Caterwauling

Confession.

I cannot for the life of me concentrate on work.

The only time I can is A) when a staffer is off or B) when I have pushed a deadline harder than Kody Brown’s skin headband clings to suicidal follicles.

My boss had recommended a book to me on getting organized. That was about a month before Mom died.

I didn’t tell him then that reading a book is literally the last thing I am going to do amid what the hell is happening in my house right now.

And I never read that book. Or any others for that matter.

Still, don’t think that doesn’t concern me. That I can’t read anymore. My eyes are just tired and achy and blurry. All the time. It never gets better.

Then tonight (Friday after Thanksgiving) … after avoiding my long ass to-do list all fucking day … I finally sat down to read a report on a company that’s trying to solve sleep problems.

Jesus Tap Dancing CHRIST … that is what’s wrong with me.

I would say I haven’t slept one full night since Mom died. And that’s true.

But let’s be real, I didn’t sleep during the height of her sickness either.

In fact, the night she died … I stayed in her room till 11 or 11:30. Then I took Bella to bed for a half hour.

Around midnight, Mom started calling for me. I was SO angry. I had only slept a good 20 minutes and I NEEDED MORE.

Well. by 2:47 a.m. she was gone. Violent, awful throwing up. Then the nurse getting stuck at the gate. What a fucking mind fuck.

And before ol’ Psycho tries to get a message through to me that I’m a loser, guess what? Who is calling YOU in their time of need? Absolutely no one. You selfish shit, you only take — not give. Unless it’s blowjobs, I’m sure.

Anyway, someone who’s known me since I was 18 reminded me that sleep and I have never been friends. We shared a pillow a time or two, so he’d know.

I even forgot, but he remembered, that I told him it wasn’t him. I cannot force myself to stay asleep. No sounds, humans or animals bother me the way I bother me.

And I think that is why I cannot work.

I show up — I direct, I coach, I attend to the Teams pings … but I cannot read.

And now, I have a growing list of to-dos that I cannot get to-done.

The cats hear me say, “Oh I’ll do it when my eyes aren’t burning” or “God I’m just so tired today; tomorrow I’ll feel better.”

Narrator: She never feels rested/better.

Anyway reading this whole sleep report was the biggest A-FUCKING-HA moment of my life.

Lack of sleep leads to dry eye disease. Leads to thyroid problems. Leads to fatness. Leads to diabeetus. Leads to colds/inflammation. Leads to early death.

Who has two thumbs and gets sick every time she leaves the house? The only time I don’t is when I freebase zinc and echinacea.

I mean, now that I say it aloud, it is definitely no earth-shattering revelation.

Bon Jovi sang, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

But he was out touring the world and partying. I’m just sitting here eating gingerbread men, Black Friday shopping and drinking coffee like my life depends on it.

I really don’t know how to sleep. I mean, it’s not like I have any practice.

Mom was the youngest in the family to die of natural-ish causes. But what if I beat that record since living on two hours of mostly REM sleep is the only life I know?

Mom’s friend texted me happy thanksgiving yesterday.

I was doing a “Once Around” at the funeral home where I’d taken Momma at the time.

They probably still talk about me there. How I insisted on knowing where Mom was. Where all the real end-of-life stuff happens.

I stopped at that back corner where I wasn’t allowed to be. And cried the whole way out.

Mom’s friend got the “Once Around” reference. I told her to enjoy her meal and try not to be sad today.

She said of course I’m sad. “Nothing’s the same anymore.”

Girl, don’t I know it.

I had wanted to try out the Thanksgiving buffet at the Aloft for the past couple years.

But it’s indoor, so Mom would have never agreed.

Also, she used a walker, not really out of necessity but more for balance if needed. Also it made for a fine cage if rowdy Proud Boys or bastard children were underfoot.

Which they surprisingly are, which you’d think they’d give someone with an aid some berth.

But she didn’t want to be seen with said walker, not outside of Holla Dolla Tree or Ross.

Come to think of it, she quit going to those after a while, too.

Anyway. I checked out the buffet and it was SO GOOD.

Most Alofts are cheap because they don’t serve food. That’s why I stay at them. But this one has two ghost kitchens. And the only way to order from them is via Uber Eats.

Anyway I stopped at the W XYZ bar for a cocktail.

Got my fill of green bean casserole and all the other side dishes.

There is literally a toothful of turkey on there. That’s all I needed.

Then I took my happy ass next door to the iPic for “Wicked for Good.”

Where I cried of course.

For our democracy mostly.

I have read the book, saw the first movie and even saw the play …

Twice at the Kravis.

AND once on Broadway.

The cocktails have typically been … typical high-priced-venue bad.

But iPic … rather, my server Alexandria? Made a kickass cocktail.

She was great company too.

Also she gave me extra everything for my final drink of the night.

Including lots and lots of glitter.

We talked all about Taylor Swift and that stupid cat plushie that no one who’s a true fan can procure.

Good times. Truly.

I wandered around Delray afterward, as I did last year when I picked DaDa for my Thanksgiving dinner.

It was much busier than last year. I was bored out of my tree last year, but there was a lot more open this year.

I did not photograph my ice cream from Kilwin’s. But if three strong cocktails AND ice cream doesn’t give me diabeetus, hopefully nothing will.

Nothing’s the same, indeed.

I loved my Thanksgiving.

But I’d have traded it all for just one of Mom’s stuffing balls.

Because that would mean she was here to fry it up in butter and serve it to me.