Caterwauling

It’s Mother’s Day weekend.

My mind is mostly with my cousin, whose mom was diagnosed with cancer last June and she died in September. On a Friday. At 11:11 a.m. Listening to her beloved Ozzy Osbourne from her hospice setup in my cousin’s house.

The following Tuesday, my cousin birthed her first baby.

I can’t even imagine what it’s been like to be a mother without having hers to lean on.

And I really don’t know how it feels to see her first mother’s day as a new mom but also the first as a motherless daughter.

I think of my colleague who was knee-deep in her own cancer battle when her mom died unexpectedly. This was years ago.

My colleague never had kids of her own. The whole treatment saga of it all threw her into early menopause. But she’s practically co-parented her niece for the past decade. So, that absolutely counts.

She came to mind after I saw a thread on Xitter. A lady wished a very involved auntie a happy mother’s day. A week later, the kiddo’s grandmother (and auntie’s mother) found the nice lady to say thank you for acknowledging her.

I got to thinking about how someone out there made a variety of jabs at me for not being a parent; therefore, I didn’t have any right to make any observations on anyone’s parenting skills.

Sure, let’s forget I have eyes and ears and a pretty good memory. But even factoring that out, I know what it’s like to love someone or something so hard that you would do anything in your power for them.

I’m not just talking about animals.

For saying they took the time to read, what, 25 years of my blog entires in one sitting (hey, thanks!), they don’t see the private posts. The handwritten journals. The endless to-do lists. The piles of notes from conversations and visits with medical and other personnel.

And before dipshit tries to say they know what I mean, they don’t. As ever, they are talking out of their arse and would be wise to continue to just sit on it.

(The funny thing is, said individual always felt the need to “explain” things to me, via the internet. Or should I say mansplain. In any event, I don’t owe nobody dick and that’s exactly what they get.)

In any event, I feel like I get held back because of a lack of dangly bits. And I feel like I’m completely underestimated because of a lack of legal dependents.

As if the three-ring circus I run — work, home and other assorted nonsense — isn’t fuller than all their normal “full plates” combined at times.

So I guarantee, if I have an opinion about something — eyes, ears and memory aside — I have plenty of experience being good to people. And being really fucking good at taking care of MuLtIpLe people who are not named Goddess.

So, I know about which I speak when I see otherwise.

So, wish a happy mom’s day to the aunties, the cat moms, the caregivers, the babysitters, the financial supporters and/or everyone else who stepped up to give a shit when people who should have been required by law (parents, medical personnel, etc.) to provide moral, financial or compassionate care couldn’t be arsed to do so.

Don’t wish it to me, though.

“I don’t cater to all these vipers dressed in empath’s clothing.”

Yesterday’s tarot pull was a combination of The Hanged Man and The Tower.

Clearly, I need rest and I need to do it at a place with the Tower of Terror.

Today’s combo is Death plus the Three of Wands/Rods.

So, big change is coming and it’s going to propel me far away.

The 2W is kind of being at the baes of a mountain. By the time you get to the Three, you’ve figured out the general direction you should head.

Very general direction. But, say, you’ve started looking at places to live in a specific neighborhood rather than a general one.

Since our trash chute will never be fixed, I ran trash downstairs today long after the parking lot cats would know to look for me. (Heavy sigh.)

It was the first Saturday I didn’t feed. And now the second Sunday.

I think about them all the time. But I have to admit my anxiety is less, knowing I don’t HAVE to deal with people here anymore.

I stood downstairs for a moment and took it all in.

You’d never know how much evil resides here. It’s quiet and hot and the last of the snowbirds are taking their lanai furniture in today. We should lose the last two snowbirds from my floor this week.

Unfortunately, Peppermint Patty and the Let’s Go Brandon Lady will stay up here with me. And Tommy, who seems incredibly normal by comparison. And Alfred, who’s been trying to get new cabinets for seven weeks now.

Al’s workers seem like they come, drill two holes and go home. I asked if he’s getting a gourmet kitchen. He’s like no I just wanted some cabinets before I go back to New York; my god what is wrong with people down here.

Exactly. My god, what is wrong with people down here, indeed.

But, like I said, you would look around here and see nothing going on in the day. Maybe someone walking a dog, which was never allowed but the pandemic seems to erased that rule.

You’d never know that Pastor Paul kicks the ducks by the pool nightly. Or the little bastards (who grew up to be big bastards) in Building 101 take baseball bats to ducks and lizards. Or that Peppermint Patty and Cheryl scream at people for looking at ducks (just IN CASE they might be thinking of feeding them) in between going to the pool and touching each others twats underwater. (I can see a LOT from up here.) Etc.

I am not sure what the Death card represents. Maybe it’s full-on Reputation in that …

“And in the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive.”

Can’t wait to close the chapter on this place.

They say the essence of pleasure lies in its impermanence. That sounds really nice right now. REALLY nice.

The 3W card could mean promotion. Which, that would be ideal.

It also means finding a job overseas. And Death means, either find it yourself or I’m gonna MAKE you find it.

I’d rather not have (even more) fear as a motivator, thanks.

“When it’s all roses, portrait poses
Central Park Lake in tiny rowboats
What a charming Saturday
That’s when she sees the littlest leaks
Down in the floorboards
And she just knows she must bolt.”

Someone said I swear a lot.

Which I do. But they referenced it to a group chat where I said … “damn.”

Said person also said they won’t watch one of my favorite ’80s movies because there is too much sex.

You know, if I am the sum total of the five people with whom I spend the most time, it’s basically a religious nut, Heifer, and the idiots in my complex.

God or something help me please.

I texted my cousin yesterday about a non-work struggle I was having. I said promise me if this situation gets any worse, you’ll Cricket Noem me.

Speaking of inappropriate jokes, I noticed Faceypages hasn’t been showing me an ex who I pretty much consider a therapist on retainer. I pay, and I get some support or companionship in return.

He did get me through one of my friends taking their own life not long ago. That one fucked me up pretty good. So, the hourly rate was worth it on that one.

Anyway I guess FB had the good sense to digitally sever this relationship.

Not surprisingly, he was writing about a friend who took his life young. Which honestly always touched me, that this bright boy didn’t see that light.

“Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people—they always go away, sooner or later. You can’t hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they’ve touched you, if they’re inside you, then they’re still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart.” — Bruce Coville

And of course on the inappropriate front, he referred to the man’s suicide as “self-checkout.”

I wasn’t offended. In fact, it made me plot about how I can use it in a sentence to activate someone at work whose voice makes my lady balls retract.

I got to thinking a lot about self-checkout. Like, at what point do you say enough with the pain, physical and mental?

Why isn’t there an award when you realize there is no life in quality of life anymore?

No, we want to force women to have babies and we want to force sick people to hang on and die a slow death with incompetent/lax “healthcare” till we finally die of a heart attack or pulmonary embolism or aneurysm that develops as a result of the pain and/or stress.

Seriously, it’s noble to say enough. To not let doctors let you down anymore.

Yes it might hurt people around us. But they’ll get over it.

We miss our friends. And we are messed up about it. But, there are more things to fuck up and fuck us up ahead.

Plus, I can bet you that the top five people I loathe most will be more revered than ever once we can’t hear their gonad-shrinking shrieks anymore.

As for me, I doubt anyone would notice. Shit, my payroll system told me to set up a trust since I can’t be my own beneficiary.

Who TF else do I trust to make these decisions? I had Facebook Boy as my legacy contact.

But I happen to have some cash left after what I’ve spent on Eras Tour merch, who do I want to have it? Alexandria? Becca? Riley? The street cats?

I swear what keeps me alive is it is more goddamnmed complicated to die than it is to live.

Yes, I said god AND damn. In the same word, gasp!

I was outside with Belly and Magic. Just on the balcony. Looking over at where I used to feed the street kids.

Mom loves a big gray and white fluff ball of a dog here. I used to see her walking her daddy at 6 a.m. over there by the dog walk. Her name is Rosie.

Mom asked me to try to get her a pic of Rosie.

Meanwhile my kids were fascinated with a butterfly who was hanging around.

I’ve had a dragonfly show up for the past several years around dates that we associate with my Kadie. So … was the butterfly Cocoa?

As I tried to sneak pics of Rosie, Mom said this butterfly was weaving around my calves and ankles. Did I not feel it?

I really didn’t. But I was staying still so Cocoa the Butterfly would stay on the porch with us for as long as she wanted.

I wouldn’t have known about that visitation without my momma. I would have never let the kids out because Belly is always trying to run off the balcony and it’s exhausting trying to pull her back by her hind legs every damn time.

That’s one of my regrets, that I didn’t let Cocoa out because her siblings are assholes. She was SO good.

And now she can go wherever she wants, whenever.

I realize how much I’ve had to give up this year. My baby. My outside babies. All my podcasts, witchy and political, too. Trying to keep what’s left of my mental bandwidth focused on work and health and mental health.

The things I’ve had to pick up in their places have not been worth it. At all. Not one bit.

Thank you for visiting, Cokes. Momma loves you more than anything, and always will.

I woke up with that same punch in the stomach that I would always get on mornings when a lowlife neighbor (so many of them) would pick a fight with me whilst feeding cats.

I realized it was last Thursday (eight days) that Butterface on a Bike circled me like the baby shark she is.

Fugly cunt must be out there right now. DIE.

I fed them daily for three years. THREE YEARS.

I haven’t fed the kids since Saturday, when Latin Bitch Boy hosed down the cats/food because he is a FUCKING BITCH.

And TBH I don’t really trust that my fellow feeder stepped up after I resigned. She’s sweet but flakier than baklava.

But … I got a surprise last night.

I ran out to get some dinner. And when I came back at 7 p.m., I saw Meatball! And Whiskey! And Fancy! EATING!!!

“I look in people’s windows
In case you’re at their table
What if your eyes looked up and met mine
One more time?”

Lordt, I cried. They looked so happy.

They didn’t look up. Which, they used to dance and run when they’d hear my car.

Not anymore.

Meatball and me after Latin Bitch Boy took a hose to them.

I thought about all the fuckin lowlifes here who think it’s their right to harass humans and abuse (or, at least not be kind to) animals.

Like, it was hard for me to drive past them and not love on them.

But how do you actively hate on them and try to TRAP them and otherwise STOMP THROUGH THEM to send them running?

Are you really that much of a fuckhead that you cannot see a cat eating a morsel of food that they didn’t have to work for?

And they did work for it! We used to have RATS in our trash rooms. We DON’T anymore.

And frankly we should because our trash compactor bit the dust three months ago and we have to all walk our trash downstairs now and the room stinks so bad now.

Anyway.

It’s not that I would wish, say, a necrotic, fungating wound on Carl, Lauren, MJ, Connie, Frank and Butterface on a Bike.

But I would raise a big fat glass of something expensive to the universe if they suffered the way they want those babies to suffer.

“Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?
Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

Happy High Infidelity day to those who celebrate!

Had a bad night. I mean, a BAD NIGHT. Ran over to my cat feeding friend’s house at 2 a.m. to leave all kinds of stuff on her porch.

I mean, she said she’s feeding at 4 a.m., right?

The place was dark. And she replied … 12 hours later at 2 p.m. to say thanks. Which tells me that’s when she woke up.

So sorry, kitties. I’ve clearly forsaken you. Christ, if you have to rely on her, forget it.

I think I fell asleep around 5 a.m. — there is NO WAY I would have gotten up at 6, anyway. I mean, I WOULD have. And if someone harassed me, they would have probably been dead meat. Or I would have been.

You see, I was a debutante in another life
But now I seem to be scared to go outside.”

That’s the limbo I live in. Someone is going to get hurt, and it’s usually me.

Speaking of me feeling like shit, I had three very good ideas today. My colleague agreed to one, so yay.

The other ideas relied on the big boss being on board. Which, he was like no I have too much to do right now.

He always says no right away. I promise you, give it a week and he’ll come to ME with a GREAT IDEA that sounds like mine. And I’ll say that’s AWESOME; I know JUST the way to execute on it!

But then middle boss says to me to go figure out something else.

What, I should grow some dangly bits?

(ETA: I have an alternate idea for one. I also have 47 other priorities so we’ll see if it’s worth it to have delayed all of those time-sensitive things for this.)

I’ve never gotten a single atta girl or great idea or go with that or I believe in you from this one. Anything I say, even if it is echoing something he said to me in the past, is something to be challenged.

“If I were the man
I’d be THE MAN.

When I got fired from the last company, they brought in a guy named Aaron to take my place.

I mean, they really wanted a marketer. So they got a marketer.

Also he has dangly bits. Which only could have helped my cause there.

Aaron just told them to go suck wind and he went back to his prior job. (Yes!) Like I was able to do. Interesting parallel.

There’s another Aaron who just resigned from his job. I freaking helped him build his new company and when I needed a job, he fucked me. So he can fuck all the way off.

Anyway, he is now taking a sabbatical. (Must be nice.) And we heard some dude is taking his place.

There’s a woman who’s worked there AND at the predecessor company (where I worked, which is how I knew what worked/didn’t so he could work around it).

My friend says, why doesn’t this woman step up and be the publisher?

I said for the same reason I will never have the publisher job. Dangly Bits.

As in, you can’t see mine. So, let’s find someone who has visible ones.

“You know there’s many different ways
That you can kill the one you love
The slowest way is never loving them enough.”

Welp. That was my April 29th.

My co-feeder, now the main feeder (god help those kitties), was not thrilled when I said I’ve had enough.

Suddenly, after months of me saying, could any of your friends around here help us out from time to time (uh, no), she suggests oh maybe this or that person can take over for me.

She calls today to say instead of her going at 1 and 6 a.m., she went at 4. And it was great. She will just feed once a day at 4, from now on. Maybe one other time a day, if I could contribute financially a bit.

So I guess the friends were a fizzle. Or maybe they will figure it out and maybe really unite against evil. Who knows.

I got five straight hours of sleep last night and it was GLORIOUS. But I still feel like shit.

Like, when Cocoa was alive and someone at Publix or Petsmart would ask how many cats I had, I’d say 10. Three inside, seven outside.

Then I got that punch in the fucking heart every time people would ask, after Cocoa passed. Nine. Just nine.

Today I got to talking with a gal at Publix about our cats. My haul was tiny today. Usually half my bill is cat food. Today, maybe six cans.

She said how many do you have. And I channeled my bio dad when I asked him how many children he had, when he said, “Just two.” (Neither of which was named me, but I digress.)

I started to say nine. But I said, no, just two.

Old habits die screaming.

The gal told me she got her kitty because some dumbass family in her neighborhood moved and left her. She found the cat, took it to Peggy Adams, and they held her for 10 days, during which they tried to get in touch with the name on the chip.

The owners did respond, nah, we don’t want her.

So they called my casher, and she was like YEAH.

She showed me a pic of a gorgeous Calico. Like my Maddie. I said what’s her name. She said her dad named her Mooch … after he bought her a cat tree, five cat beds, every flavor of food under the sun and other critter comforts.

I said the best day of Mooch’s life was when you went back to that shelter.

I texted my friend here to say, well, if Butterface DOES manage to take a cat to Peggy, you’re the name on the microchip. They are going to call you.

OH! I got home from Publix and I swore I saw Butterface out walking past my parking spot. I circled the lot three times and took lots of photos.

It’s … definitely the lady in the photo I posted the other day. But she seemed like she could not give less of a shit about the world around her.

Like, the other one looked a lot healthier and sounded a lot less literate. Not that this one talked, but she had a good aura about her up close.

In any event, I won’t lie that it felt GREAT to sleep till 7:30 a.m. on this Sunday morning.

I also won’t lie that I have no intentions of being outside at dawn or dusk, when I would often sneak out to see the kids. It will kill me to see them and be someone else who let them down.

But, knowing that I will never have to be within NOT punching distance of Carl and all those other bitches/bitch boys is kind of nice.

There were many nights I would give the kiddos rotisserie chicken or turkey or even split a few quick cans at 7 or 8 p.m. since I knew my tag-team partner doesn’t roll in till the wee hours.

I can still do that. I just don’t want to be reliable right now. I’m barely parenting the kiddos I got, with everything else going on.

All I ask the universe right now is to let me have October. I have schemed and dreamed and planned and paid for something, and I need for it to happen.

“I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind

People need a key to get to the only one is mine.”

It is literally the only thing I’m living for right now.

I’m used to internet bullies who won’t go away.

Even when I cancel my subscription to their issues (as I’ve just deleted my final burner account), I can still feel them sneering at me from afar.

I mean, it’s always possible that they’ve moved it on or let it go or whatever they’ve said for five years.

It occurred to me as I listened to “thanK you aIMee” — rather, watching the KIM of it all post a lot of shit to try to convince us that she’s unbothered about it — that people put a LOT of effort into acting unbothered.

Kind of defeats the purpose of being unbothered, eh? To ruminate over it?

In any event, I am bothered about my loser neighbors. Today the latin bitch boy took a hose to my kids’ food.

I texted my co-feeder to say I have had enough. I have a big bag of containers and food for you. Find someone else to go through this heartbreak every day.

It was relatively peaceful till about three weeks ago. I was feeding street kids at 6 a.m. when Latin Bitch Boy came out, saw us, and stomped through the food. I hid, and the kids ran, and that was it. But, no one wanted to eat. And I calculated the day’s financial loss at $7.

Then the next monday, some bitch I call Butterface on a Bike rolled up my ass while I was feeding Fancy and Whiskey, aka The BFFs.

She called me ignorant and told me she works for Peggy Adams. Then she changed her mind and said she is taking the cats to Peggy Adams.

She kept talking at me (and photographing/videoing me) till I stood up. I said, “Great chat!” and walked away. She yelled one more time that I’m ignorant.

I saw her the next Monday (after several near-misses with losers in that same lot), but my cloak of invisibility worked. Somehow, she on her bike missed me feeding seven cats in three places. Whew.

My Facebook record:

The butterface on a bike saw me at 5:50 a.m. but did not see me feed kiddos. So I am thankful they got to eat their tiny morsels in peace today, without me getting yelled at.

Then Thursday happened.

Butterface on a Bike tailed/circled me for 26 minutes today. I fed the street cats, she was up my ass filming and taking photos. She said “WE ARE ON TO YOU, MISSY.” And I said, “Yay!”

Then she followed me to Amelia and Smalls. They were scared and wouldn’t eat. I crouched down with them for a good 10 minutes.

Finally I stood up and said, “Still here?” She said, “Something wrong?” I said, “Not with me.”

She said you are the reason we have raccoons. I said I am the reason you DON’T have rats anymore.

She said, oh you love to argue — you KNOW you’re in the wrong. I said I stand up for what’s right.

She called me a bunch of names and I said you know, you’ve called me a loser, trash, ignorant — she said you ARE ignorant but I never called you that. I said you sure did, two Mondays ago.

She said well I’m also going to call you dirty. You should take those cats to your apartment since it’s probably dirty like you are.

I laughed and walked by the water where bikes aren’t allowed. She rode on in. I said, “Bikes aren’t ALLOWED here. Since you are all about RULES.”

She said you don’t follow rules so why should I.

I forget what she called me but I said, “Wow, what a woman you are, calling another woman names. Real class act, aren’t you.”

She also said something dumb about how they lock up their trash room because of me; I literally carry a trash bag with me.

I did say, too, they’ve been here 10 years and you’ve been here 10 minutes. Looks like this place will accept anyone in here now.

I told my co-feeder about it. She offered to wake up and join me the next morning, Friday.

She didn’t.

It’s fine because I had a great morning with all seven babies.

She texted me when she got up, as I put on Facebook:

My co-feeder got bullied out of feeding the cats last night. By a different bully, the Latin bitch boy. Thats why she wasn’t up for a fight, literally.

She goes at 1 a.m. So I really can’t go earlier than 6 a.m. They go from 6 a.m. to 1 a.m. with NO FOOD OR WATER.

So that brings us to today.

I wake up at six (on a SATURDAY), and I only see Meatball and Fancy. Weird. So I feed them and watch Fancy, as ever, take two bites and run.

I’ve noticed that with all the cats but Meatball. They take their two bites, maybe five, then it’s off to the races.

Every day, I chase Fancy and Whiskey and feed them again. (The gray kitty usually eats their food, so there’s scant evidence I was ever there.)

They go into enemy territory, the cursed parking lot where Latin Bitch Boy and Carl and his violent daughter live.

I didn’t see the missing cats, so I came over to my building to do the whole Smalls and Amelia and gray kitty situation.

Then I figured, I’ve never had a shitty Saturday morning. These fuckers stay in bed. Let me go see if the street kids turned up.

Sure enough, Whiskey and Poppins were waiting, like YOU DIDN’T FORSAKE US AFTER ALL! I fed them, great.

Then I walked the length of the cursed parking lot twice till I found Fancy. Usually she likes to hide under a car and eat; today she was fine with being at the edge of the lot by … where the Latin Bitch Boy parks in the Genesis he doesn’t deserve.

I gave her a scoop and some treats. Then I gave some treats to Meatball, Whiskey and Poppins.

As I walked away, the cats SCATTERED.

Latin Bitch Boy came out and TURNED THE FUCKING HOSE ON FANCY.

Meatball and I ran to my building. I pretended to film Bitch Boy but really I was typing on Facebook. I was too far away, TBH.

He started yelling at me and I was like nope. Not engaging with crazy. I did enough of that for five years on Twitter, thanks.

The latin bitch boy is hosing down the kids’ food. Real charmer. He is yelling at me right now. So Fancy didn’t get to eat.

May I always have more money and grace than they have cruelty and stupidity.

Let me say that for the universe once more time.

May I always have more money and grace than they have cruelty and stupidity.

I was pissed off but I figured I’d get over it.

But I got home and mom woke up and I snapped.

Tears started streaming down my face. I said these cats would be SO much better off somewhere else. I need to stop encouraging them to stay there.

Also I’m just coming off of THREE weeks of being sick.

PLUS, I have to look at nurses who nod sympathetically and write shit in their charts and hug me with tears in their eyes as they say goodbye.

Who gets hugs other than those failed by their doctors and nature itself?

Oh, BTW, mINDY is a metaphor but there is an actual Dr. Mindy B. who can fuckin drive face first into a Brightline with all the rest of these cunts.

She looks like Cindy too. I knew we wouldn’t get along.

Anyway.

I packed up a big bag of water dishes and the case of food I just ordered from Chewy. The special stuff the street kids like but that PetSmart rarely stocks.

I threw in a giant bag of lobster flavored treats that’s still sealed. A bag of Kitten Chow. And a gift card I had meant to send to one of my staffers who quit before I could get it in the mail.

And I texted my co-feeder that she needs to find a backup for me, and I have a care package for her.

Everyone knows that my mother is a saintly woman
But she used to say she wished that you were dead
I pushed each boulder up the hill
Your words are still just ringing in my head
Ringing in my head

This is how our rights get stripped away. Reproductive, gender identification, civil, workers’, whatever. The evil fuckers chip away at you day after day, tweet by tweet, insult by insult, threat by threat.

I slept THREE HOURS yesterday and I got up to THIS?

Look, I LOVE those cats. I have plotted a million ways to Sunday how to kidnap Fancy and Whiskey (bonded pair).

And I have fallen in love with Smalls. He is SO CUTE.

I think of what that Butterface Bitch, who does nothing but ride her bike like the Wicked Witch (the one in the movie/play AND the one in my cult classic song, “fuCk you mINDY”) and go sit by the pool eight hours a day with the others in their cult who sit and bitch about the cats, would do to gloat.

But it’s not enough for me to keep obsessing about the fear and the injustice and the asininity of it all.

I like being the girl the neighbors slip food and compliments to, out of earshot of everyone else. Thank you for taking care of those kiddos. I’m not brave enough.

Hell, on Wednesday (a good day), I couldn’t find Smalls and he started yelping from between cars. A nice man walked by and pointed and said, “I think he’s looking for you.”

I said THANK YOU and I was SO thrilled that someone here was nice enough to just LET ME DO MY THING.

Like, why isn’t THAT the norm?

But no. The mINDYs of the world will be evil bullies and the people like me will take it until we can’t.

An old friend, Dave, I met through this very blog texted me.

Thank you for standing up for what’s right. I can’t do what you do. We need people like you who do this for all of us.

He is literally, PHYSICALLY incapable of having fights all the time. Like, he could not stand out there and deal with this shit.

I posted on Facebook, would it be terrible if I threw in the towel on all this.

Another friend, Bill, who I also met through this blog, said (my words, and what I believe is his sentiment):

You don’t get to pick when it’s time for self-care. You do it when you need to.

So, you win, mINDY. Shindy. Butterface Bitch. Latin Bitch Boy. Carl and Lauren. MJ. YOU ALL FUCKING WIN.

Karma is going to have to even the score. I don’t even care anymore.

Y’all broke me.

And even THAT won’t make any of you happy.

But at least I’m not going to let you ruin my life anymore.

As she was leaving …
It felt like breathing.

I wonder how Taylor Swift sits down to write, knowing people are out there who are intentionally going to twist it and claim she’s worshipping satan and preparing to have his baby.

Of course, her (presumed) future father in law retweeted that very claim and laughed at it. So, at least she has that.

I’m going on two solid weeks with no sleep. Have a new stalker here at the hacienda. This one rides a bike and does circles around me and insults me while I feed cats. Like, childish, bitchy insults.

She has quite the butterface. Like, I’d wish that she drove headfirst into the Brightline that runs 100 yards from here, but she looks like she already did.

I haven’t insulted her. I simply laugh at her as she films me and threatens me. Like, Jesus Christ, did the world’s most deplorable people all decide to live here all at once?

I often think of moving. I have dreamed of it for like four years. But who would take care of the cats?

I got to rewatching an old episode of 9-1-1. At the end of S1 Ep 9, Abby’s mother passes away from a pulmonary embolism. On top of all her other fucking problems.

The thing is, Abby had taken care of her for ages. Everyone said her mom held her back. But Abby, now alone, declares (in my words) “The thing everyone said was holding you back turns out to be what was holding you together all along.”

I felt that. I have this nitwit neighbor (shocker) who’s a pastor. And he’s always said maybe I could have a real life if I were alone.

I’m like well that’s un-fucking-pastorly, eh?

Hilariously, this dipshit has a big fat pro-life license plate. And I park next to him with my big holographic hanger sticker that says “Never Again.”

I also have a holographic “This Girl Loves Ducks” sticker because this fucker kicks every duck he sees on the way to the pool every evening.

Jesus Christ, this fucking PLACE.

Anyway I’ve told him numerous times to sit and spin. Like, you don’t get to give me your observations on what you think is my life.

“YOU WOULDN’T LAST AN HOUR IN THE ASYLUM WHERE THEY RAISED ME.”

Ahem.

Anyway, in S1 Ep 10, Abby skips town and goes to Ireland, where her mother always wanted to go.

They made it lame. Like, she had no point to her life now, and she lost her identity a long time before that. So why wouldn’t she burn down her life and do something different.

I often dream of doing this. Not the whole having no purpose in life. But (third Taylor Swift reference incoming) “they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one. So light me up, light me up.”

What I dream of is going somewhere, changing my name and living out my days.

I don’t know where “somewhere” is. I’d miss all the outside kiddos. And I’m not insane enough to think someone would take over for me.

But a lot of these kids were here many years before I was. So, maybe there’s a chance that someone else would stand up to all these ignorant assholes and do what’s right.

The pastor is selling his place. I am worried we’ll get someone even worse. And I’ll lose even more sleep since I get harassed at 6 a.m. and need to, what, get up earlier now?

Anyway, in addition to missing my concert last week, tomorrow is my cousin’s celebration of life in Pittsburgh. I was going to fly up but I gots a doctor’s appointment to deal with. On a Saturday.

I feel bad that my cousin won’t have anyone from her mom’s side of the family other than her sister. But, that’s more than enough.

I still feel bad I didn’t see my cousin’s mom when I was up there last. But even my cousin says, we didn’t know. We knew she wasn’t great but who knew she’d get like one chemo treatment the next week be sent straight to hospice in my cousin’s house.

I’ve talked about how Larry went to JFK, got one cancer treatment, and pretty much just up and died. Same thing happened with Elaine, but she was at a much better facility. And my cousin’s a doctor.

But I was just talking to another guy I met, who calls me Goddess. (As one should.) He told me his best friend was 41 a decade ago. His best friend found a lump in his chest and went to JFK.

Again, one chemo appointment, and he was dead the next day.

What the fuck is up with JFK, and do they only take the good ones out or what?

In any event, I have these nasty ass people here who, let me quote this bitch, she called me ignorant and said if I find the cats so cute, I look dirty and I should take them in my dirty house. She’s called me a loser and trash and I don’t know what else. I simply say, “What a lady you are!”

Anyway, literally I am struggling mentally and physically to get from one day to the next, and this heifer feels it’s her birthright to ruin that one good thing. Not just for me. For the cats.

What really hurts is all they want is to be petted and loved. I throw food at them lightning-fast and run so people don’t see me and run the kiddos’ meals. Because when I am seen, it’s yelling and stomping through meals and not from by/from me.

The cats seem so sad that I barely look at them. Sometimes one or two will even follow me. I will offer more food if I have it, and sometimes they take it but more often, they turn around and hide.

They know they aren’t wanted here. They sometimes don’t even want what I have to offer in general. Like, lady, why even bother, you know?

Anyway, like Taylor sings, “Another fortnight lost in America.” Another night of sleep lost. Probably another morning the cats don’t get food or love or both.

But I’ll keep trying.

“At least I’m trying.” (Taylor reference #4.)

I didn’t intend to be awake to listen to “TTPD” when it was released.

But alas, as Thursday ebbed into Friday, I logged into Apple Music and was delighted to see it was ready for me at 11:50-ish.

Imagine my sleep-deprived delight when another 15 songs, the TTPD anthology edition, appeared in my account two hours later.

My plan was to take PTO Friday to drive to Tampa to see Kenny Chesney. But, as life happens, I didn’t see the possibility of being away for two to three days. So I sold my $260 ticket for $80 and worked.

I won’t claw back that time. It was rollover, anyway. And life has been so chaotic that I am sure I lost eight hours elsewhere throughout the week. At least.

I’ve done myself a disservice reading reviews and memes about TTPD/Anthology.

Now, I haven’t seen what the E-Gatsby of Greenacres has to say about it. I’m sure it’s a meh and a pooh-pooh and a Beyonce is better mashup, along with some missing apostrophes and extra commas.

In any event, I am not listening to anyone who isn’t a lifelong TS fan. The album was not meant for anyone but us. There are so many invisible strings and I am getting tired of drawing them for people who don’t get it.

I do owe myself a back-pat because I told my fellow Swiftie cousin that there was no way this was going to be a Joe diss album. We don’t hurt the ones we actually loved.

“It’s the worst men that I write best.”

We do relive those torrid (illicit) affairs. Whether we’re with them for one night or one fortnight (heh), they can produce even more searing pain than having your pretty and your youth wasted (for free).

I’m still processing that someone DID get taken to the cleaners and it was Ratty.

Which, I am having some issues now affiliating my beloved “Maroon” from “Midnights” (“The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones / The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon”) with Matty (“So if I sell my apartment / And you have some kids with an internet starlet / Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon?”).

For example.

Taylor makes it clear that we’re all vipers who stole her fun. We put her on a pedestal she didn’t ask to be on and tell her how to be.

Actually, I figure the dating pool where I am is so shallow, and she’s got her pick of everyone in the world, why go for a greaseball. But, I also GET it. The one they’d never put you with, can make so much sense at the time.

Also I have decided to stop clowning the release of Reputation (Taylor’s Version). It’s exhausting. And she seems to think we don’t appreciate all she gives us. Like a whole ass surprise double album, for starters.

I will just sit here in my custom Big Rep mouse ears, and knowing that there will (again) be no explanation before RepTV.

I got these on TTPD day. I won the Great War! (Uh huh)

The gold bow I chose is a big IYKYK.

Not to be confused with YOYOK.

Anyway.

I worry that Travis is the rebound, rather than Rat Mat. That big, goofy golden doodle who knows he hit the situationship jackpot. Like, how does he feel when he listens to 2 hours and 2 minutes (Good job, Blondie) and only two songs and mayyyybe one minute of another are for him?

Anyway. I wish I could reach out to Tay-Tay and say thank you for baring your soul and your teeth (yes, the ones we took away. I get the metaphor).

And that’s really what it’s all about. She is all about the allusions and metaphors and stories and myths and legends. She loves a good Easter egg and she loves an invisible string even better.

I see you, Taylor.

I just wish I could have stuck with my writing and become a better storyteller. Having friends like Jack and Aaron wouldn’t hurt, either. I only dated one writer but we never got around to writing.

Anyway, I love the album(s) and I envy anyone who gets to hear select songs live during the “surprise” section of her Eras Tour sets.

And don’t think I won’t be using some of my favorite lines as post titles and themes. Like this one. Which I plan to use again when I can talk about WHY I am not in Tampa this weekend. Or why we haven’t slept in months.