Caterwauling

Mr. Dorsey sent one of his roundup emails this morning.

I was tempted to react.

Instead, I’m gonna beam some love today.

Nothing else has worked. And frankly it helps me as much as the recipient.

Actually, more.

A lot more.

When you can’t do all the good you want to in this world, but others are doing it for all of us …

Coronavirus-stricken China sent testing kits to Italy. And Italy, where the entire country is shut down, has newly forwarded test kits to the U.S.

[No wonder Norway called us an underdeveloped country. Well, with underdeveloped healthcare infrastructure, but still. We are no longer first-world in the eyes of the world.]

Where was I? Oh yeah. Waves of kindness crashing over us.

And it is showing up in all kinds of ways.

A bistro in Paris that’s closing is donating its cheese.

Shops in my friend’s town in Ohio are donating food to the least fortunate.

People are delivering food to school kids in D.C. who are going without meals at home with no school to provide one.

LVMH and a North Carolina distillery are changing up their factories to mass-produce hand sanitizer. A Minnesota distillery is doing the same … and giving it away for free.

Xfinity is opening up its Wi-Fi to non-customers. And AT&T is supposedly waving overages.

Many of the rest of us are over-tipping and buying restaurant gift certificates to ensure they have some revenue while they are shut down for the next 1-2 months. (My friend just said her kids on the West Coast can’t go back to school till May. MAY.)

THIS is the world I incarnated for.

“I said we are inter-dependent
And the effects on each other never ending
And that the air has no boundaries
I think this water that surrounds me
Is the same water soaking’ through to you.”
— Cyndi Lauper, “Eventually”

Today’s tarot card: the Three of Pentacles. Teamwork makes the dream work.

Welp. It’s Paddy’s Day and Governor Tiny Trump has ordered all bars and nightclubs to close at 5 p.m. And stay that way for 30 days.

FORGET YOUR STRONG FRIENDS. CHECK ON YOUR IRISH FRIENDS. WE ARE NOT OK.

You can fake being Irish. But not a goddess

Restaurants are pretty much all-takeout at this point. The rest have a cap at 50% capacity. I’m getting emails from all the fuck over the place that tables are now six feet apart and servers are finally being tested for the plague.

You know, shit we could have done IN JANUARY.

And it’s Florida primary day. I could not give a fuck at this point. Go, Bernden.

In any event, I ordered our traditional corned beef and cabbage special from the local Irish pub.

I’d rather drive out to one of their nicer locations. But girlfriend’s got a new job and she’s busy AF so we’re adjusting.

It’s literally the only food we have in the house, so at least I got it.

On the way out of the Rock of Fraggles, I saw the son of a bitch I cursed TF out for kicking my duckies. Multiple times.

He actually looked at me, thought about it, smiled and sort of waved.

I was glaring at him because that’s what I do. But then I wiped off my expression, nodded and drove out of the Rock.

Spirit told me he’s had a heart attack since you last saw him. Don’t be a dick.

He looks different. Not the combative septuagenarian who basically invited me to go fuck myself one year ago.

I didn’t smile at the son of a bitch. I sort of wish I had. Heart attack and all. Hell, it’s more proving that he actually has a heart in there that stirred my little black heart.

I wasn’t really scared of coronavirus till today. Seriously, you took my bars away, Governor Tiny Trump. And wouldn’t it be my fucking luck to be killed (even indirectly) by the tRump administration.

I’m tired of being tired, is what I am.

Tired of people making decisions for me who have no business making decisions for anyone. (Government.)

Tired of having to choose between SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19 at the ballot box.

Tired of people who harm animals.

Tired of people who bail out airlines and oil companies and not the people who can’t even afford toilet paper … not that there’s any left because everyone who is privileged enough to get a SARS-CoV-2 test got their 20 cases of Charmin before the rest of us even heard of the fucking virus.

Tired of people who take me for granted or think they’re God’s gift and think it is their right and privilege to use my hair to wipe their ass. (*cough* but not a *coronavirus cough*)

Tired from learning a new job and a new team and volunteering for All the Projects so they know how goddamn amazing I am at a time when my portfolio/slush fund is in the collective shitter and I don’t have my long, established track record to keep me safe from 2008-style layoffs.

I know it will all turn out goddamn amazing. It has to. I expect it to. I will fucking MAKE it that way.

It’s just hard when the healers, the optimists, the empaths, the go-to people start to run out of hope.

After everyone and everything has bled us of every ounce of metaphorical sanitizer and there’s none on the shelves.

And not even Amazon can find you a bottle for $125 OR a person to deliver it to you.

Welp. Enough of this pity party shit. Let everyone else lie unshowered in bed and to themselves or whatever it is they have to do to get through a day.

I DON’T GET TO BREAK. I don’t even want to. I am grateful for high expectations.

I got three jobs to work, 12 kitties to feed, a momma at high risk for this shit to protect, and a house to clean.

And when I finally get to bed tonight, my soul will be nourished by achieving all that.

I pulled the Strength card today. Rescue comes from within.

My friend used to remind me to put on my oxygen mask before helping All the Others. I guess the modern-day twist is to put on my surgical mask first.

And then, I can breathe.

Finally.

Good lord, all the Twitter shaming of people who go out! For things! They need! It’s appalling.

I go out to feed my kitties. And buy them more food. I don’t even have people food.

I’m worried about my Shimmy Shimmy Cocoa Butt. She was having a hard time breathing tonight. She’s a 7-pound bowling ball of a babydoll. I was holding her and rocking her and begging her to be there when I come back tomorrow.

I fall in love so easily, I tell you. Stupid Cancer moon.

My Princess Bella finally had a good appetite tonight — I’ve been worried about her for days, too. And I got a surprise when Magic, Baby Magic, Baby Bernie, Kenya and Garfield not only came out to eat … but to sit in front of my car with me.

Ex-Cocoa and Bella, these cats are named after other cats I’ve known. Batman. Kadie. Snowball. Cairo. Cow Cat. I didn’t get to see any of them tonight.

None have gotten brave enough to be petted. But tonight was the first time all my regulars were within petting distance. That’s all I can ask for, with this group.

Bella was even on top of my very clean car. Which is always pretty immaculate inside but I just touched the vacuum at the skeevy place for the last time in a long time. Thank you, coronavirus.

In any event, I have always done lots of hand-washing — long before coronapocalypse told us to scrub for 20 seconds.

There are lots of tricks to doing that. I usually just get through the first two stanzas of “Kyle’s* Mom is a Bitch.”

Anyway, no more car washy-washy. Same amount of hand washy-washy. And I couldn’t find non-latex gloves so I bought a few boxes of hair dye. Not to use, but, plastic gloves. For punchy-punchy if anyone needs me to knock out the Kyle’s* Mom they’re quarantined with.

*Not Kyle. I rather like my friend Kyle’s mom. And his wife.

Prepping for coronavirus is like waiting for a hurricane. Only it’s slower and it’s not like it will pass or hit and then life will go back to normal within the week. But you can always count on your president to do nothing to prevent it and botch the response.

But unlike a hurricane, there’s no joking around anymore with your fellow shoppers. Everyone’s just nuts right now. And not hiding their crazy.

No carts left at Publix

I went to a couple Dollar Generals yesterday because Mom likes their brand of birdseed. (And Big Lots. Both of which, we mix with oatmeal from Aldi’s. And peanuts from Texas Roadhouse. And corn shaved off the cob. And grapes. Mom’s oat blend brings all the birds to the yard …)

Anyway, it’s exhausting. But it makes her happy and therefore we drive all over Palm Beach to collect and distribute this stuff.

We know this car!

(And I do it for stray kitties too. They like some natural food that I happened to grab once and now they turn up their cute little noses at everything else. Oh and they love them some Costco rotisserie chicken. Costco cannot close or else I will not be able to face my babies.)

Bella likes salmon, not selfies

In any event, when I’m not being a witch, I’m being Snow White. Ever closer to earning that Disney wedding!

In any event, this cranky old hag chastised me as I was bouncing through the store with all my loot. She said what’s the damn hurry.

I said there are no carts, I have 12 pounds of seed and groceries for two days. I’d like to not drop it. Would you please move over a tad so I can sneak by you?

She grumbled and barely moved. Whatever.

I saw her again and she said, “You need to tell me your hurry.”

I said well I have other things to do today. I have lots of errands to run.

Like WTF dude.

Finally I was in line and she was blocking the doorway and setting off the alarm, waiting for her husband to pull up.

One day the universe will explain why these vomit and headache types seem to find nice ones to bully and emasculate.

Toxic women ruin good men.

But ONE MORE TIME this heaux says, “I DO NOT GET YOUR HURRY.”

I did not say, “Tell me, what is it that qualifies completing a shopping trip for seven items in under 10 minutes a hurry? There is literally NOTHING LEFT TO BUY.”

Her empty cart. Grr.

I did say, “If you are asking if I know something about this pandemic that you don’t, I will say that your president is a disaster and I have people depending on me. I’m happy for you that you do not seem to have that pressure.”

BOOM.

I went to the crystal shop around the corner after that.

The room where it happened.

Bought more black tourmaline, because my last one fell out of my bra and smashed into a million pieces on my marble floor. And selenite, because every witch needs a magic wand. And some heart-shaped lapis lazuli. Because, why not.

Seriously, this social distancing shit is sounding better and better every day.

On some platform …

Friend in quarantine: (latest update on that)

Me: Sorry it’s not all sunshine and rainbows

Them: More like all vomit and headaches

Me: New social media handle, ahoy!

ETA: Someone took this as meaning I wanted them to get a divorce. It was about my JOB, you fool.

There’s a poem on my Faceypages wall that starts:

“If you ever closed your legs to a man you loved

“Opened them to one you didn’t …”

Good reminder that I’m far from the first person to make hard choices in the name of happiness.

Of course, I’ll wonder from time to time what life would have been like. Heck, that shit backed up on me for about 15 minutes this morning.

It passed.

After all, I no longer wonder about when the bullshit would have culminated. Even more than it already had.

I thanked my friend at lunch yesterday. She always told me never stay for anyone but you. When a door opens and it will make you better, happier — walk through it. There will be consequences either way. And there will also be growth, if you choose it.

Reminds me of something I told someone a long time ago. There is no right or wrong choice. There’s what you want to do, and what you think you should do. If you’re lucky, they are the same. If you’re really lucky, you’ll be happy with your choice.

Look. I will always love what I left.

Who I left.

But I have a lot more love to give and receive.

It’s nice to be doing both on the flip side.

I keep getting the Ace of Cups. Like, on three different days with three different decks.

Is the universe trying to tell me something?

In any event, I met a fellow publisher for lunch at a place where I take all my besties.

A good looking guy got in line behind us. He said hi. I figured it was to my friend because she works nearby. She said hi and we kept talking.

A few minutes later, I looked back at this hottie. Damn.

What? Oh. Anyway.

I said to my friend,you know this guy? She said no.

I looked at him. “J?”

He said, “I thought that was you. I tried to say hi but you turned your back to me.”

Oops.

In any event, we chatted and have moved on to emailing.

Small world, maybe. But I think it’s a big one. And how cool when we get to cross the great divides it puts in our way sometimes.

Cooler still when the hottie is trying to get your attention and not your friend’s!

H/T to Madonna and Jellybean for the earworm behind today’s title.

Anyway, I picked up another potential husband at today’s cookout.

God I love living at the beach.

He was grilling my hot dog while I got in a fight with the guy grilling mom’s burger about how much better Obama was for my portfolio and he says he’s never done better than he has under the orange-billed twatypus.

He says, how did you do better under Obammy?

I said I know how to pick stocks.

Also, stocks went up 150% under Obama and 20% under Dear Leader.

He said well all your candidates are dropping like flies. Get ready for four more years.

I said of anxiety? Really? You prioritize your portfolio over your mental health and the world’s well-being? We have a pandemic don’t you know.

He said whatcha gonna do. And returned to grilling.

I’m voting Biden. That’s what I’m going to do. Is what I told him. Which you’d be wise to do too.

I’ll probably be thrown out of the next Fraggle cookout. But they like the libs’ money.

And the way my hot dog guy smiled at me, I will get my meat one way or another.

And I thought 15 years was my high-water mark.

Spirit’s Messenger dreamed she threw a punch and said, “You can’t troll with swollen eyes.”

She’s still love and light.

She can be more than one way.

She’s a Gemini, after all.