I've been going full-steam ahead since I got home. I'm trying to build a network to support my new career and it's disheartening that I don't have the right tools in my toolchest. $10K and 6 months invested, I'm back—, looking for a familiar job with former peers who live in cubicles. But, I can't let regret take root. I've got to keep keepin' on.
I'd been working with a family, giving them every free minute and jumping through hoops when I more needed sleep or exercise. At the end of the third week, the husband called and said they were headed back to Ohio and didn't need the home we'd put the 4th contract on. My insides were fiery hot while I calculated the gas I'd spent for 500 miles of futility. But the call came just in time to be facing Friday night happy hour. For that—I am grateful.
At the beginning of the day, I'd planned to go to laughing yoga. But my knees buckled and my heart fell out. I sat still, visualizing how—envious that—Robin Williams got his ticket off this planet. I had to shift gears and get out of my head, get near someone. Laughter and thought of giving up the ghost don't go together, so I opened my events calendar (thank you Facebook, for giving me more to do than I could ever ask for!) and headed to the Austin Gay and Lesbian Film Festival fundraiser.
It was a pay $20 at the door and drink until the cabinet is dry, so I gulped Deep Eddie vodka with grapefruit and cranberry and Texas Tea and plain ol' regular flavors. A nice man— let's call him Danman—adopted me. We stood and watched an ice sculptorist who was dressed in thick leather and could have been mistaken for Eddie in Rocky Horror Picture Show.
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When Danman would return with freebies, we'd stand and watch the chainsaw slip through clear ice blocks, and I'd suck good vibes from Danman's aura. (Hey—, he had plenty to spare!) He was sweet; he was human, and I know that a benevolent deity sent him to keep me company until she wanted my attention.
You can imagine that I was p-l-a-s-t-e-r'd by the time she stood beside me, talking casually about the goings-on as if people drink custom-crafted vodka in motorcycle repair shops everyday. She was 5 foot nothin' & 90 lbs wet, and I couldn't get oriented fast enough to form more than one dangling clause at a time.
"Is that your husband?" she asked when my partner in crime, Danman, went for another free round.
"Him?" I looked at my feet. "He's nice."
"I thought you were married."
I stare forward, "Why?"
"You're with him."
Numb to the thought-- how anyone could confuse me for straight?
"It's the purse," She points. "Are you gay?"
I cock my head back as if to say, what kind of question is that? And, the extra vodka in my system adds a few pounds of force to my equilibrium.
"I saw you."
I'm just beginning to find the connections between my mind and tongue. I turn to make sure she's not looking at, talking to, someone behind me.
"I saw you earlier. I wanted to know you."
I feel her words push against the fruity vodka current, making it flow counter-clockwise. I turn to her. "Wanna go outside--so we can talk?"
I'd been working with a family, giving them every free minute and jumping through hoops when I more needed sleep or exercise. At the end of the third week, the husband called and said they were headed back to Ohio and didn't need the home we'd put the 4th contract on. My insides were fiery hot while I calculated the gas I'd spent for 500 miles of futility. But the call came just in time to be facing Friday night happy hour. For that—I am grateful.
At the beginning of the day, I'd planned to go to laughing yoga. But my knees buckled and my heart fell out. I sat still, visualizing how—envious that—Robin Williams got his ticket off this planet. I had to shift gears and get out of my head, get near someone. Laughter and thought of giving up the ghost don't go together, so I opened my events calendar (thank you Facebook, for giving me more to do than I could ever ask for!) and headed to the Austin Gay and Lesbian Film Festival fundraiser.
It was a pay $20 at the door and drink until the cabinet is dry, so I gulped Deep Eddie vodka with grapefruit and cranberry and Texas Tea and plain ol' regular flavors. A nice man— let's call him Danman—adopted me. We stood and watched an ice sculptorist who was dressed in thick leather and could have been mistaken for Eddie in Rocky Horror Picture Show.
When Danman would return with freebies, we'd stand and watch the chainsaw slip through clear ice blocks, and I'd suck good vibes from Danman's aura. (Hey—, he had plenty to spare!) He was sweet; he was human, and I know that a benevolent deity sent him to keep me company until she wanted my attention.
You can imagine that I was p-l-a-s-t-e-r'd by the time she stood beside me, talking casually about the goings-on as if people drink custom-crafted vodka in motorcycle repair shops everyday. She was 5 foot nothin' & 90 lbs wet, and I couldn't get oriented fast enough to form more than one dangling clause at a time.
"Is that your husband?" she asked when my partner in crime, Danman, went for another free round.
"Him?" I looked at my feet. "He's nice."
"I thought you were married."
I stare forward, "Why?"
"You're with him."
Numb to the thought-- how anyone could confuse me for straight?
"It's the purse," She points. "Are you gay?"
I cock my head back as if to say, what kind of question is that? And, the extra vodka in my system adds a few pounds of force to my equilibrium.
"I saw you."
I'm just beginning to find the connections between my mind and tongue. I turn to make sure she's not looking at, talking to, someone behind me.
"I saw you earlier. I wanted to know you."
I feel her words push against the fruity vodka current, making it flow counter-clockwise. I turn to her. "Wanna go outside--so we can talk?"
