Monday, September.. uh, well, it’s the last Monday in September. Leave me alone. I’ve had a few glasses of wine

I’m writing from St. Helena, California, and I spent the day helping with the “crush” of RW2 (rwsquared) 2003 cabernet. My father and Richard Walton have been making wine together for two years now, and I can’t imagine a better guy than, well, both Richards, who are incredibly different and compatible at the same time. The other Richard, the one I’m not related to, starts laughing when he wants to say something wry or funny, but he gets two words out, and then he has to stop and laugh. He also told me about a paddle trip he took with his daughter this summer. Seems I have a lot in common with both Richards.

I’ve all but made the decision to move here. I know this seems like it is coming from left field but, well, what an opportunity . I’ve already had one of five meetings where I’m talking to big people here in Napa, people in the wine business who are informed and connected and, so far, really kind and wonderful. The only pause I have right now is when. Next week? Next month? Should I wait out my lease even though at this point, I have no way to pay rent next month? I’m making less than $200 a week at my new job, and having to battle the crazies and the drunks and the excessively late hours. My mom wants me to never go back; I wish I didn’t have to.

I will need to go home and pack, and write, and play with the few people I care about back in NY. But I am ready for great change, and it can happen here.

I need to send cyber-kudos out to my dad, whose friends love him so much they are willing to open their arms to me even during the craziest time of the year- the picking and crush- and I am reminded that I am so, so lucky to have the family I do. Last night I was talking to a friend and he asked me how I maintain my level of self-confidence. I laughed, because it is something I certainly struggle with, but I told him that not only do I have a great degree of faith in myself, I also have this family. I have a mom who transcends momness- truly- there is nothing too small or enormous that she wouldn’t do if I needed it. My brothers who, each in their own way, remind me who I am. And my dad, someone who when I was thirteen I told I hated, when at fifteen was sure I would never really know, who when I was twenty listened and responded to the hardest questions and accusations a daughter could throw, and now that I am thirty one, has opened up his life to me.

I’m a lucky, lucky girl, just like my mom put in song, and now I need to make good on all the gifts given to me. I know I can do this.

My days have been filled with inanity and alcohol, late nights and nightmares, and today, just now, I watched as a vet gave my sweet cat Zooey a shot in the throat that stopped his heart.

They couldn’t do it in his leg, because he is, was, so decimated that they couldn’t find the vein. He’d already had one shot, to help him “go into a deeper sleep” but he never shut his eyes. I watched him go seconds without breathing and then gasping, without moving his face, filling his lungs. The vet and her helper left the room because the first shot needed five minutes to work. I knew, as I sat there looking at him, talking to him, petting him althogh he hasn’t purred in days, that it was too late to go back, he could never recover from that first shot, that he was really about to die. And all I could think about was how I failed him, how he had to live in a cage most of the time in the last months of his life, how my cat Fezzik demanded all of the attention while Zooey was happy rubbing himself on your foot, or if that wasn’t available, the phone book or my stack of CDs.

Zooey was born in California, and moved four times while still living in that state. Next was Iowa (only one move) and then Decatur, Illinois (two moves) and then New York, Chicago, Kansas City, Los Angeles, and then finally back to New York. He’s seen more of the world than most people. He was the last living animal of the Class of ’87, outliving Sergie the ferret and Kije the dog. He is up there with the funniest and coolest animals ever, giving even the infamous Cap’m of Chapel Hill fame a close contender in the halls of transcendent animals. He was afraid of exactly nothing and was generally so fat he tended to fall off anything he was sitting on as soon as he fell asleep. The fat would start to roll and he’d wake up only when he hit the floor.

But today, laying on a the table wrapped in a pink towel, he was nothing but skin and bones, literally, only skin and bones. When I’d put him down, he’d flopped over, and not moved again, even when he was given the first shot. He didn’t notice when the vet returned, and didn’t flinch when they started looking for veins.

But then, Christ, when the vet put the needle in his throat, and slowly started pushing it in, then he knew, and all he had strength to do was blow out through his nose, several times, the weakest protest, and when she was only halfway done I cried, “He can’t feel that, can he?” and she just made a noise as she concentrated on getting the last of the killing liquid inside of him. She finished, pulled out her stethoscope, listened to his chest, and said, “He’s gone.”

I sat there alone with him for some time. I didn’t know what to do, but this lump of open-eyed cat was not my Zooey, and I didn’t know how to say goodbye to what was already gone. I kept trying to leave but then staying, petting him and talking to him. I told him I was sorry he had to die here in this metal room instead of somewhere beautiful outside. I told him he was the best cat ever. And then I told him to go find Kije.

I know he was miserable, I know he was dying, but I can’t help but wonder how selfish my act was today. Was it that I couldn’t bear to see him so miserable? Did he want to die naturally, curled up on my bed? Or was he truly half-dead, blind, unknowing, ready to go? I don’t know. Zooey was sixteen years old, and had found me when I was still in high school. I’ve know him longer than I’ve known all but one of my friends. I’m baffled by the life I’ve created where I have to do something like this alone.

I’m up later than you. And you, and you, and you. Ya’ll are wussies. Here I am, up at 5:20. posting a blog.

I can’t describe how strange my new job is. My manager gets so drunk by the end of the shift… so drunk that this time she ended up wearing some guy’s kilt (and he in her jeans) and then she accidentally ripped another guy’s shirt to shreds (him in the backround, not remotely happy, “This was my favorite shirt. I’m not kidding.”). And then she had to literally push the kilt guy out of the cab because she was going home to her husband. That girl draws a crowd. She is a master of what she does.

Me? Well, I hang out in the backround, finding the occasional really cool person to talk to. I know I’m not nearly wild enough. I can’t pretend.

NEWSFLASH… pretty sure I forgot to mention… MY CERVIX IS HEALTHY!!!! False alarm. Biopsy came back completely normal. The Peace Corps is suddenly an option again. I mentioned that the sickness of my innards was confusing to me because I believe most of that is psychosomatic. My three bad paps happened in late August, when I was miserable, foolishly, uselessly miserable, and since I’ve come to my senses, my cervix is suddenly healthy. I’m just sayin’. A friend asked me tonight at dinner if I felt heavy or light, and I said, light, light, light. My body is so exhausted that my mind is allowed to fly. I’ve jumped off the deep end and found the water to be sweet.

I had yet another failed “meeting” of a man. I’ll put it simply. I was trying to explain my brother Kent’s idea of “doing it wrong differently” and the guy was all, “Yeah, like, be an individual, don’t do it like other people are doing it, be yourself, like, yeah, wow!” And I tried to explain that no, it’s not about anyone else, it’s about you, and how if what you are doing feels sucky you should try it another way even if you don’t know it’s right and this guy said, “Yeah, you know, just be yourself, blah blah blah” ugh. No thank you.

Last night I got two marriage proposals, one invitation to dinner and one invitation for champagne as soon as my shift was over. Welcome to my new world.

I trained for my new job last night. The shift started at 8 PM and I didn’t get home until 5:15 AM because the woman training me was so drunk by the end of the night she couldn’t figure out how to do the money. And she’s worked there for seven years.

I don’t know how long I will hack this drunken environment that feeds on other peoples’ lonliness. This bar has theories just as my fine dining restaurant did. All of them are designed to create regulars, to create a community, but they are also crafted so we take in as much money as possible. My new bar will be the sixth in the chain, and everyone competes for sales. It’s a whole new world to me, and I’m going to try my best for as long as I can. I was wildly sucessful last night, but little slices of my soul were spilling on the floor with the shots I was pretending to drink. In the end, it’s no different than the schmooze I used to do at my restaurant, it just manifests in a different way. The key is money: if I can make lots more money in less time, I’ll do it for as long as I can.

Today is my only day off this week. I’m starting my day at 1:30 in the afternoon. Going for a run and then I have a date with my computer and my novel. And then, meeting someone for coffee. What do I want to do? Go back to bed.

From today’s paper:

President Bush toured one of the nation’s largest power plants today and hailed the sprawling complex here as a symbol of how the relaxation of clean air rules would boost the economy and protect the environment.

It goes on to say:

While Mr. Bush was greeting workers, environmentalists said the relaxation of clean air rules known as the new source review would allow this plant to increase emissions by more than 30,000 tons a year, a 56 percent increase over current levels.

It’s not just that this man is stupid. It’s that he thinks we’re even stupider than he is. He says he’s stimulating the economy by taking off the environmental restrictions to produce power in dirtier ways. He says we can produce more power now. I mean, do we need more power? Obviously we just had a blackout but that was a screw-up, not a general need for higher demand.

Also, apparently now that “open war is over”, we are focusing on “rebuilding” Iraq and creating new jobs there. Gee, never mind that YET ANOTHER American was killed there yesterday. I mean, it’s over, right? For all intents and purposes? Screw the kids left there. Let’s tell the American public that it’s all about rebuild, rebuild, and then because they are so STUPID they won’t think about the kids being blown up by pipe bombs. Duh.

It’s a truly stunning day, 72 degrees and soft sunshine, but my heart is black with hate for this moron we have in office, and filled with shame for all of us who allowed him to get there.

One saying is “God helps those who help themselves”. Another, better one is “God sometimes does for you what you cannot do yourself”. Of course, replace the “god” part with something more palatable and both ring true.

I had my last day at work, which I’ll have to write about later, and then another meeting for my new job, and then tonight bartended the Celebrity 24-Hour Play. So much to write, but I have to be up at 8 to see my personal trainer (who I still can’t afford but can’t afford to not). I’m so, so thankful for the recent changes in my life, and haven’t had time to be sad. I also haven’t had time to write, the very thing I need to be doing, and I don’t really have a day off until a week from today. I can’t afford to lose momentum as I’ve already done here.

But for now, only sleep.

Tomorrow is my last shift at my restaurant. When I step back from this, I’m really, really happy and proud that I am leaving. A bunch a friends are coming in for lunch, and I’ll see most of the people I care about during the shift. I haven’t gotten any writing done since Thursday night… I’m hopeful for Monday, when this mess is done.

So much is changing that I barely know what to write. But things are good. This is all good. I am capable of making everything good.

So obviously it’s been a three-post day, but I think I knew that when I got up. And I’m inspired by my brother Kent, who writes when he feels like it, sometimes a few times a day and other times not at all.

As for the above, I know my side of the street is clean, and I feel much less strongly already than when I posted it a few hours ago. Sometimes things have to get super crappy for me to actually see the truth in a situation.

I dined with two of my brothers and several friends, and drove home with Ian and Tessa. The twin lights are up again. It is so, so strange that it has already been two years, but New York has in a way moved on. Tomorrow will be another day. But I’m left to wonder if September 11th will always be a spectacularly beautiful day, as if the weather gods want to be sure to give this day it’s due.

On a day like today I would like to ask for a little less self-involvement, a little more awareness, a little more owning up to your own actions. Don’t choose to do something, as you did today, to make you feel better as opposed to making me feel better. Don’t apologize for the specifics, apologize for instigating this in the first place, for making that poor choice, for causing me pain. I’m done apologizing for what part I’ve played and made it clear that I am done. But don’t be so casual and cavalier. I’m done, leave me be, I know what’s really going on now and I’m embarrased as hell that my solitary distress has been so public. I’m embarrased and sad for that time lost, lost when had I known then what was really going on I could have been so much better so faster.

So let’s truly be done. We will all be friends again soon, I hope, and I too will choose more carefully next time.

I have an appointment this morning at 8:45 with my new trainer. I did the math last night and there is no way I can afford her, but that’s not really the issue right now. This issue right now is that I have a stupid gym appointment the minute before 8:46 on 9/11. Right now two years ago I was rousing myself to get to work with a horrible hangover. Christ, it was a beautiful day.