the shiny things. Here in my world, sometimes you have to provide it for yourself.

I have this recurring nightmare. It’s a circus filled with assclowns that I cannot escape. I try so very hard to run this circus and make all the performers happy. Yet they all declare mutiny and run their clown car over me.

It’s a daily nightmare lately. And the amount of mental calories it burns, if translated into body calories, would put me back at birth weight.

I don’t want to burn any more calories this way. This shit is sending my cortisol through the roof. Even when I eat right, I put on pounds. And while I don’t want to assign the blame to this recurring nightmare, I don’t think it can be denied that I am going to want to find a way to NEVER HAVE IT AGAIN.

Eternal sunshine, anyone?

Editing. Drunk. But humming all the while …

“I got the first kiss and she’ll get the last
She’s got the future, I got the past
I got the class ring, she got the diamond and wedding band
I got the boy, she got the man.”

Jana Kramer, “I Got the Boy”

One can’t help but wonder which of us got the better end of the deal.

Rainy days and monthly newsletter deadlines make me cry.

At least, that’s the going excuse.

I try very hard to pretend I don’t have a heart and that I don’t care about things. About anything.

And then years later people come back and say, hunh, didn’t know you cared. If I even get around to telling them.

Right now I’m operating from a place of hurt and I can feel myself lashing out at everybody. I’m hurt that I have to leave my beloved/hated apartment. I’m hurt about some comments someone keeps making to me that are perhaps designed to make me believe I am doomed to professional failure. And other things that I never thought would get under my skin, did.

I feel like I owe everyone a blanket apology for being me. Not being me, per se, but for letting myself feel what I feel and not being able to censor it.

Maybe I’ll feel better when the rain is gone. If anyone is even left to talk to.

A funny thing happened when I got to “interview” some potential new help.

I looked at the old help and wondered if maybe I’m not better off the way things are.

I mean, I got the person with the right attitude, if not the right skill set. The skill set can be developed. It’s taking longer than I’d hoped, yes, but you can’t teach spirit.

Now that I look at a potential upgrade in the skill set and a potential, um, diversion as far as “fit,” will I be kicking myself (or someone else) at a later date if we make any sudden moves?

I think I know the answer already …

I saw the “Fifty Shades of Grey” movie. Which was actually really good. And I say this after HATING the book.

I got to thinking about one of my boys who has a similar, ah, appetite to mine.

I don’t mean “red room of pain” stuff. Rather, I’m saying, “Work hard, play hard.” That sort of thing.

Anyway, sounds like he’s with an ice queen. And refuses to leave the ice queen when there are, shall we say, warmer bodies available.

I got to thinking about him after the movie. First because he would probably be up for re-enacting the steamy movie scenes. (Well, not with ice queen. What a waste.)

But more shockingly, what I realized is that that girls like me who are up for just about anything … just aren’t marriage material.

Maybe that explains it all.

Helpless and mousy girls get rings. And if they withhold sex too? They keep their men for LIFE.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying they 100% “have” their men.

But men like that enjoy being friends with women like me. To give them hope, I guess.

We’re exciting. We’re unattainable. We’re what they always hoped existed, before they settled for what they got.

But they don’t want us.

They want the one who doesn’t “pretend” punish them. They want the ones who DO punish them — who make them truly and honestly wish they were never born.

That’s what keeps them coming … back for more.

I think I need to stop spanking them and start beating them up emotionally instead!

I mean I don’t think I’m capable of doing that. I’m not a Christian Grey. I’d rather be the book version of Anna (Dakota Johnson was too beautiful to play the role but damn did she rock it) — mousy, virginal, naive, underwhelming, forgettable — any old day.

Maybe then I’ll get my Grey …

Throughout my life, when things were at their most-stressful, I would dream of the guy I dated/BFF from high school. I always took his presence in my dreams to mean that everything would turn out OK.

And somehow, it always did.

I haven’t dreamed of him in some time. Whether that means I wasn’t too stressed or else everything isn’t going to turn out OK, I don’t want to know. 😉

But last night I dreamed of the one I always think of as the one who got away. I used to call him the love of my life. The one I haven’t seen since just before the towers fell and the world changed.

I hesitated a second before referring to him as the love of my life. For a few reasons. Not the least of which is that he’s there and I’m here. But I also paused for a moment to consider Those Who Have Come Since.

I’m sure there’s a pun in there, but I’m going to be serious for a change today. 🙂

In any event, I don’t know how to categorize people other than those who have become Part of My Story. Even if I didn’t “love them” love them, they occupy cardiac real estate.

I’m going to divert for a second and admit that I consulted my psychic oracle — i.e., Mom — who kindly does not inflict her vibes on me when I’m going through things that I need to figure out for myself.

Anyway, she said of He Who Has Come Recently (ahem), “You know he wasn’t 100% honest, right?”

And naturally I said “Damn it woman, butt out of my business!”

You know, like any 40-year-old teenager would.

I wasn’t mad because of the buttinskis. I was shaken because some stuff that never quite added up, stuff I decided I was better off NOT adding up, must have been apparent to her spirit guides too.

In any event, there are things my own guides have told me that, again, I decided weren’t important enough to call people out on.

Because, in the grand scheme of things, I did everything for a chance at love.

Like I said, it’s Part of My Story. I had to try. I will never regret that.

And I’m willing to let it go. Not the good, but the “not quite right but that which does not directly concern me anyway.”

I got a great friend out of the deal. And the chance to find the next Part of My Story.

In any event, we all know how we feel when we “discover” things that could scar us if we let them, right?

So yeah, I was feeling that way this weekend.

And that’s where the dream came in.

I saw the guy I don’t think much about anymore. He was wearing a Hard Rock Hotel shirt from Orlando. Which is funny because I JUST BOUGHT a shirt from there. I remember seeing “his” shirt there.

He came over to me and gathered me into his arms. And he held me until I fell asleep in the dream. And when I awakened in the dream, he was still holding me.

My dream self thanked him for getting me through the night, and for caring about me.

My real self awakened next. I don’t know what it all means. I don’t even care. I’m just grateful that perhaps I have a new signpost that everything will turn out OK.

After all, when I get those signs, everything really does turn out OK.

Spent yesterday with an old valentine, of sorts.

It was a good day.

Funny thing about people who knew you “when.” They call you on your shit. Without apologies and a little bit gleefully.

We went to my favorite Mediterranean place on the water. The food was good, the wine was delicious, the dessert was amazing. We walked along the ocean to burn off a few of those thousands of calories that don’t actually count anyway because of the holiday.

He reminded me of lots of things that I’d forgotten …

1. Why go for the brass ring when there’s a gold ring out there?

Professionally or personally, you have to be with people who make you better in every possible way. Don’t tolerate what only mildly amuses or challenges you. If it stresses you out beyond normal adrenaline, you’re in the wrong place.

2. Everyone has a story. Write it for them. They don’t have to know about it.

He badgered me a bit. “When am I going to ask you how you’re doing and your reply will finally be, ‘Things are great, Michael”?

When we debated it a bit, I realized I miss writing. Not things related to my field, either. But I don’t sit in Starbucks anymore and dream the hours away.

So we did an exercise in looking in people’s faces and coming up with their life story. Thing is, the people-watching down here is pretty spectacular. It’s easy to stimulate the creative juices, even just on the way to Starbucks.

3. Things aren’t going to come to you. If you don’t fight for them, you’ll never get them.

“Your mother still doesn’t have healthcare?” he asked. I told him about all my mistakes and misadventures and how I would need a day or a week off to go fight for her.

He said, “The system is designed to make it impossible not only for you to get what’s yours, but for the people who are hired to give it to you to figure out HOW to give it to you.”

We waxed poetic about a business owner we once worked for, who if you really needed a month off to get your shit together, he was successful enough to let you go do it so you could come back to him ready and willing to fight for his company since he fought for you.

In any event, he said you’re not a bad person for not figuring it out yet. (Yes he knows me and my guilt.)

He also said, however, you ARE kind of a moron for losing vacation days every year and NOT using them to figure it out. So figure it out. And if there’s no one to cover you for a day or a week, that’s not your fault either.

I think this was the best Valentine’s Day I ever had …

This year should have been different.

It’s not every year that someone tells you you’re his soulmate.

I don’t know if I believe in soulmates. But I know I was happy for a while there.

Honestly, I never knew anything to be so good, on every level.

Funny how everything in life that’s so hard becomes so much more bearable when you’re “in it,” whatever “it” is.

Funnier still how the stars never really seem to align.

And that the universe keeps turning even though you wonder on what earth something so good just didn’t work out.

But you know to thank those stars that aligned for as long as they did to make it happen in the first place.

God, I never hated leaving so much.

I have some amazing memories, though.

I know how it’s supposed to feel now, too. So I recognize it, next time.

I get a “next time,” right?

“We sang Bobby McGee on the hood of my car
Made a wish on every star
In that clear September sky
One bottle of wine and two Dixie cups
3 a.m., I fell in love
For the first time in my life
Oh that something
Just don’t happen twice.”

— Kenny Chesney, “Don’t Happen Twice”