Caterwauling

Now and then, she rereads the manuscript
Of the entire torrid affair.

I really don’t.

Not only do I not go through old text messages, I will admit to deleting most of them.

But I do have a million journals. And even those are collecting dust right now.

If I did read them, I’d either remember why I loved them … or why I didn’t.

And neither of those is good for me.

In the age of him, she wished she was thirty
And made coffee every morning in a French press.

30-ish. Right, Wildebeest?

Afterward, she only ate kids’ cereal
And couldn’t sleep unless it was in her mother’s bed

Literally everything makes me miss my mother.

Like, Nov. 25 is my grandparents’ wedding anniversary. 1950. 74 years ago.

And my grandfather died in the wee hours of Nov. 26. Killed by the Veterans Administration hospital in Aspinwall (Pittsburgh). I hope Dr. Trang killed herself because she was so incompetent.

Anyway. I would normally be sad with mom right now. Now I’m sad without her.

The years passed like scenes of a show
The professor said to write what you know.

I spend my life worried I’m not good enough for/at my job. Then I spend five seconds with Howler.

But then I get out and about — on vacation, with other Wall Street types, in jury duty — and I realize I’M FUNNY AS HELL. First of all. And second, that people LISTEN to me. And LOOK TO ME for leadership.

And I think about Taylor Swift. (Shut up if you have a problem.) Like, if there was never an Eras Tour, she never would have broken up with Joe … dated Ratty … and met Travis.

Also, I remember the Tampa show. She was so serious. So sad. I mean, hell of a show. But seeing her a year and a half later in Miami, she’s all giddy and giggles and just GLOWING and shit.

And Travis — he was already a phenomenal player. But he’s gotten even BETTER. His track record, already near impeccable, has gotten even closer to perfect.

Travis’ signature arrow in Miami, a year and a half after the Tampa show.

Iron sharpens iron, the bible thumper types say.

What if my iron struck someone else’s iron? Would there be alchemy there, too?

Meanwhile I am sitting around all dull and shit. I don’t want to end up like (redacted).

Forget the unexamined life. I’ve examined it plenty.

I don’t want an UNLIVED life.

Lately I alternate between living hard for a few days and then sitting on my uncomfortable couch for weeks at a time.

Like, even last week I felt alive. Hell even today I did about 10 loads of laundry of unused shit I can’t wait to donate. But it’s all done in procrastination of shit I find so tedious. Nothing like a painful work project to ensure I have a clean house.

And at last, she knew what the agony had been for.

Nothing happens to/for you while you’re sitting in your apartment.

And I’m not going to find what the agony has been for inside these walls.

Maybe I’ll never have my own Eras Tour level of success. Or my own Travis.

Or maybe I would, if I just set out to find both.

Now and then, I reread the manuscript
But the story isn’t mine anymore

Time to write a whole new story. Let (redacted) stay right where I left them.

So, after I penned my eponymous “Fuck VITAS Hospice in Boynton Beach, Florida” tome, I didn’t expect it to go anywhere.

I mean, other than Cindy, Scott and two Chrises, and maaaaybe Psychofag on occasion, who the hell reads this thing, right?

Anyway, VITAS sent me a survey. Which I thought was hilarious. So I created a Bit.ly link and said you can read the blog.

So, a month goes by. Finally someone calls me and says so what do you want us to do with this.

I said are you people for real. You swoop in every four to six weeks to reopen my very raw wounds.

I reminded them YOU asked ME to fill out the survey.

What do I want you to do? Provide better service to the terminally ill.

What do you want me to say — to please keep providing substandard care? STOP CALLING ME is what I want you to do.

I hung up after that.

Jesus Fuck All CHRIST what is WRONG with people.

I can’t leave well enough alone.

The legal case, I haven’t stopped Googling.

The incident happened right at the same time Mom took a turn for the worst.

I remember her telling me about it from the news. And it went right out of my head as fast as it entered.

Even though I knew the location very well at the time of the trial, I drove around the area yesterday.

There is no possible way the defendant wouldn’t have known (redacted). NO WAY.

It’s also unforgivable that the defendant (redacted). Like, we got tripped up on “willfully” in the jury room. Fuck that shit. Everything had to be willful, including ignorance. You know, like tRump voters.

(He and his ex-wife are independent non-voters. Yes I looked up that shit, too.)

What really fries my chitlins is the legal charge that was either thrown out or given to another jury. What the fuck else did they keep from us?

Like, I feel like my time was wasted. WASTED.

I am very glad we the jury arrived at our collective conclusion.

For a while I felt like ass that the lone holdout thanked ME of all people in the end. For explaining the law to her. For her to see why we all said guilty.

Like, what if she was one of the “Twelve Angry Men” who saw something we didn’t?

I had even asked my fellow jurors, OK, this is it. Before we turn in the paperwork, what are we missing? What if we can end up being “Twelve Angry Men?”

We didn’t. We were just six humans who knew that our job was simply to listen and to give the judge the piece of information she couldn’t legally determine on her own.

Anyway. I just have to bleed out the wound here so I don’t carry it with me.

I still can’t figure out what the victim was thinking when he (redacted). But in no way, shape or form did he deserve what happened to him. And if (redacted) didn’t happen, he’d still be living his life.

One last thing and I’ll shut up about it forever (or until tomorrow) …

I am truly shocked at how many prospective jurors also said they are single. Just like the defendant and the decedent.

Like, how many of us are alone (or lonely, or both) while more than half the room is also unattached?

And this shit was said under oath. It’s not like all these married guys I meet who either have a hope or a plan for getting out of their relationship/marriage.

In any event, maybe that’s my takeaway. Have prospective partners say under oath whether they are single or have some attachment that could complicate matters.

I don’t mean to make light out of any of this. I just need to figure out what I need to take away from this other than yanking the Very Good Researcher(TM) crown out of Will D. Beest’s matted mop.