Caterwauling

There are three projects that take turns kicking my ass every month.

The employee newsletter is the current one. It was yet another brainchild of DTOM. This one just makes up shit that THEY can claim as a goal, but then they just dump it on everyone else.

I address the company regularly in all the all-staff calls. I meet with my team for like 22 hours a week. I have literally nothing else to say and the article is required to be something they haven’t heard already.

Does DTOM write? No. And thank god for that, but still. My article is always the front page one (obviously). And it’s the last one turned in.

There’s another project I loathe that I got in trouble for last week because I did what I always do — write it, send it out, and move on with my life. But the data I was given was shit.

The original data I received was fine. But I asked the analyst for a refresh for publication day. And the person in whose name I write this 3,000-word manifesto saw the data and ended my free rein.

Do you know how much I dislike having to show my work? I’ve been writing for 35 years.

And it’s not even that — I write best when the deadline is two hours away.

Chasing down people who are busier than me to look at my nonsense is not built in to my somatic schedule.

And the third project is reviews. Twice a year. And now we know in hindsight that I wrote the last round while on PTO and with Covid.

Do I do this to myself? Of course I do. Not an ounce of these tasks are unfair or even unpleasant. I absolutely save them till they are unavoidable.

But that first observation though that DTOM creates shit for others to do is spot fucking on.

For all the chasing me she did recently to tell her how to do a project she made up … it’s still in limbo.

She’s chasing the person I need to chase for Project 2 above.

So it’s on hold till that person decides to be caught.

And then it ends with me having another worker to supervise and shepherd every week. I guess that 22 hours worth of meetings is about to become 25.

In better news, I haven’t seen the chaser person on their T lately. Not that it’s made them any more joyful to be around. But it’s nice to not have to reach for my anti-nausea smelling salts mid meeting.

I type all this to say the employee newsletter is overdue and finishing it just means it’s time to move on to the next project. Oh and 22 hours worth of meetings a week.

Speaking of food porn, I’ve started cooking again.

Nothing is as tasty or creative as Momma used to make. But I think she’d be proud of me for trying.

I also think she is sad I didn’t cook for her.

The money I’ve saved by eating at home … damn. I mean, I just spend it on hotels and airfare. But still.

In any event, I roasted an acorn squash yesterday and made up a “stuffing” mix.

It’s hot sausage, bell peppers, lentils, mushrooms, corn, carrots and green beans.

I wasn’t sure how to make it stick together, so I mixed an egg, parmesan and sour cream and hoped for the best.

It was good. Needed more than that sprinkle of gruyere on top. Should have gone with parmesan and mozzarella for a kick.

This morning, I heated the rest of the stuffing I hadn’t used and topped it with mashed garlic cauliflower.

I didn’t photograph my healthy shepherds pie. But it was really good.

I pulled a long blonde hair out of my mashed cauliflower and laughed.

I was always finding long blonde hairs in my food from Momma. She always called it her witchy hair.

Had witchy hairs all over my passenger seat for years. Literally wept when I vacuumed the car last month and found one final one.

The cancer made the hair fall out. She kept most of her hair. But then again, she had a lot to begin with. And it was everywhere.

Anyway, I had been feeling a way about making all this “good foodz” but just for myself.

Maybe the witchy hair was hers after all. And a message to say, “That’s my baby.”

First Delmonico’s visit ever.

The day Jimmy said only pretty girls get to come here.

I don’t get why someone Jimmy didn’t bring here reposts their same fingerprint smudged wine glasses and mostly masticated food from six years ago every eight days.

So I will see if my only Delmonico’s repost in 11 years makes me want to ride an old lady scooter too.

An author I love is really pissed about the Coldplay couple situation.

Yes, the CEO issued a half-assed apology with a “BUT.”

Yes, he resigned anyway because of optics.

Which, I do agree with my author friend that our country values productivity over character. And let’s face it, who can be productive in that environment right now.

But while everyone is climbing to some moral high ground over this, I dare any of them to shake the sheets, as it were, and show us that no skeletons fall out of them.

Bet most of them can’t. The same asshole who called me a baby killer on Facebook yesterday probably disappointed a woman like me who could pay for her own damn abortion. But he sure benefited from it.

In any event, I read a piece in the WSJ about how happy we all are when a CEO gets taken down.

Interesting coming from the one newspaper that almost exclusively serves the wealthy. It implies we hate the wealthy.

Like go back to carrying Habanero Hitler’s water, WSJ.

Also, this was a startup CEO. He might not have been making jack. At least, not compared to the Fortune 500 CEOs. But hey the company had a box at Coldplay, so who knows.

In any event, yes I absolutely support Luigi and wish there were a Mario to “just do it already.”

That said, it’s these CEOs and/or some other Peter Principled person who actively made our lives hell.

Like whoever this girl works for.

So it’s amusing to see one of them reap what they no doubt sowed.

But no, I don’t take any joy at seeing non-Cheetodusted humans taken down by the public.

They have enough to deal with privately.

One of my people reminded me of another company where the CEO was diddling the HR person. I had forgotten about that.

He died last year. When I sent condolences, the HR person was the first to say thank you.

Ha. Now it makes sense why.

I imagine other people with big feelings on the topic have things to say.

Only thing I’ll say is it is quite suspicious how she rose up the ranks quickly. But maybe she was a superstar. Who knows.

Who knows, indeed. WE don’t.

The thing with the company I referenced earlier, and even this one too when we worked in the office, is we buddied up for survival.

Lots of best friendships happened. Marriages happened — quite a few of them! And, yes, some breakups and divorces too, to pave the way for them.

My best guess on the Coldplay couple is they were working long hours under duress. It’s only natural to take comfort from your fellow warriors. Being in a pressure cooker requires more comfort than it should sometimes.

I would also guess based on a house that was just bought five months ago that no one had any plans to leave. Just to enjoy the moment and move on.

I relate to that part. Let it run its course and be a better human when it’s over.

That happens more often than not, I’d imagine. And the longer it’s prolonged, say, through social media, the more life it gets than it ever deserved.

At least these spouses are class acts and not acting simple in response.

That’s how you claim the high road.

Not acting in such a way that people go, yeah, I can see how that happened now.

I have this freelancer who always seems to have some sort of life emergency.

The guy who referred him had warned me this kid has a spontaneous work ethic.

I guess he lives cheap overseas and doesn’t really need the cash. Or maybe it’s not worth his while … until it is.

He reminds me of me since Mom passed. I hauled ass through the week she passed (as best I could). And of course the 30 years before it, I really busted ass.

Then … I became soulfully exhausted.

Thank you Shan for that saying.

When I’m on, I’m on fire. Magic flies from fingertips.

When I’m off, forget it. My mind is going a million directions. But standing up to light a candle is beyond my physical capability.

We had an IT guy at the Veggie Patch, Troy. I always said he moved in reverse.

Unlike him, I have enough superstar moments to provide balance.

I hope, anyway.

I got to thinking about that summer’s over nonsense.

I put in for all my PTO rollover in October. And a few hours of my 2025 PTO.

I’ll still work during it. There is no such thing as a full week off. Just a heads-up that there’s a boundary or two somewhere in there.

Which is why I show grace about that guy’s spontaneous work ethic.

I welcome his submissions when I get them, and we pay his invoices quickly.

In fact, it Saturday night and I just spent an hour auditing an expense report for someone else.

Unlike DTOM, I believe in getting folks their money ASAP. And this was a nice quiet hour where Teams wasn’t lighting up like the Coldplay couple’s divorce lawyers’ phones this week.

(I don’t fault them at all. Things happen. As long as the wife doesn’t hemorrhage nonsense all over social media for six years and create 47 accounts to spy on the other woman, as is precedent, it won’t be a total embarrassment.)

Anyway, I don’t mind the working on weekends. Or blogging, since I know folks miss me when I’m too soulfully exhausted to get up and charge my laptop.

I follow Cappy Bears about a cat with paresis whose momma loves him very much.

Cappy’s mom just found him crying in front of the closet where his deceased kitty sibling Lele’s stuff is stored.

The post was about not only how pets grieve, but that grief comes in waves for them, too.

Magic has started this insane nighttime ritual.

And it was only after I saw that post that I wondered whether it might be grief-related.

It never fails: Magic chases Bella to bed (who chases ME to bed) … jumps on her once she’s settled and scares the shit out of her … and when I yell at him, he goes to Mom’s doorway and yowls for a good 30 minutes.

Bell of course doesn’t enjoy the safety of him being preoccupied. She goes to investigate.

Then I hear her cry too, though more softly.

Very different from the all-day-long cries when Magic attacks or at least hovers over her before the attack.

Cappy could only be soothed when he was allowed to sniff Lele’s old cage and crawl onto Lele’s blanket.

And then it occurred to me.

Mom died in her room.

Cocoa died outside of her room.

Both at night.

So it makes absolute sense that the surviving cats gather between the two spots … at night … to look for their Grammy and their Sissy.

Maybe they are even conversing with them.

I don’t join in.

I just say, “Night-night Cocoa. Night-night Momma,” when I hear it.

That was my ritual. Night-night Cocoa. Then Momma. Then Belly. Then Magic.

In favorites order.

I still do it occasionally. More now that the cats go sing the song of their people to our beloveds beyond the veil.

The “Cameras Always On” rule was reiterated. Not that I have EVER deviated from it.

I am dutiful so that my staff, who work through meetings or, I dunno, breastfeed and pick up kids from daycare, can do that in peace.

DTOM’s camera is always on. But finally after three years of seeing this person’s “O” face on the elliptical, it’s finally been hinted at.

They got special dispensation to have the camera off. Though I doubt the televised stomps stop. Their entire raison d’être is to seek attention.

Out of the same memo came an interesting declaration that summer’s over. That was July 15. The follow up sentence was that it’s time to grind so hope you got summer out of your systems.

Um. Yeah, about that.

My staff and I are still taking PTO rollover. That benefit was only launched last year, and it was BECAUSE we’re too busy to take time off.

Look, I’m not saying I work a full 40 hours every week. And when I do it’s more like 60. And at least half of them are before 8 a.m. because I have 20 hours of calls a week. Seriously, sometimes I do my 20 calls and 20 urgent projects and put my hand in the fuck it bucket. Still doesn’t give me enough time for a day off.

In fact, I just put in for a day off — Halloween — using PTO rollover. Meaning, I haven’t touched the five weeks available to me for 2025 … by Halloween.

There was another comment I heard privately too. I was trying to be nice and make conversation and get someone to bond with me. And basically I just got an “I don’t believe in a work-life balance.”

I shut up. Like Goddess you are not going to say anything that is going to make this moment any better.

You know, I have recently been going through emails and texts with Momma. Because I miss her.

You know what the overarching theme is?

Momma asking me to come home not early … not on time … but not SO late.

A thousand, “I made something good for supper. Can you put down the work and come eat while it’s hot?”

Most of these messages were when I worked an hour or a half-hour away.

But there were quite a few texts that came from the other room when I was working from home.

She always said she hoped I figured out that I needed work-life balance while she was still healthy enough to enjoy some time with me.

I didn’t.

This note telling Tracey to give up her family time hit hard.

We are legally forbidden from talking about all the bad shit she did. But yeah while I was busting ass, she was stealing.

And my Mike … and a bunch of others … lost their jobs because of that.

I still think about that. If he weren’t so embarrassed at being broke and unable to find another job, would we have been married with a kid by now.

I would probably have never had my own Coldplay moment.

Or maybe I would. Who knows.

Anyway. Hope T choked on her AquaNet.

Look, I’m too old to have my morale (too) affected by people who hold worldviews I don’t agree with anymore.

No balance WAS my worldview. I absolutely didn’t need it. I liked the work and the money.

And Momma was only 16 years older than me. We should have had way more time to live well.

And I am actually deeply ashamed that my balance — which BY THE WAY I worked over 30 years to obtain — is work and vegetating and worrying about work and vegetating and finally jamming on the work.

But guess what? It’s days like July 15 that make a lot of people say hey, you do you. I’ll do me somewhere else.

I just wish DTOM was one of them.

Not me over here minding my own business.

Just being equal parts exalted and exhausted from another amazing NYC trip.

When I hear from a professional lurker about one of my professional lurkers.

Apparently Chin-dy is feeling superior because she rented a … *checks texts* … MOTORIZED scooter rather than rent a pedicab, as I did.

Well first of all, thank you for paying such close attention. I feel so loved!

And second of all, not that I owe anyone anything, least of all that wretch, but it was a hop-on, hop-off ride to a list of sites I wanted to see in Central Park and the Upper East Side.

So, I created a job, tipped heavily, stimulated the economy at Laduree, and hoisted my ass in/out of a carriage.

But hey, a scooter is similar enough, I guess.

One of my people had a birthday the other day.

She asked if I wanted to grab drinks.

I said I’ll pick the place.

I picked Epcot.

She used to work there and her husband gave up his annual pass but she didn’t. It was a good thing.

And I managed to score a very hard to get reservation at Geo-82 that opened a couple weeks ago.

When we got there, she checked in with her husband.

I told her the hardest thing about losing Momma is also the weirdest thing.

I used to text her the whole way to a place, “take her with me” through it and then let her know when I was coming home.

Now? I don’t even think about that anymore.

I finally lost that “pull” to want to tell someone I made it to my destination safely.

I mean, there’s social media when I want to leave crumbs.

But how do I leave crumbs when I don’t have someone clued in to my whereabouts?

So my last cat sitter quit and I just did a trial run with a new one. I loved the first but I think I like this one even better.

I type that to say I wasn’t nervous about my next trip till Habanero Hitler bombed Iran.

Like, the last time we were in a scuffle with an “I” nation, where did they attack? Eggzactly.

I almost wonder if I shouldn’t go full paranoia and tell the cat sitter what to do in case of THAT emergency.

Maybe I better give my cousin my Rover login since the only other key in existence to my house is w a girl whose last name I don’t know.

Who knew WandaVision would produce one of the most profound lines of all time.

I used to lurk on my paternal grandmother’s social media page. She must have lost her husband a while back. Still posts about heaven and missing him.

We never knew how deeply Grampy missed his Rosie Girl till after he died. Like any memory he had of WWII, we didn’t hear much till we read his writings posthumously.

I got to thinking about how I loved my Momma — and how she loved me — more than any spousal pairing. And how, did it really only take me just under a year to be OK?

Now that we’re past the year mark, I definitely see that there’s no more OK.

Yes you cry less and smile more at their memory. But when the hurt DOES resurface, it’s crippling.

There’s a part in “Ptolemea” when the devil or whoever is asking Ethel Cain why she thinks she can hide from/outrun him when her death has already happened.

That’s how it feels when the grief shows up unannounced. It happens less often but damn it’s almost worse than it was when the loss was fresh.

That’s how you can tell when a writer isn’t just putting shit on a page. Love persevering isn’t some junior writer shit. It’s someone who KNOWS why you can’t outrun it.

I’ve noticed a few more things about me.

One, when I’m “in it,” I go play on Expedia, Capital One travel, Chase travel and Amex travel till it’s time to shower for work.

Two, I have no sense of delayed gratification. I mean, maybe I never did. I was always impatient AF. But I literally just book every trip I see (refundable, mostly) and then when something better comes along, I agonize over the choices.

So no, I don’t need to make plans with others.

Making plans with myself is complicated enough.

I guess I waited so long, I just want to do it all while I’m healthy.

Like, plenty of time for sadness when I’m my paternal grandmother’s age. I want to give myself good things to look back on, too.

Speaking of nonrefundable, I bought a $100 ticket for July 4. The venue called to say if you can’t come, please release your ticket. But NO REFUNDS.

Would you believe they are selling tickets for $200 on their website? So they pocket $300 after they sell my seat twice … a normally FREE venue.

They want you seated at 6 and fireworks are at 9 and a girl I met on the Disney Skyliner said oh don’t expect to get home till 4 a.m. — wear a diaper. So I was kind of thinking of taking the loss anyway.

But not for their profit. Hell no.