Baby’s first hurricane without her momma
Mom was always the one who worried about hurricanes and tornadoes and whatnot.
Honestly I can’t name anything she didn’t worry about.
She knew someone who died doing just about any activity you could name.
Like, she never wanted to wear too much deodorant because it causes cancer.
The irony.
She would get so frustrated when I had to apply it for her and I used “too much.” Then I’d take too light of a touch and not get any on her at all.
But I wasn’t allowed to try again. You get it right the first time or not at all.
Strange bird, that Robin.
Now if someone ELSE dared criticize me, well fuck them. You and me against the world, she always said.
That was the last song I played for her. Hours before she left.
I’ve been doing good lately. I mean, depression-wise. Started eating better and knocked out a bunch of little goals.
Not on the way to being skinny or sane. But, not hating life as much as I probably could or should.
That is, till Hurricane Milton was projected to hit my area.
He’s coming in a few hours. But he’s going to ruin the other coast, rip through the Orlando area and probably submerge St. Augustine.
Down here, other than a tornado hitting near my office and near Amerant Arena, where I saw Bon Jovi at some point in my life, it’s fine. Windy AF. That’s about it.
The airport is closed, which is interesting. Mostly because I have a FLIGHT SCHEDULED. Sigh. I’ll deal with that shit another day. Not today.
Even though I’m really not in harm’s way, I’m still distracted. I mean, when am I not, right?
But when I remember I have to meet with my boss tomorrow, I’m just like ugh.
I made progress on my goals but probably not enough. I was doing other stuff.
What that stuff was, well, was a mixed bag of driving through a rainstorm to meet a VIP at my job, attending a bunch of meetings, trying to help a friend who WANTS to work with us (which involved myriad calls with myriad people) and well, staring into space.
I do that a lot. I’m not working a side job or goofing off (much) on Amazon’s Prime Days deals. I stare at the fucking sky.
I really need a job where I can make money and stare at the sky. Or the ocean. I am SO GOOD at it.
Anyway I kind of made myself cry-laugh today when I thought, “Baby’s first hurricane without her momma.”
She would do the worrying and I’d do the working. She’d have this place cleaned top to bottom so we could watch the rains through sparkling glass.
I had so many things to do this week. Because, flying out. But other than hiring a cat sitter, that’s about it. I’ve slept a lot. At least I washed every piece of linen and every towel in the castle. I could go to bed right now but I should at least remove my nail polish.
Meanwhile I am watching the meteorologist I loathe most. Momma, at least Vytas isn’t wearing his ugly green plaid jacket and red tie and blue pants and beige shoes. Which he wears at least twice a week.
The classy meteorologists with the nice suits are working with him tonight. What a visual contrast. Vytas did step it up a bit, so good for him.
The cats are doing good. They keep looking to me to see whether they should be concerned with the howling winds. But I don’t care. So, they are actually lounging by the flimsy window and snoozing like champs.
I miss my Cocoa too. I keep wanting to see if she’s hiding under my bed. She wasn’t ever afraid; that child loved fireworks more than anyone. She just didn’t feel good and tried to hide.
I feel like I let her hide too well sometimes. Even mom used to say, “Go get your baby.” And I’d drag my feet a bit because she would just hang for 10 minutes and run right back. So why disturb her?
I know why now. I know so many things now that would have been more fucking useful than telling Mom no. I should have disturbed her because she needed to know her Momma loved her.
The same way my Momma tried to love on me and I didn’t often let her.
Man, in the last couple years, she was so fragile that I barely hugged her. She would hug ME tight but I was so scared with all her pain that I would cause more. And all she ever wanted from me was a damn hug.
Anyway. I’m not drinking my way through the hurricane. And other than demolishing a giant bag of popcorn, I don’t have any hurricane snacks that aren’t fruit and tomatoes.
Quite different from spending 15 years of hurricane watches and warnings with my momma.
It’s funny, the things you miss.
Yes the big things like vacations and days that used to be celebrations.
But also clinking glasses and forks. “Click click!” she’d say with the forks. “Cheers to my Momma / Cheers to my baby!” we’d say in unison.
And watching Jim Cantore look SO BORED like we didn’t just thaw him for this one day and we’ll freeze him in a few days so we can thaw Mariah Carey for Christmas.
Hope Momma and Cocoa are somewhere beautiful. Because this ain’t it. And whatever happens to our beloved Ft. Myers (again, sigh) will depress me all over again.
Sorry to say but I’m almost glad it doesn’t have to break her heart again too. That poor lady suffered enough.