bella luna

"Old man, if you give one more bite of my food to those dogs, I'll kick you till you're dead."

(Yes, I've been watching "Moonstruck". In installments. For the last week. Yes, it stars Cher. Yes, I believe it won Academy Awards. Yes, it's horrible. Horribly good.)


a. No dog for Katie (sad face). I'm trying not to be too disappointed or too mad at the Church War Council... and I'm trying not to tie my thwarted dog love into frustration at how the day care wakes me up every morning at 6:45. I don't know what those ladies are doing down there before the kids start arriving but it sounds like the end of the world.

b. I ordered a shirt from a store yesterday. A man's shirt. It felt like the 1940s (thankfully I was wearing my fancy tweed coat and it was blustery outside and I'm a working waitress girl now and ... you get the idea). I went down into the bowels of the store, to the mens department where a clerk met me, hands folded in front of him, head inclined slightly to indicate attention. We looked in vain for a black button up shirt (size very small). We hit upon a shirt that would become me well and he placed an order, took down my phone number and said the store would inform me when the shirt arrived. I don't know why this was all so exciting, but it was.

c. Sat with N. at the restaurant bar after my double shift yesterday and found out I get one free shift drink. W. rolled his eyes at my excitement. There's a white wine there that I love and it might be the best way to end a shift ever. We also get a free meal when we work a double.... anything on the menu. La-ti-da.

d. A little girl (maybe 2 years old) lost a shoe on her way to the coffee shop counter. "Uh-oh!" she said and I looked down and she's also wearing glasses. Knock me over with a feather. Teensy kids with glasses kill me.

e. After two hours of bear/cougar encounter horror stories, I've decided to celebrate 24 years of not being eaten by a cougar. Cake for everyone.

jerbs

So apparently it's Monday. The phone, calendar and M. all tell me this. I have no idea. My schedule (or lack of scheds) means I just don't know. Time has also ceased to have meaning. Sometimes I'm hungry and I eat food, but at no set hour. I've never had a job that began at 11 a.m. It's shattering (in a good way). It's so decadent. I have whole mornings to myself. I've been eating breakfast, stretching, walking, reading, playing guitar, writing, going out to breakfast -- a whole bunch of untold of, unheard of.

My first day at the restaurant was a blur. I trained in a whirlwind with three different people and confused all the table numbers. However, I can fold napkins -- small victories. Then a friend met me as I got off shift and we ate dinner together then took a dog with us to the beach and played in the fog, hunting for treasures in the driftwood. She found two bird skulls and a collection of warped plastic. I found a stick and a one-legged plastic horse. Both of us found multiple toothbrushes and slippers. A great disturbance in the Force. It was like a world made entirely of bathrooms had exploded and washed up on the beach. (as if a million voices crowd out in pain and then... silence -- reference anyone?)

Anyway. The point is, I was tired (brain-tired from newness) but I had so much energy otherwise and I felt fresh and bright and ready to give. Yayayayayayay. Each day I'm kind of amazed that I don't have to go back to the paper. It's... odd. This work is so easy even though I'm still incompetent and new to it all.

So, for the people out there who still read this (MRS. PAYNE), I'm doing quite well and catching up on sleep.

Goals for today:

1) Get through my double shift without pouring water onto a customer when I'm refilling glasses (very deep-seated fear)

2) Learn how to play and sing "The Devil's Right Hand" by Johnny Cash, which shouldn't be too hard since I think the man could only sing five different notes and usually stuck with two. Simple melodies resulting.

3) CASH CHECKS and so have the monies for to pay rents (I'm really really really bad about cashing checks. A mental block perhaps)

4) Find another black shirt for work since the uniform shirt is making me crazy (and, more importantly, sweaty. Bleh)

ch-ch-ch-changes

"Did you hear that? That's the story I just wrote. Yes, yes, I know we had a bargain. I just said I'd write it, I didn't say I wouldn't tear it up! It's all in little pieces now, Walter, and I hope to do the same for you some day!

...[to the other reporters] And that, my friends, is my farewell to the newspaper game."

- Hildy Johsnon, His Girl Friday


Some responses to my impending departure from the newspaper:

1. "Gotta do what you gotta do" (always accompanied by a shrug and eyes swinging to the right... usually said to me by older men looking at a lean retirement in a poor economy)

2. "Short timer!" - county official

3. "Yeah, well that's good. You should probably live like a normal person for a while." - female friend

4. "Well. Good luck. If I see you around town, I'll throw something at you." - drug cop

I put in my notice two weeks ago for many reasons and then (of course) all those reasons seemed silly at different times and then very important and now (looking back) it's a strange roller coaster heart break mess. I came out belly up in the best way, though, floating on my back. I (thanks, God) quit without a job to turn my hand to and within a couple days had two new jobs. Probably the most painless job search I've ever experienced. The second job jumped me, in fact.

Me: [stumbling in with my sad "did I make the right decision?" face and in need of morning coffee]
Coffee Shop: "So were you serious when you said you might be looking for other work?"
Me: "Yep."
Coffee Shop: "Wannaworkhere?"

And in the midst of career upheaval, I...

a. moved to a new apartment ("You could do cartwheels in here!" said Marta when she helped me move furniture. And then she proceeded to do two, from the dining area to the living room. I've tried a couple down the hallway, but the close walls scare me and I over think what I'm trying to do, as my bruised elbows and knees prove.

Yes, the apartment is huge and I've been wanting to buy a dog just so I can call to something and hear it scamper through rooms for at least five minutes before I actually see it.

I finally have room for all my books and the instruments are airing out and getting played. I've fallen asleep on my couch a couple times -- I have a couch! I can have people over for dinners and tea. Yay yay.)

b. cried for two weeks straight (I document it because the body is a fascinating thing and why we cry is really weird to me especially since crying shows very clearly that you are hurting or confused... basically, you're in need, yet, few people want to be seen crying. I know I don't. So why do it? Because we can be as stoic and snobby as we want but the body will not be denied its expression of pain! Take that, mind. You can't win)

c. saw the end of the Fitzhugh case only to have Them slap an incorrect headline on top of it. Oh well. This is how Katie learns to let go and be less prideful. This is also how Katie learns about rage and not expressing it. Here's the story.

Background: this case first began last August, about the same time I took over the cops beat. It was my introduction to a lot of things and a lot of people: domestic violence, detectives, the Women's Resource Center, murder trials, etc. I didn't expect it to end until February 2012 and I was going to stay at the paper at least till then. But (suddenly) there was a settlement conference and (suddenly) the whole case was wrapping up. I didn't plan to quit the paper at the same time, but so it turned out.

A detective who I'd pestered constantly about this case came up to me after the sentencing, shook my hand and said, "Well. Full-circle. Good luck out there."

---

I'll miss the job but I'm excited about what comes next mostly because I have no idea. I have work lined up that will keep me in food and shelter. Beyond that, got some plans, but nothing too dramatic. I will play a lot of music (sitar, your time has finally come), write stories (possibly books? the mind reels), make food, and calm the h down. Perhaps I will work on being a more useful friend... less frantically busy and stressed-out and forgetful. One of the churches in town asked me to be more involved with developing music during worship -- I'll try anything once (except for heroin... I do have some principles).

Now that I'm seeing the end of the newspaper job and have more or less accepted it, I'm excited about what I can do. Alternative small town online news website, anyone? I'm not out of this game by a long shot. It's too addicting and (besides) too many sources still like me and will tell me things. There's also going to be some traveling in the future. I want to see the United States. I also really want to go to Montana. Marta said she'll teach me how to snowboard. I told her death comes to us all anyway so why not?

“We would rather be ruined than changed;
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.”

- W.H. Auden

morning of the first day of panic

I admit that's a little dramatic. Being adult is not like being chased by rabid border collies, although it may be close and there is that feeling of imminent peril mingled with absurdity.

My sleep was dreams of money and relationships and oddly enough Drew Barrymore and the entire Barrymore clan all of whom are suffering from an inability to stay awake. Oprah was very concerned, especially when an elderly Barrymore climbed off the couch and fell asleep on the floor mid-sentence in denouncing the entire American Nation and most pharmaceutical companies.

While I sort out paying for art classes, printing off resumes, finding a second job, applying for internships, scouring the world for paying freelance gigs, and all such Godly joys, here are some stories published after my departure from Astoria:

The last EDP. Charming lady and I wanted her freckles. HEADLINE = "Mother's battle with multiple sclerosis inspires physical therapist"

Class of 59 profile. If this link doesn't work but you're really desperate to read the story, go to Google and type in "Karen Whitman, Astorian" and it should come up. Look for "Glass ceiling couldn't stop this graduate"