Caterwauling

I used to be so angry at work.

This job and every job before it.

That people weren’t working 14 hours and commuting three like me.

That they had doctor’s appointments and dance recitals and soccer games to get to. That deadlines didn’t change because they had somewhere else to be.

That I felt somehow personally responsible for holding all the shitshows together.

That it never occurred to me to take the time I deserved and, frankly, needed.

I think of how Brad didn’t approve my vacation and feigned shock when I canceled it. He knew I wasn’t going to let anything fail. He knew I couldn’t trust him to do fuck all of anything to cover me. Because he would let it all go to shit and then BLAME me.

I think of all the doctor’s appointments I never made. All the appointments MOM never asked for because god forbid it would get in the way of work.

I think of all this now when the best I can give is a few hours of hard jamming because I cannot fucking focus on anything till 11 or later.

How I turn into a pumpkin at five and honestly it’s really four or 3:30. Though I will struggle till six just to justify the mythical “workday.”

I look back on those people I called lazy in my life. I still think most of them were. But a few, I wish I would have given them the grace I need.

The memory problems from (undiagnosed) long covid.

The aches and pains that come with being a woman of thirtysomething.

The fucking forgetfulness that made me order a pink shirt to go with the pink Christmas earrings I bought two weeks ago. The earrings that I’ve LOST and now I have a pink shirt and no jewelry to match.

The same forgetfulness that made me misplace Christmas ornaments and picture frames. Like seriously where the fuck are they, cavorting with the earrings? I bought a damn photo printer and a tree FFS. Can has one damn completed project? ONE?!!

Ok, one.

And the sadness of losing everyone and the guilt of wishing them away once or twice under some illusion that life would return to being calm and productive and fun again eventually.

I feel sometimes like I’m not entitled to my grief. And other times, I feel rightly sentenced to it.

Randomly I googled my landlady. Been here six years and it never occurred to me.

My god, it’s tragic. No wonder she does not give shit one about this place. Everyone who lives here dies. Everyone.

I better get out before I do, too.

Or maybe this is a good place to go out. Everybody’s doing it.

Good enough for them, good enough for me. Why would I think I deserve any better?

I read that therapy isn’t for learning to deal with sadness, trauma and loss.

It’s for learning to let joy back into your life.

Hunh.

I’ve seen so many people go to therapy and remain as fucked up as they were when they went in.

I attributed that to a lying psychologist I knew (Eve) and a counselor accused of SA (a guy I knew in person and might have had computer sex with when he moved away, when that was a thing). Before the SA allegations OFC.

Like, who were they to tell anyone how to live their best life.

But I have another friend in the industry who’s an upstanding citizen. And my Disney friend’s therapist has her reading about timeline jumping and the Fifth Dimension and shit. She’s lost some weight and gotten her life together. So, bravo.

I got to thinking about grief. It’s particularly bad this Christmas. And I’ve been sad ever since Mom’s diagnosis.

She was never lucky. Ever. I mean, she said she got lucky having me.

But I was always lucky. Shit, even yesterday, I got a flat tire … right across from Tires Plus.

It was mercifully still open on a Sunday night. And it was only $32 to patch.

Like, who has stories like that? Me, that’s who.

ETA the same tire kept me from leaving for Orlando on Christmas Eve. Lucky to be alive but not amused. But I made it for our 8 pm reservation!

I watched “It Ends With Us” three times yesterday. I’m overjoyed that Blake Lively, after suffering a monthslong smear campaign by the director, dropped an 80-page lawsuit with receipts.

It’s like when Taylor won her $1 lawsuit against the guy who groped her.

Like, why aren’t women treated with basic decency by men. Why does everyone side with the men. Why does a woman need photos and witnesses and a spine of steel to be believed.

I am so lucky I never had any big battles like that. May I always be, if not worshiped like I deserve, at least left to enjoy my life in peace.

That’s another saying I love. Stop doing more to hurt people who have little to nothing. Let them enjoy that nothing in peace.

That’s where I am right now. Peace at any cost. The phone stays off. My brain, too.

A friend who lost his mom and her two cats this year hopes to turn his grief into something positive next year. I said I’ve never been so unmotivated in my life, so let me know where you find that energy.

Anyway, what was I saying earlier? Therapy can help you learn to welcome joy back into your life again.

That right there is an interesting intention for the new year.