Caterwauling

Every Wednesday, one of the boys gets brave enough to start hinting around about the weekend. 

Which is proper. He might have been raised right. 

However, I always either drop out of the conversation or dismiss the idea before it can even be broached.  And I’m home free. Generally. 

Today I didn’t get so lucky. 

He texted while I was driving home. To ask if he could have the honor of taking me out Friday.

It’s been four hours and I haven’t replied. 

I can’t be on social media because then i will have to reply. So at this point I’m just pretending I died or something. 

Like my friends say, if a guy is going to get pissy and leave you at a bar when he was the one who took you there, why on earth would you voluntarily go out with him again?

Mom is a little more forgiving, although not much. She said you don’t have to sleep with him. Um, wasn’t planning to. 

I want friends. I want love. But why does this one think that it might be him?

Last time I let a guy wear my defenses down (and I had them up when it came to him for a long time. Eight years if you can believe it), it turned out interestingly. 

Very interestingly. 

But …

But in the end he’s just another guy who survived the chase and decided that was good enough once he got the girl. 

He didn’t need to keep her. Not even after he got her to feel the way he said he did. 

Which is fine. I think he did care. I know he still does. But that just wasn’t enough. 

In any event, I have zero desire to be in that situation again. So I can’t put myself in it. 

And silence is the kinder response than what I really want to say about it all. 

I just let Evil Landlady 6 know that I’m not staying.

She said she was just about to put my lease renewal in my door.

I said I usually get it in December. So I figured with the construction, my lease wasn’t eligible for renewal.

She said not true and oh hey by the way you’re supposed to give 60 days’ notice.

I said funny, my new lease starts April 1. Not gonna happen. Maybe if I had known sooner, I would have responded sooner.

I tried to be nice about it. I said I will miss the view. I said six years is long enough to be in one place. I said I know the place will be beautiful when they finish their renovations (in 2047. *cough*).

But I’d appreciate finishing out the month and taking a few extra days to clean, if that’s OK with her.

What I didn’t say is everyone else I know moved in the middle of the night with like 10 minutes’ notice.

I didn’t say I think you guys already ran out of money and the construction has all but stopped BUT half the building is still boarded up.

I didn’t say your maintenance guy is useless and I’d love to not fall in a pothole eight different times before I get to my car.

I definitely didn’t say the construction dust is making my cat and my mom sneeze their heads off constantly.

I didn’t say the pool is unusable with construction and I still didn’t use it before because it had turds and cum in it most days.

Nope.

Instead I focused on how I’m going to miss being able to drop a penny from my balcony and have it hit the Intracoastal Waterway.

I thought about all those beautiful eastern sunrises I can see over the ocean. And the western sunsets and their pink and orange streaks that take my breath away.

I thought about walking to the pier for bonfires.

I thought about how, after a full day of crazy, I could ride the A1A home and enjoy the scenic drive.

She said I can think about it overnight, if I want to change my mind. She won’t raise my rent and she’s willing to do a seven-month lease.

Too bad I’ve already spent thousands on the new place. THOUSANDS. And more to come for the move itself.

I’m starting to get that sick-sad feeling I had as I left D.C. for the last time …

Hiring right isn’t what’s expensive.

Hiring wrong is.

In case anyone thought I gave up on my leadership blogging, come check my “drafts” folder …

I don’t ever doubt that I’m smart enough or good enough or that people like me. Because I am smart enough and I like me just fine and I really don’t care about others all that much.

But every once in a while people find their way under my skin and I wonder whether their perception of my value is far less … or far greater and they don’t want me to ever, ever know that.

In my younger years, I remember taking on better jobs with more responsibility and more pay. And I always assumed that I’d keep moving up … keep making more … keep achieving more and keep earning my “Goddess” title.

And yet life hasn’t worked out that way. It’s been a lot of up-down-up-sideways-down-down-up. With some breaks in between with no income whatsoever.

I always feel poor, too. I grew up poor and even now, no matter how hard I work or how much I make, I see everybody else who might have had a better start in life … or who got started younger … or who doesn’t have more college debt than they started out with (thanks 9% interest rate) … who married well and didn’t have my expenses …

And I don’t get mad or sad or anything. But I do wonder whether it will all ever pay off or whether mediocrity is as good as it gets.

I like to think that the universe and most of the people in it serve to crush your soul to keep you from feeling not only worthy of more, but worthy of what you have.

Because, as said universe has proven many times, it can take it all away and leave you with less.

So yeah. These are the thoughts I think as I contemplate moving costs and taking on another ridiculous rent.

I have a situation that should stress me out. And yet it is not what stresses me out the most.

I think bad grammar will be the death of me before the situation moves my blood pressure a single notch higher.

What will also kill me is how I still haven’t given notice at my apartment that I’m leaving because Mom won’t let me.

Granted I’m still waiting to hear from the Evil HOA whether they deem me worthy of renting from a private owner on their grounds.

But Mom may have a point that Evil Landlady 6 / New and Probably Evil Landlord 7 (a man! A disheveled one too. He is scary-looking) could toss us to the curb a month before we’re ready. But damn, could I take the hit to my credit they could give me if I don’t sing the “So Long, Farewell” song?

I was reading the online reviews of my new apartment building and wow do they suck. Hmm. Wonder if Mom is right to have that icky feeling about it.

Damn it. I can’t afford another expensive mistake.

Speaking of expensive mistakes, one of my boys made one. And funny thing was, nobody noticed.

I have been trying to ask the boy how to fix it. And all I get for my trouble is, “Sure, whatever.”

In other words, of course I’ll fix it. I always do. I don’t even know why I ask for help.

I’ve been cleaning out the house all morning. How I am going to move in just a couple of weeks is beyond me.

I’ve found all kinds of cool stuff though. I save everything. I mean, now that I know I can photograph my memorabilia, I’ll be pitching more stuff. I just wish I could pitch enough to not need a storage unit.

The new apartment is so clean and compact, I told mom we aren’t taking anything with us. She’s decided I’ve picked the worst apartment ever and that she just needs to leave this earth and leave me to live my life the way I see fit.

Yes, *drama.*

I was telling a friend about this back-and-forth and finally sent my friend the real estate listing. And he was like, THAT is what she’s complaining about?! And I felt better.

Don’t get me wrong. We have plenty of trade-offs that make the current place seem like a better choice. But that’s the thing. Staying here isn’t the right move, even though she seems to suddenly think it is.

I didn’t hit all the “wish list” items, but I got us a water view and modern appliances — our must-haves. Yeah we don’t need the basketball court or three pools.

And moving is is going to be a nightmare because of the teeny tiny loading area.

And it costs the same.

But …

It’s NEW and it’s convenient and it is a nice private owner instead of a fly-by-night rental company. Basically he said if it’s broken, I’ll fix it, but it’s brand-new and it shouldn’t break for a long time.

And this, I think, is the real value.

I hope she comes to feel healthier with cleaner air and certainly cleaner water. Kadie too.

She says I did this move for me. I did it for us. For them. For a goddamned year, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t buy the damn place. I hope to stay two years to justify the cost.

And I hope that this doesn’t destroy what little sense of adventure I have left in me.

So let’s say in a hypothetical Bizarro world, someone thought it would be a good idea to have their lawyer threaten you because, say, you don’t have enough time to parse their incoherent bullshit.

But when you, say, propose nicely how to transform it into mildly coherent bullshit, you get publicly excoriated …

Wouldn’t it make sense to file a counter-claim to say, “Stahp it with the bullshit already”?

There was a trending Twitter tag recently, #imsavingfor. I listed mine as “Bail Money.” I got some retweets from fellow sufferers. And some others are ready to chip in for my defense fund.

I’m trying very hard not to stress out. But damn, people. You’re lucky I’m not Olivia Pope. She’d extradite your ass to Iran or something. Or sic Huck on you.

I think I need to hire Olivia ….

And this is why, while I will always swoon at the idea of Fitz and making jam in Vermont, I will always gravitate to Team Jake.

‘Scandal’: Olivia and Fitz are the Worst Couple Ever

“Throughout the show, Olivia and Fitz have continuously allowed common sense to fall by the wayside, holding on to the fantasy that they could live happily ever after post-White House. Liv has not only accepted that this isn’t realistic, but now sees Fitz for who he really is — weak, ungrateful and far too willing to throw it all away. …

“Maybe now Liv can permanently set aside her dreams of making Smuckers with bae and get back to being the fixer we loved in Season 1.”

Today is one of my last work-from-home Fridays in my bedroom that overlooks the Intracoastal to the west. I can also look east at the ocean from my north-facing window.

I’m sad because I have loved this view and haven’t spent enough time taking advantage of it. Sadder still that I have access to a private beach and I might have visited it a dozen times in the last few years.

Mom is not happy with my apartment choice. Lost views and private beach access notwithstanding, it has carpet. It’s a lot of white. And it’s smaller. And a bunch of other things.

So basically she’s gone from, “I hate this dump” to “What possessed you to take me away from this wonderful place?”

She’s got a point. It costs the same. It’s not ideal in any way. But it overlooks a quiet lake. And there’s a Starbucks within walking distance.

And sure, I’m not a fan of paying for the basketball court and gym and three pools downstairs.

But after six years of b.s. from the McManagement here, isn’t it time for a change of scenery … even if the scenery is less beautiful?

I already don’t have time to fill out the paperwork let alone to pack and clean and call movers and, oh, tell the current place I’m leaving. Now to have this lady with a heavy heart looking sad all the time because I’m uprooting her? If the move itself doesn’t kill me, that will.