Caterwauling

“There he goes gone again
Same old story’s gotta come to an end
Lovin’ him was a one-way street
But I’m gettin’ off where the crossroads meet

It’s a quarter moon in a ten cent town
Time for me to lay my heartaches down
Saturday night gonna make myself a name
Take a month of Sundays to try and explain

It’s gonna be easy to fill
The heart of a thirsty woman
Harder to kill the ghost of a no good man
And I’ll be ridin’ high in a fan-dangled sky
It’s gonna be easy
It’s gonna be easy from now on

Raw as whip but clean as a bone
Soft to touch when you take me home
When the mornin’ comes and it’s time for me to leave
Don’t worry ’bout me, I got a wild card up my sleeve.”

— Miranda Lambert, “Easy From Now On”

1. Technology more or less working all day. (Don’t ask about yesterday. Yams.)

2. Continuing the process of reclaiming songs from their previous association from ghosts from the past. It’s a long process (and Kenny Chesney’s “Somewhere With You” will always be about him. Always), but I’m finding I’d rather hear happy songs anyway. So, double-bonus on this one.

3. Having the universe orchestrate something so cosmically crazy and randomly perfect that is intelligently designed to drive someone crazy, if said person can connect the dots. And I think somebunny can draw a straight line. Best of all, it was unintentional and I had nothing to do with it anyway. And I may never benefit, but that’s quite OK. Well-played, universe. Well-played.

4. Nothing quite beats walking away and looking good while you’re doing it. Even if you might be forcing yourself to hum “I Feel Pretty” in an effort to will the grace your way.

5. Waking up, driving along the coast, having a safe (if not psychotic) morning commute, having a productive day and finding that the entries in my brand-new gratitude journal are coming pretty easily.

It’s six years today since I lost my grandfather. Missing him like it were yesterday. Wishing I could hear him play guitar and sing to me one more time, and that I could record it so I’d have it forever. Love you so much, Grampy. I know that white dove who hasn’t left my balcony in six days is you. Thank you for always being with me!

I did something today that I should have done a long time ago. Rather, I’ve done it before — but today I did it with my head in the right place.

I’m not one of those girls who writes off certain people as “dead to me.” In my case, it’s more like I’m “dead (inside) to them.”

And it would take a pretty big ventilator to bring me back to (their) life.

Now I’m not going to go so far as to say I’m going to sign the “do not resuscitate” paperwork. But if we’re going to remain in a vegetative state, let’s just cut off the oxygen supply and say I tried, OK?

Biorhythms are funny thing. The body in general is, really. Because your cells have memories. They really do.

I’ve been off-kilter because of Retrograde, but part of the absolute frustration and anger that’s been coursing through my veins during the past few weeks can also be easily explained away by the fact that Thanksgiving was coming. Something about impending family holidays — even when you’re down to having just one family member left — can really ignite the fight-or-flight response.

And normally passive-aggressive me has bought a brand-new pair of boxing gloves. Now I see why.

This is also the week that we lost my grandfather six years ago to absolute incompetence and error and neglect and other bullshit. I swear the VA Hospitals are told to kill off anyone they can so the country can stop paying their pensions. Why I continue to vote for ObamaCare, I’ll never know.

Oh wait, I do it because mom has been in my house since my grandfather died. And high atop my bitch list is basically needing help and not being able to get any, financially or other-resource-wise.

A friend of mine always told me, “I’m not long for this world.” And I have gotten scared about that at times, but the girl lives her life fully and I respect that. I’ve often thought the same of myself since I heard that. Maybe this is all an illusion. Instead of trying to be planful about the future, I should just blow my wad on fun stuff to make each day special because who knows if it will be the last.

And given mom’s frail health, I do tend toward the latter. Since lately, she doesn’t miss an opportunity to remind me how sick she is and how she probably won’t be around for (insert next holiday or major life milestone or weekend).

Yet when I say let’s try again for health care (she kept getting rejected so now we’ve just plain old given up), she’d rather go to Wal-Mart. So when she kvetches that I don’t know how serious things are, I say let’s strategize and make some progress instead of going out and spending my money, eh?

I have a debate going on in my head, mostly since I have a thing for poor boys so I know not to count on anybody taking care of ME since I never had kids to move in with, like everyone else in my family did. The debate is pretty much “reducing expenses” versus “making more money.” Which, I want both. I’m not an idiot.

But something about renting a shack in one of the Keys and living a simple life is SO appealing to me. Or do I use MY last burst of energy to bust my ass and get a good title and at least have money, if not time to spend it?

Right now I’m in the middle. I could be doing better on all fronts. Frankly I’m just happy to be middle management and just-enough out of sight to be out of mind, most days. I got canned from a pseudo-executive level in a cost-cutting measure last time around, so I have no aspirations to do better only to be more-visible.

But this working-hard-enough thing is about as fruitful as dating the wrong people, too. Everything and everyone is making me boring. Not bored. BORING. I haven’t been challenged in a LONG time and it shows.

The only challenge I have, really, is mom. And my brain is so far in “off” mode that when she says she’ll be spending Christmas with me from heaven … while it makes me absolutely nuts … the exhausted part of my brain and heart doesn’t allow the creative-solution part of my brain to do anything other than go park its ass in a hammock in the ocean.

I just don’t know what to do anymore. Nothing I do is ever enough — not with her, not at work, not the anonymous works I do for the greater good (or, more likely, for the specific people and animals I target), not with some of the people in whom I’ve invested as of late.

My life really is a good one. Better than most, really. I gave up a lot and I have enough. But if these are the best years of my life, being “not long for this world” would be more of a blessing than something to fear.

I know I suck at the whole communication thing. Especially when e-mails/texts arrive when I’m at work in one of the 75 ways one can reach me. I just found out that one of my friends quit their job over a month ago, and another friend was in town about a YEAR ago and I only just saw the message yesterday.

Oops.

But today? I was thrilled to hear from everyone, in every medium. (Especially text.) And I replied as quickly as I could, except for when the demon alcohol hit me about 20 minutes ago and I left a conversation abruptly.

Anyway, I was quick to wish favor to the few who were at the top of my turkey-addled brain today. And I downright gleefully replied to everyone who was kind enough to let me cross their mind today.

Which is why I am surprised that someone in my world couldn’t muster up the time or enthusiasm to type a “You Too!” when I wished said person a Happy Thanksgiving.

OK fine, I shouldn’t have called you a turkey. 😉 But, you know, when has “me being me” ever been something to hold against me? At least I didn’t punctuate it with an, “Apparently you ARE what you eat.”

It’s hard to bring light into the lives of those who can’t function unless it’s dark and one or both of you is in it …

I have been killing myself at work. Literally, scrambling. Now? I am cooked. Fried. Poached.

Spent most of the day in la-la land. Not that I don’t have eleventy frllion things to do before Monday. But, you know. Maybe if I weren’t quite so exhausted from every day leading up to this one, I could have used today productively.

Oh well. Just happy to be employed. And happier still that I could afford a day of mental rest. I’ll pay for it next week when one of my guys is out (and one of my gals was out last week — notice the “why I’m fried” pattern here). But I fly outta this bitch the week of the 17th and I am working toward that!

I just got to thinking that it’s time to pull out the notebook (yes, paper and pen! Horrors!) a little more frequently than blog-dumping. It’s time to stir up some trouble and I don’t want a paper trail! 😀 Not until I can get my story straight, anyway!

God it feels good to be alive again. …

Was just trying to write some ridiculous Happy Thanksgiving-type of message for my customers while half-listening to the daily marketing call. My mind wandered, as it tends to do. (Imagine how much I could achieve if I weren’t in a daydream most of every day.)

A memory from a recent outing came to mind. My friend had wandered off and a male acquaintance came out of nowhere and walked up to say hi.

We talked for a few minutes and wondered aloud why we had never hung out or actually become friends. I’d never thought about it. (I’m finding that’s a pattern these days.)

Anyway, we did the whole promise to hang out at some point. Which, he was tipsy and I was sober, so I imagine he forgot within five seconds and, well, I imagine I can tap him on LinkedIn if the mood strikes.

Which, normally it wouldn’t. But …

He hugged me goodbye after our very brief talk. And kissed me on the lips. Which, no big deal — that’s how I greet and say goodbye to most of my male friends. 🙂 But, wow. It was … probably not supposed to be as good as it was.

I had forgotten about that until now. And will forget about it again, I’m sure. But after spending a year dicking around with someone who would rather imprison himself than admit maybe I get under his skin a little, it was a nice reminder that not only am I still alive inside, but people actually are well-aware of me being alive on the outside as well.

And yes, he’s single. …

Yams. Yams. Yams. Yams. Yams.

I had to actively hide all the sharp objects today. Because someone is going to die, I swear.

Haven’t ruled out the possibility yet. But I just had a nice hour-long talk with a friend here under the guise of a “meeting,” and I think I’m going to be OK. For now.

And so will everyone else, be OK. Again, for now!

It’s just non-fucking-stop. It’s the nature of the beast before a holiday. But taking all the deadlines from the end of the week, cramming them into the beginning of the week, and then having to work the holiday to do all the work that was due in the early half of the week … especially since I just got robbed of 40 vacation hours on my anniversary date … is making me very, very cranky. Very.

Another thing that made me cranky today was seeing pics posted on Topo Gigio’s FB from years past. My God, he looked fantastic when he was my age. (Just under a decade separates us.)

Don’t get me wrong — the boy is hot now. But he had so much life in him back in the day. The light in his eyes that I only used to see when he was with me — light that flickers on when he lays eyes on me (even now) before he quickly hides his gaze — seemed ever-present.

Shit, I lost my marbles because I so liked the current version of him. I would have been INSANE had I known him when he was so … vibrant, I guess. I didn’t recognize the chick in the photos but I’m sure he had the girls lined up back then.

He still could. Lord, the man has everything I ever wanted in another person. Well, except the “ability to love me” bit.

Details!

And so, we move on and look for that next time. It’s that simple … and that difficult.

I found myself really kicking myself today. The last time he and I went out, he suggested that we have someone take our photo. I have zero of us together and frankly, one of him that I took. Sad, eh?

But I said no thanks. Which, we looked good. Not just that we were dressed up for a night out on the town, but we looked fantastic together.

I should have handed my phone to the stranger we were talking to. It would be nice to have proof of how I spent the last year of my life. 🙂

I don’t know why I said no. I guess I didn’t want to be tempted into looking at it. At some point, then, I can at least pretend that everything was a hallucination.

And maybe I don’t have to pretend. Maybe it just was.

Moving on.

But first, the song that comes on my iPhone twice a commute despite a thousand other tunes clamoring for space in my head.

“My life’s been better
Since the day I left you, boy
I must admit life’s been kind to me
I went and did the things I said I would, boy
I found someone who loves me for me

Haven’t had much drama since the day that we split, boy
My heart’s never been more at ease
And when I think of all the things you put me through
Leaving you has been the best thing for me

So why does it hurt so bad
Why do I feel so sad
I thought I was over you
But I keep crying
When I don’t love you.”

— Whitney Houston, “Why Does it Hurt So Bad?”

Mercury Retrograde is good for one thing: telling people off creatively.

Especially for us Mercury-ruled types, we should just duct-tape our mouths for three weeks at a time, three or four times a year. Because shit comes out that you have been muffling for months or even years.

Or as I admitted to someone (because yes, I do blurt shit out that I shouldn’t), it’s also a wonderful time to let things escape under the guise of, “Oh dear! How did THAT pop into my head (and out of my mouth)?” *innocent look*

My poor mother has heard everything I’ve been squelching since my grandfather died six years ago this week. And it ain’t pretty. She’s in hiding in her bedroom right now. AND I CAN FINALLY WRITE AND BLEED MY DAMN WOUNDS. HOORAY!

The thing is, she knows how to push every goddamn button I have. Sometimes, all at the same time. I can identify this because I do the same damn thing to her. And yesterday it was like throwing a shut-in on the whole piano keyboard. The noise is horrific and every button is stuck in depressed mode.

And boy does that last sentence say it all!

Speaking of Depressed, Meet Topo Gigio

Most of you don’t remember Topo Gigio, the mouse from “The Ed Sullivan Show.” I don’t either, actually. But that’s one of the names I call one of the “men” in my life.

And yesterday, he pretty much took a hammer to the last remaining button I had left standing when it comes not just to him, but to humanity.

This after I had received the most-wonderful e-mail from someone I knew and liked very much from my younger years. The timing was uncanny, really. I was on top of the world and recognizing my value to others when Topo thought he could wipe his ass on my world.

It will be the LAST time he does that. Because I can do better. I have always been able to do better. I just seem to have forgotten that because everyone has gone on to other people and I remain the asshole who is still alone.

But you know what? I’m probably the happiest asshole of them all because of that single state!

‘I Saw Goodbye in Her Eyes’

I’m borrowing this subhead from the new Zac Brown song. The thing is, I saw goodbye in Topo’s eyes a long time ago. And he flares up every now and again and, I’m ashamed to admit, I wonder if he’s finally had enough of his shitty choices that leave him isolated from normal people.

Rather, I’m ashamed to admit that I HOPE he’s coming to his senses before I put the epitaph on this entanglement. Which, again, that day was yesterday.

I haven’t seen him in a while. Because, well, distance really does make the heart grow fonder in two distinct ways:

1. He misses me and wants to see me.
2. I miss him until I spend time with him. Then, I’m good for a good long while.

I got an e-mail from him on Wednesday not saying he missed me. But saying that whenever I can free myself up, he’d love to do lunch or coffee or something.

OK.

So yesterday morning, we were texting back-and-forth about the usual pile of social, political and otherwise-surface issues that fill our conversations these days. (Since he has backtracked on everything he’s ever said to me personally. Easier to keep the truth straight, I guess, when the topic stays on national affairs.)

I was out and about, feeding my fur-niece and otherwise enjoying the pre-babysitting (Mom) gig that would eat up the entire rest of my day.

And thinking, OK, he said to tell him when I’m not busy, I said hey — I’m going to grab java after I spend some time with the cat. I’m by the highway. Want to take an hour to grab coffee with me? I’ll come to you.

Deja Vu All Over Again. And Again

I should know better. But, you know, maybe I’m sick of the only time we connect is when he is feeling like he’s off the leash that HE PUTS HIMSELF ON.

Seriously, he hangs himself with it. And you know what? Nobody gives a good God damn. Suffering is kind of pointless if nobody is witnessing it, yes?

The man’s got more excuses than China’s got rice. Yet he found another grain.

Funny thing was, he was heading down to the same fucking exit where I was doing my cat-sitting. But lo, raincheck! Eight Starbucks stores and three Dunkins in the six-block radius separated my whereabouts from his destination. But Jesus God no, he did not initiate the invitation so it is null and void!

I was stalking his whore online the other day. And I thought, hmm, she has a really cool Pinterest profile. We would probably be friends if I cared to associate with riff-raff. But that ain’t ever gonna happen.

I looked at her photo and thought, wow — that’s a face only a dumbass could love!

Or, more to the point …

A Face Only Dumbass Can Love

Understand, I’m not jealous. I actually hope these star-crossed nitwits can find their way together. But I think Whoreicane looks pretty happy with no mention of him anywhere or in any of her vast amounts of photos.

And I don’t think he can actually handle her. Like I said, I see parallels between myself and hoebag. I mean, he’s lowered his standards considerably on the looks front and even with the coherence front on that one. But I don’t think he can upkeep something like that.

Nay, I think she’ll get bored, or wait till he comes to his senses and finds somebody better. Frankly I think the only thing she loves is herself. And I’m not typically wrong about these things.

And forget me — I’ve made a return trip to my senses and closed the borders. So I think Raggedy Ass will be the lucky beneficiary. Since, of course, that’s where he was headed when he couldn’t come out and play yesterday.

Anyway, he said he was babysitting her dogs. And I was thisclose to saying, “Have fun with the dogs … and the canines!” Referring to her and her roommie, of course.

But …

I like that he thinks I’m so damn nice. (Clearly he has missed out on Caterwauling.com so far. Thank God.) I don’t want to say something shitty like that and have it be what he remembers me by. (Like I remember all the bad stuff.)

Again, but …

I thought of the whole “Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace” thing. Not that I plan to be around for that. But … WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS?

I can see rejecting me if he thought I was trying to get back to where we were heading, once upon a time. Trust me, the man is his own sequel to “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I get it, dude. Really.

But Jesus, I don’t need friends who are so married to the idea of possibly being disloyal to someone who doesn’t even know/care about their whereabouts at any given time that they can’t even hang with their platonic friends.

That’s why I’ve often said that he cared too much. (And punished me for it.) It’s not that he doesn’t trust ME around him … it’s that he doesn’t trust HIMSELF around me.

And, well, we girls DO HAVE WAYS OF SHUTTING THAT DOWN* YOU KNOW.

(*Actually I hate to pull out the Repug pro-rape-pregnancy line. Because he’s a Democrat and I do admit liberal guys do it better!)

OK, so for the punchline to all this …

Do I take advantage of Retrograde to unleash the verbal demons and be heard across hell’s half-acre … or continue being sweet and letting him kick his own ass when he realizes what an absolute shit he’s been to me?

Because, he will. I KNOW he will. That’s the funny thing about knowing someone inside and out. You can put a timeline on things. I say by the 2014 election cycle when we rid ourselves of Gov. Rick Scott.

He’s going to get what’s coming to him … and he’s going to DESERVE IT. (And not just “Pink Slip Rick,” although I look forward to helping that to come about, too.)

I don’t wish him ill. I don’t even wish him gone. I just wish that he could change his own destiny somehow, because “alone” is going to be a very lonely place when you’re not the one choosing it.

And maybe that’s what I’m doing at home. I had to beg for alone time today. After a yelling match where I was pushed to the absolute brink. Again, I don’t wish anybody ill — I wish they’d give me my damn space already. Once in a while, anyway. And not after they’ve pushed me to meltdown status.

We’re alike in that way, he and I. We’ll come around again when we need some companionship. Difference is, I see how we could be each other’s cheering section, support group and — I dunno — FRIEND.

But this half-assed shit isn’t good enough for me anymore. And the goodbye is definitely in my eyes. Question is, does he see it?

My great anthropological finds after 38 years (or 28 with a bonus decade) are as follows:

1. Men really just want someone they can rescue. Damn it to hell. I am weak. Trust me, I am ready to jump off a building if my area of Florida had anything over three stories tall. But none of my guys have been able to rescue me because I have a funny way of earning my own living and dealing with my shit.

But they LOVE lost causes (Little Whore on the Prairie, Raggedy Ass) who are helpless. And here I thought I was doing the RIGHT thing by not being an emotional or financial burden.

If anyone has evidence to the contrary, PLEASE tell me otherwise.

2. He is too nice of a guy to deserve a homely ass hoebag. But my takeaway here is that I deserve a guy who doesn’t worship a hoebag.

3. I’m sorry the GOP has a problem with single females. Sorry we outnumber the male population and sorry that we are aging JUST FINE without dumbass men who are either hung up on hoebags or are out banging hoes while their wives are at home. My takeaway here?

Thanks to Ohio Republicants now trying to defund Planned Parenthood (when you saw 67% of females vote AGAINST your candidate), clearly I cannot unsubscribe from my political feeds because you will continue to say and do STUPID SHIT instead of minding your own dick and going home and pleasing your wife so she isn’t out TAKING MEN AWAY FROM US SINGLE GIRLS.

GFY, all of yinz.