Caterwauling

Decided to delete social media today. Time to pay for therapy instead of getting it online.

Rather, time to stop talking online. Or at all since this mouth somehow reacts faster than my face.

But that would mean controlling my brain. And that is not going to happen.

Not that I’d ever consider social media as a form of therapy. But when it comes to grief, I see a lot, learn some and share some.

So, not quite ready to delete my accounts or my personality.

In any event, I saw one of the most prescient posts about grief that was ever written.

It’s that you never have a full grasp on your own mortality or the concept of time in general until you have to go through a loved one’s belongings.

I was telling my friend tonight, it’s sheer heaviness.

For me, it’s seeing all the stuff with tags on it. The remembering how happy Momma was when I gifted these things to her or bought them for her because she liked them in a store. Where she planned to wear this or what she planned to do to make that more beautiful.

I think the OP was referring more to going through things their loved ones used and cherished. Seeing what brought them joy.

Being my mom brought her joy. The rest was all a bonus.

I can’t find much from my grandparents. It looks like my storage unit was robbed for the third or fourth time. So who even knows what was missing; all I know is my packed 10×10 unit has only about 4×6 worth of boxes.

I have Grampy’s guitar and Gram’s Italian horn necklace.

The latter is how I made my friends at Epcot. The ladies noticed it and asked if I was Italian.

I am, via Gram, but I said I didn’t know. I am not one of those dopes who claims to be from 17 country or from 17 different cities like Cindy.

I don’t have anyone to ask about my heritage and who even cares because I’ll be dead soon enough and my poor cousin is going to have to deal with three generations worth of stuff if I don’t figure this all out first.

Anyway. What I really need is to get my ass to a city where I’m appreciated.

Kelly was saying she’s a West Palm 4 but a Tampa and Cape Coral 7 and a Baltimore 8.

Reminds me of “A Chorus Line” — “Dance 10, Looks 3.”

I laughed because we were sitting in Boca Raton, the most plastic place on planet earth. And she said I see why you gravitate to Orlando and Pittsburgh and whatnot. Your chances of meeting quality people — who want to meet you too — are quadrupled.

We also got to talking about how she is so thankful to Depressed Kelly who buys all kinds of event tickets and hotel stays so that Future Introvert Kelly has to get out of the house.

Saaaaammmme.

I bought so many concert tickets and dresses when Mom was dying. I knew I’d need to get my ass off the couch. Mom even said why are you spending all this money. What with all her medical debt that I was paying off every month out of MY pocket.

She would rather me have had the entertainment and not paid the bills, to be clear. But I did both. Not like we were doing much else in the last three years.

So, I have an event coming up on Tuesday that I’d forgotten about. Thank you, Depressed Dawn. Introvert Dawn is hoping one of those cute dresses fits because grief spikes your cortisol bigly.

I have a dress I bought the day Momma passed. She was still here. I was drinking and reading Kindle books and surfing a really good sale at Macy’s.

I mean, who doesn’t need the “Speak Now” dress from the Eras Tour, right?

It’s important to me to wear that to a party next month. Because it was the last thing I can claim Momma “bought” for me.

I did that a lot. Bought myself stuff and let her give it to me. I usually forgot about it and was genuinely surprised. And she got to feel good doing it.

Depressed Dawn told Depressed Kelly to plan us a Thanksgiving adventure since we’re both going to be alone so why not go someplace where we’ll be extroverted 8s instead of introverted 4s.

That’s what I love about her. We can say this shit and know the other one won’t take an ounce of umbrage.

But hey, being a Boca Raton 2 ain’t so bad. We spend five grand on trips and not on facelifts. I think we win.

An old colleague recently rejoined the company.

HR does this thing where she puts introductory calls on the directors’ calendars. Every new hire, no matter what their department or position, gets a 1:1 with leadership.

This month, we had a few new hires. So, she did something different and made it a party with all of them.

It was literally the cast of “Inside Out.” I am not going to say who was “Sadness.” But I will say the new staff got to see me conjure up some serious grace under pressure.

One wasn’t so new. He not only used to work here (and so did his mom, who I loved), but we met at ANOTHER publisher.

We actually sat back to back in a dark little office. He wrote copy; I was in marketing at the time.

I remembered him fondly because he was always kind and he loved to strum on his guitar when he was in deep thought.

He told the group he’s surprised I wasn’t a copywriter by now.

I laughed and said well who would edit all this stuff if I was out living the dream.

He said you use a lot of metaphors. You take people with you. You don’t leave anyone in the group — in meetings or in writing — behind. You make sure everyone goes on the journey with you. And that’s a hallmark of a great copywriter.

Friends, do you know how long it’s been since I wanted to cry HAPPY tears?

My own staff rocks the block too.

I need to pay these people more.

The same one who liked the special issue also messaged me yesterday that “Purple is your color!”

I said thanks but don’t you think I’m channeling Grimace or the Fruit of the Loom grapes.

She said we are the only two in our department old enough to know either one of those.

She’s not wrong.