Caterwauling

I’m about to rename the Cindy squirts to simply the work squirts. The less I think about her, the happier I am.

Maybe I ate too much seafood in the Keys.

Or maybe it’s nerves about returning to work after about a month away.

Could be that kickass Christmas dinner I cooked a day late, too.

In any event, when our heroine last signed into her work computer, she had five projects to finish before month-end.

Two of those projects require so many meetings and discussions and “no, don’t do it that ways” that I’ve punted the easy part — writing — to now.

It’s complicated and in my absence, people LEARNED that. So they talked about it and appear to have changed their minds about how it should be done anyway.

I guess I’ll see this mess on my performance review. If I make it that long.

I also missed a meeting with our Japan partners last week. I mean, is it really necessary to be up, dressed and on camera for 6 a.m. every Thursday? I drag all day long afterward. Heck, I was even awake for the one I missed. I just happened to be staring at the sunrise.

There were also myriad texts as follow-up to the Terrible Thing to field. I mean, I know I’m lucky to be on vacation and still employed. But Jesus, did anyone think about why I needed a vacation?

Anyway. I need to go pull the cats out of the tree. Again.

Not Cocoa. She’s my good girl.

The topper is more expensive than the tree itself, and it’s about to hit the ground.

So am I, topper. So am I.

It’s witch’s-tit cold here in South Florida. Which makes it hard to sit by the ocean and not turn into a Dawn-cicle.

The views, though, have been nothing short of picturesque.

I appreciate the hurricane-strength windows through which I look at them. My windows at home are about as sturdy as plastic wrap.

The floors are also lovely (I have marble, ugh), and everything but the TV works.

So, if I ever wonder whether it was worth spending a month’s rent on a week by the sea, that’s a big ole YEAH.

After all, the Keys is a place to be with people you love.

Looking back on the monorail of life that races between hell and paradise with few stops in between, I can say I’ve been brought by many here.

I’ve also brought many. And there’s always been love or something like it.

I have a “Key West Time” playlist for these trips. Haven’t played it in over two years because, Covid.

It’s mostly Kenny Chesney, a little local music and other enamored artists who sing about streets and sights and all things lime.

Was white-knuckling it with one hand the other day past Fred the Tree (camera in other hand, of course). High-speed photography on the Seven-Mile Bridge makes for quite a thrill ride.

I told Mom this playlist feels like it’s missing something. What should we add?

It didn’t take her two seconds to say “Jessie.”

From a phone booth in Vegas Jessie calls at 5 a.m.
To tell me how she’s tired of all of them
She says, “Baby, I’ve been thinking about a trailer by the sea
We could go to Mexico; you, the cat and me
We’ll drink tequila and look for seashells
Now doesn’t that sound sweet”
Oh Jessie you always do this every time I get back on my feet

When she said it (and I played it 10x), I had a strong memory of playing that song on one of my Keys trips and the person who was in the passenger seat.

(Vintage pic from when Sloppy Joe’s made frozen mango mojitos. Why take this off the menu?!)

I thought, who knew all that time ago what life would be like for us now.

I don’t know that it got a lot better. Certainly not much easier.

I hope he’s found his happiness. Sometimes I think I’ve found mine.

Actually I know I have.

It just doesn’t look anything like I thought it would during those lazy swims under the too-watchful eye of the lady who ran that B&B on Duval after listening to The Doerfels at Sloppy Joe’s.

A couple days ago, I bought two souvenirs that I know he would have wanted for himself.

I might even send them.

I sent a small souvenir in 2020. But maybe I’ll keep these.

After all, these are my memories too.

I wonder if he misses my harebrained “Jessie” schemes. Back then, you’d never know when I was going to show up nearby and say “meet me here.” I think we both loved that thrill.

For me, it was the being with someone who was up for anything, anytime that made it all so special.

And again, who knew it would end up being Mom and three (five) cats as the loves (and road trip buddies) of my life.

I ain’t mad at that.

Mom and I share a ton of connections on Faceypages. She was always the cool mom who knew my friends.

I mean, she baked/cooked for us and took us places. But they LOVED her, too.

Heck, she had an open invitation from all of them to hang out anytime. Let’s face it, she’s hilarious.

Since she knows my FB world, she points out that I get next to no engagement on photos from paradise.

I mean, it’s fine. It’s my wall. I’m the one who scrolls through the Memories and smiles when I remember what we did or saw or enjoyed on that day.

But she pointed out what I didn’t want to notice. Which is that I CLAP FOR EVERYBODY and I barely see the same in return.

I am grateful for the opportunity to, say, spend Christmas in the Keys.

What they don’t see is that I didn’t go shit all of anywhere for two years.

Or all the health problems that probably should have prevented this visit.

Or how fucking HARD it was to make sure I have a clean house to return to …

How goddamn miraculous it was to get Mom and three cats packed and shoehorned into a coupe …

And how physically straining it has been to drive a furry family of five long distances when two out of five used the car as their toilet.

So if I post a picture of a fucking sunrise or sunset, for fuck’s sake if I have celebrated YOUR goddamned victories, throw a sister a like.

Especially if you like every other post I ever make about politics or stupid stuff that happens.

It truly will not kill you or detract from your own happiness, I promise.

It normally doesn’t even bother me, but I noticed I lost like 10 “friends” this week. Shit, I don’t lose that many during an election season when I talk about what a piece of shit TrumpSantis is.

Is it over … I don’t know … me not sitting at home working?

Not rushing around buying presents for kids who will open them and disappear with them for the day?

Not cooking a feast that will knock me out for the next two days from the shopping, stress and back pain?

Maybe I’m overthinking it. But again, I see these people get to do stuff I would like to do. And I think, that’s awesome for them. Period. Give them a heart and tell them to enjoy. NOT HARD.

I do have one friend who every now and again does get to do special things. Maybe not elaborate or exquisite, but stuff I sure wouldn’t mind doing myself.

They always say stuff I know they don’t mean, like “enjoy your meaningless lives, peasants.”

Meaning they are living the high life for a few hours or days; sorry you aren’t. And it rubs me so wrong. (I never like those posts.)

OK, so fine, I really don’t like all their good-life posts. You caught the Tater.

In any event, not to brag but I’ve had a great week and I’m about to have another one.

Maybe the more intellectual among us can appreciate that I paid a steep price (and not just financially) to sit on my ass at a beach resort.

And maybe, just maybe, if they make the same sacrifices … and, let’s be real, if they have the exceptionally good fortune I have … I hope they can, too.

It’s Winter Solstice AND new moon in Capricorn AND Hanukkah AND Christmas … all rolled into one week.

It’s a time for loss. My grandfather died 16 years ago around this time. This year, we lost my Uncle Tom (the other one) AND Uncle Harry (after losing my Aunt Marion a few months back) in November too.

It’s also a time for facing those losses. For speaking them aloud. For voicing our regrets and casting them into the wind and the fire.

I’m at a beachside resort with myriad fire pits, so I got to do a little fire magic last night over this starfish-shaped wonder.

I threw physical sickness and financial uncertainty into these flames.

One of my witchy online guides said this week that everyone needs to “Be who you came here to become.”

I about drove into oncoming traffic at the magnanimity of that phrase.

Be who you came here to become.

I notice myself slowing down. Backing away from people who repel me. Flailing at the growing pile of unfinished projects that require me to interact with people who bruise my soul.

Now, this doesn’t mean I came here to be a hermit. I’m meant to interact with and learn from people. I just see no point in giving my energy to most of them.

My problem is knowing what I want to do and seeing no way to do it. I don’t mean reading tarot cards or writing blogs or hosting ghost tours as a living. I like money too much.

I just see the girl in Walmart with her earnest little boy and want a better life for them. And I want to figure out how to give it to them. To all of us.

Like, writing New York Times bestsellers or publishing the most successful newsletters in the biz and donating the proceeds.

I don’t actually want to do the hard work of building the programs and rallying the troops anymore.

Let me do the giving and the saying “I got this” and making sure they don’t have to digest themselves like I’m about to when I get this credit card statement from the resort.

I don’t know what any of this has to do with Solstice other than this is a time for honoring the lessons learned and the losses endured.

It’s also the last chance to sleep, really sleep. The shortest day is upon us. The darkness is supposed to restore us if we choose to rest during it.

Rest as resistance, as they say. It’s radical. Try it sometime.

This is supposed to be a working vacation, however. Yet my laptop slaps shut with the same force that my broken trunk does, even though I’m constantly THINKING.

I’m trying to figure out when I felt like I wasn’t entitled to rest. Or joy, for that matter. Like, why is it conditional.

I could have rested if I finished projects last week. But the impossible task robbed me of joy and sleep. And I wasn’t the slightest bit functional in the remaining time between working, cleaning, trying to get the trunk fixed and Honda fucking up something else in the process, as ever.

I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get restored, emotionally and physically.

I was hoping it would be achieved by staring at water. But I didn’t count on it being BUCKETFULS OF RAIN.

Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day. One with sunshine promised, at least by the local weather team.

Thank God there’s a tiki bar 30 yards away from my lanai. Maybe another few rounds of champagne and spicy margs will quiet the “you can’t enjoy this till you …” voices.

Here’s hoping that I came here to be a permanent vacationer with a frozen key lime colada in my hand as I stare at beachside fire pits.

I don’t normally talk about good deeds since I don’t do any. But I have a cute story.

Girl in front of me at WMT had a little boy in a cart, maybe 3 years old. Couldn’t be more than 4.

Lady in front of her accidentally rung up an item. Girl joked, “You trying to buy my stuff?”

Lady said, “I wish!” They laughed and marveled about people who pay for others’ orders. They’ve never seen it happen.

The lady left. The girl rang up her stuff.

I whispered to the little boy that I’ll buy your stuff. The girl paused and said, “You’d do that?” I said yes, I got this. Go!

She said thank you and “What do you say?” to the little boy.

He said, “I say Merry Christmas!”

It was only 20 bucks. They were so nice, I wish it were more.

Honestly, that little boy made MY day. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I want to remember his smile forever.

It took me hours to finally look at the receipt. Two ramen noodle packs. Fruit snacks. Mini juice boxes. Some other child-sized food. A dollar turtle toy.

I hope so many good … big … things happen for them. And that this tiny gesture is long forgotten because it’s been built upon by so much more.

One of the witches I follow once wrote that if the guy you’re with doesn’t turn you on so much that your period always comes early, ditch him.

I had that constant rush once. Had my period all the damn time. Like, can this shit stop so I can enjoy this man more.

When I was charged with the impossible task on Thursday, let me tell you. I don’t know if or when my cycle was due. (Given that I ditched all tracking apps post-Dobbs.) But god damn, did the rush come.

I missed the days of the “Cindy squirts.” Back when heffaroo was finding every social media account, blog or any other site where I made even a whisper of a visit over the past 20 years.

Cuz da bish had to tag me from said sites to announce her ominous presence. And my dum azz gravitated to her accounts to see what other stupid shit she had to proclaim about me that day.

(The beauty of Twitter imploding is she will NEVER find me on the new sites. Muahahaaaaa. And I ain’t lookin for her bish azz either. Also she will never leave Twitter as long as I am there.)

Anyway, I digress. I miss those Cindy squirts. I lost 7 pounds that week.

I imagine if the impossible task ends in lawsoot, I might lose that weight. And so much more.

I was given a terrible task yesterday.

I completed it.

Unfortunately there are more terrible tasks ahead.

I drank a bottle of wine last night. The strongest wine I have. The whole bottle.

It’s 3:40 a.m. and I still haven’t slept. HBO at least has the grace to be airing the “White Lotus” finale again.

I wrote an entire script to get through the terrible task. It was crazy helpful.

It doesn’t matter what I thought or felt. So I don’t see any point in writing about it.

What I do know is I just became part of someone’s life story. And not in a good way.

And it’s about to happen again.

Wasted an entire hour in a useless meeting.

I predicted useless meeting leader would brag about what an original idea they had to have this discussion that’s been had 300 times already with an overpriced consultant.

I was not wrong.

The good news, if you can call it that (and I’ll count anything other than abject failure as a victory these days), was that they were put into their place.

I mean, they didn’t see it that way. But I did.

I mean, who sits around talking about how to spend more money on more useless stuff when we’re all watching half the industry lose their jobs.

Or maybe I’m just sensitive because I run the biggest cost center and there are some decisions I have to make … and some very hard conversations I have to have … before I go on vacation.

Oh along with all the work I need to finish before Q4 ends. Which I got called out for, for not doing a project from July. Which I was the one who said hey I didn’t ever do this project.

Eff Why Eye.

In light of the busy-ness of it all, don’t think I haven’t asked if I can make cuts to OTHER departments.

I’d go back to bed but I can sit around and want to die over all this shit anywhere. And probably where I’m going, too.

“To be a witch is not only to refuse the yoke, it’s to collaborate in burning down the barn that imprisons us all.” — Amanda Yates Garcia

What was I saying recently, that inspiration is literally everywhere? I just sat down to collect some thoughts, and this jumped out at me.

AYG tells the story of her grandmother, who measured a woman’s entire worth on her ability to keep a man.

I mean, there are some good men out there worth keeping. Even if you don’t love them and just pretend for the world to see. Tra la la.

Most haven’t been, in my experience. At least, not romantically.

Professionally, however …

Yesterday I found myself vacillating between “oh shit, I’ve succumbed to colonial patriotism” and “I choose this because I like money.”

It’s a bigger metaphor for the literal being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Which I’d love to write about but, again, I like money.

Anyway, my knee-jerk reaction to it all was to go visit the want ads. Not because I want to leave, but because I haven’t really stood up for myself as much as I could have.

Like, what if that goes absolutely terribly in the face of the new regime that, understandably because we are all entrenched in capitalism, the answer to “what have you done for me lately” is “not enough” or “not what we were hoping”?

A friend said I need to know my worth. I’m like I know it just fine. I just don’t know that I’ve communicated it enough under the assumption that it has been understood.

But that got me to thinking (cue Carrie Bradshaw), no, they really don’t know my worth. Other than my momma, no one does.

I don’t even think I know it as well as my momma does.

My contribution has always been to try to provide what everyone wants. If I get my way in the process, even better.

What my friend pointed out is that the hot seat shouldn’t be mine to sit on. XYZ failed to do their part, so don’t look at me to fix it.

I think it’s bigger than knowing one’s (or others’) worth.

As AYG points out, it’s knowing one’s WILL.

Are we doing what’s right, best or enjoyable … or are we doing it for accolades, money, the Joneses?

I wrote about free will recently. Or at least I think I did. Maybe I didn’t publish it. Who knows.

But how many of us use our free will to decide to conform, contort or compromise for the sake of peace?

I value my peace above all. So I like to think THAT is me exercising free will.

I’m also feeling and getting older. 30-ish ain’t what it used to be, hoo boy. It’s too late to make waves.

Or is it?

I just worry that being one’s authentic self results in living under the bridge downtown. If you had a downtown, or one that had a bridge. I guess we have a lot of drawbridges, so who wants to live on a broken-down dock for the sake of what we all perceive to be freedom?

Anyway, it’s so cliche to say “stay wild, moon child.” It’s the watered-down witchy equivalent of “live, laugh, love.”

My niece has a poster in her virtual game room that says “kill, laugh, love.” I think she’s got it right.

Anyway, maybe I’ve spent enough time with my shadow for now. Or maybe it’s that I’ve spent enough time with OTHERS’ shadows … or IN them … for a good, long time.

Time for some shadowboxing, clearly.

I dreamed for just a few moments that I was able to connect with Source.

I call it Source because I’m not sure it’s God. Certainly I’m open to returning to Source and finding it’s God. But for now, I really hope that I’m not returning to the patriarchy.

When I pray or, more likely, ask for things, I try to address God, Goddess, ancestors, spirit guides, angels and any entity that’s helping me.

Collectively, I consider that Source, as I suppose it’s not a tangible place but rather a celestial fun house of characters that rotates.

In any event, about a year and a half ago, I decided it’s pointless to hate how one looks. (Self, of course. Others ain’t my business.) There are throngs of people who wish they had your healthy body, even if something about it causes you consternation.

Early this morning, as my fur children found something new to destroy, I found myself apologizing to Source.

I really don’t hate this life, I said. I rather enjoy it. I just SAY it all the time because it feels like somebody or something is always pissing me off or treating me in a way that is less than I deserve.

Imagine my surprise when I was scrolling through the Faceypage Memory Hole and saw this from five years ago …

Right now, I’m back to being afraid to be happy. Afraid to make doc appts. Afraid to skip town. Afraid to breathe wrong lest yet another decision backfires in a big way.

And I thought, if I just kill myself, I don’t have to deal with this.

Calm your tits if you’re rejoicing. Pissing off the fuckers in my feed is reason enough to live.

I wondered if I had that short, hazy dream with Source to prepare me for this. That it’s a fine life. Don’t let sucky situations distract you from that.

After all, what will Source say when we finally arrive?

* You had X number of years on that blue marble, and all you wanted to do was get off?

* You had free will and lamented not having it?

* Sure, you didn’t have money when you had time. Then you didn’t have time when you had money. Then you spent all your money to make the existential angst go away. How’d that work out for you.

* What are you going to miss doing from your human-suit days? What did you never do that you’ll never get the chance to do now?

Basically, what on earth must my guides, ancestors, angels and interested celestial parties think of me now … and what would they say if they hang around long enough to meet me when I cross back into their land?

More important, what are they saying now that can help me strut over to them someday to say, “Thanks for helping me have such a good life that I hate to leave it/am so happy to be leaving it because I had it all”?