Caterwauling

So many dicks.

Deep into hour 13 of my captivity, my friend texted to say a dozen people were laid off at his job.

I got to thinking how I could use his writing and editing genius. And yet how I have to keep other people employed Just Because.

Because what, exactly? They can’t find their way out of the building?

Just think … I could instead take that salary, add a little to it and boom, get myself some help that I am not contractually obligated by the universe to put into air quotes.

Imagine.

Worked till 1:37 a.m. last night. Granted, I didn’t start till 11 p.m. But, you know, details.

I don’t talk much of my psychic-ness because I haven’t been using it. I’ve kind of been happy (pause and re-read that again. Me. Happy) and I didn’t want to know the exact outcome of whatever was happening in my head, my heart and other highly sensitive areas. Just having feeling in them was enough.

Last night before bed, I asked my spirit guides “what if” — what if one decision was made differently.

I asked because I wanted to prove us right. Maybe we didn’t fuck this one up after all. Maybe we avoided real pain.

In any event, I wish I could say that my spirit guides showed me narrowly averted doom. Instead, they showed me what I never knew I wanted.

They showed me a city loft, something I have always longed for. They showed me a job I was good at.

That wasn’t all. They showed me heated, passionate arguments and vigorous make-up sex. They showed me my mom being healthy (the health care in said city is amazing. And free to those who need it) and my 6-year-old daughter with long red pigtails and blue eyes like her father’s.

She was exquisite. She had my laugh. When I’m happy, you can hear me laughing for miles. She got that from me. Oh those pretty eyes were so big and bright when we picked her up from my mom’s.

There was such a vivid conversation with him in my visit to this mythical place. On the subway ride home (he took charge of her. You could tell he was her favorite person), we talked about our long workdays and how we were giving the world this one amazing kid instead of having more, and put everything we had into protecting her and loving her and making her our world.

And in my (back in the present) mind, it’s almost too late for that. Emphasis on “almost.” Which is probably the wrong word to use because “never ever fucking ever” feels more appropriate. But, you know. miracles and such.

I couldn’t go further into the future than that time mostly because I woke up after two hours and couldn’t quiet my brain. Or my breathing.

Is it possible my dream was just that? Think what you want.

And I know to thank the universe that I’m alive, that I’m as whole as I’ve ever been, that at least he wasn’t the type to push me off a cruise ship or chain me to a bedpost without my permission. That great pain can’t exist without there having been great love in the first place.

But it’s a moment like this when you can see that happiness could have existed, you get pretty goddamned angry that no, instead we’ll just set fire to it all and pretend we were helpless bystanders and oh well it wasn’t meant to be. Bullshit.

“Boy you never told me
True love was going to hurt
True pain I don’t deserve
Truth is that I never learn.”

— Ella Henderson, “Ghost”

I’m not mad. Just baffled. And trying very hard to only listen to Melissa Etheridge’s first album 1,000 times and not 10,000.

I’ve decided to channel it all into the books I’ll never write. And to hope that now that I’ve seen a glimpse of how a girl should be treated and should feel, I’ll be able to find it again. Sure beats wondering if you didn’t fight hard enough to keep it when you had it in the first place.

When I got home/sobered up this morning, somewhere around 5 a.m., I drafted two good (I thought) posts about things I was feeling.

I said I was in the “L” word. No, not THAT word. Rather, Lunacy.

“So it’s gonna be forever
Or it’s gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it’s over
If the high was worth the pain.”

— Taylor Swift, “Blank Space”

I’ve decided my next guy, I’m going to torture the shit out of. That’s what they all want.

Love them and give them everything you’ve got and listen to their every word and live out their every fantasy, and that’s nice and all.

Treat them so bad they wish they’d never been born, and you have them for life.

I expect a ring out of the next one if I play it that way. Mark my words.

“My Church offers no absolutes
She tells me, ‘Worship in the bedroom.’
The only heaven I’ll be sent to
Is when I’m alone with you.”

— Hozier, “Take Me to Church”

Admittedly I was psychologically healthier when I went to church regularly. Now I don’t go at all and I can tell my soul is a mess and things don’t go as well as they did.

But Sunday morning religious experiences don’t always have to happen outside of the house. Just sayin’.

I need something to smash.

My friend texted me today to tell me the stupidest person in his company got a promotion and a raise.

Six hours later, I sent the very same text back because it happened under my nose too.

My friend said he’s just going to act stupid too.

I think I’m going to follow suit.

It’s either that or we give up. Which is becoming an attractive option. Especially after one of my boys told me I “need a raise” (and I quote) because my workload (and how much of it I ACTUALLY ACHIEVE) blows his mind.

Being smart doesn’t pay. Working nights and weekends doesn’t pay. Not knowing how to find your way out of the birth canal without someone shoving an iPhone with Siri up your mother’s cooch? Gets you into your next tax bracket.

I will try very hard not to think about that as I work the weekend AND the so-called Monday holiday.

I have no business blogging on what will become my fifth 14-plus hour workday this week.

But …

I tapped our brand-new person for an extra hand with two things.

She did five and came back with more ideas.

And she did them well.

She did them more accurately than the person who has been training with me for seven months.

I think I’m a little bit giddy.

Everyone has driven me bugshit nuts this week. Except her. I hope this is a good sign of amazing teamwork ahead.

A rogue tear fell out of my eye the other morning, listening to Blake Shelton’s “Don’t Make Me.”

Of course, I joke that I always cry on the way to work. I did that a lot when I commuted to Rockville, Md., and Jupiter, Fla. Mostly because, on top of Everything Else going crazy in my life, the drive each way was also perfectly hideous.

But it’s like the joke was on me when I cutlined the photo, “Heard a sad song on the radio. Spontaneous tears. Of course, I always cry on the way to work.”

That’s because I went on to have a bad, bad day that day. It’s like all my boys collectively started their man-strual cycles and decided to rain blood clots on my head.

On top of that, I had computer problems for the upteenth day in a row and the AC was off most of the day.

And (I think) I was still an angel even though everyone was being a butthead.

At least I got the crying out of the way early. I was too tired to do it after it was all over!

I would say I deserved an award that day, but the fact that I get to do it all over again is reward enough.

Maybe I’ll be able to hold a smile today. For the whole day.