Caterwauling

Reminded me of applying for my master’s degree in poetry to CMU and Pitt.

They laughed me out of there. As they should have.

I’d post it but my fan club will all use it for whack-off material and it has nothing to do with any of them.

Maybe all three of my favorite “S”-sounding names from three states who congregate here can crit it together. And discuss their collective crush on me.

I think I just started a new poem …

Someone who was in a position to help me a decade ago, didn’t.

Today I got my chance to return the favor.

Instead of doing what I always do and minimize myself to show grace, I told my story. Objectively.

And someone listened, the same way.

My theme for 2020 was to be the best version of myself. Using my voice is a big part of that. I’ve done that a lot this month. And have only regretted not doing it sooner.

This situation is out of my hands, now. And it still might not turn out how I prefer.

But the cool part is, when it was in my hands, I handled it.

Happy birthday in heaven to my Great Aunt L. She would have been 105 today.

I delivered her eulogy on this day 22 years ago. Today I got to thinking about her daughter, my cousin J.

My grandfather used to say J. tripped on the flowers in the rug.

My grandmother called her Sue, because J. would then sue everyone in sight.

My mother called her Boo-Boo Cow. She was a whiny little bitch before Bill Maher coined the term.

I called her Jinx. Her bad luck became yours because she inflicted it on you.

She’s in assisted living now, being catered to and holding court like she always wanted.

If she were out here in the world, she’d be a shit-poster. Instead, she was a shit-talker. And when we’d confront her, she was off to the doctor(s).

She’s killed off two husbands with her toxicity; I hear she is working on a third. Vibrant, loving men, the two I knew. Before she got to them.

Sickness made her say/do everything bad. She’d also say YOU were the one making HER heart palpitate. And don’t you dare claim you aren’t feeling well. She had to “win” that argument, every single time.

I’ll never forget saying to her, hey, maybe don’t stir up so much shit and you won’t hyperventilate so much. I think she ran to the hospital after that comment. The last time, she never left.

In any event, I wonder if J. remembers what today is. Or if she would care any more now than she did when her beautiful momma was still alive.

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” — Franz Kafka

Guessing I need to post a disclaimer on this and everything that no, this isn’t about anyone living, dead or living dead.

But for all my delightful little snowflakes who think anything or everything is about them, happy to fulfill your fantasy of crossing my mind.

Context for the quote …

When he was 40, the renowned Bohemian novelist and short story writer Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, was strolling through Steglitz Park in Berlin, when he chanced upon a young girl crying her eyes out because she had lost her favorite doll. She and Kafka looked for the doll without success. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would look again.

The next day, when they still had not found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter “written” by the doll that said, “Please do not cry. I have gone on a trip to see the world. I’m going to write to you about my adventures.”

Thus began a story that continued to the end of Kafka’s life.

When they would meet, Kafka read aloud his carefully composed letters of adventures and conversations about the beloved doll, which the girl found enchanting. Finally, Kafka read her a letter of the story that brought the doll back to Berlin, and he then gave her a doll he had purchased.

“This does not look like my doll at all,” she said. Kafka handed her another letter that explained, “My trips, they have changed me.” The girl hugged the new doll and took it home with her. A year later, Kafka died.

Many years later, the now grown-up girl found a letter tucked into an unnoticed crevice in the doll. The tiny letter, signed by Kafka, said, “Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.”

With a H/T to Tom B. because, genius.

1. Completely out of fucks to give.

2. The backorder is being ignored.

3. The distributor went out of business due to tariffs.

Just got an invite for a lunch date.

Mom remembered this fool standing me up for lunch two years ago.

I’d honestly forgotten. Explains why his number wasn’t in my phone and I had to ask who TF this was.

I know he needs a favor. Hard pass, G. Dead to me means dead.

Looking forward to forgetting again. This time, before he does.

If you can’t ride with the big witches, stay off my broom.