Caterwauling

“Driving faster in my car
Falling faster from just what we are
Smoke a cigarette and lie some more
These conversations kill
Falling faster in my car.”

— Stone Temple Pilots, “Big Empty”

I can’t believe Weiland is dead. I mean, I can. But damn. 

He is one of the voices from my college years. I’ll never forget how I felt while I played STP on the jukebox at San Remo’s. Or on the stage at the topless bar my friends and I would stop by for lunch. And happy hour. Back when Coldplay was cool and Type O Negative was hot. 

Anyway. I’m off the grid right now. Conversations kill, indeed. When more has been said than done and when others can justify it, well, I can easily move from having done a ton to being done. 

Remember in my last post I said two cop cars were nearby? 

Well …

One of my neighbors shot his nuts off.

Dumbass was cleaning his gun and BOOM. 

This could totally turn me pro-gun …

I like to think I deserve grace, or luck or at the very least a long intermission from life’s shitshow. And I did have some grace shown to me today. 

I was in the car, literally thanking my lucky stars for the small kindness extended to me when I needed (and I believe deserved) it. I mean I did everything right. Not my fault the universe tried and failed to screw me. 

But apparently the universe doesn’t like you thinking that you earned that tiny victory. (And believe me, it is tiny. But I was still happy.)

I was stopped at a stop sign for a good solid five-count. Because, two cop cars 100 yards away.  And I almost got T-boned by the clown who stopped about four seconds after I did. 

Perhaps the real grace was not getting kilt. But I swerved hard into oncoming traffic that was mercifully not moving, and it’s only because of my actions that I am fine right now. 

Who the fuck put me in charge of safety on the roads? Why do I seem like the only one who has to pay attention and why do I get punished for doing nothing wrong?

Anyway, I thought the universe wanted gratitude. Needy universe. 🙂  But what more do I need to say or do to not have to feel grateful things aren’t worse?

The day started with more sliding glass door banging upstairs. Joy. 

Then I heard from the cunt who used to live here, because the rent is late. 

I had driven that check to the closest post office to the landlord. So it’s worrisome that it’s been missing for several days. 

So fucking help me if I have to pay the late fee. I will make today’s shooting in San Bernardino look like a party at Chuck E. Cheese. 

In addition to banging all day, mom sent photos of the soapy water the half-wits upstairs threw onto our balcony. You know. Because they can’t flush it like the rest of us. 

The problem was that Kadie got soaked by it. Who knows if they use that nasty Fabuloso shit or lye or whatever. But Kadie is so upset and so is mom. 

I asked the useless bitch in the office to please tell those morons not to do that. I said they got my cat. And last I checked, I was excoriated for throwing seed to ducks over my balcony. Not potential poison. 

Useless bitch said she would forward my email. To whom? Santa Claus? 

I wrote back to inquire whether these are new neighbors or old. No reply. 

I open it up to the universe. Someone tell me exactly where to move next. State, city, neighborhood, building and unit. I will pay. I just can’t pick because whenever I think I can’t possibly do any worse, I always do. 

I walked past Thundercunt’s door. Her shitty doormat is finally gone. Yay. 

The noise last night was bad. Mom said the noise today was unbearable — more so than usual. But she said it also sounded like machines. 

We got brand new doors a couple months ago. The door upstairs is trashed. I can only imagine what the inside looks like. 

With any luck, it will be a quiet night. Of course, I’ll just be happy if I can watch “Below Deck” in relative peace. I’ve learned not to aim much higher than that. 

 
When I came down to Florida seven years ago this January, even though I didn’t want the job or apartment I would end up taking, I knew in my heart I was done with D.C. 

Sure I wanted to go back to visit. Which I haven’t done but once and it was a whirlwind. But I knew it was time to go. 

I returned to southeast Florida last night, and felt the ache of my soul being in southwest Florida. 

It’s time to go. 

I may or may not have been fishing today, wondering what a move would mean for my livelihood. But I didn’t ask and I won’t make any assumptions. 

The job prospects are about as sad as the paltry number of apartments available for longer than a vacation rental on the Gulf Coast. 

But remaining here in this shitpile of an apartment beyond the four months left on my lease … and noisy mofos upstairs, whether the same or different ones … means I should probably be on suicide watch. 

I don’t even want to leave forever. Just a year. Maybe two. Anything to kill this ache inside that living here doesn’t feel right and may never work out. I mean, how many shitty overpriced apartments can one person take, and would the next one simply be the next stop on the fuckup train?

I can’t sleep. Even when I travel. 

I requested a top-floor hotel room and I was still awake every hour on the hour. I’m always waiting for the noise that will destroy my soul. 

And now I’m at home and listening to whomever is upstairs banging doors and windows and shit. 

It beats hearing domestic violence and kids with no toys or bedtimes. But I can’t figure out if it’s Big Giant Pussy or someone new who never sleeps, either. 

I had an epiphany while I was away. I need to leave southeast Florida. I despise the people here. And instead of fighting for scraps of happiness here, I want to move to the Gulf Coast for the next year. To be amongst nice people and saner drivers. 

I don’t know what that means work-wise. But I found a house I want to buy there and it would be nice to have it all. You know, for a change. 

Cat at the Gulf of Mexico. 

Packing up and leaving town. But first, waiting for breakfast that I will eat in the car because, attack cat. 

One from yesterday …

I don’t know what maid in her right mind sees the “going green” sign on the door — i.e., no service till after I leave, thanks. Because, attack cat inside — and she comes in to put a pleat in the toilet paper and leave me one fresh wash cloth and a $5 gift certificate. 

If you’re going to invade, at least leave a girl some new coffee pods. Sheesh. 

Anyway, it’s my last day and while we have already achieved our bucket list, I have no idea what lies ahead. I have a list but something tells me it will involve more of the same that we’ve done. And that’s ok by me. 

Fort Myers Beach   

Now entering Sanibel  

Beach hair

 A pint of Holiday Cheer (peach, pecan and caramel)

 The Fort Myers beach clock, conveniently next to the parking lot where I’ve spent a small fortune 

Mom made me a shell rose at Bowmans Beach