Living a life of loud desperation

My friend Rebecca coined this phrase when we were sharing a house in Austin. Rebecca is one of the funniest people I know and a fabulous negotiator. She got an entire group of us free into a bar on Sixth Street on my 26th birthday, the night some friends of mine rented a limo for us so I would drink, because one of my excuses was always I would not drink and drive or let someone else who had been drinking drive me (yes, I was a stick in the mud even back then but I am still alive so who's laughing now?) and then got some stranger to give her his Mastercard to buy drinks. She could have been a brilliant litigator but went into administrative law instead, probably because she decided after a year or two of spending 90 hours a week working, including Sundays, that that was not the legal track she wanted to take.

That was also the night Dennis Hopper admired my black leather skirt, I think.


This has nothing to do with the post, but given that journalspace lost FOUR YEARS of my blogs, I am going to re-post old photos. This is one of my favorites -- Ilene at her wedding to Patrick. Don't you love those shoes?

But it was during that time that she was living her life of loud desperation and I suppose I was living mine, trying to decide what the heck I was supposed to be doing with my life anyhow. That was before I knew that just having a regular job and friends and a garden and plain happiness was enough and that not everyone is meant to or has to live a Big Life.

Last week, when Laverne and Shirley first came into our house, SH was very concerned because they were not vocal. He thought there might be something wrong with them. Laverne talked a little bit in a tiny little cat voice. Then Shirley meowed once or twice in a Siamese-y voice. SH decided she was the sweet cat, kind of shy, and that Laverne was the outgoing, friendly one.

Boy, was he wrong.

Then he left.

And Shirley found her voice. At 3:00 in the morning.

Her very loud, demanding, desperate, someone is pulling out her claws with pliers, maybe she is dying, is something horribly wrong, should I take her to the vet? voice.

Her what is the point of life voice, her my God, why have you abandoned me voice, her is there any point to this at all voice? her can't you see I am in the pit of despair voice, her loud desperation voice.

And she has not shut up since.

I guess I'll be running a marathon sometime this summer, because training for one is the only thing that will get me away from Shirley's yowling.