Earlier this year, I lost out on a show at the local fancy concert hall.
I had bought tickets but had to work through the event.
I was pissed. And I was never quite the same afterward.
So Melissa Etheridge is coming to town. Same place. I dared to buy tickets.
Here’s to not losing another hundred bucks and another piece of my soul.
When the person who continually takes shortcuts and refuses to remember anything takes the shortcut that drags them under the bus that I’ve been struggling to keep from throwing them under.
Irony is divine.
Got some good news yesterday. Well, two sets really.
Made some progress on something that’s been unnecessarily hard.
And I hear an end to some uncertainty is around the corner.
Hooray.
I woke up at 4 am with an idea, feeling inspired for the first time in a long time. Typed furiously on my laptop till 6 am … when the laptop died. It died. It fucking died.
My iMac is sitting dead across the room. I can barely hear callers on my iPhone.
Gonna be an expensive project to replace all this shit.
It’s just too bad I finally felt a shade less than crazy and it was all for nothing.
It isn’t enough to be sick thanks in part to a very interesting dinner at Cheddar’s.
But to be staying close to home and then having my neighbor being his usual violent self upstairs makes me feel that much worse.
Was at the mechanic yesterday, dodging about $1,000 in needed repairs. When I found out we live in the same goddamned place.
We traded stories — mine of the guy shooting off his nuts and his dog’s too, the swamp cancer, the duck-kickers, the guy who pisses off the balcony … and his of the big gay guys who fuck hard up against his wall, the neighbor who OD’d, the guy who killed himself and maimed his girlfriend for life, and the flying 2x4s during the last storm.
We both have cop stories, the asshole who claims we don’t come to a full stop but lets everyone else fly through at 78 mph with no problems. (I got the ticket; he, being 6’7″, did not.)
We talked of getting screwed on the rent. Although I kept slightly mum that at least I get a 2BR for my near-two-grand, while he has a 1BR. Of course, he has a girlfriend to split the bills with (damn! he’s cute, too! And we KNOW how I need a mechanic in my life!), so I don’t feel too bad.
Meanwhile, my friend I had lunch with says her mortgage is $700 a month.
Granted, I’d never want to live where she does. And she’s getting screwed with her healthcare premiums for $900 a month.
Meanwhile we have zero in the way of healthcare here. So she’s basically getting healthy and isn’t housing-insecure, for the same money I spend.
Meanwhile I fret every minute of every day about losing the job, the apartment, the mom, the cat, the car. With no real way to save a freaking dime because the apartment eats my whole salary.
Welcome to South Florida, kids. Where nobody has it good.
Got a call from a person looking to hire a former employee.
I bet it killed them to have to list me as a contact.
I referred the call to someone else to handle. I said my hope is that this person finally finds a terrific fit.
I mean it. And I hope others who maybe have their own set of frustrations with me would do the same thing. After all, we know those people had their own challenges with us.
A friend who has voiced her disappointment regularly over not having a man posted that she’s in a relationship.
No details and no sign of anyone special in the hallowed halls of Facebook. Unless it isn’t a man. Could be Jesus. Happy for her any which way, truly.
I just hope she didn’t fall for the same bullshit from the same someone who pestered the fuck out of me till I caved.
There’s a commercial for a candy bar, where a punk-rock girl tattoos “No Regerts” on a dopey biker dude’s arm.
It makes me cringe because there are two misspellings on my calendar that drive me crazy. Also, I’m an editor.
At least, I think I’m an editor. I really don’t know how to identify lately. Female, feminist, Republican (at least, I am voting for the Republican in this election — for Democrat Hillary Clinton), daughter, kitty momma, blogger, wine drinker, coffee connoisseur, sun worshiper and goddess.
Note there’s no writer or editor or expert or investing legend in there. I’ve gotten away from those sorts of things in an effort to manage my time better. Way to go, giving up what defines you so you can learn OPP (other people’s processes) instead.
Anyway. Regerts.
*cringe*
I wish I had never just walked out on the job that March morning six years ago.
There, I said it.
I was upset about a lot of things, yes. And I also had a job waiting. So there’s that.
But …
I wish I hadn’t wasted the moment. On people who I thought at the time either deserved it or wouldn’t care either way.
I’m not saying I wish I could do it now. But what I am saying is that I wish I hadn’t burned that bridge, and not for the reason I did it.
I did it in solidarity with another employee (a bunch, actually, but one in particular) who would go on to screw ME over big-time. Like the bitch didn’t learn how it felt to be utterly shafted by people you trusted.
I lost friendships when I picked my allegiance. I lost connections, too, some of whom have actually gone on to do better things — even the people I hoped to never run into again.
Anyway. When I maybe perhaps just briefly for a moment imagine saying exactly what’s on my mind at the exact moment I think it, I reflect. And feel more than just a little regret.
Did I owe them more? Maybe. Did I owe myself — my reputation, my integrity, my ability to hold my head high and not avert my gaze when I see these people on the street — more? Absolutely.
Because nobody would accept it if I said I were simply eating a Milky Way. I shoulda had a Snickers bar … or a damn V-8 … instead.
Relevant to my interests today.
The more I read, the madder I get.
I see so many friends sharing stories of sexism.
It occurs to me that, personally, I’ve forgotten more than I remember.
I know there are some repressed details I don’t want to deal with again. (If at all. Selective memory, people.)
I mean, I have enough clear and present memories of suffering fools. My little lady brain can only hold so much.
I tell you, though. One of these days I’m either going to pat someone lovingly with a shovel for hitting one of my triggers … or else I’m going to do something useful and spectacular and change the world.
Given how many triggers I try with all my might to ignore, I’d be bullish on shovels. I like Home Depot over Lowe’s, if you needed the stock pick.