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I didn’t mean this to sound so sad. I’m attempting to do my taxes for the first time totally by myself. They’re complicated. My damn accountant was angry at me last year for sending him my audit during tax season. Well duh that’s when I got it and it was due 30 days later. He let it sit for months. The tax thing is complicating everything in my life right now. My Dad was a CPA who would have never been angry at a client for….My dad died suddenly at the end of this month 19 years ago. These couple of weeks always make me sad and trying to do taxes, uh!!!!!
I fear that someday, not soon I hope, I will die and not leave a legacy; no permanent marker, except for a headstone in Mount Hebron Cemetery that reminds the world I was here once.
People will argue that is selfish to want to be remembered. That if I wanted to be remembered I should have had children for parents did something important. But not all children are worthy of being remembered by their parents and parents, sometimes, very sadly, outlive children.
Then of course there’s the career legacy. As somebody who has had three and a half careers, a bunch of newspaper articles published and a five and a half year old blog, I can be remembered for knowing that one career wasn’t enough for a lifetime long before that was fashionable to think. But many other people can lay claim to that thought also.
They can’t all lay claim to saying some of the things I have said in this blog at the time I did, and I made sure to put in original thoughts. In the 70’s and 80’s before the era of instant communication and social networking, my sister claimed a New York Times reporter was following me around recording my every thought. For I would say something and a month or three later an article would be in The Times with the very same thought and/or lines.
I had no faith in myself then. No belief that I could write for such a newspaper or write an entire book.
Now I’m not sure I can market myself properly. Just writing this seems so egotistical. Yet what are most bloggers, Facebookers, and Twitterers doing but trying to make a mark on the world so that they will leave a legacy? A lot of money is good too.
I have friends who will be remembered for their careers. Their writing. Their wit. Their skill and talents in other areas. And their spouses, kids, grandkids and I’m beginning to feel very small in statute. I want what they have. I can’t have the kids and grandkids, that’s impossible and probably not the adoring spouse, but the career….Of course I’m convinced I’m becoming demented so I probably have about two good writing months left…..
For awhile I think I thought I could leave a legacy as a blogger. It was different three, four years ago. When you were known, many bloggers knew you. There weren’t thousands of different groups all competing for bloggers and fame. There was competitiveness, of course, everything is. But we knew we were in the earlier days of something bigger then ourselves something that could change communication. Then came Twitter. It’s all too much for me.
Friends are having grandchildren. I’m glad for them, so excited sometimes you have no idea, but a bit sad for me as I will never know that feeling.
My book is that most egotistical of genres, a memoir, but I do think I have a more interesting than most story to tell. One I won’t go into here as everybody who reads this blog knows it. If you know me through Facebook you don’t really know it.
You don’t know that I’m much more than a collection of symptoms. Hey, I met John Gotti and lived to talk about it. That will always be one of my favorite stories sick as it is and it’s very sick. It’s me, girl who couldn’t keep her Marilyn dress from doing a Marilyn. In my memories I have short blond hair, and big red lips. In reality I had long red hair done 40’s style or maybe I had cut it recently to just shoulder length with volume but not big–it was the last year of the 80’s. My lips might have been red but they were never big.
That’s not one of my best stories just one of my favorites. I don’t know what my best stories are. I have no way of judging my own work. I no longer have any semblance of a site meter so I have no way of gauging what pages are peoples favorites.
I did that on purpose. The whole get-to-love-me-through-social-media frenzy sickened me. I had come early to the party. Too early as I didn’t realize I was supposed to have a plan, enough energy to spend the hours I wasn’t exercising or writing on social media activities. I had done that with blogging solely because I’m obsessive and I was burnt out as I burn out of everything.
I’m vain. Oh so vain I think the story of not knowing I had non verbal learning disorder and living anyway is a good story. I spent my late teen, 20’s and 30’s being adorable, looking like a generic soap star, and I worked hard. I confused my bosses who couldn’t understand that the spacey klutzy but adorable girl did such complex excellent work.
Then I broke down. Though I did brilliantly in social work school I don’t think my work ever equaled the work I did in my 20’s to 37. Maybe it was the medication. More likely it was still not knowing what was wrong with me and being more aware since I broke down, had the testing, and found out I was supposed to be incapable of just about everything. I had always believed in myself before underneath it all. Always believed that tomorrow I would understand more. Tomorrow there would be magical answers.
The answers weren’t magical. There was some relief in knowing at first but then there was anger. I’m still working it out. And that’s the problem. A book needs a happy or tragic ending and I don’t plan on giving it a tragic ending. I want the happy one.
My life is good. Very good. But is buying, all on my own without help from one person, a house, and almost gut renovating it a good enough ending? Even if girl has problems that should preclude her from being proud of this?
Is girl coming to a city where she knew almost anybody at a stage in life when almot nobody moves except unhappily for a job or for grandchildren, and forging a life for herself, a happy ending?
Actually now that I read the above two paragraphs I realize that it’s just as happy an ending as girl meets boy. This hasn’t been Ozzie & Harriet’s world for sometime.
Or maybe I’m being defensive. And what I think are accomplishments are nothing important really.
“If you don’t act now the account will be closed.” “What do you mean? You will close my account?” “No I meant to say ‘the meeting will be adjourned.’ “ It’s a proxy meeting and I won’t bore you with specifics.
Explain please how a person would say the first sentence when she meant the “meeting will be adjourned.” I have been continually harassed by a company hired by a fund company. Continually as in three calls in the past two days all saying the sentences in the above paragraph. There were more calls but I hung up. Why am I the one person in America both to answer her phone and not hang up immediately? Why?
It’s not that I thought they were going to abscond with my money. It’s that they use the same verbiage in repeated calls. And there is a second of fear. I’m an idiot. I admit it.
I’m beyond angry. I try to let anger fly away. Unless used for a greater purpose it only serves to give people heart attacks and strokes–as my stock broker could attest to. He had massive heart failure a few months ago after having lost most of his money and much of his clients money. I felt sorry for him. I know. I know. But the world changed and it wasn’t his fault.
Most of us have had our lives changed in the past few years. These calls were directly made to play on fear. “Single woman, lives in South Carolina. Call her until she breaks.” Most women I have met here are very strong. They do have that steel magnolia thing going.
I’m a New Yorker and we yell. And yell. And yell. I refuse to fall into that though maybe it would be healthy for me.
I’m going to file formal complaints with both the SEC and the FCC. My brokerage house doesn’t want me to. I have to ask: why? Is there something beyond minor harassment in those calls?
Though I have made good friends and can’t complain about my life here, I’m feeling very alone. I would probably feel that way in New York right now. Having bag lady fears is normal, I know, though I have less to worry about in that area than many women, I do. It isn’t a giant amount of money but it will pay my expenses for many months or a great trip. I would like to keep it.
Those phone calls were designed to play on my fears. I had asked them not to call me. I specifically said, “I don’t want anybody from First Widget Trust calling me anymore.” Once you say that legally they can’t call. They ignored that. I feel violated. I feel as if somebody peered into my soul and decided that I’m somebody who can be screwed with. (According to my brokerage company, nobody else who has this fund–my one fund, I hate them–has been getting more than one call from First Widget Trust, and none have had that script read to them. It’s a script you’ll remember.) When a man called at 8:55 last night I said “I told you not to call me anymore.” He said “you didn’t tell me.” “You’re right. I said “….from First Widget…” He hung up. The law is that specific and I respect that.
I need winter to end. I didn’t move to the beach for endless freezing weather. My heating broke last week. Fortunately I can keep it on “emergency.” Unfortunately that’s very expensive. Unfortunately Trane is back ordered at least a month. Fortunately it’s under warranty.
My health insurance premium went up 37.6% a month. Nobody has ordered a moratorium on my increase, as President Obama did in California for 1.4% more. Is California superior to South Carolina? Are we going to be punished because South Carolina didn’t go Democrat? (I have given up on caring about any political party in this country. I have always liked Obama, and thought at first his conciliatory politics marked a new era. Now I think he needs to develop some cajones.
These are all minor things but they add up.
Sometimes I need to blog things to get over the feeling. I hate this need.
When Bone posts about Paul Krugman I will do a real post again.
I meant for this to be a vacation week. I learned more about heating coils and emergency heat than I ever wanted to know. One of the amphibians, (the other amphibian or TOA,) died. I named the other Clinton, in honor of _ _Clinton. Clinton, never Clint, seems to like being master of his domain. I’m living in fear that the biosphere was damaged and…..This is why I can’t have a dog. I can’t even take the death of TOA.
I have streaming netflick. When it actually streams it’s incredible. Pandora, where you make your own radio stations, is OK, just OK. However YouTube on TV–you might never hear from me again.
I hope I can still write. I fear that wisdom might come with aging (not mine) but words don’t. Then again…I’m starting to use a tape recorder and will buy one that can be plugged into the computer, maybe. I so hate the sound of my voice. It sounds like preppy whispering winds. Yuck.
This week is tax week. It’s the first time I’m going to attempt to do it on my own. The screaming you will hear…..I’m trying to be positive. As I’m trying to be positive, and say I can write this book because I have other books in me but this is the one I know I can sell and the one that needs to be written. Well I’m not sure I can sell it but….
I know ya’all tired of my complaining so….
My sister called the other night to tell me to watch this. We grew up to music from the civil rights era; it was the only music sung at our camp. Our parents didn’t like most music (don’t ask) but made sure we knew about Paul Robeson and Marion Robinson. I realize now our parents gave us an incredible gift. I can’t imagine not having grown up in a family where equal rights for everyone wasn’t a given.
I recognize and accept that somethings in my life will always be impossible for me to do. I understand I will have to spend the rest of my life explaining why I don’t drive; that hardware and learning things such as HTML might as well be advanced physics and calculus.
But damn when I pay for things I want them to work. I don’t want to spend a year staring at an incredibly beautiful shower that cost thousands of dollars plus I bought a new water heater for more pressure when the pressure is abysmal. I use the upstairs shower I spent nothing on. Then the plumber caused floods after he told me I had pin hole floods. The floods were a few days later and he didn’t return my calls for days. Said he didn’t have my numbers. I know I left them but maybe he didn’t get them.
I want the netflick DVD player to work–after two tech calls that did cost me money. I don’t want the cable company to constantly tell me “it’s your TV” when I had the Geek Squad come and check it out.
Getting things done properly costs money and I’m willing to spend the money but only if everything works when finished or after the service call.
I guess it’s time to face facts. Do the techs really work or decide that I’m a ditz and therefore…? Does the plumber feel no responsibility for causing floods, that cost me almost a thousand to fix? I’m not even talking about the pressure because I’m a single woman who has non verbal learning disabilities (NLD)? It might be an invisible disability but sometimes I feel that I wear a sign around my head “ditz,” “idiot,” “don’t take her seriously.”
Not having the social problems that so many people with NLD have might make it worse because I don’t expect to be treated poorly. And, honestly, lately I can’t tell if I’m experiencing a series of stupid problems that anybody would experience–and be bitchier than I am being, threaten to sue–maybe even go through with the law suit. Or are these problems specific to me?
I can watch the movies on my computer but why did I buy a TV and DVD player then? Am I wrong for caring? And damn I want that shower working properly. It’s Eldon’s responsibility and I told him I don’t want to involve him in a law suit but he didn’t spend the money nor does he spend a half hour a day staring at a thing of beauty that just can’t get itself it together.
I walk home from the grocery store. People always offer me rides and I refuse. Which actually isn’t nice when it’s somebody I know who really really wants to drive me. Yesterday I was carrying three bags filled with such things as a head of red cabbage, acorn squash, a bag of red onions (I’m into colorful vegetables) and much more. It was the first time I almost couldn’t make it and was too contrary to call a cab which would have been the sane thing to do.
I was a block and half away from home when a man was getting into his car. He offered me a ride and I gratefully accepted. I told him where I live–a major street, just a block….”I don’t know it. We just moved two months ago and I’m still feeling my way around.” “Oh where did you move from?” “We lived in Myrtle Beach for eighteen years.” I restrained from saying I thought he had to learn his way around The Grand Strand, and that my street abuts his. He then went into a long discourse about the differences between Myrtle Beach and North Myrtle. My favorite part of the discourse was when he said “I would tell you more but you’re such a lady.”
He’s right. Not about me being a lady particularly but the differences between the two cities. North Myrtle does everything it can to make living in it a pleasurable experience. Who can’t love a city that has festivals for every occasion it can think of and some more. Nobody gets the Irish/Italian festival but the music’s good.
While shag music still reigns here there’s more rock and soul. I don’t feel comfortable talking about Myrtle Beach’s problems as I’m such a lady.
••••••••••••••
My health insurance will go up $185 a month beginning in January.. I don’t qualify for the “healthy habits” discount as I take psychotropics. I’m trying to get off them but need a doctor to help and insurance here won’t cover that. Apparently being in therapy or taking medications for bioneurological problems aren’t healthy though many people would go off the deep end without them. It’s crazy because my answers to the other questions make me a great healthy habit person.
The letter said the insurance went up so much because of the dramatic rise in health care costs in the past year. I do believe they mean the cost of lobbying. I assume the dramatic rise is because they assume some form of health care reform will pass.
Though I will be paying almost $700 a month for health insurance much of my body and all of my mind isn’t covered. And as I have stated often I have never been seriously ill. It’s ironic that I was supposed to prove I haven’t been hospitalized as at the worst moments of my depression over NLD I asked to be hospitalized. I also asked to be sent to rehab. I would tell doctors it felt like an untreated brain injury. They would disagree as I’m so cognizant. Now of course it’s known to be a brain injury.
I pay as I have resources I would like to keep. This policy covered the most hospitalization and stuff like that I could find. In New York the limits were almost limitless. Not here.
While the odds of me being hit by a bus in North Myrtle are almost nil, being hit by a car is a distinct possibility. (I, being my father’s daughter, take uninsured drivers into account.)
I’m still glad I moved here. It’s a whole different world than the ones I’m used to and most of the time I love it.
I’m sick of NLD and sick of health care reform. Start or continue the party without me. There is much else I would like to focus on. And I’m a lady. I have no idea what that has to do with anything but I think it means I’m not supposed to be political. Oh can the whole lady bit.
•••••••••••
The whole time I was in New York I was obsessed with the color blue. My sister painted my old bedroom an exquisite blue, so beautiful I can neither really remember it or describe it. Yes it was weird when they first bought the parental manse but time and many changes have taken the weirdness away.
Lucia’s (the best of best friends) kitchen is a true sea blue, if your sea is in a very hot climate.
I couldn’t stop talking or thinking about redoing my living room. It’s pink and took ten coats to come out right. The downstairs bedroom is an ice blue. The study is turquoise and the guest room is teal. Obviously I love blue.
Then I came home and loved the coziness of the pink. I also said to myself: you’re so frigging crazy. Painting the living room is an excuse not to write. You spent the last two years moving. It’s time for some peace, and even more to get serious before you’re demented or somebody beats you to the weirdest story. Anyway you don’t have the money and every time you begin a home improvement project the stock market goes wild.
Yes, I’m the reason for the recession. Me, me and only me. It’s enough to make me ignore my house but I love it and weirdly I truly enjoy the “burdens” of home ownership.
The heating and AC guy was over today for the winter checkup. He said everything was perfect, and didn’t try to sell me something to enhance the performance. The exterminator came next. He didn’t tell me I had termites (I know he checks and gets a commission if he finds any.)
In New York both people would have tried to sell me a thousand things and would have had their hands out. OMG, was I supposed to tip them? I can’t help but think about the $1200+ I would be doling out this month in tips.
I enjoyed seeing people in New York. The city itself I wasn’t so crazy about. My last night I had a dream that I owned a cottage but couldn’t remember where. Great Neck? A cottage would be way too pricey. The Hamptons? In my dreams literally. It became a nightmare. I woke up and remembered; I do own a cottage, I do. In North Myrtle Beach SC. Oh the relief.
And I have a living room that will stay pink for a while. Hopefully the country will stay out of red.
I don’t usually wish I were in my 20’s or 30’s now but I do today. So that I could fill these pages with pictures of moi and write pithy sentences mistaken for oh so clever because back then I could recite the phone book and six out of ten people would be enthralled.
In October of my freshman year in college I forgot I had to give a speech the next day for speech class. It could be on anything I wanted. Fortunately I didn’t have to take the remedial speech class “losing your LonguyIsland accent.” I so wish I had a copy of the catalogue to show that I’m not making this up.
I was helping my boyfriend and his friends roommates guys he sort of knew and I was to know much better then he did* clean their new house on the Long Island Sound. House sounds grand. It was a basement apartment. Over them lived the biggest dealers on the Island but we didn’t know that yet. Or maybe the guys did but I sure was clueless.
My mother only used cleaning products like Ajax. I found myself enthralled by the Pine Sol bottle. It smelt so good. It was a liquid. It wasn’t on the Savage family approved list. As much as I lusted after my boyfriend I think I lusted after this bottle more. It was in the province of “I don’t have to be like my mother, and when I have my own apartment I’m going to use all the fancy cleaning products I can find.” I know–pine sol? I’m just telling this story not editorializing.
I read the back of the bottle to my boyfriend and his roommates. They loved it so I read it the next day. We had many friends in that class and they all reported back to my boyfriend. I was a complete success and got an “A.”
Unfortunately I never went back to class again and failed it. I, Miss Priss & Proper, do everything as soon as you get it, never let a bill sit, treat life as if it’s one big test, was a total screw up then.
But I can’t remember ever having so much pure fun. Well yes I can but that was the first time since grade school life was uncomplicated yet complicated.
*It was complicated.
I’m having the 9/11/dead mother thing again. After I got over thinking she was my father’s appendage but loved her much anyway, she became my go to person for just about everything. And in the revised family history I was always perfect.
Every year I think I won’t go through it and….I believe it would have only been bad last Thursday if it hadn’t rained yesterday and today. I need serious beach time. It’s a need not a want. I have begun putting my chair in the water where I know it will be enveloped in waves. Pure coach potato serious meditation. I don’t let myself go to the beach until I have done five miles on the recumbent Exercycle.
Back, way back when I was in my 30’s I did six miles in 30 minutes so I think five miles in 30 minutes is a great start. I’m starting to make it more difficult for myself as it doesn’t feel like exercising.
I thought cycling really fast at two minute increments aside from the 30 minutes. I thought that would negate the 9/11/dead mother blues. I guess it helps.
I would never tell a blogger what to blog about or not to but if you think you have an insight or story about 9/11 that hasn’t been told, don’t tell it. They’re trying to call it Patriots Day here which I always thought was a Spring holiday in Massachusetts honoring a few battles in the Revolution. I understand that history is always evolving but it’s called history for a reason and I don’t like my holidays tampered with.
I wouldn’t want 9/11 to be a holiday but I’m glad 9/11 is the first day of Fallshag week I like living in a city where everything centers around music.
In New York I would find this sickeningly old fashioned. I call myself and equal opportunity parade hater as I hate all but the Thanksgiving Day Parade. When I lived on the East Side it was across town but all other parades were in my front yard–Fifth Avenue. Wasn’t fun to be asked for ID every Saint Patricks Day by policeman who had me confused with an IRA activist and I didn’t even wear orange. Every parade had its own horrors, and I couldn’t stay in bed all day. Or if I were trying I would wake up to Telly Savalas singing “God Bless America” in Greek. Not fun.
Anyway, here the parades are small and cute but never cloying. And I will go to the memorial service as a lot of firemen retired here and they do deserve never ending thanks and gratitude.
I’m really looking forward to the illumination of the Shagger’s water tower. Sheet, I’m turning into the Sylivia Miles of North Myrtle Beach. Look her up. Oh she was a kinda actress turned older who would go to the opening of an envelope I can’t believe who came up with that line. Wiki has been wrong before…..
I heard a noise this afternoon and thought “the neighbors.” Then I remembered I live in a house I bought during the worst housing market in modern history and have been in slight (OK crazed) shock ever since.
The noise turned out to be thunder. I’m a T&L storm fanatic and miss the ones I saw from my east facing living room and north facing bedroom in my coop on Riverside @75th Street. My apartment was on the ninth floor–the so called “architects” floor for Manhattan pre-war buildings. It gets the best light and yes I loved that part.
Here I have an upper floor deck and deck that wraps around half my house, and I don’t have the magical light and sky that went on forever. It was the best part of my apartment except for the bathrooms, floors, nine foot ceiling, and general adorableness but that began to cloy.
My ceiling @63rd & Fifth was eleven & half feet high but I only had three windows–granted a bay ceiling that had no view and the light had been cut off by the shadows of the old and differently named AT&T and IBM buildings that were actually built during my tenure there.
Here I don’t have the great light. Nor do I get to see spectacular T&L storms unless I run into one of the two upstairs rooms and I do. Also I don’t think they play as well as they did in New York because of the absence of tall buildings. I have seen it from the beech and it’s incredible but I have to get home as I’m scared.
Have to meet people with ocean beach views, and oh I have to invite myself during a storm to a house that looks over the Inter coastal–it’s common to have Inter coastal views. Not as great as the inlets in Miami (I am a fussy guest) but doable.
I knew before I decided to move here that if I lived here I wouldn’t have an oceanfront condo. I haven’t found one I think “attractive.” I look at real estate for a hobby. It’s normal for me to go house hunting as soon as I first visit a place. Between that and walking everywhere I get much more of a feel for a place than most people. I recommend both as low or no cost activities.
Most of the foreclosures in North Myrtle itself are ocean front condos that, I assume, people bought to flip. There are many more “regular” house foreclosures in the surrounding towns. Summer season really ended two weeks ago–school began inland and last week here.
Main Street was very busy at times. Now it feels a bit desolate in evening. So many people depend on tourists and/or newcomers for business.
I’m having Eldon make me a bamboo dresser and bamboo, in front of bed, bench. I have to find white furniture on sale for the sunroom as i want to do one room all in white as a contrast to the color in all the other rooms. Now Eldon must understand I’m not the National Bank of Pia.
People here are hurting big time and currently. It hurts too come into a community and see so many people doing so poorly. I’m not a soup kitchen kind of volunteer. The volunteer work I will be doing entails courts and people who suffered at the hands of….It’s what I do best so.
I feel incredibly insecure and will until new health care legislation is passed. I planned and began this move under one economy….I have developed a love for buying stocks that seem incredible and do or promise to do great things but if I buy them they begin their long descent into failure. People my age aren’t supposed to buy that much stock but I come from a long line, well my father, of people who love the stock market.
Thing was he bought most stocks before the day of the institutional stock investor and warned me repeatedly that an individual doesn’t really have a chance. However….I fear getting sick or needing an operation and the insurance that I pay $505 a month for will refuse to pay. It’s a valid fear these days. I hope any kind of reform is passed this session because frankly I will have more energy to fight for universal health care–a phrase that shouldn’t exist in a void–knowing I’m fully insured.
I’m sorry if I have been harping on this but getting off the meds gives me slight panic attacks and I stay up at night thinking about health insurance when I would rather think about anything else
My friend the former soap star is going to be back for the end of Guiding Light This did make me tear up as I think they treated him like shit. I thought soaps were the medium you could grow older gracefully in, and Jay looked incredible. I will be watching on 9/17 and maybe just maybe will finally be able to understand the show.
i just returned from New York and had some life changing experiences so forgive me for getting the expression wrong. It is “bless your heart” Why bless my heart I can’t even get a stupid expression right–but am in such a good mood I don’t care. And love the newest changes to WP 2.forever.
“Why bless you, Miss Pia, you look divine”
Shit, I really need to lose an incredible amount of weight, get work done on my face, whole body, a new hair stylist. Wait it’s my hair stylist’s mother, who not so coincidentally happens to be my nail technician, telling me this.
“Why thank you Miss Edna” I don’t have the whole “Miss” thing down. I don’t think I’m supposed to say it to her as she’s nine years younger than I am but looks nine years older so…
I’m beginning to get true Southern lingo down. Any woman who says “bless you” to you is really politely dissing you especially when they belong to the Church of Harley Davidson. That’s not true. I just like the sound of the last part of the last sentence. They’re dissing you when they’re not-so-true Church ladies with no time for anything but Church and gossip.
I do love it here. Loved my ten days in New York and plan on writing about them but am oh so happy to be home. And this is home now. It really is. For some reason I find that one fact awe inspiring.
If my nail technician happens to read this for some ungodly reason please know that I adore you. You have never said anything like that but do worship at The Church of Harley….and by the way I don’t know how to tell you I can’t afford you. $60 for a mani/pedi no matter how great, and yours are to die for, is just too much. In New York, you can get them at any street corner for $19.99. It’s one of the two more expensive things here and I forget the second.
