Caterwauling

So I’ve been hatching an Evil Plan.

I mean, if it works, my problems are over.

In one area of my life, anyway.

I lined up all the dominoes. Everything could work.

Except …

The source of all these problems does not seem to be going along with the plan.

I have to do something fast, before really happy people get put behind bars for the murder they want to commit.

It was one thing when it was my problem. Now that it is “our” problem, I can’t just stand by and try to make it better. I HAVE to make it better.

And if they don’t take the very, very attractive option in front of them, this isn’t over.

Unfortunately for me. For now. But better for everyone in the long run.

It’s time for everything to start coming up Goddess.

“It’s a drop in the ocean
A change in the weather
I was praying that you and me might
End up together.”

— Ron Pope, “A Drop in the Ocean”

I have a friend who is pretty vocal that she’s angry at the universe. She wants her man. She wants babies. She wants her happily ever after. Where is it?

We talk offline from time to time. I don’t say those sorts of things publicly. Mostly because I don’t necessarily feel that way. But she said she can see through some of my overly happy social media posts.

She knows I’m just as baffled by the universe as she is that we’re 40, single and deserving of SO MUCH MORE.

My friend says Mother’s Day is bittersweet. Because, reasons.

For me I had a hard week. And while I do have “a person,” I long ago came to terms with the fact that being BFFs and being “THE” person are two different things. And it made me sad that things aren’t different.

Add to that watching a stranger’s wedding. Add to THAT shopping for two very dear girls in my life who are having their first babies. Plus consider how sick my mom is, and how she lit up in all the baby stores, and try not to feel like ass.

I give my friend credit for putting her frustration with the universe out there. But I think we’re a little different.

She wants her fairy tale ending. I want as many fairy tales as I can cram into this life.

I just wonder whether I’ve closed myself off to both.

I’m not waiting for different. At least, I don’t think I am.

I’m waiting for better. Whatever that is.

And still I wait. …

It wasn’t a rotten week. But I’ve certainly had better. 

Drove to my happy place yesterday. I always say I would want to get married on Deerfield Beach and have my reception at the Beach Club on the Lake Worth golf course. 

Anyway I saw people setting up a wedding. Took a few snapshots for my mental scrapbook …

And just a quick reason why I love the Beach Club in Lake Worth …

Since I was up all night with a vein throbbing in my head anyway, I did some thinking.

I was wondering whether the people we perceive as dumb (because of so many reasons) might be the smart ones.

I mean, you give someone a project that should take no more than 10 minutes. Eight days later, they are somehow still working on it.

Not that they reach out to you to ask questions or give you a progress update. And not that they have anything else going on. (At least when I’m late with a project, you can see the other 12 that got pushed in front of it.)

But they are off the radar when big things happen. They don’t lose sleep.

They don’t have an ache in their head and their heart because they tried their best and still it was a mess.

Their souls aren’t in a pool under their shoes that you killed yourself and still nobody’s really happy.

Hell, I’d wager they have no idea what’s going on right in front of them. And they are happy in their ignorance.

But their butts aren’t on the line, either. It’s the people out there trying who live in the hot seat. The mushrooms will keep their jobs forever, probably. Those who try to do right — but have to do so publicly — are the ones with the most to lose. And often do.

Of course, I’d rather be out there trying and pouring my heart into it. Even if it falls to pieces. That’s because I’ve been there when everything went wonderfully and everyone knew who I was and just what I could do.

It’ll all be OK. I need someone to tell me that. Someone I might believe when they said it.

*crickets*

OMG THIS DAY.

How do I put this delicately.

I wrote things that I don’t know if I 100% felt.

About people who, for all intents and purposes, tried. Even if things got lost in translation.

I rushed my efforts because, wanting it right and wanting it Wednesday still don’t exist on my plane of existence.

And boy do I regret it.

So do a lot of people.

I’m trying to fix the mistakes. Well, at least fix the ones I hadn’t made yet.

There’s this wave of panic that washes over you when you have control of the pen and the publish button. I handle it better than most. That’s because I have faith in my judgment. In my accuracy. In my heart being in the right place at all times.

But today, my heart is in my throat.

So, weird story.

Met a guy. Barely know him. Just to say hi here and there.

And it dawned on me that he must be fucking this bitch that I fucking loathe.

Loathe.

I mean “I hope a fucking house falls on her” loathe.

And it’s funny.

I am permanently disgusted by this guy. For having anything to do with her bitch ass.

His dick will probably rot off by her mere proximity to it.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

I never knew I had this kind of rage in me. And I don’t think it’s (too) misdirected.

Seriously. House. Fall. Crush the cunt. PARTY.

So apparently everyone got sick from a lunch outing yesterday.

I seem to be OK, other than a raging headache. Although my fish tacos smelled fishy and I figured I’d be the first man down.

Would love to be able to go lie down or take some time off.

Yeah.

Advil and coffee, then.

My new landlord insists on being paid by the 28th.

He received his check before that day and cashed it on that day.

Someone did, anyway.

Yet I just heard from the dumb bitch who used to live here, who ensnared me in this joint and didn’t tell me about the loud-ass crackheads upstairs. She said the rent is late and to add a $50 late fee.

Um.

Yeah, you who didn’t clean the place? Go fuck off.

I contacted the landlord and asked why I’m hearing from her.

Silence so far.

Everyone can continue playing “hide and go fuck themselves.” I’ll take the peace wherever I can get it.

“Somebody shine a light
I’m frozen by the fear in me
Somebody make me feel alive
And shatter me.”

Lindsey Stirling, “Shatter Me”

Awhile back, one of my boys was missing me. He said he was dying without me.

I thought he was lying. Or nuts.

Yet every once in a while, I find myself feeling how he said he felt back then.

Not that I say it. Or indulge in it too much.

But on rainy days like these with a birthday looming, I get it.

I remember when we counted down the hours till we would see each other. A random digit texted in the middle of the day or night meant you were on his mind.

I fought so hard for so long to not be on his mind. Now the struggle is to keep small, sweet things like that off of mine.

Read a good article yesterday about not disparaging anybody at work. Which is sort of a theme lately that we’ve been discussing a lot.

In any event, the article said everyone knows who the weak link is. It’s not your job to remind anyone of it unless you can fire or train them. In which case, you should fire or train them.

I’ve been getting a little too vocal about some things. Mostly because I thought I could train anybody. Silly Goddess.

Don’t get me wrong. Some of my greatest masterpieces took years to train. I just don’t have that kind of time or patience anymore. Plus there has to be a certain willingness to admit that one isn’t the smartest one in the room. Since, as stated above, everyone knows it.

In any event, the article said shut your trap and do your work brilliantly. So, there you have it.

Besides, I could stand to generate some good karma. So, positivity ahoy.

Here’s to all the pieces shaking out and landing where they’re supposed to.