Of course, having seen and heard me at my lowest and most anguished during my 2 1/2 years of not being able to find a job, she knows I’ve had more patience than I ever thought possible. (And, if you don’t know: After a lot of initial weirdness — she was expecting me to come out as gay, not transgender — my mother has been totally supportive of me through this past year or so.)
Then again, there might be a couple of underlying reasons for my impatience.
I never thought I’d ever do this, but went to a psychic for the first time in my life a couple months ago, and she said the reason I’m impatient is that this is the longest I’ve ever lived. I’ve always thought I was a young soul, but apparently not — I’ve lived many lives, she said, but I’ve died violently many times: strangled, drowned a couple of occasions, raped, and the last time, I was a dancer/singer who died backstage in a theater fire. (I’m still trying to find info on this — she said it was in New York in the ’40s or ’50s.) Which would explain my lifelong fears of both fire and deep water. And my lifelong desire to have everything, like, yesterday.
Well, there was a more pleasant, and more immediate, reason to be impatient. too.
She said great things are supposed to happen for me this summer, and that I should be prepared for people to be jealous of me. (Moi?) She also said, “You’re impatient because it’s like dinner in the kitchen — you can smell it, but you can’t taste it yet. You’re so close.”
I went to this psychic on the urging of a mutual friend — a Facebook friend who grew up here in Fresno and moved away — who saw my despairing blog post of two months ago. On one hand, my instincts had been telling me for a while that something great is gonna bust open for me once spring arrived. On the other, so much bad mojo — which I thought I had rid myself of for good — came flying back at me right before New Year’s that by the third week of January, I reached a deep point of despair, even resignation. At the least, the psychic seemed to validate my hunch about the near future.
Anyway, that leads into what I want to write about.
She said to get my feelers out there before Mercury comes out of retrograde, which will be April 13.
So I’m sending out my want and desire list to the universe via you — a friend, acquaintance, relative or even a total stranger who reads this. And maybe, just maybe, something good starts to happen. And soon. Before I run out of patience.
I’m not well-versed in the ways of the Western Zodiac, except for knowing that I seem to have every single personality trait a Gemini is supposed to have. But from what I’ve been able to glean, Mercury being in retrograde is not a good thing. It means that communications get all shades of fucked-up, and for someone who’s a natural communicator, it’s a hard time.
On a personal level, it feels as if many people I’ve considered close, or people I was there for at their lowest points, have simply vanished on me — phone calls and messages not returned, long time no hear from, things like that. Maybe they’re happy now — found new jobs, fell in love, etc. — and I remind them of where they were, in that cautionary tale/there-but-for-the-grace-of-God way.
Maybe the whole world got busy at once. Who knows? I’ve been doing my damndest not to take it personally, except that, on a primal level that runs as deep as my childhood, it feels like a latter-day version of shunning. Maybe it’s just Mercury. I don’t know.
And this Mercury-in-retrograde shit also extends to communication devices.
Two-and-a-half weeks ago, I was sitting at Revue, my coffee shop hangout, and the power cord to my laptop came loose from the cheap power strip in the front room as the computer was booting up. Fried my operating system. And I had planned to put out a resume that night when I got back to the house. After 25 minutes on the phone the next day with HP’s call staff in India (and a lot of miscommunication there, let me tell ya), I got a replacement disc — with no instructions. I finally got back up to speed a few days ago, thanks to an ex-colleague who was an IT guy.
And this is a time, also, when one isn’t supposed to sign contracts or make huge commitments, since the lines of communication get all screwy.
This is a time to just sit back, prepare for what you want to need and want to do … and — here we go again — be patient!
Okay, I have been. I know the deal by now, as much as I hate it. But I want to be prepared, get those feelers out. Put a map together for the next chapters of my life. So I’ve put a list of things together that I specifically want from the universe. I don’t know how I’ll get them, but if I don’t ask, don’t put them out there, then one thing will most definitely happen: nothing. So here goes something:
I want a job for now where I make great money, get excellent benefits, and come home at night feeling happy and fulfilled. And am able to move back home. Yeah, I know, so does everyone. And I deserve it, dammit! We all do! I’ve worked my ass off my whole life, and after 28 years in three abusive work relationships (union-busted out of my first paper, worked nearly to death at my second paper, laid off at my last, and now current again, paper), I’m ready for someone, some place, to treat me well. I don’t need to be treated like a princess — just like a human being, with basic human decency. With as little stress and drama as possible; with a paycheck that will allow me to get beyond living on the cheap (not extravagantly, mind you — just not frugally for a change), and will allow me to get the healthcare that we all deserve, despite what the fucking Republicans think.
If it’s a newspaper job, fine — and I did have a phone interview with Newsday, on Long Island, for a position a month ago. (It didn’t pan out, but it was quite encouraging.) But I’m looking at websites, nonprofits, PR (provided I don’t have to walk away feeling unclean at day’s end), ad agencies (ditto) — just someplace where I can put a lifetime of talents and skills and personality to good use and be compensated for it.
And yeah, I’d like to go home. I’ve been spoiled by the mild winters and lack of snow here in central California, and I’ve always hated winters in the Northeast. But I love my parents, and I’d like to be back for their last years. By back home, I mean anywhere between Manhattan and New Haven. (The Island would’ve worked, too.) Plus, there’s a part of me that’s always felt like an alien out here — like I’ve never quite fit in, regardless of gender..
I want to find a great agent and a great publisher for my book. I’ve been planning a book all along on the Twin Towers of Anxiety I’ve had to conquer the past four years — gender transition and unemployment. A lot of my writings about gender on this very blog will be incorporated into the book. I have a great title; I just have to overcome a couple of mental blocks to really get flying on it. Most of the notes are in place; I have a start; I think I was just looking for an ending before I really started flying, and I don’t have it quite yet. (So close …)
And it would also help to know I can find an excellent agent to bite on it, especially since I don’t know boo one about the world of books. Someone who’ll take extreme care with the story of the trip of my lifetime, someone who’ll find me the right publisher, where I’ll be able to get paid for it … and that includes the e-book royalties, too; I’ve heard too many horror stories of authors being paid pitiful royalties, thanks to Amazon. And maybe my story, good and bad, helps someone else along the path or transition or the path of understanding.
I want money. Again, who doesn’t? Not globs of it — though I did play my usual ticket Friday in the hopes of landing that $640 million Mega Millions jackpot. But enough to get me totally on my feet again and live comfortably.
Before the bad mojo descended in late December, I had a little mantra going in my head: “The money will come. The job will come. Love will come.” Somewhere along the line, instinct told me, “Don’t focus as much on the job; focus on the money. The job is just a means to an end.” So that’s where much of my positive thought has been pointed.
The money seems to be coming in when I need it, and just barely enough to cover. A year ago, when my 99 weeks of unemployment ran out, a magazine where I had interviewed the month before offered me freelance copy-editing work. That turned out to be not nearly as much work as they had told me I’d be getting, and after a summer at near-poverty, just when I had reached the end of my string at the beginning of September, I was brought back to The Fresno Bee, editing copy on an on-call basis. It was enough to get me a car (and the needed repairs on it) when I was totaled a month later, and I’ve been able to pay for some medical things and other necessities, too.
But now, I need to take it up a step — make enough money to pay down the credit cards, to be able to afford to move home or even make a trip home. And be able to live comfortably enough. I’m doing my part; I need the universe to step up.
Of course, if a windfall comes my way, I’m not kicking it out of my bank account …
I want love to happen. I’ve joked that I want the sugar mama to materialize. But seriously, at my age, in my situation, it means companionship and intimacy and mutual admiration more than it means sex or money.
I want the woman (genetic or trans) who’ll be there for the last chapters of my life, and who’ll want me along for her ride as well. The prerequisites: Pretty/cute, styling, intelligent, sharp, quick-witted, culturally minded, open-minded, youthful, a music fiend, lots of references in common.I know what I want.
The psychic did tell me she saw me getting married, and that this person would be stronger than me, be my lover and protector, and all she wants in return is to be loved.
So apparently, she’s out there. I just need for her to step forward — and for me to have my eyes open widely enough to spot her.
I want to land a great radio gig somewhere in the city of my choice. Yeah, again, who doesn’t?
The above-mentioned resume I was going to send just before my laptop glitched — had it all set to go — was for the general manager’s job at my beloved WPKN, back in Bridgeport. I took the as a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t apply. On one hand, it would’ve given me a chance to help a station near and dear to me when it truly needs the help, and I’ve always been able to work well with a wide range of people. On the other, there are the unhealthy station politics, the long hours, and working in a cramped office with one window and little natural light. It might have killed me — spiritually, if not physically — to come back.
But ultimately, I miss radio. It’s been a big part of my life, not to mention a great creative outlet. Yet, despite my years of experience at a nonprofit station back home, I was shut out of the two noncommercial stations here in Fresno: Fresno State’s KFSR and, nost especially and inexplicably, Pacifica’s KFCF. After all, I’ve spent years at a community station modeled after Pacifica, so this has truly bothered me. (I told you I’ve never felt like I’ve fit in here, and this is one of the reasons.)
Here’s what I need: I need to be in a place where I can walk into a failing commercial station and say, “Hey! Here’s what I want to do. Your station and its computer-generated, cookie-cutter bullshit are dying. Give me the reins. What do you have to lose?” And maybe do a drive-time show that’s an extension of my Facebook page — some politics and talk, some music, some social issues, lots of banter, totally organic. A hybrid of music and talk — the Web grafted onto terrestrial radio. There’d be nothing like it. And I’ll be fantastic at it.
So that’s what I want to do. And it would free up other time to write. And do other things I enjoy at my own leisure.
And that’s my want list — not wish list, want list. Wishing implies possible failure. Want means getting it. I don’t know how I’m gonna get there, but here are my feelers out to the universe, and hopefully, in a couple of weeks, when Mercury comes back, it’ll be the dawn of something wonderful. Universe, do your stuff.