Caterwauling

Couldn’t concentrate very well on Friday. Kept watching Ticketmaster for the surprise Taylor Swift ticket drop.

Got notified, got IN … and my FUCKING PASSWORD was rejected.

A million thoughts went my way as I changed it. Not the least of which, were my OTHER concert tickets still safe?

Alas, I reset my password and got in AGAIN …

And all face-value tickets were gone.

Crushed.

Spent the rest of Friday and most of Saturday morning searching StubHub — which had the better seats — and SeatGeek — which had the better prices/fees — in vain.

I DID book a trip on the Brightline’s Swiftie Sing-a-Long train.

My plan was to take the train down to Miami and go have some “This Is Me Chai-ing” ice cream at Sweet Melody’s.

(At least I’m chai-ing. #evermore)

Also Lavender Haze-ing at the Mary Mary bar.

And the train was AWESOME. You can tell a Swiftie works there.

My Reputation themed seat.

Every car was decked out in every single Era.

Plenty of selfie stations.

Every car had a different era (album) playing.

People dressed so elaborately and beautifully.

And cocktails!

There were makeup stations. Hello side-eye.

Friendship bracelet making stations.

And no one was scream-singing. Just normal singing.

The train ran from Orlando to Miami Center.

I hopped on in West Palm and got off in Aventura.

I figured, let me just try StubHub ONE MORE TIME.

And …

A ticket popped up that hadn’t been available an hour earlier when I boarded.

With fees, the cost exceeded my rent.

BUT LOOK AT ALL THOSE 13s.

TAY’S LUCKY NUMBER IS 13!

HELLO “I GAVE SO MANY SIGNS — SO MANY SIGNS.”

When I was in the WPB station, I was feeling sad because I blew out a tire on the way.

Like hi ok fine don’t buy a ticket to Hard Rock Stadium.

Car repairs, yo.

Just like when I went to see Melissa Etheridge at the Hard Rock Casino last month. Blew out a tire there too.

At the station, waiting to board the train, they were playing Swiftie music.

I looked out the window and said Momma, I could use a sign.

I wasn’t clear about what the sign should be. Just to know she’s with me, really.

“I should’ve asked you questions
I should’ve asked you how to be
Asked you to write it down for me
Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt
‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me.”

Mom works fast.

I figured the sign was to buy a cocktail. So I did.

Then as I watched everyone floating out of the train to go to the concert, I booked that ticket.

If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were singing to me now
If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were still around

I know better
But I still feel you all around
I know better
But you’re still around.”

And off I went to the Brightline shuttle to Miami Gardens, wondering what the hell I had just done.

But you know what? The Brightline runs over someone at least daily.

It could very well have run over ME. Right then!

And that money would have gone to the state because I have no one to leave it to.

There’s a line in “New Romantics” where Taylor sings, “We wait for trains that just aren’t coming.”

My train was THERE.

And who knows when Girly Pop is going to tour again after this year.

I practically skipped from the shuttle to Hard Rock Stadium like she and Florence (!!!) did during “Florida!!!”

And that’s where my Miami era begins, not ends.

Thank you, Momma. I hate not “taking you with me,” either physically or via constant text companionship.

But …

“You’re alive, you’re alive in my head.”

My spirit animal/new favorite relative worked two hours today and said fuck it. Rest of the day off. Starting now.

I don’t think I was ever like that. Even when I submitted my one-month notice to this job on Dec. 1, 2019, I worked every available minute till Dec. 31.

Shit, I worked till Feb. 10. Full time. Pissed off the new employers something fierce. No wonder they never liked me after that.

Of course, it got me this job back, so I WIN, CINDY.

I notice, and I shouldn’t say it out loud, is I don’t focus well anymore. I mean, I do when I need to. But not like I used to.

Ever since they installed some software, I should have committed myself to proving what a kickass worker I am.

But not only did it cheese me off, my system requires a reboot at least 3x daily. Goodbye attention span.

My system shuts down Outlook to keep running Teams. So I have to remember what messages i was in the middle of reading or sending.

And forget it with Chrome. the thing spins constantly. But if I close down Teams, I might be able to do the research I need for the Word document … THAT JUST CLOSED TO RUN CHROME.

Yes I could and should use my own computer. It’s against the rules but, I imagine, so I saying fuck it and staring at a wall for two hours.

I’m not even jealous that she (my cousin, not my computer) can unplug when time off is declared. It’s that I don’t feel productive enough on my “on” time to deserve any off time.

Answering messages (constantly) on off days is actually a blessing for me. Oh, they still need me, hooray. Maybe they will forgive the “not being able to take calls because my stupid system decided that it won’t run SOUND anymore and I can’t afford to reboot and lose all my articles I am writing and editing.”

Honestly if they said it’s time to RTO, they could bribe me with a better computer.

FLORIDA!!!!!

I for one cannot believe Taylor Swift plays in Miami TONIGHT and I don’t have a ticket.

I had this employee who is also a Swiftie. When the concert was announced, we made a pact to try for two tickets and whoever got them would take the other.

So I signed up as a Verified Fan and was one of “The Lucky One”s who got a code.

I did the whole exhausting process but ended up empty-handed.

I asked how she fared and she was like what? I didn’t know.

LIKE HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW. WE TALKED ABOUT THIS.

I didn’t say that. I said oh well wasn’t meant to be.

What I didn’t say is I had a better feeling about NOLA. EVERYONE wants to come to Miami. Like her. I cannot get far enough AWAY from it.

Anyway. I always figured I’d pick up a resale ticket. Those went as high as 67,000 — for ones in the freaking sky.

Prices did drop. I can get something behind the stage/obstructed for $1,200 plus a $450 fee on the resale sites. Oof again.

So now I’m looking for Swiftie events and brunches and such.

I mean, honestly, I did budget two grand for resale. I mean, I live here — not like I need a hotel or anything.

But then I said you know what? I want to meet the baby. My two grand went to Delta, Marriott, a pet sitter and gifts. I got a day off work and time with people I love. And iced butter cookies and Sarris Candies.

I know Cindy likes to make fun of me when I say “I win.” Of course, she likes to make fun of me anyway. But like Taylor Swift sings, “I put narcotics in my songs — that’s why you keep singing along.” Apparently I put drugs in my blogs, since she’s still reading and quoting me. I should send her an autographed bra or something.

In any event, my Miami Swiftie budget is blown, is what I am reminding myself here. Though I do spy a brunch that I wouldn’t have to drive 55 miles to attend, and I think I’ll do that.

If I were a superhero, I’d be an anti-hero and I’d be Super Petty.

I keep getting emails and texts from some cancer group I walked with and fundraised for at some point.

I kept texting unsubscribe and stop. I know full well it’s a human. I don’t care.

Boggles my mind how many “survivors” — e.g., children, friends and other people who supported those who DIDN’T survive — decide to fight on. Keep trying to lobby for a cure. Don’t want anyone else to die like their people did.

FUCK THAT.

I don’t want to die like that, sure. But why do I deserve any better? No one gave a fuck about my mom when things were still treatable.

I don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything now. Not people I don’t know. And especially, a lot of people I DO know.

My cousin got asked to come in on her one work-from-home day.

And since you’re coming in, please go to the farthest-possible location from your home that we don’t often send you to.

She said fuck that and called off entirely.

Finally, proof we are related.

She was inspired when we got to talking about thank-you cards. (I got mine THE DAY AFTER the baby’s party.)

I said oh your cousin Carole used to roast me publicly. After my Gram died, Carole called all around, wondering if anyone had gotten a thank-you card because SHE hadn’t.

I had written them out. Addressed them. STAMPED them. With pretty stamps that I went out of my way to buy because I thought my Gram would have loved them.

I just didn’t DRIVE and wasn’t near a POST OFFICE again.

Soon as I heard about that shit, I tossed them in the trash.

My cousin said she aspired to that level of petty.

I often had guilt about that. Honestly I COULD have walked the envelopes out to a collection box.

But that was acknowledging my Gram was gone.

Give a girl a fucking minute.

Christ, my mom’s best friend forgave me for not telling her that my Mom was dead for a month.

Hell it wasn’t even forgiveness. She understood I was fucked up in the head for a good long while.

I found a list of phone numbers in Mom’s handwriting yesterday. With Carole and a bunch of other people I don’t talk to. Hell, half the people on that list are dead, too.

Anyway I may keep that to myself. I can’t call people whose numbers I never received, right?

I don’t share the fascination of my extended family (or of my ex-boss Ed) who delighted in sharing bad news with everyone within earshot.

Italians, man. He can lick me where I pee, too.

My cousin was invited to apply for a new job.

She was pretty neutral about it over text. But at her dining room table when I asked, she said I really want this.

She reminded me of me. Neutral, fine either way. But bursting at the seams with quiet hope.

I said a little manifestation prayer that she’d get an offer by the end of this week.

That offer came through last night.

I am excited for her. Better money, hours, location and benefits.

I don’t remember what being overjoyed about a new job was like. When I got the job offer in late 2019, it sounded good but not amazing. I took it to get rid of Cindy. HAHAHA joke.

When I got this job offer in 2011 (first time around) and the one at Phillips back in 2003, I was just happy to know I’d be able to buy ramen noodles with debit and not credit. When I got this job offer in 2021 (second time around), it was peaceful. Like, OK, I can do this. Again. For a while maybe longer if I dooooooo.

I developed a boiling resentment against ramen for having to eat so damn much of it because of shitty ex-employers rewarding my excellence with pink slips.

Mom always liked ramen. Despite my distaste for it, I can’t get rid of “her” dozen or so ramens in the pantry.

My cousin has a doctorate and she’s sick of clinical. Research is where she has always wanted to be. And now she gets that.

She’s already got her next house in her crosshairs. Planning when she can have another baby. This girl knows exactly what she wants.

How are we related again?!

I wonder what it would like to feel re-energized and ready to use the neurons that wait for their moment to shine in one’s current role. I never managed to have that AND bigger dreams. Like, just tiptoe and don’t break anything. 13 years later, I’m still doing that.

Anyway, I had another instance today where I said a manifestation for someone. It will come true. I know it.

And I wondered why it is so easy for me to bless others. Like, where is my own manifestation to buy two modern new homes in cash and only be on the hook for HOA fees?

I will receive $11 million before year-end. So mote it be.

Two homes, naturally, because I am getting nervous AF about this damn election. Something here and something anywhere but here. (H/T to Momma on that second one.)

People aren’t much smarter than they were four years ago. They are more racist.

I just hope they realize how the Rethuglicans have gone from wanting brown people to be fractions to wanting women of any color to not have a voice at all.

Anyway. The only thing that excites me is travel. I booked too much of it. I bought too much junk food in Pittsburgh and I booked too many gourmet dinners at my next two destinations.

Will always be fat. But hey, I read that you want to meet men where you’re at and not at your best. Which, why can’t where I’m at also be my best? BE BEST, MELANIE, you fucking sellout.

Speaking of “be best,” a comment was made today — maybe a joke, who knows — that a certain howler monkey is our best employee.

If THAT is the high bar, I’m going to ask my cousin if those doctors need a writer.

I landed in Pittsburgh Friday and immediately drove to a restaurant Mom and I used to love.

She and her friend since seventh grade (!) used to go there too.

So the friend and I met there.

I haven’t told her much. But I was ready to give her any details she wanted. Within reason, of course. The really gruesome shit stays with me.

I did tell her how I appreciated her waiting for me to come around to the idea of talking. Sworn to secrecy for years. It’s hard to break out of that.

Also being in Florida, far away from anyone who REALLY knew us, it was easy to be in that bubble.

I don’t want to be in that bubble anymore. Not by myself.

I didn’t cry much. I stayed pretty matter-of-fact. Am a Gemini, after all.

But I could see her struggling. And I acknowledged that. To get hit with “Your best friend died” from me … 30 days after she was gone … and then all this detail that she frankly didn’t even know to ask about.

She acknowledged that I was in the thick of it and had to watch her decline. So she understood that I probably had a lot to rearrange inside my head after everything changed so drastically.

I know they’ve had their issues over the years. Heck, I know I’ve had my own issues with this friend not BEING a friend.

There were times over lunch that I looked at her and wondered, should I answer that or should I offer this. But I think Mom would be OK with my choices.

After all, we’re all facing our own mortality here. When the sparkling-est, happiest, most ALIVE person among us can’t survive, how the fuck are the rest of us going to make it?

Fast-forward a day to the Queen’s birthday party. I didn’t say much about Mom. I don’t know that anyone even asked.

Someone did say, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and I can’t remember if I had the wherewithal to say I’m sorry for yours.

They’ve had a lot of loss.

Cousin E., of course.

The baby’s paternal great-grandfather died in September and then the great-grandmother’s ROOF GOT RIPPED OFF during Hurricane Milton two weeks ago.

And when I asked why Cousin L. called MY cousin M. when she was on her baby moon to say get your ass home because E. was just diagnosed with colorectal and liver cancer …

That’s because when E & L’s Mom — my grandmother’s best friend and my great-aunt Mary — had a cancer recurrence, she didn’t tell anyone.

Aunt Mary took herself to treatments alone and her hair fell out. That’s how they knew.

L. said no more secrets. We go through everything together now.

Aunt Mary died at 67. Same age as E. Which I didn’t know.

And L. took care of her daddy for 19 years.

Just like MY mom took care of HER daddy after Gram died.

I was pretty tear-free until I saw L.

Saw and HEARD.

OH MY GOD — they were half-sisters.

(E.’s dad was my great-uncle Tom Pe., my grandfather’s brother and mom’s favorite uncle … while L’s dad was my OTHER great-uncle Tom Pi. Yes, Mary married two Tom Ps.)

But they look and sound like twins.

I laid eyes on L and just BAWLED.

Then I overheard her say something to my (first) cousin. Totally E. in voice, tone and word choice. And I fucking lost it.

I looked at L. and just saw her marked with sadness. She said to me, god, you look so much like Robin.

That’s the only time Mom came up at the party. And that was the best way possible.

I didn’t bring her up. Not till the masses (my cousin’s weird Trumpy dad and all his weird Trumpy relatives) left.

I feel like I should bring her up more. And I do, more causally via advice she shared or fun things we did or crazy jokes we had. Not so much the sad stuff.

I was fine till L. left the party. She came over for a hug and I just CRIED.

L was telling me how they LOVED when my grandma would come over. I said I remember they would always bake stuff and make pierogis. We would have pierogi for days and no one has ever them so good.

L. said Gram used to have long, beautiful natural nails. And she and E. would fight over who would get their backs scratched first.

I forgot all about that. It opened a memory for me. When I would sleep over at my grandparents’ house, Gram would always wash my hair and give me a scalp massage with those nails.

Huh. Suddenly I’m 5 years old again.

And suddenly I’m 6 and standing in L’s pink bedroom and E’s purple one. I always liked the pink better. But I loved how rock ‘n roll E. always was. Her room matched her.

Anyway when L. left, I just looked at her and cried. I hugged her so damn hard.

I felt L’s sadness about not talking to her sister every day anymore.

I felt her aching for her mom who died so many years ago. And for her dad, who passed in November 2022 and then we lost E. in September 2023.

Later when it was just us first cousins, the baby and my cousin’s best friend, it was the first time my cousin M. cried.

I mean, it was my fault. I told her a story she didn’t know, one I’ve been holding on to because it’s sad and not appropriate for text. And of course when I went to hug her, one of her dogs (Teddy) went apeshit because YOU DON’T TOUCH MY MOM.

Teddy is in red. Ollie (with spots) was my homeboy.

I did get another hug at Trax Farms the next day. Which MY mom and I loved to go to.

So, that was partially in Mom’s honor. And of course partially because the baby was SO DAMN CUTE with all those pumpkins.

I come back different from every trip I take now. Knocking out all the firsts, I guess.

It hit me hard as I landed in LaGuardia that everyone was texting their loved ones.

That but my phone didn’t have anyone who cared where I was.

Or, for that matter, who KNEW where I was.

So I texted Momma. Which I said on the socials.

During the baby’s party, I got a cute pic of the baby and her cousin. E. loved that little boy more than anyone did. Perhaps more than anyone will, I would gather, from the limited interactions I witnessed.

I texted that pic to Momma’s phone. “Make sure E. sees this one,” I said.

I told my cousin about it hours later. She understands.

I was joking with her husband later that I introduced myself to someone as the weird cousin from Florida. Then he told me about his family and said, nah, you’re the only normal one to come out of Florida in my circle.

I like him so much. I gave the baby all kinds of cool clothes, among other things. He saw the leather skirt and said, “Oh this has GOT to be from Dawn.”

My best friend, when I told her, said well of course — you’re the stylish one in every room! Which was funny because obviously I’m a West Palm 4 but I am DEFINITELY a Pittsburgh 10.

Heck, I went to Eat & Park for breakfast before Trax. And the server marveled that I only went to the buffet once.

Meanwhile I was like helllooooo slowpokes! Someone cash me out because I have places to be! Island time is for FLORIDA.

I’m not kidding about the Pittsburgh 10. I looked around and thought man, I feel sorry for myself for not having a beach body but I’m also not entirely a beach BALL either. Breathe a bit and eat a cookie already.

Which I did, in the airport. Several. I mean, my flight was only delayed six hours and I had a whole carry-on full of Trax goodies!

My friend Jamie posited that maybe I keep getting stuck in airports because the universe wants me to relocate.

What if I did listen to my cousin and move up there?

I could watch the baby grow up. And finally, FINALLY have family.

Or would we all just drift and not make the effort the way we do now?

OR … would I finally find someone who’s a “10” in any city, because there sure aren’t any here?!

Jetted up to Pittsburgh for the weekend.

Strange to type words like that. I’ve waited my whole life to say I want to fly somewhere and then just GO there.

Thanks to the amazing cat sitter I hired, now I can.

I was invited to the party of the year. My baby cousin’s first birthday party.

It’s a fun story when you think about it.

My mom and her first cousin E were best friends.

Mom had me young and E had her kids older. So, I was graduating high school when she had her son.

I didn’t meet her daughter at all. Not till last year when I had two Eras Tour tickets (for me and Mom) and Mom was too sick to go to Pittsburgh.

I was going to take my soon-to-be ex. Meanwhile my cousin — at the urging of E., who clearly suspected she was sick but wasn’t telling any of us that — to go find Mom and me on Faceypages.

Anyway, the MUCH shorter version of the story that I tell people who ask is that M. and I met at the Eras Tour, and she was pregnant. Now here I am coming back a year later to meet her Taylor Tot.

OK maybe I should have just led with that. 😀

It was an emotional trip for many reasons. It was exhausting and spiritually fulfilling and full of hills just like the ones I drove in that Audi I ended up with.

I reserved a Mustang, as I always do. But the rental people left me in the lot so long — frozen in my tank top and shorts as it was 87% humidity in Florida when I left — that I said fuck it what can you give me. And it was this tall, sweet Audi.

I say tall because Anthony opened the trunk for me to unload all my presents for the baby and her mom.

And i couldn’t reach the trunk to close it. I was jumping up like a jumping bean and poor Anthony was doubled over in laughter.

He said you know there’s a button and I said NO I DON’T KNOW because I am a short person who asked for a SHORT CAR.

Anyway, now I have an Audi on my “must buy” list. Right next to the house on my cousin’s street that would allow me to see the baby every day.

So much more to say. But I was stuck in LaGuardia for six hours because they had to locate a pilot for us.

And I didn’t get home till 2 a.m. And my formerly clean car was disgustingly dirty and smelled like the moldy ass airport when I was reunited with it.

But, still. So glad I made the trip. Even though my body and brain are freaking jet-lagged after a three-hour flight in the same time zone.

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.

Someone on Xitter wrote that “The Golden Bachelorette” is their weekly dose of hopecore.

I like the show and the way they described it.

Joan and so many of the bachelors are widowed. They know great loss.

And unlike shows like “Below Deck” and of course the more youth-oriented Bachelor/ettes, there really aren’t drunken orgies. I mean, there was Jack, who loved his cocktails and cannonballs. But the decorum is pretty high overall.

It’s interesting to watch people help each other through their guilt and discomfort and feeling some joy. And it’s fascinating to see how otherwise well-adjusted people can be thrown back in time by an anniversary or a sign (in the form of a hawk, a memory, whatever).

I know my loss wasn’t a romantic one. But it was profound in every other way.

I do wonder about the guy who said his wife woke him up and left him. Out of the blue, really? Or just out of the blue to you? Red flag core, yo.

I could say I don’t have a lot of people to talk to, which is true. So I see myself in these guys who suddenly have a support network. How they can be vulnerable. How they can get information they never had access to.

Charles L. had no idea why his wife died with a mouth full of blood. And Guy the ER doctor said she bit her tongue. And the relief that this one little fact gave Charles was palpable.

This is the first real instance I’ve seen on any of these shows with actual brotherhood.

I like it.

I do have a support network. My cousin and best friend. Everyone on my staff lost a parent this year, too.

While we don’t talk about it all the time, it’s very namaste. We see the gods and goddesses in each other, and also the deep, deep scars we incurred that double as matching tattoos.

I, for one, am still just bewildered. I walk past Mom’s door and say out loud, “How on earth is there a world without Wobin?”

Like, I literally just bought a ticket to Kennywood. KENNYWOOD.

I must say, Magic Kingdom is so much more efficient and effective. I made a mistake on a ticket and the gate agent fixed it right there on MY phone.

I did NOT make that mistake with K’Wood. I have the PDF receipt (not the app, sigh) to prove it. But still, friction.

Anyway, my hopecore is also leaving town. I seem to come back stronger every time.

Well, I come back sad as fuck but then after a week I’m OK.

I couldn’t do any of this before. While others were sitting around blah blah blahing about all their stupid plans … and then posting boring-ass pictures because they don’t know how to make plans … I was just here happy we were all still alive.

Now my family of five is three.

And at the rate I’m going, imma have three bucks in my account if I don’t ease up on the accelerator.

Anyway, I have a pint-sized queen to meet. And I cannot wait.

I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for sadness as we remember all who came and left before us. But, I’m glad we can meet at all.

Nothing like meeting a one-year-old to give you a reason to want to stay on this side of the veil for a few moments longer.