Caterwauling

I knew today (Mother’s Day) would be hard. My first without my Momma.

Last year wasn’t so great either. It was pretty evident that I was lucky she was still here.

For her part, Momma was taking it a day at a time.

Trying to live for me to attend a concert.

For Mother’s Day.

For my birthday.

For the end of May so she’d get one last Social Security check.

Then … she could let go.

She died on Father’s Day.

For my part (this year), I’m grateful that I was busy for 10 straight days.

Had all the colleagues and many of the subscribers in town for the past week. And other invited pests. I mean guests.

Someone (who annoys me) referred to me at our work conference as “The Editor Mother.”

That made me kind of happy.

After all, I’ve always said who needs biological children when I supervise 25 grown men.

This year, that list of supervisees also includes five grown women.

I cried a lot this week.

(But I am so productive, IT’S AN ART.)

No wonder, really.

In addition to getting my team all in one place for the first time…

I saw friends I hadn’t seen since before the plague.

I helped hire and or train a lot of the others since the plague.

So no only was I having people run up to me left and right with handshakes and hugs, I was feeling the love.

At the employees-only event, I had two tiny gifts for people. Like valued at a very nominal amount.

But they cherished those because those came from me.

I was surprised when OTHER people came armed with gifts for me.

My Japan team, who Martin and I picked up from the airport last Friday, had a gift for me.

So did my beloved friend from Miami, who was raised by my beloved friends Eva and Cindy, who were fired by the one who called me The Editor Mother.

The one who called me that name loves me for some reason. Or maybe it’s strategic. Not sure, honestly.

The friend in me resents the reason for my friends’ firing. Not just the invented reasons that were sold to my superiors, but the real reason none of us talk about. (Cough, strategic.)

Then this person who rubs me wrong psychically was always rubbing my shoulders and back physically in person.

I was unhappy AF about that.

I loved hugging my people.

And I have a LOT of people.

But having this spook slither up to me at every available opportunity was a BIG boundary violation.

Also I have had friends who reported harassment (at other companies) become the ones punished.

So i ain’t sayin’ shit unless I hear that I was somehow unfriendly to them.

Which is why I am documenting it.

Momma always called me a touch-me-not because I am not a hugger.

This week, I had to put myself in a space to do that with people I adore.

I was fine with the first hug from Touchy (not pictured anywhere) but not the “walking up and whispering in my ear while I sat in the back row about shit that they did not to be whispering to me about” shit.

That is another fucking story. I would and do choose the others.

I mean, wouldn’t you?

Touchy reports to Don’t Treadmill on Me. Who I have done a lot of inner work to make peace with.

We will never be besties, but I can still respect what they bring to the company.

I also understand that what bugs me most about them is their lack of some of the positives that I bring.

It’s complex, obviously.

But, losing Momma — who hated people on my behalf — taught me that my rage needs to die, too.

My unhappiness at select people took up energy that should have been positive.

Energy that should have been spent on mom in a more positive way.

Good vibes that should have replaced the absolute maelstrom of murderous rage she had to witness and feel instead.

Now, I don’t think Touchy was trying to make me uncomfortable. We all need connection and I provide it verbally.

Still, I’m hoping they got the hint when I squirmed well out of arm’s reach a few times.

I was also quite cognizant of BoUnDaRiEs during my many social outings this week.

Which is why I have a million photos I will never post anywhere.

Also why I made sure not to stand too close to a certain person so the wretch in their house wouldn’t make their life any worse.

I wouldn’t want the temptation of remembering any of their 17 antisocial accounts to watch that big beautiful meltdown.

Thank god my staff was either oblivious to or, more likely, too polite to admit if they noticed any unusual dynamics.

I averaged maybe two hours of sleep a night because I was out with my team from 7 am to 3 am.

One thing I learned was that chronologically, I am older than most of them.

But mentally and physically, I am the youngest one there.

I liked that feeling.

Aside: My Justin Hartley lookalike is hot!

I was dancing and talking and physically running circles around everyone.

I nearly kept up with the one who could drink the most. But I remember the last time I did that, with “Chop” at my other job, and we ended up drunk and naked.

So I’m happy to say none of that nonsense happened here, despite not having an ounce of food available other than the snacks I had stuffed into my purse.

That said, I barely paid for a drink all weekend.

My girl K flew into town and I’ve always said she’s my best date. Nice meals, nice trips, great conversation.

Our mutual friend came into town, and he’s my second best date — I found (and failed to enact) brand-new ways to hand him cash for all the drinks of mine he bought.

It was nice to reconnect with them. Honestly to also meet him after being his freelance boss since 2014. Damn right I hired him full time when I could two years ago!

I was also ticked to connect with other people I only see in a 1-inch-by-1-inch video screen on Teams.

And to meet people who were THRILLED to meet me in person after hearing me yap on Teams every week.

And of course to meet/re-meet people who “I” am thrilled to know.

I loved making people laugh. They were moved when they made me cry.

So many of my pics were of me crying,

Happy tears.

Like, my heart was so full.

I hope my superior (not Martin, because he knows) understands that yeah I’m a great editor and pretty good writer. But I am social AF. You can put me in a dress and shove me in a room and I will be the happiest person in it.

So if/when they aren’t thrilled with me, for whatever reason, they recognize that I am building relationships FOR them.

That what I wrote/published after the event was my poem to the relationships I built on their behalf.

That, just like DTOM lacks my social skills but is great at fighting overcharges and otherwise ruining bad people’s days, making people happy is also a skill that’s valuable to the firm.

I think it’s all good. It’s nice to be (mostly) free to be me.

There’s a new guy at work who messaged me last night (Friday) as I was leaving the house to go out.

It’s now Saturday morning and he’s telling me it’s urgent.

Bitch, you ask me for something when I’m going out drinking and you ask again when I am still hung over from that drinking, you ain’t getting shit.

I do have plans to work this weekend. But your “I have a deadline” means nothing when I am drinking to recover from MY deadlines.

My big boss (who as we know I love and have worked for, for like 14 years now) is on his way to today’s events he thinks I should be invited to but that Don’t Treadmill on Me doesn’t invite me to.

I mean honestly this is the first year in three that I got invited to the main event. Not that you can keep me out, obviously. But, I’m just gonna be grateful this year.

I did say you know DToM — this is not me sitting home of my own accord.

He said he gets it.

He had called to thank me for going with him on Friday to greet our Japanese colleagues at the airport. Which was awesome. So awesome. I loved it and I said so.

I also said thank you for giving me a unique experience.

He hadn’t thought of that, and he thinks of everything. He laughed and said, “That’s right! You are the only one I invited to come out. They were so surprised and pleased for their special welcome. And you’re the only one who got to have that experience.”

NGL, I was feeling a way this morning as my entire team messaged me for the third year in a row, “Why isn’t there a place setting for you, our boss?!”

But my salt turned to sweetness to remember that the only person whose opinion matters to me, sees my worth. And appreciates me for it.

I’m apparently a medium.

Well, I mean I’m an L or XL in juniors’ clothing, as I refuse to dress my size or my age.

But after psychic development and mediumship class today, I surprised even me.

I was wildly bummed that, even after the teacher telling me, “Your mom is in the room with us,” no one got a message from her to give to me.

Now, I was tickled that Cocoa (!) came through. I had her whisker, claw and fur patch in my purse.

So did my Aunt Lenna, my favorite great-aunt who passed in ’98. I literally JUST found her crystal swan a few weeks ago and put it on my altar. My reader said she was just all around me, kissing me and saying love you love you.

And I’m pretty sure Sia came through too! My reader said the name was Sarah or Emily, both of which I have on the living side. But she said I just hear S and E and she’s younger and smaller than you but thinks you’re amazing. And I said yep that’s my Sia.

The reader did say someone cooked for you to show her love for you. She put that with Lenna, but that could easily have been Mom or Gram. Those were the two names I put down for “who do you want to hear most from.”

I was also asked if I know a Priscilla. I said no but maybe my last name? She said maybe. But after a few hours, it came to me — one of Mom’s nicknames (from her friend) was Prunella.

I had one of mom’s hot rollers in my purse. Her most cherished possession was her curlers. So I was ridiculously bummed that I walked out of there with no message from her.

And maybe that was made more intense by the fact that I heard from my biological father.

He’s living, and the reader called that. She said Thomas (!) regrets how he treated you. I made a face. She said you know what? It sounds like he didn’t get along with his mother, and he never knew how to get along with women because of it.

I shrugged and said no clue. My grandfather raised me, so give him the space to talk if he’s here.

She said fathers pass down their intellect to children.

I chortled. Don’t know much but I know he’s not a 100W LED bulb.

She said just because he doesn’t use it doesn’t mean he didn’t pass it to you from your shared ancestors.

She said look, light a candle for Thomas tonight and thank him for all the ancestors lined up behind you that came from his side.

Later, I asked mom’s friend if she knew if dipshit and Kay were close, but she wasn’t aware either way.

As for Cocoa, she came to me while we were meditating.

In the meditation, we met our higher selves. Oh my, that was a moment. I felt RELIEVED that my higher self accepted my lower self. We hugged.

It was in that hug that I noticed I was favoring my left side. I side-hugged my higher self with my left arm. I saw cosmos and my ancestors (honestly everyone but Mom) to my left. And I consciously thought, why am I not looking to my right?

While holding on to my higher self, I looked to my right. There was Cocoa, curled up in my right arm. My tiny girl. She squirmed with happiness that I saw her. She looked so bright and healthy.

I did not conjure that up. That’s all from my little trance state.

I was told I had to give a reading. The most experienced person in the room picked ME, the newb, to do it for her. (The reading I got came from her.)

I was wrong about just about everything I “saw.” I tried so hard to close my eyes and visualize. I free wrote (with my eyes closed), and all but the last page was a bust.

But that last page knocked her out of her chair.

For my own records, my reading improved when I opened my eyes and looked at her. And to her left and right. And I saw a man over one shoulder and a woman over the other. And lines of people behind them.

She didn’t seem impressed, just like well yeah I do shamanic things, you know that.

I said I’m sorry but I don’t follow you. I’m (redacted’s) friend and she didn’t tell me anything about anyone.

Her eyes lit up.

She said you saw the man over the correct shoulder and the woman over the correct shoulder. And I do an exercise every morning to call in and welcome and honor my ancestors. And they gather right where you pointed that you saw them.

Well holy shit.

I had another moment of being “in the know” when the teacher started to tell one of her many stories.

She mentioned Fast Eddie was his name. And I knew how the story would end (e.g., suicide) because I saw it flash before me.

She didn’t say how he did it. But I felt like I’d heard the story in that very room before.

Eventually she did say he passed violently and he never left that spot for 18 years, watching his young daughter grow up.

So much more to process. But that’s all my sad self can handle tonight.

My friend who invited me asked if Mom came through. I said no and burst into tears.

I had been in tears most of the four hours because I am an insane person.

Actually my reader said will you give up the damn apologizing and minimizing yourself. You are amazing and the only female director at your company (we don’t count what’s her name) and empathic and seeing spirits and you just spent 20 minutes explaining the stock market to me.

I told her I’ve been working on that.

She said were you told to sit around and look pretty?

I said no, my family was amazing. It’s being in the working world that’s broken me. I have someone who told me I talk too much.

And I don’t really value that opinion, because my people are well informed and also I know sometimes I say things that heal them or encourage them — without me knowing they need either.

She said next time that guy says you talk too much, ask him if that’s his unhealed relationship with his mother talking.

Hah!

She said you can still sit around and look pretty — while saying every damn thing on your mind. You can be pretty AND vocal, give yourself permission.

And we got into a 20 minute discussion about how we all have to teach people to use their intuition and raise their vibration so we can take down the fake ass patriarchy once and for all.

As there’s no God and no patriarchy on the other side. And for that matter the egg decides to open up and select which sperm it wants to take in.

And there’s evidence there was no Jesus anyway so fuck all these idiots who think they deserve the power when they all came from women so it’s got to be women to take them down.

Whew.

Speaking of (not) being vocal, my big boss had asked if I’m going to all the work-related events this weekend and next week.

I said I wasn’t invited (see: female director who doesn’t count) and he said well that’s interesting since YOU supervise almost everyone she invited.

I did tell said individual that Big Boss thinks I should be there for everything.

I could feel her stroke coming on so I said don’t worry, I made other plans.

These other plans (today) were SUCH an upgrade.

Amazing the types of spirits and meat suits you attract when you’re in your highest vibration. If people who’ve barely met me respect me far more than someone who SHOULD, well, my higher self and I will have fun far away from their low-vibrational self.

The word parentified keeps coming to mind.

I thought about a girl I know whose mother was, well, not much of one.

I thought about another girl who has basically become the grandparents’ keeper because they adopted a bunch of high-needs children that only this girl is strong enough to lift.

And I even used it myself when a friend reached out to ask if I needed help and I started to say no. And I said you know what, that’s the parentified daughter in me that wanted to keep my privacy. The real me recognizes that accepting help from a good person is an act of bravery.

I wouldn’t say I was parentified in the traditional sense, of the eldest child (usually a daughter) taking care of younger siblings.

Didn’t have any, obviously.

But I do think the phrase applies to those of us who did have to answer the question, “Who’s the parent and who’s the child?” at times.

It really was a reflex, for me to automatically say to a friend, “Oh no, I don’t need help. I got this.”

I mean, I do have this. I’ve had it for 30-ish years.

But it would be nice to not HAVE to. And to have someone to call if, in fact, what I have is not enough for a situation.

The first girl I thought of, tried to get away. I don’t see that lasting.

The other, honestly I hope she does something for herself one of these days.

It’s times like this when I wonder who I would have been without knowing from age 16 on that my job would be to take care of everyone. Like my own momma did. You can absolutely be parentified when you are a parent yourself.

Honestly I don’t think I would have changed much.

But it still felt so natural to start to give Mom’s answer (no) before my Black Moon Lilith overrode that with a big old yes.

My point at which I break the rules is in Aquarius. Which tracks.

Went to a new doc in a new health system today.

I expected to be underwhelmed and overly emotional.

Turned out the opposite.

Loved the doc. She started right off with, “Not to be political BUT” she explained some options I have that the current administration is going to fuck with.

I said great, let’s do it before he disbands the AMA and deports me.

She said you’re a white woman with a white sounding name. You’ll be OK. The AMA, you may be on to something there.

Oh I like her.

She liked my dress and I said, “Thanks! I got it pre-Temu tariffs.”

It was a great appointment overall.

I was alone in that room for a bit while I waited for bloodwork to get drawn.

And honest to dog, I felt like my entire family was in that room with me.

A girl will always need and want her momma. When she had a great one, anyway. And I had the best.

I tried to be in the room as much as possible for mom. But she had to go through so much alone.

I could fight for her with staff, but I couldn’t fight for her to get better.

Now it’s my turn to go through it alone.

But it didn’t FEEL that way.

While I waited, my grandmother’s birthday came up TWICE. First the month and day, then the month and year. THEN Mom’s day and year.

I felt like my cousin made an appearance too.

And my grandfather.

Honestly I wish I could draw what my mind’s eye saw.

It felt good.

I mean, it feels great to have a whole army of amazing people who came before me. The blood of every one of these warriors runs through my veins.

And it’s because of them that I’ll face whatever, if anything, comes next.

The only thing that brought me down today was hearing that Cheetolini wants to make men our conservators again. Like, I don’t even have an emergency contact, and that assclown motherfucker thinks I need a male to supervise my money? Oh hell no.

Anyway a friend of mine (female) offered to be my emergency contact.

What’s funny is she got that message from the spirit realm this morning. Before I went nuclear on Faceypages about the orange fucker’s desire to end my financial sovereignty even though there’s no one I’d give it to.

I also said this is what radicalizes me. I am not just wishing “someone do it already.” Though I absolutely wish they would.

But if he thinks I am incapable of it, oh think again fatass. Think the fuck again.

I am doing life alone just fine.

And I am willing to go out a hero of the free world so no one else has to sit in a doctor’s office and plan tests and potential treatments around when he plans to end them.

I always made fun of my neighbor Tommy for never leaving his house.

We’re the same-ish age.

Like, take a walk, go to Delray for drinks, drive to Orlando or Key West for a weekend. Something. You wonder why you’re single? You’re boring.

I got dangerously close to becoming Tommy.

And now I see why.

It’s been a year since I fed cats, yes, we’ve been over that storyline before.

But I decided to go to the last cookout of the season this past Wednesday.

I had just fired someone and I needed a goddamned minute.

Pedro stopped me to talk as he always does.

He’s nice enough but creepy. Has always followed me around any chance he gets. He does it to every woman here. Most of them are lucky enough to only live here during the winter.

I tried to disentangle myself by reminding him that the HOA gets nasty if you put in an order after 1:45, and it was 1:40, so let me go get my hot dog now.]

He asked if I’m ordering a hot dog. Um, yes. He said what will you do after the cookouts are over. I said I don’t really come down here because I don’t like interacting with these people, so I’ll be fine, thanks.

He said maybe you can fire up the grill sometime and cook up some hotdogs, and I can come sit here and talk to you.

I said interesting plan. Gotta run, have a good afternoon.

Like, why on EARTH would I use the grill (which risks me having to speak to people here) … and why on EARTH would I invite him to hang out with me?

I mean, this interaction was totally innocuous. But still.

I would take more walks. I would go to more cookouts. I would feed cats. But other than one or two annoying women who need to die here, it’s the MEN who have made me hate it here.

Look, I have come to love my apartment and balcony. I hated it because I wanted better for Mom, and I was always looking for a better place.

But this is fine for me.

Especially now that I have the furniture where I want it.

Now that I use the “good” stuff she was saving for a nicer home.

Now that I make my weird meals that include salads with caramel popcorn as a side dish.

Anyway, not the point. But the point is I stopped walking because of this asshole. Back when the pandemic started and I was still in shape but couldn’t get to the gym, this dipshit was driving his golf cart up my ass and I was walking in the grass to get away from him.

Like, this isn’t just being nice and making conversation. It’s trying to get in my space when I am trying not to have my good time ruined.

We had a guy here, Kevin, who they fired and they gave his work to Pedro.

Kevin annoyed me. He spied on all of us. But never seemed to say a word unless the cops were called.

He was harmless. Loud and annoying, and not the least bit funny with his jokes, but very nice.

Kept his (physical) distance. Which I hated since he’d yell up/down five floors sometimes. But I never felt unsafe around him.

Anyway, with the cookouts over (there’s the annual “Fly Away” party today to say goodbye to the asshole snowbirds. Don’t let the door hit yin), I at least won’t run into Pedro again for another year.

And no I won’t be inviting him to watch me cook hot dogs. I’ll get mine for $1.61 from Costco, thanks, instead of $5 here.

Someone loves to sit in judgment of me for sitting in judgment of them for sitting in judgment of me.

Trust me, it makes sense if you’ve lived this.

By now this person might have been deported, so who knows.

But one thing they judged me for judging them for was their relentless posting of someone’s health problems.

Well, now that Brainworm is calling for a registry of said health problems, I see MY fears were founded.

I wonder if Twatistic is still posting about other people’s stuff now that eugenics is back in style.

We all remember what they did with people with health issues during the Nazi regime. Well, maybe not all of us, apparently.

Anyway, here’s hoping they’re spending less time sitting in judgment of me and also less time shouting HIPPA-protected shit from the rooftops.

I saw my first Mother’s Day commercial of the season. Hallmark. A girl going though many phases of life, calling for her mom.

The only thing that will break me more is whatever Publix cooks up for their next ad.

I usually run away for holidays and anniversaries of times spent with my momma.

But Mother’s Day is squarely between a week-long work hootenanny and a conference I’ll be claiming on my own taxes rather than the company’s.

So it makes sense to make like my No. 1 fan and languish in bed for this most dreaded of holidays.

I thought about taking my happy ass to Disney now that I’m an “AP.” But I figured I need to go 17 days to get my money’s worth, and I’ve already gone six. In Month One. So, I’m good.

That leaves two more post-Mom firsts.

My birthday, which she hung on for last year so she wouldn’t ruin it by leaving.

And the day she left, just two weeks after.

I don’t believe the second “heavenly birthday,” Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. will be any easier than the first. My theory has always been that you can write off one missed year, but two years without her will make it real.

Even now, I still can’t believe she isn’t in her room or out at Ross or something. Especially when I’m traveling, which I did alone sometimes when she was here, I always go to tell her I arrived or I just saw something that reminded me of her.

I text it anyway sometimes. Why not. Still a more productive activity than seeing what certain living people are up to.

Anyway, I haven’t decided what to do on all the other firsts. But I do think Mother’s Day is the right day to just sit and be “in it” instead of “as far away from it as possible,” as is my usual choice.