Caterwauling

My cousin sent me Taylor Swift’s favorite birthday cake (of 2023 — I had sent it to HER in 2024) … a gift from herself … and a gift the baby painted for me.

Her card was tops. Made me cry.

I read the card aloud for Mom. I told my cousin’s mom Elaine that she raised a fantastic daughter. Her son’s a loser like his dad, but the girl? The best.

I got another card today. From my mom’s BFFrenemy’s sister.

The sister always sent my mom cards. And weird gifts.

She sent a fuckin death shroud a few years back. We don’t know why. Felt like an omen.

It was.

She always sends dollar tree shit too. And I know she had an amazing career, so it’s not that. She just likes junky shit.

So hello, a birthday card! And that’s nice because she has zero reason to do anything nice for me.

The cart reads, “A Treat for You!” And there’s something hard inside.

A gift card?

I opened it and it’s not even dollar tree. It’s this weird dog face that’s peeling. And the magnet isn’t even a magnet. I can’t explain it.

I read the inside and she said she had to send this dog because it’s so cute, right?

Hm.

A treat for me … a dog, which I don’t even like dogs … and no treat?

At least it wasn’t another death shroud.

Everyone has figured out that I’m going to (redacted).

And I just got an uninvited request for what to do there. From a peer.

Listen.

I turned in one request for reimbursement in 14 years.

For two cheeseburgers.

And DTOM wouldn’t appprove it.

I get along with accounting so I am not worried about it. I was never worried about it. It’s just illustrative of things I would be crazy to type out.

Anyway, I paid a a good chunk to extend my hotel and cat sitter to go to this thing.

Out of pocket.

I’ve talked to my team about how to maximize this visit. And I have a great list. I also talked to the social media team. Great list from them. I’m good on “what to do.”

The only thing I want is to not have to use PTO.

Which I have too much of anyway.

I am delighted to do what I can for the company as I do love my work and it will benefit my work.

MY work.

I am typing this as a reminder to myself for when I get nuts from the weight of trying to please everyone.

The Bermuda Triangle of pain is how I refer to this era with my first Mother’s Day without my mother, my first birthday without my mother, and the day Momma passed.

The triangle became a box when I heard Joe Biden has Stage 4 prostate cancer.

My mom was terminally (ugh) online. If she would have read what I’m reading by people who were just experts on Bruce Springsteen last week (note: they did NOT pick up on generational poverty in “The River” is all I’m saying) … she would have felt even worse.

Cancer made her feel dirty. She was embarrassed. Like she fucked up by “catching” it. And these fuckface MAGAts would have only reinforced that.

May they all catch permanent diarrhea.

In any event, my box became a pentagon last night.

I logged into mom’s phone since Samsung threatened to delete her data if it wasn’t accessed soon.

Well that was a roundhouse kick to the head.

“Dawn commented on her post you haven’t seen.”

I mean, I know she hasn’t seen any of my posts for a year. But it hurt seeing it spelled out for me.

I felt like she was in the room with me. Magic supervised me. And I had a memory of her counting with him.

I haven’t ever counted with him. So I did it.

She would count to three. Plenty of 2 1/2 action too. After every number, he says, “Yeah.”

Now, no one has said this to him in a year. But he remembered. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I realized Momma was the love of his life. He’ll never forget her.

As for Snow White’s seven dorks who left messages looking for her, I hope they all figure she hasn’t called or texted back because they are losers.

Anyway, this was so heavy. Is so heavy.

I hope Samsung is satisfied. That five minutes I spent in that phone reminded me I had a whole lifetime with someone and now have a whole lifetime I’m supposed to get through without her.