Caterwauling

If anyone has the nerve to look at my sad eyes and ask if my best friend died today, my answer will be …

Yes. Yes she did. 

Best friend I ever had. We both worked too much and too long and too hard to see each other enough. 

And here we are today, out of chances to fix that.  

Goddamn it, world. 

Sia and Brownie in my old backyard 

Waking up to the Wall Street Jounal’s massive photo of Bill Clinton under the headline about Hillary accepting the nomination last night is a painful reminder why we need her. 

She has the best resume. And some clustering doofus could get the top role. You know, business as usual. 

I love and hate this country so much. 

Someone asked if I were at the DNC this week. I LOL’d. Yes I had the opportunity. And it’s in Philly. I love Philly. HYOOGE fan of Philly. Also, #imwithher.

But, life.

I might as well tell the story of Tuesday or whatever day it was that was not very fun this week. In very edited glory.

For context, let’s say I am a trained surgeon. Trained myself over a decade ago. Particularly skilled in patching up battle wounds and being calm during mass trauma.

Let’s say that I spent the last five years filing paperwork for those surgeons. Occasionally jumping in to do some stitches when I can’t find anyone. Occasionally being asked why I use blue ink instead of black in that paperwork.

Then let’s say the ambulance bay is suddenly full and the surgeon is on one of the beds and the best I can do is dial a friend for a lifeline.

So yeah, lunch? Not so much.

Also, I had plans to actually attend a DNC viewing party — I got invited to three of them in Delray, Boca and Braddock Beaches — but yeah. Not so much.

Somewhere around 7 p.m., I decide hey let’s go to Popeye’s. I have consumed no calories today. LIVE IT UP. SPICY CHICKEN AND RED BEANS FOR EVERYONE, BIATCH.

I get two large teas — unsweet for me, and sweet for mom — and go home for my own viewing party.

Note that I never buy myself a drink. Ever. I can only carry so much, and I will ALWAYS pick mom over me.

Just as I get to my front door, the drink carrier caves in. With one hand free, I can only save one drink. I pick Mom’s.

And thank God, really, because who wants a GALLON OF SUGAR outside their front door?

I think there were more no good, very bad things throughout the day. But those are the only ones I will type out loud.

Now I’m left with Jesus I wasn’t ready to be a surgeon again. I’d like to be but A LITTLE WARNING would have helped. And now I am living in utter terror of the next trauma to walk through the door.

Thank God for Cory Booker, Michelle Obama, Joe Biden and Barack Obama for saving that night and last night. Because of them, I have pride in my country and in my work and will try again today with a renewed swell of purpose in my heart.

I tell you, election season is my Olympics. At least one I can participate in. And I hope against hope that we will go for — and GET — the gold in November … and shatter that glass ceiling once and for all.

I could write about my day here. Or I can let everyone know I want to spend two weeks in my hometown. Like, soon. 

And I’m not spending a comma on hotel rooms to be holed up in them, tethered to my laptop. 

Now to set about affording this odyssey, which involves moving the rest of mom’s shit down here …

And could I have a bite? Because I have not moved all day. And I am 100% unamused with the reason why. 

The first night of the DNC convention has me so pumped up, I could run a marathon. Truly. If it didn’t involve running or sweating, that is. 

Can’t talk about it on Faceypages. Lord knows some Hillary haters will get butt hurt. And then I will have to ignore them out loud while plotting to fly to their swing states and tie them to their beds so they don’t write in Jill Stein on Election Day. 

Speaking of Faceypages, mom was horrified that I reposted an 11-year-old photo that showed up in my Memories today. 

I mean, yeah, I’m a good 70 pounds lighter today. But I loved the day and the people I was with. That was back when K from NC was Lachlan from Seattle, when M was Liv and when Neil was his real name, D. 

Mine is the last blog standing. And those are what linked us before that day. D and I were neighbors. But none of us would have even known the others existed without our blogs. 

And for one night only, the Internet met in the funkiest little restaurant in Old Town Alexandria. 

Forgive me if I loved the smile on all our faces, even if my pudgy pork roast ass took up half the photo. 

Here it is, along with an “after” shot from yesterday at a Boca beach. It’s nice to know that it’s possible to get better with age …

I was pondering some stuff today and realized I don’t know anything and I’m not particularly good at anything. Which probably means it’s time to run a company and have kids. Let them be special. 

Then someone says to me, if only we were as encouraging to ourselves as we are to others. How the better among us can find a kind word for absolutely anyone. We can even forgive people who go to jail or otherwise fuck up pretty bad. But why can’t we extend the same grace to ourselves for even the most minor things?

I decided I’m not just part of the sandwich generation, but I’m a Cuban. Pressed and toasted within an inch of my life. So what if I don’t have a kid. Parent, pet, livelihood and trying to take care of me. Ham, pork, bread and pickle. Pretty tasty overall but can’t satisfy everyone. 

I still wonder what I’m going to be great at. Just happy that I still have time and a little bit of spunk left to find out. 

Of course, I shouldn’t call myself a Cuban too loud. Donald Trump would deport me.

I’ve written and abandoned a thousand posts in the last month. 

There’s so much to say. So many things I’ve learned. And I want to be jealous with my time. With my thoughts. With my wisdom. 

I never used to be that way and I hope it’s just a phase. Because if there’s that small chance someone will identify or use that info they learn to treat someone else better, it’s worth it. 

But at the point they will treat me worse for it, well. Time to get a little jealous with what I have to offer. At least for now. 

I will say this. Since I got my first job in 1990 at age 16, I’ve believed in giving everything to it. And making friends and family less than secondary. 

Here’s the thing. I’ve had so many lousy friends and useless family members and screwy relationships that it didn’t matter. 

And I learned to be an absent friend too. To the bad ones and unfortunately the good ones too. It’s a hard habit to break. 

The thing is though, you need relationships. You can’t treat them as a distraction from what gives you the cash to afford to enjoy or otherwise take care of them. 

In any event, I’m gaining a new appreciation for people again. Doesn’t mean I’ll be named friend of the year anytime soon. Also doesn’t mean I’ll become a better person overnight. But you know. I’m one step closer. And that’s got to count for something. 

Well after listening to a circus peanut scream and rain gloom and doom forecasts for an hour and a half like a financial publishing marketer, I’m ready to leave the country in January. 

So here’s the only positive thing I have to say. Here’s what a 40-lb weight loss looks like. I know I have a lot more work to do.  But what a difference in the face. 

I will have to go back to the Sunset Grill and take a photo that doesn’t make me sad now …

Rather than listing everything that went wrong today, I’m going to count my blessings. 

I got to take mom out to dinner, which I’ve done exactly three times on a weeknight since I moved here seven years ago. 

The Greek food was very good. I also had an awesome experience at Starbucks. And then I took mom shopping and got her the cutest set of bed sheets that she loves. 

Unfortunately, she feels bad that other things were going kaplooey in grand fashion. And she said she will say no if I ever dare leave the office before X hour again. 

I’m like no. I can’t martyr myself and you can’t do it for me. Things went wrong under my watchful eye. I fixed them to the best of my ability. There is little else to say. 

That’s what I do, you know. Try to re-prove my worth by exchanging even more precious free time. Prove what to whom, though? 

Tomorrow won’t be fun. But there will be a day after it. And a day after that. Like I tell everyone, we get a whole new set of opportunities every day to leave this one behind us.