Caterwauling

I have a low-grade fever and a hot throat.

Heh.

I am also fatigued but that’s just lack of sleep.

You know what they say. If you’re awake then you’re awake in someone else’s dreams.

So, not virus-y at this time.

But happy to lick someone and see if I’m a carrier.

This salty gal doesn’t like sour but even without much ability to taste right now, I still have impeccable taste.

Which explains why I was socially distancing long before it was cool.

If only others would do the same but I get it. I’m appetizing and delicious.

And addictive.

A new-old colleague (that happens a lot in this field) sent me this Friday:

That Discomfort You’re Feeling Is Grief

So I asked my friends on Facepayges, how they are doing with this coronavirus thing.

Half are getting by or close enough to fine. The rest are struggling. But they don’t want to say it on a public-ish post.

I never gave my answer.

Which is this.

I moved to D.C. what seemed like mere minutes after 9/11. I drove past the smoldering Pentagon for a long time before the building was repaired and eventually the shiny new construction — clearly a cleaner, brighter color than the rest of the weathered building — started to blend in with the rest.

Shortly thereafter, we were zigging and zagging across parking lots and gas stations, trying not to be hit by the D.C. sniper.

Fast-forward a couple decades, I was going through Some Shit last August when two mass shootings happened in a weekend.

And I took the opportunity to say what was in my mind and heart.

Either the feelings were temporary insanity or maybe the need to express them was.

But I didn’t need for it to be received well. Or at all. I just needed to say it.

I will leave the aftermath out of this post. I’ll only say, no goddamn wonder. And that must have been some picture.

My answer about how I am is that I’m always on guard.

And when I stop being guarded for a while, I soon find myself grieving either the thing or the decision itself to believe in the thing.

Today, it’s a one-two punch of missing my old job/team and still not jibing with the WFH routine I started long before it was forced on the masses.

Of wondering if he weren’t him and she weren’t her and I weren’t me, what would or wouldn’t be.

In any event, it feels like a lot of that wanting to tell people they are loved is happening right now.

Not saying goodbyes, but at least making sure they don’t die with words unsaid.

Not me.

I am taking this opportunity to tell anyone who needs to fuck off, to fuck right the hell off.

When this is all over, I’ll be saying it in person. Or though a Ouija board.

Love,

Goddess

Day 60-something of working at home. It bleeds into the weekends now. About to jump back into it now.

The good news is, if I need to take an afternoon off to run to Costco, I can.

The bad news is, I really need someone to TP my house because I can’t find any anywhere.

A square, can you spare?

Down to my last roll. Can anyone spare a square?

Fished Bella out of the dumpster/shredder/trash compactor thingy again late last night. Forget coronavirus. For as filthy as I am after these adventures when I get in the car at night, I will be lucky if I don’t invent a new strain called cAronavirus.

*Ba dum bum tss*

I figured out that’s why she has a wound that keeps reopening. But she is super good about sitting still and letting me clean it.

My backseat is looking like a pet hotel/hospital. Not quite what I envisioned when I bought this car.

And I certainly didn’t envision having to forage for supplies. Seriously. Stores get trucks in every day but if you aren’t there during senior hour, you ain’t gettin’ dick.

Sorta jealous of all these folks who are doing not a goddamn thing right now. Like self-isolation is an extended spring break or something.

I’m not trying new recipes or playing all that much online. Not going out so what is left to post about?

I still try to pull a tarot card a day. Got the Sun today and put a piece of citrine out to attract more positive outcomes.

Had a dream this morning after a shit sleep. Saw him in a mullet, my favorite shirt and his stupid sweatshirt, but otherwise he was still him. We had a good moment and went our separate ways.

I wanted to go after him, with him. But I didn’t look back.

So I don’t know if he looked back. He’d be an idiot not to.

It’s nice to be at a place of peace with everything.

Switched up my handwashing song.

Seen in Dorseyville:

Stacy’s mom is wiping down surfaces.

Have consumed my weight in Kind bars but *checks* nope, still not.

Tried to kidnap my badass little cat Cocoa last night because Green Acres ain’t the place for me.

She literally ripped the carrier in half, licked my leg and went on her way.

That’s my girl.

Cocoa’s mom still got it going on.

I took a photo, on all the days I knew I would want to remember.

Not of the person or the activity. Something from the place.

A sign. A flower on the table. The view. Maybe a selfie with a smile I couldn’t have gotten any other way.

I knew they would all just be memories someday.

All I have is the time stamp.

And yet another puzzle piece hidden in my pocket.

I got the better end of the deal.

Someone who was good to me died today.

The title is a nod to him. As long as it’s in yellow highlight. With a comment in the margin that says, “Preefrood please.”

I’m just over here wondering why God works the way She does.

Given the location and his condition, it’s probably coronavirus. Which he would call a “Demorcrat hoax.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if his final act were to persuade his doctors that it was “just” pneumonia. This man could sell shit to shitheads.

But I loved his wife and she loved him, as did my old boss. So, I can forgive that.

I have people to reach out to.

My mind went immediately to my old boss who was so good to me. This is his third close friend in a short time to pass. He couldn’t make it to the last funeral. With the (albeit loose) stay-at-home order, what if he misses this one too? I can’t bear that for him, again.

In any event, maybe this is why people die. So the rest of us reach out to each other to say hello and to let them know we’re holding space for them.

Maybe with this Fourth Turning we’re experiencing, we won’t all retreat to our respective living worlds after we’ve connected.

Oh who am I kidding. Workaholics gonna workaholic.

That’s what made this loss so tragic. And so great. The stories he’s told. The stories still untold. So many stories.

I know what his final projects were. They will never, never be as great as they could have been.

Of course, again knowing my workaholic old boss, he will tell them … and probably even better … for his old friend.

I’ll always think of Harleys and his love for his Redhead. And how they both gave me a leg up in life that I’ve barely taken advantage of.

Time to change that.

Just heard the boss was praising me on a call I wasn’t on.

Happy to be home with the ones I love.

Hallmark is running a Christmas movie marathon. I put up Christmas lights. And I’m listening to ambient Christmas music.

I’m happy I took a WFH job when the coronavirus was actually ramping up and not when the gubmint got around to telling us about it.

I’m so glad it’s Aries season. I have Aries rising so, fire. And a six-month cycle of reputational damage control, friendship-building and community-rebuilding.

Plus, the old astrological cycle and the fatal bug it brought us is in the rear view mirror. This year really put the P, I, S and S in Pisces.

I still haven’t opened the champagne I bought to celebrate my new job. I made it to the six-week mark. Will celebrate that instead.

My web traffic is spiking like a fever. Cool.

And I randomly pulled the victory card as my theme for today. I saw the Six of Wands and knew this ordinary day would be special. It is.

Cheers, loves and lovers.

New Irish blessing …

May your coronavirus supply hoard last through hurricane season.

I wrote down my new moon intentions — just three — and one already came true.

And the new moon doesn’t peak for another four hours.

Go, me.

I mean. I literally just jumped out of a dumpster. Something had to go right. Right?

Now to go after the rest of my intentions with equal force.

We’re all dressed for the zombie apocalypse. For saying there is nothing left anywhere, my gloves were absolutely filthy after this trip.

Foraging for cosmetics

Everyone is mostly keeping to themselves, although I did witness a fight between a senior citizen and some thot in a hoochie dress in the chicken section.

Which, all they had left were drumsticks. What is there to fight about, other than “You take it,” “No, you!”?

I got to talking with a store worker. He saw me wander down the same aisle twice, pretty much in bewilderment. I mean, I didn’t exactly hoard paper products — now where am I supposed to get any?

The second time he saw me, he asked if he could help. I said, I’m good, thanks. Thank you for being here. How are you holding up?

He seemed surprised that I was cheerful. He was super friendly. He said he mostly stays up on his ladder and observes people verbally abusing their family members and fellow shoppers.

He gets that tensions are heightened. But still. This store visit is an hour out of your day. You don’t know how many more outings or even hours you have left in your life. Act like it.

I said they probably are exhibiting their bad behavior that goes uncorrected at home. Just a hunch.

He told me a funny story about driving for Uber and getting the world’s most racist couple. How they pushed all his buttons and he smiled the whole way. Finally they admitted they wanted to get a rise out of him. He cracked a joke I will never forget, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

I said I wish I could say my best zingers like you do. I keep a Zinger for every Ding-Dong in Hostess-land that would make you proud. But I always feel icky when I lower my vibration. Why feed the trolls when there are quality people to shower love on?

He said some people need to be silenced. And just because you dip low doesn’t mean you have to stay low. Send them on their way so you can get on yours.

Hmm.

I didn’t leave with many items. But my mental shopping cart runneth over.

Who knew a random store visit in a locked-down town could be so productive?