Caterwauling

Today was mom’s actual birthday. 59. With the health of a 103-year-old. 

She asked to join me to feed the ducks. Which I haven’t done in a few days. We have so many now. I buy seed in bulk but they’re starving. It’s never enough. She gets depressed about that, and I don’t want to deal. 

She must feel the same way when I mention certain names as I do when she talks about neighbors or ducks. 

She also wanted to come to the mailbox in our clubhouse. Naturally her friends are as useful as mine, as the usual suspects were absent as usual with their birthday cards. This after I fussed over her BFF just last week. 

Except …

There was a card from Uncle Tom. Sent Friday, pre-holiday weekend, so he could get it to her on her day. 

We sat at the pool and cried. He died Sunday as far as we know. Maybe sooner. 

And it was so hard for him to get to a mailbox at 86 with his health.  

But he did it. For her. 

If there’s a heaven, he’s in it. I thanked him for showing love to her when no one else did/has. 

She would murder me for taking this pic. She held onto his letter for an hour, unopened. It struck me when she said, there’s no one to send a thank-you to anymore. 

She thanked him for every note. She loved seeing his handwriting. And he came to worry if there was a delay in getting a note from her. Which was rare. Her etiquette is pretty impeccable. 

They were pen pals for 10 years. 

I don’t know if she’s opened that letter yet. I won’t ask. I’m just so happy she received it. 

Thank you, Uncle Tom. Love you bunches. Thank you for loving my momma so much. 

Coming back to work after five working days (10 full days, thank you Labor Day) away is like letting a mental patient back into society.

Sure, I was up and dressed and at my perch on time. I had my to-do list ready with seven things but with certain plans to knock out three of them.

And then, “oh hey we’re launching a project tomorrow” was said to someone else. And that matters to me. (So glad I heard it.) That’s because I have a couple parts in it that I haven’t done because I didn’t know when it was launching. And my part in it is pretty timely.

While it was no big deal, and I banged the bulk of it out by 1 p.m., I feel … fragile. Like, whoa. Needed just a little warning there. Don’t disturb the crazy person yet.

(Now to do those other three big things …)

I mean, I’m glad no one asked me about it last week. Facebook Memories reminds me quite clearly that I was working during several holidays past. But it’s very weird how completely off it threw me.

And I felt my quelled anxiety bubble to the surface again. Which is weird because this is no big deal and I could do this in my sleep. Truly.

But this was a big day. Of the last 10 days, I wore makeup once. Fixed my hair exactly zero times. Wore nothing but shorts and halters and Coppertone dry oil with SPF 12. Today? Makeup, hair, outfit, and brain usage. No sliding into it!

Actually I’m pretty lucky. It’s a more creative environment. No need for suits and “stupid shoes” (my name for things that pinch and make you bleed). If you want to get up and walk around, you get up and walk around. Hungry? Undercaffeinated? Fix it at your earliest convenience. Etc.

It made me think of quite a few high achievers I knew who went off-course, shall we say. I never quite knew how to address them after that. Didn’t want to be the reason they got knocked off the wagon or regressed.

So I took a little walk. Couldn’t be a long one, but better than nothing. Grabbed my worry stone and started rubbing. Took this little brain break to bang out this incoherence. And now, back to it for as long as my body can handle.

Interesting how my brain is just fine. Alive, alert, ready and even hungry. But my body? In near-rebellion mode. And I have no idea how to get them back into sync …

Hello, back-to-school anxiety. Been 10 days since we’ve been acquainted. 

Saw this online somewhere. Did screen grabs rather than getting the hyperlink. 

Sounds about right …

Anthony — the boyfriend of Melissa the duck-kicking bitch, and brother of Fat Blonde Bitch who sics her dogs on the ducks here — got interviewed by CBS yesterday here. 

His unleashed beast, which Melissa stalked me with, got swamp cancer from our lake. 

They don’t understand karma, clearly. 

And funny he had a leash in his hand the whole time during the interview. Fuckers have two leashes and six dogs. 

And I’m so sick of hearing them bark at all fucking hours. The beasts and their dogs. 

I feel bad that the dog lost his leg. And that he has to live with those assholes. But I have no sympathy for them. 

Leash your beasts and obey the numerous “no swimming” signs. 

It’s not hard. Really. 

Wish they would all move and get the fuck out of our lives. I’d be 100% happier here without them. 

My uncle died. 

Mom was extremely close to him. When my grandfather died, he was the only member of the Manson Family to connect with her. She loved him as much as her own dad. 

And now he’s gone. 

I can’t say much other than that his daughter is a drunk, chain-smoking Cunt who didn’t deserve him. Here’s my mom who loved him like none other, while Elaine didn’t take him to his heart doc appointments and told him to burn in hell as recently as last week. 

No wonder her husband left her. Awful person I can’t stand to call my cousin. 

Mom wanted Uncle Tom to come down here and live with us. He was retired and ok financially and really didn’t need much beyond some companionship. 

I was happy to pursue the idea. I mean, mom loved to take care of her daddy. He needed a good daughter. One who didn’t abuse him verbally and let him starve to death. 

This was my grandfather’s youngest brother. Only Aunt Marion is left. Well, Uncle Ronnie. But that prick can keep his distance. 

Uncle Tom actually quit taking to Ron because everyone in the family was putting my mom down and Tom was sick of it. Ron was the worst of the bunch. The Jesus Freak who gossips about everyone. Go figure. 

I’d like to go back to Pittsburgh for the memorial service, if there is one. Mom couldn’t go if she wanted to, and these fools made my grandfather’s funeral 1,000 times more stressful. Not Tom, but Ron and all the cousins. So it would be in my best interest to stay away or stay silent. 

I just had my first week off ever. But this was the week I was supposed to be off. I guess I could work through the trip. Just wish I had a couch to crash on and Wi-Fi to steal. And that I could punch Elaine in her perennially poodle-permed face. 

Mostly, I wish I could prevent the downward spiral this is going to throw mom into. You know. Beyond the one she’s been in for the past 10 years that Grampy’s been gone. 

It’s also her birthday. So her beloved uncle passed on her day. 

The family vultures are already spreading the news and talking about Elaine in the same nasty way they talked about mom. But they don’t know the half of it with cousin dearest. And I ain’t saying a word. 

I’m just glad mom and her uncle got to talk on his birthday last week. And I’ll try not to cry as we return the items we bought today that we were going to send him in a care package. 

I don’t know, Universe. You’ve brought an awful lot of loss lately. I know to be thankful for all my blessings. (And I am.) But I has a sad right now, and I hope you can assure me somehow that my loved ones are in a better place. 

Give my love to the Manson Family siblings. Calvin, Clair, Red, Lenna, Russ and now Tom, together again. Rock out, friends. And know that we love and miss you all. (Even you, Russ. But mostly everyone else.)

Wanted to head to Miami to see Collective Soul and Goo Goo Dolls at Bayside last night. 

Alas, you plan and God laughs. 

Ended up heading up to Stuart, Hutchinson Island (Bathtub Beach) and Port St. Lucie for brunch, beach and a cupcake. ?

I think I did ok. After all, the beauty of living in paradise is that you don’t have to leave it to feel like you’re escaping the world.  

Panic. 

Panic that this will be the last day off I get for the rest of my life. 

Panic that they lived just fine without me at the office (during a slow week) and they don’t need me back.

Panic that I’ll get back into the swing of things, and stand up and run away. 

Panic that I blew my chance to achieve my personal to-do list, the one I saved for this glorious week, instead chasing freedom and relaxation. 

Panic that now that I know what freedom and relaxation is, I won’t be happy till I have it again. Or that I simply won’t have it again. 

Hurricane Hermine won’t affect us much here. But I’m going to plant my pudgy pork roast butt on the couch anyway and savor my first (and only) non-stressful Friday in the history of Fridays. 

I just hope it isn’t the last one I get enjoy. Because I feel like a whole new person — and one I actually enjoy being. 

Had grand plans to be at one of the southernmost Hyatts or a DoubleTree at the end of America by now. 

But Kadie thinks she’s her deceased big sister, as she took a shit in her food dish and wiped her ass on the baseboard. So, no clean hotels for you, cat. 

So, I’m getting my drank on — just down the street from the office. 

It appears someone stole a package I had delivered there. Reason No. 437,000 the place can burn down. 

I thought I’d have a hard time separating myself from work. I do check emails and texts because I’m not an asshole. 

But after 15 years without a vacation, and in roles where you must jump immediately when summoned, it was pretty easy to detach. 

In fact, after my brunch tour of palm beach, I’m going to have a hard time re-assimilating. 

Quick, someone marry me and knock me up so I can work from home like everyone else …