Caterwauling

Logged into the health portal and got the news:

No cancer detected.

I cried.

I mean, work will be what kills me, mark my words.

Just glad it won’t be the big “C.”

If I could make any wish right now, it’s that mom didn’t have to hear that she had cancer.

Especially how she had to hear it alone because I wasn’t allowed into the ER with her.

It wasn’t even that it was covid, it was that they had a dick cop at the front who told me to leave. And when I did get there, they shamed me for leaving because their policy was to let in next of kin.

Anyway I am glad to be out of the Baptist health system and into a better one.

I just wish we had done the same for mom.

Like, we didn’t take her to Moffitt because it was Tampa. But Baptist forced us into this world tour of Miami.

I know I should be relieved but now I have to go sit through a full day of meetings and then no doubt get yelled at tomorrow for a project I have slacked on for over a month that makes the publisher look bad.

Wasn’t my intention. But you know, I may be cancer free but mom’s still dead and I’m still so, so scattered and shattered.

Like the sign I just put on my door before I made my health appointments, “Aren’t you tired of learning the same lessons over and over again?”

I really am.

So tired.

Oh well. Treadmill time! (On Teams, not me.)

Also, no shit, Sirius.

Well. It’s two years that Mom is gone.

I went to my mammogram. AKA the titty taffy pull.

At least my doctor listened to me and also ordered a follow-up ultrasound.

As a founding member of the Dense Boob Club, we should just skip to the ultrasound.

Also of course it was a man who designed the friggin boob vise that I had to deal with earlier.

In any event, I forgot that I had mom’s urn in my purse.

How weird that she got to come to my mammogram. After I went to all her appointments but I had to do all mine alone before today.

I was thinking, it would be appropriate if I use 6/16 as my annual mammo day. Though with my family history, I get to have them every SIX months.

That was a weird moment. I had marked on my form that I had no sisters, no aunts, no nothing. They verified that and said wow, everyone puts zero but no one actually has zero.

I said yup. Little Orphan Annie here. Don’t ask me for a beneficiary or an emergency contact. My cats can’t drive and I have the car here.

Other than seeing 57s all around, as that was Mom’s birth year, it was a pretty unremarkable day all around.

Exhausting and irritating all around. BUT! A gift I’d sent a friend weeks ago finally arrived.

Hilariously it’s alcohol and hilariously I say Mom timed it so he could toast to her.

What’s really funny was in the card, I had referenced wanting to brighten up a random Tuesday.

How wild that it did, in fact, arrive on a random Tuesday.

I also got an employee referral bonus today. Well, news of it anyway. But just in time for a Disney trip. Very exciting.

So, mixed bag, as always. But I had a Cosmo margarita with Mom at Chili’s after the mammo, and it’s all I get now, so I cherished it.

One of my favorite tarot goddesses suggested this:

Speak what you want to happen before going into hard situations.

I didn’t do The Thing.

I had most of the resources to do The Thing, which I don’t normally get from Redacted. Whose name is on it and has been for 14 months.

But Redacted didn’t like the first two tries at it this month. Or any of the past 13 months of attempts.

I promised to fix it, as I always do. But it’s been three weeks and I have not fixed this one yet.

I want to manifest understanding. Finding a permanent solution. I actually think I have a very good solution. But I still have this stupid roadblock that I cannot get past.

I used to get so frustrated when my beloved top boss would ask me to do something. Then within an hour or two, he’d just do The Thing and tell me not to worry about it. (After I’d worked hard on it.) Or if I got to turn in my attempt, he’d say thank you and rewrite it. Every time.

That doesn’t happen anymore. Occasionally I wish it would.

Like hey this is a mess so we either listen to you Goddess and put a different byline on it (desired outcome) or hey remember when you did a ritual sacrifice so you could hire a full time person and the goalpost moved and now you have too much copy for the website and not enough for this project and it’s all on you to write/edit? Well, Lucy will stop yanking the football now. Go do this your way.

What a thing to manifest during a new moon, but it’s the thing that makes me pray for a rip in the time-space continuum. I’d walk into it in a HEARTBEAT for this one reason alone.

And so I manifest that this never-ending Four of Swords moment (14 months) turn into a permanent Sun tarot card.

No, I want it to turn into a whole Nine of Pentacles moment. That is my FAVORITE card. And it’s the one I want my life, my days, my nights, my everything to be.

Also, if trump could die too that’d be cool. Since we’re dreaming big.

A friend called to ask for advice.

She’s never been (my title). But she received not one but TWO offers to become one.

Making six figures at it, too.

She accepted both offers and wanted to see how I’d handle backing out of the first.

I had provided references, not really knowing much about the jobs. Just answering questions about character and commitment.

I loved the employer who called first. I see why she said yes. With some details, I also see why it’s now the second choice.

This is not a post about her.

This is a post about what she said — “My god, (Goddess), YOU are the one who’s qualified for all these jobs. I have never done this, but I think I can do it based on all the coaching and mentoring you’ve given me. But with all these jobs out there, why aren’t you applying for them?”

I laughed and she said yeah, you would have gotten these over me. And I said not really — I’ve done my own job so long, I can’t do anything else.

She knows the cast of characters where I am. And the things she saw up close for herself.

And she’s like aren’t you tired of (redacted) … tired of (redacted) … tired of (redacted, redacted, redacted)?

I’m like I’m not tired of going on vacation, so I can live with redacted to the nth power.

Anyway this isn’t a job hunting post.

But it is a “if someone who hasn’t done my exact job title for 15 years can stroll in and GET that job somewhere else for six figures plus bonus” …

Someone I believed in even when (redacted) did not …

And I assume (redacted) is not my biggest fan either (and continue to give them reasons for that) …

I wonder if there’s life after this (gestures vaguely) if ever I should decide I want it.

One of my employees told me the other day that “you are a benevolent god, even if none of them realize it.”

Another told me today, “You are magic and you have exactly NO idea how much power you actually have within you. Freaking use it!”

Then I thought about Sarah. Not the one I let go as an offering to hire someone else. (That football got yanked away from me by Redacted after the fact.)

The other one, a gal I worked with long ago.

I had told previous Sarah, when things were really really really bad at the company, I couldn’t abandon my team.

She sniffed and said, “Well that’s stupid. You think they’d stay for you?”

They all left. Sarah left too.

I get it now. But I still wouldn’t want to leave them.

Not that I think they couldn’t survive, but because I can’t imagine a world where I couldn’t have them with me.

I would like to imagine a world with them where we’re all happy a lot of the time.

Perhaps that’s my wish for this Gemini new moon.

Manifesting more magic in a liminal space where the only magic there currently is, is what I create.

It’s the night that Mom died two years ago. I finally had my “weekend” tonight (Monday) after working intermittently all weekend.

But playtime (tarot ice cream with boba, dinner at Cava, an oil change, groceries, cat food, furnace filters) has to end.

And just like I worked the next day then, ain’t no excuse for not working now.

I’ll just redact all the rest of the nonsense rolling around in my squash before I HAVE to go see what what other jobs are out there.

I know Redacted is doing all they do to challenge me. But a little more magic and a little less nonsense would really help right now instead.

Sat down to do some work on this fine Sunday when I got a text.

Figured it was Door Eats or Uber Dash or whatever. As your girl needed some lavender milk tea.

Oh no, it was the radiology department with a reminder that I have the first of two mammograms scheduled for Tuesday.

You know, Tuesday, June 16.

Two years to the day that Mom died of stage 4 breast cancer.

That knocked the fucking wind out of me.

It’s been two hours and I’m still shaky.

For all I know, my order from Sugar Milk is still sitting outside my door.

Of all the dates on all the calendars, man.

This is why I have two mammograms. Because of my family medical history.

I finally found a good doctor who knows I’ll get called back, so why not just schedule both upfront.

I don’t even know what I’d do if they said they found something. Put rocks in my pockets and walk into the Intracoastal, I guess.

Or put in a boba order from Gong Cha, in honor of how much Cindy thinks about me with the song “Don’t Cha.”

I remember working in Maryland during the financial crisis. In finance.

We laid off half the company. Fortunately for them, I was young and dumb and did triple the work for free.

I also remember working in Florida when the owner laid off 90% of the company so he could retire. Instead, he ramped up the business.

I got a promotion. A title change and what I call the “Tom Clark $5,000.” Because that’s what the CEO gave anyone who got a promotion.

I was less young and less dumb. But I was already doing triple the work for free, so I took it. That paid for my gas since I drove 45 minutes each way at the time.

Now, I have an employee I hired to handle five products. That list is now 37.

I spend half my week trying to make those 37 less painful, and the other half helping my other direct reports.

I’ve been pitching fits to give this person a raise. The fatter the better.

Like to the point I was refusing to turn in my performance reviews until I got a guarantee we’d make this person whole.

We did.

The Tom Clark $5,000.

Like, no.

I’ve been told about my attitude, so I just said thank you.

I thought better of telling them what is probably going to happen, based on personal experience.

Which is that you downshift to that number. Rather than try to go for the number you had in your head.

Dress for the job you have, as it were.

To be clear, they have since made me whole. I’m good. Not a Goddess post here.

Anyway, I’m glad we did something. I expect I’ll make the case AGAIN that this person deserves more.

Most people don’t know or remember Tom Clark. This is not a post about him, either.

I remember, obviously. I’m the one who coined this phrase.

When I realized that’s all he thought I was worth, I watched him closely.

He never missed a lunch. Or his kids/grandkids events. Or a golf game, whether playing or watching. Or a trip to NYC for some board he sat on.

The clicking sound in my head was loud.

The person at the top — in charge of setting the tone, direction and vision — gave the very least he could.

Once you fit that into your head, you wonder why you don’t do the same.

I won’t lie.

There have been a million times when I wished I hadn’t taken on Bella and Magic.

Bella of course chose me before I was able to capture Cocoa. So, no denying the fates.

Magic I chose because why not, I already had two good kids.

After Magic beat up Bella and me last night — well me for getting in the way — I thought fuck this.

I don’t have Cocoa, after all. Why am I still fucking around with these goobers.

But really, I would just find another goober or two if I didn’t have them.

And here on the eve of the night I lost mom in 2024, I looked at Bella and thought, you saved me.

Like what if I had only taken Cocoa. Or none at all, as it was the whole “well shit I can’t take Bella and not get Cocoa too” that lit a fire under my fat ass.

Mom got me through losing Cocoa.

But Bella got me through losing Mom.

Like, I know I love someone when I see myself grieving their future loss.

And as I squeezed her tight just now (which she fought, just like I did with my mom) …

I thought about a world where I don’t wake up to her staring down at me and tapping my shoulder, demanding pets.

She’s six, but I had Cocoa for not even four years, so I am not being dramatic.

I used to call Cocoa my baby. It was only this week I started to call Bella my baby.

Anyway, I’ve always been morbid and obsessed with death like Lydia Deetz.

But man, I’d be a lot worse off today if Belly didn’t love on me every day for two solid years.

I don’t think I’m the best cat mom. Or hoomin, for that matter.

But I really have had four very good girls.

The bestest girls.

Better than my mom got, anyway.

Woke up to the apartment being 80 degrees.

It’s 84 now. Even after the technician came.

What else … the water got turned off.

Thankfully after I’d showered.

Oh and an EARTHQUAKE in Cuba somehow managed to rattle my floor and computer monitors.

In Florida!

On the other hand, I managed to make a car appointment, three radiology appointments, and survive a day of meetings that I myself scheduled.

I can’t believe the AC though. The unit is TWO MONTHS OLD. They said the compressor blew and they need money to fix it.

I said good fucking luck with that.

I paid idiot Dan Olsen for a compressor just a few months ago. Then when I called for his people to take a look at it, he fired us as customers.

And this new fucking place said oh you need a whole new unit. So we got it.

The inspector was here on May 28. Said it all looked great.

It’s June 8. And the compressor somehow short-circuited overnight.

I have bought more damned fans. And just ordered another one which I thankfully just plugged in.

Ate everything cold in the house.

The cats are so miserable, they don’t even want treats.

I often think of all the outside cats that I wanted to rescue but didn’t.

My cats are like shit it’s at least breezy outside. We’re stuck smelling candles and poo-poo.

And I still haven’t done that fucking project that stresses me out at work.

But hey, performance reviews are done and raises have been given.

I feel bad for Cuba. Trump already screwed them like an eight-year-old white girl. Now they have no oil AND an earthquake to deal with.

Second largest earthquake in the Gulf, from what I read.

Now you can call it the Gulf of America as long as you put Sucks after it.

I defriended that one person because I was sick of seeing her name in the comments.

Now that fucking friend request shows up every damn time I log into AssfaceBook. (Hi Zuck.)

I don’t want to delete it because she’ll just send it again.

Clearly I need to get off Facebook.

I saw that Jill Biden was not only coming to Miami, but on the same street as the Miami Cancer Center.

Mom got shipped there on my birthday in 2021 because the only ortho-oncologist in South Florida worked there.

The doctor was a raving bitch but she also pinned Momma’s cancer-ravaged pelvis back together so she could walk again.

MCI wouldn’t treat the cancer till Mom was discharged. Baptist Hospital kept her for a month. It was … not fun.

I offered to move us to Kendall so she could get treated at MCI, as they were quite competent. But she wouldn’t dream of me spending all that money.

Nor would she accept me having to drive her down there every day for treatments, as it’s good 65 miles each way.

So we went with their evil stepsister hospital Boca Regional and specifically Lynn Cancer. And they proved to be the reverse — hospital fine, LCI was an absolute disaster.

And now she’s dead.

Anyway, I almost didn’t go see Jill. But here at the second anniversary of Momma’s passing, I thought it would be healing for me to go back to Kendall.

Specifically, to go back to the butterfly garden where I’d feed the ducks and run up to her room to show her photos.

From the moment I drove into the parking lot, a momma duck and nine babies jumped into the puddle that was just inside the entrance.

I had a huge truck behind me. But I threw the car in park, jumped out and said, “Hey duckies! You gotta be careful, buddies.”

Fortunately, the truck didn’t honk or act dumb. And I thanked whoever/whatever that I was the car to come upon them, as I guarantee that big old truck would have never seen them.

Brenda told me that was such a strong sign mom was there.

I took her little urn through the path that she never got to walk with me before.

I sat her on a butterfly bench and had a chat.

Part of me wants to keep it to myself.

The other part of me that struggles to sleep, and who doesn’t have things committed to memory during dreamtime, wants to just write it all.

I tried to channel her but kept getting nonsense. “Topo Gigio” — which she always called idiots.

I told her I was sorry I spent her whole life complaining about work and asking for her advice.

I told her I was sorry I left her locked in the house while I worked too many hours.

How I was sorry I was late for all those good dinners.

How I picked so many fights.

How I spent time with someone younger than me and who kind of mmhmm’ed my advice and thoughts. Like I did with my own mom.

I get it now. I get how she had opinions and experience and feelings. Not just premonitions but actual feelings that could get hurt when I “whatever’d” her.

I felt like she forgave me when I said that. How now that I know, I can do better.

I was thinking about that younger person, who lost her mom at 30. My god, how lucky was I to get 50 years.

I thanked Mom for those 50 years. Would have loved more. Would have also wanted more “me” time all along, though, and I am sad to be getting it all at once.

Saw three little birds together too.

I always asked to see three of the “babiest” birds, as she’d call them. So I’d know she, Gram and Grampy were together.

I asked her to hug Cocoa, Maddie and Kadie.

To hug Grampy and Gram and Old Gram.

To thank Uncle Stan and Aunt Josie for giving me a financial leg up.

To quack or grunt at Janna.

To keep an eye on Sia, as I imagine she’s long since incarnated. I think she’ll change the world this time around. She’ll need an angel.

Funny enough, I was driving around wierwathout navigation afterward and ran into “Anastasia” road.

I wasn’t sure if it was Old Gram or Sia, and I like to think both, but I had them for the same amount of time.

There were so many other signs.

But none so poignant than “Supermarket Flowers” coming on the radio as I tried to collect my shit to run into TJ Maxx to pee.

Hallelujah
You were an angel in the shape of my mum
You got to see the person I have become
Spread your wings and I know
That when God took you back
He said, “Hallelujah, you’re home”

An angel in the shape of my mum.

I laughed.

She always said she was round. That she left a dent in my couches. That the world would be flat without her.

She was wrong about it being flat. There really is a mom-shaped dent in my couch, my heart, the planet.

But I did pull it together long enough to go into TJ’s.

And I saw a small sign, which was a cute shirt featuring Soho in NYC.

I’d had that discussion with her last week, I think. That I hoped she was running through Soho. I probably wrote about it here.

I’d asked her a favor at the butterfly garden.

Mostly that I can stay financially independent and not need a man or to worry about a job.

But maybe send me someone who can help me look out for myself.

I told her I was sad because she’d promised that, if there was a way to communicate, she’d find it.

If she has, all I really hear is Topo Gigio and other weird shit I forgot she used to say.

But I’ll take it.

I thanked her for looking out for me.

I lamented how she gave up everything for me. From college to cancer treatment.

And how I realize that all the good luck my family didn’t have is now mine. All of it.

I thanked her and everyone for looking out for me my whole life. And even now.

And while I know to be happy for that amazing, amazing foundation …

“There’s a tear every time that I blink.”