Caterwauling

I never dreamed this would be the last photo I’d take of Sia. Nor that I’d be posting it in her memory, one year to the day that she left this world.

I’ll always remember us dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. Seems so unfair and yet so fitting that The Killers will be back in Miami on what would have been her next birthday. But this past year has been all about coming to terms with the unfair.

I was sobbing in the car Friday, thinking about her. Wondering what’s out there and where she is now. And a Killers song (“Runaways”) came on a station I had never heard play their music. Was that lyric “A blue-eyed girl playing in the sand” a sign from her to me?

The band was far from our only connection. But at a time when all you have left is the hope of a sign, you hold onto it fiercely.

I don’t expect this living with a Sia-shaped hole in my heart to get any easier. And I don’t know that I believe anything comes after all this. But if there is, I hope she’s able to enjoy all the best of it.

Miss you so damn much, Sia. So much.

“Be still
One day you’ll leave
Fearlessness on your sleeve.
When you come back
Tell me what did you see.
Is there something out there for me?”

— The Killers, “Be Still”

I am my own favorite editor.

Seriously.

I said that to one of my boys today after I edited and broadcast five alerts in the space of 50 minutes. (When everyone else was at lunch, of course. I didn’t get any today. But that’s OK. Am fat.)

I like my editing style. I know my subject matter. I’m better at both than most. And to not have Big Brother sending random IMs that have to be followed up with conversations and/or emails, even better.

Seriously. One-man band. Missed it. Bigly.

Now to be fair, I have one sidekick right now who I do actually like. (Another is traveling. Like that one too.) Excellent editor. Super researcher. Kind of a noodge because of said secluded IM/email/meeting person having seven thousand exceptions to half-assed rules that never should have existed in the first place.

(No exceptions to “Goddess can eat at the same time as everyone else.” Of course, maybe Goddess COULD eat for reasons best left complained about only to her momma. But folks who never miss a meal shouldn’t mess with anyone else’s.)

In any event, the one project I didn’t get to on time just fucking kicked my ass. My helper gave it a great start. And I beat the shit out of it in the end. Could have been better. But, garbage in/garbage out.

And it’s not like I wasn’t doing 799 other things while it sat here waiting. Not like there weren’t four frillion emails/IMs/visits in the midst of it. Or more-urgent things than that flaming pile of flammable things.

In any event, the end is in sight. So is food. Hooray.

I like being busy. Because I like getting paid and using my brain.

But I really worry about layoffs and I wonder, who would do so much in so little time with such high quality?

And does anyone even know that or, now that I have to share credit with the barely credible and the incredible, do they know where the load really falls?

I am grateful for my boys who not only make it worthwhile, but I think they may even wait to make sure they get me as their Goddess. So I ain’t mad at the lunch rush. I take it as a compliment that they know the Goddess’s schedule so well.

I’d just give anything for something to gnaw on to help me come down from my “rush” rush.

So someone totally poisoned me against someone who could have helped me …

And I was so poisoned that I said no thanks …

TWICE …

And for them to chastise ME for my “failure” to hit the second deadline — the one that I had set for myself …

Wow.

I know I’ll regret this flaming bridge someday. But I am not going to feel bad about it now. Because I have a written list of things to explore first that folks failed to address.

I’d say color me surprised. But I’ve been in this world a little too long.

Frog has been picked.

I don't ever want to hear or say another word about it.

Now if I can just stop stress-eating lentil chips by the bag as I come down from this crazy high.

It's been intoxicating, to say the least. Now to get used to living with the decision I never, ever dreamed I would make.

My second frog returned to propose again with a bigger ring.

Admittedly, I had said another carat and I’m yours.

I knew he’d never go for it.

But he did go a half-carat higher.

Well, a half-carat higher … accompanied by a request for daily BJs.

I mean, I guess I figured there’d be an extra string attached, sure. But I also thought I was worth some more sparkle.

And let’s be honest. It was never about the sparkle.

After you give up your would-be affair frog-prince to stay with the belching, farting, sneezing, honking, Lysol-cloud riding, micromanaging funky ass, you can’t really tell him to shove a fly up his froggy butt because you just lit your backup lily pad on fire.

I predicted this. And again, I’m not sure it’s worse than moving into the affair frog/prince’s pad. But it was nice to dream of kicking frogpies across the pond even though you knew you couldn’t base your decision on the joy you would derive from it.

Probably a terrible headline and not very creative.

But after I saw an “expert” take one of my favorite writer’s brilliant headlines two weeks ago and make it sound like fuckin’ “See Spot Run” … and I no longer have override capability because it’s only my monkeys but not my circus … and don’t get me started on the content itself … I’m pretty much dead inside.

In any event, I picked my frog prince. My decision surprised even me.

Maybe “decision” is too definitive here.

At least, I either made it a whole lot easier … or a whole lot harder … to decide, should the decision come around again. Still not sure which.

I don’t know that it will come around again. Nor am I sure I want it to. And don’t think I didn’t immediately regret the decision the second I shared it with my frog prince.

The other started ribbiting instantly. (Literally, three minutes later.) And I’m like damn it, frogpies. Pipe the fuck down before I squash your poisonous ass. Jesus.

In any event, I’ve either opened the door to something bigger or I’ve burned the bridge forever.

And for the fact that I honestly cannot tell is probably confirmation that I did the right thing.

… in the context of taking a screenshot …

… in the subcontext of micromanagement because they don’t believe that people who used to run newsrooms, departments or companies could possibly see a stupid task through to completion …

… One more fucking time …

I’m gonna show folks the real context of that word. 

CIRCUMCISION. 

Well. Two frogs. Let’s be clear about that from the outset. 

I’ve been driving myself batshit for a week. Listing two sets of pros and cons. The list is absolutely equal. 

Nothing stands out that’s great. The rest is shit soufflé vs. shit on a croissant.  I wonder if the coin-flip result will simply come from my need to cut carbs. 

I deserve to be blessed with choices. That’s the upshot. Unfortunately, someone’s gonna get hurt. And I am 100% aware that that person is me. 

If I pick prince #1, do I murder him on sight in a week? Or if I pick prince #2, the lesser-known evil but stlll evil and maybe even more so, would I die a thousand deaths because my first pick won’t take me back?

I know life is all about choices. I just don’t see giving up a good thing unless it’s for a great thing. But nothing lasts forever. Least of all happiness. 

Send prince-picking vibes today, if you’re so inclined. I want a good date this weekend. 

There’s someone here who has had it out for me from day one. 

Or maybe not. I don’t really know. Maybe they just didn’t like me or care that I’m alive. 

Either way, really. Doesn’t matter to me. 

But …

Instead of things I do or don’t say getting back to this person, the opposite happened. 

This person told a whole bunch of people that “(Goddess) could run that (massive entanglement of ongoing insanity) blindfolded.”

Duuuuude. 

I know I’ll never hear it directly from this person. But that’s OK. Just knowing they think it is reward enough.