Caterwauling

I saw a post that made me think.

Loitering is illegal in the U.S.

Nowhere else.

What is loitering? It’s a broad definition so bozos like DeSantis can decide you are trespassing and have you shot on sight.

It doesn’t just infringe on our right to peacefully assemble, though you see what they do to us when we do that. (Pretti/Good/et al)

But in Europe and everywhere else, people hang out in town squares, church steps, you name it.

They have community. They know each other. The destination, as it were, is simply “out of the house.”

I was looking at my budget. It’s … a mess.

That’s because I schedule outings. Like today. I have to throw some gutchies into a bag because I got in an accident the last time I came home from this place.

Because I was so tired and it’s not like you can pull over on the side of 95 or in a goddamned parking lot to rest your eyes.

I am not saying anything original. It’s that you have to pay to be anywhere. To park. To consume. To prove your right to exist in that space.

As the post explained right up front, we’ve outlawed the right to just exist.

So we’re always on the move when we’re not at home. But where are we even going?

As my family would snark when someone asked where we were going, “Nowhere fast.”

In other words, we’re going nowhere and we’re doing it in a hurry.

Like when you’d ask my grandfather the time? “A quart of milk.”

A guy at work asked where I get my sense of humor. How do I even explain these people I am descended from.

I’m so grateful for them, though, for giving me the words to express my outrage and the space to do just that.

Anyway I’ve spent the last two (five) years monetizing, optimizing or otherwise killing time indoors so I don’t have to explain my existence to anyone outside.

But today’s journey is pretty light on an agenda.

I’m going to meet my favorite president’s wife.

I’m going to go to the garden outside my mom’s hospital window to sit on my fat ass and watch the butterflies.

And maybe I’ll try to get a visitor’s pass to go to the cafeteria, as I really miss the nights we’d “split a sandwich” — or the cauliflower pizza or the sticky wings — and try not to be disappointed that I probably won’t even get past security.

It’s OK. The sushi place inside the hospital exists down the street from it as well.

I have a few other cheap ideas. But honestly, the lower the key, the happier Goddess will be.

I read that if you doomscrolling’s 3-4 hours a day after work, that’s comparable to smoking taking 10 years off your life.

So if I’ve spent 10 years doomscrolling, theoretically I could have just canceled the internet and smoked instead.

I remember when I was a smoker, I joked that I would rather have taken the 10 years off my life in the middle. Like, skip the 30s and add it at the end.

Seems we’re all doing just that.

I’m thrilled to say my readership is now near zero.

Thank Christ my superfans seem to have moved on.

Here’s hoping I have my safe space back.

Which is what I’m struggling with right now.

My friend who thought I was an anti-Semite over some stupid meme I don’t even remember is back.

I’ve never been de-friended and sent that person a friend request.

But she, after I de-friended her, just sent me a friend request.

My engagement is down on socials, too, since Zuck and Elon promote Nazis and squelch the rest of us.

But, I have “lost” 600-some friends since the fat fascist’s first term. I’m good.

Also, of late all she really did was write “fuck trump” under all my posts. A sentiment near and dear to my heart, of course. But not exactly intellectual discourse.

Honestly, she reminded me of my mom’s friends who used to post comments on all my content. (And ignore mom’s posts completely.)

Mom would get SO mad at their illiterate shit. She told me to block her friends, and I did.

Now, I sit here staring at this new friend request.

Like, I never had a problem with her. I just needed her to quit posting on all my content when I wasn’t done being annoyed.

It’s not like I can tell her what’s going on at the company. Which is still my primary source of entertainment.

Anyway, I know I’ve made five molehills out of a molehill.

I just know that I’m not fascinating enough for all this attention.

And yes I need friends. But … I dunno … maybe new ones?

As I lay awake through four hours of fire alarms last night, I watched “Big Hero 6” (I love Baymax!) and got to thinking.

For me being an editor since I was 16, I am quite unedited.

Like, I polish up every piece of content that comes my way. I like to think I help the writers present their best selves to the world.

But when it has come to me, I’ve always just vomited out my thoughts, as I’ve had them.

Which, as I’ve said in these pages, has gotten me into trouble during meetings. It’s gotten me into trouble as recently as yesterday, as I just do me and ask forgiveness later.

But I also think about the stuff I just “don’t wanna” do. And the lengths I go to, to avoid it.

I truly will clean my house before I write performance reviews or work on a newsletter that goes out in my boss’ name.

I would rather clean up cat vomit than do my taxes or return a shitty online purchase.

And I have no ability to pretend otherwise.

Like, I think of how mom always said I needed to learn to flirt to catch a man. Or how HR directors have wanted me to maybe just not talk about my politics or whatever.

Then I have MAGA types coming to me with their MAGA shit. And I DO edit myself to some extent. Like that’s cute, did you want my actual opinion or is that y’alls thing, to remind us that you’re in power?

Like the whole Spencer Pratt thing.

The fact that I have to think about that weird ass crystal collecting former liberal reality star turned MAGA which got him an endorsement from the King of the Pedophiles.

The fact that this asshole was so mad that his (uninsured) house burned down so he had to force Heidi’s music on us (uh, no) and now he’s foisted HIMSELF on us with a mayoral campaign. For what, money?

Trust fund baby has been living just fine. But he’s using rivers of AI to create ads, whilst complaining there was no water to put out the fire at his house.

Like do you people even hear yourselves?

The only joy I take is that he campaigned in Beverly Hills and other places outside LA, and then all these maga morons show up to vote without knowing they can’t vote in LA.

Yet that stupid fucking party says it’s MY party that’s finding ways to vote illegally.

Bitch, if I COULD vote on behalf of my dead mother and myself in LA, I’d vote YET AGAIN for the overqualified black woman (Karen Bass) …

And not the narcissistic abusive ex-liberal who figured out that the world’s stupidest people will vote for him if he goes up against her.

This is why I’ve been in my “hermit year” for five years.

You really want my unedited opinions? I think I am doing a service to everyone by trying to keep them to myself over here.

And honestly while I have more peace when I am not sharing my unedited thoughts, fuck it — if I gotta hear all y’alls, maybe y’all should hear … really hear … mine too.

In any event, when I watched Handmaid’s Tale, I always identified with June’s mom. The one sent off to the nuclear waste pits to die for being mouthy.

Like, they’re going to crucify us for having — and stating — our opinion.

“What if I roll the stone away?
They’re gonna crucify me anyway”

It’s just wild that they’re all out there like oh liberals think we’re dumb … while they judge us for using logic and reason to come up with conclusions that run counter to theirs.

Anyway, I should probably edit this or myself a lot more, I guess. I just figure we only get so many years on this planet. We follow laws and rules and obey signs. We spend our days working when we should be out in the sun but can’t afford to do that.

So let us have our thoughts and the way we want to express them. It’s literally the only thing that’s ours.

God knows our healthcare choices aren’t ours, nor access to said healthcare in many cases, thanks to reality stars-turned-politicians going back to Republican Jesus Ronnie.

I’d rather do my taxes than see sucky Spencer’s AI videos to prove I’m open-minded to someone who will crucify me anyway for being a “libturd.”

I spent the entire day on the phone yesterday giving performance reviews.

Even those who aren’t required to have one due to contract status.

Overall, I think I gave fair grades. My one staffer even wanted to frame something I wrote. (It was rather hilariously true.)

I’m just glad that my people don’t need to go take a break until their eyes can focus again.

They all hung up knowing their biggest fan is always going to be their boss.

Five stars to me, is all I gotta say, for achieving that.

Like I told one of them, for our customers, you have become the advocate you needed five years ago. I recognize that as someone who had to become my own advocate so I could advocate for my people.

She beamed.

I got to thinking about how I don’t have my mom here to remind me how awesome her baby is.

How she could override even the sharpest, and occasionally even accurate, criticism.

And how lucky I am to STILL have her voice in my head.

And since my people are going to have MY voice in THEIR heads …

I want them to hear the words — and yes, the tough ones too — with the love that I intended.

Even the tough stuff gets received. Another said, “You could bark at me and it would be completely understandable. You don’t. But even if you did, I would be like yeah I get it.”

I think that’s where I am with everything. I know where I fell short. But if the short grade is applied somewhere else, I’m not going to argue.

Like I got an average customer service score. Fine. I can always do better.

But someone reminded me of the customer avatars I drew up — with actual photos from an event — and how she loved that.

Which I forgot about because a louder voice in my head hated it.

So maybe that got me a 3 but someone else would have given me a 4.

And honestly, I’m OK with that.

Now, I warned my people the danger with 4s is they can only go down or stay the same. So, with great marks comes great responsibility.

No one knows better than me, is what I left unsaid, what happens when you go from working 14 hour days to giving what you can, when you can.

And it’s been nice not having that pressure personally for the past two years.

My friend who reminded me “Whose” I am said he thinks I’ve got great things in store this year and he can’t wait to see what I do when I find my passion again.

Same, brother. Same.