Caterwauling

With my screwy sleep schedule (i.e., only getting shut-eye when Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy and their lead-footed brats can shut the fuck up for more than 20 minutes at a time), I missed a meeting today.

I was driving to the office at the time and could have signed in, but it was raining and honestly my brain wasn’t fully on anyway.

I was just really surprised to have three different people ask if I was OK. My boss, especially, was concerned. Because, neighbors.

You know, it’s sad that it has come to this — that me not being available/alert round-the-clock is pretty much 100% caused by the screwballs upstairs threatening me and making every moment I’m alive pure hell.

But it does my heart good that someone knows I walk around with pepper spray, I fear walking to my car (whether I’ll be attacked or that they tampered with it) and that I’m on edge ALL THE TIME … and that he would know exactly at whom to point the finger if so much as a hair is found out-of-place on me.

It just breaks my heart that it’s come to this.

I booked another weekend away. You should see my savings. It’s toast, buying all these damn hotel rooms. But the price of sleep — at the expense of someone else’s kids/family when I don’t have one of my own (oh, and FUCK THAT) — is worth the cost right now.

Stuck in the Career Comfort Zone? 4 Ways to Tell When it’s time to Make a Job Jump

My metric is simply, “Leave before they ask you to.”

Judging by this article, and by my long work history, the moment you realize you’re content (for you, as the state of being content varies among all of us) is the time to get the F out of Dodge.

Le sigh.

“You see me in hindsight
Tangled up with you all night
Burning it down
Someday when you leave me
I bet these memories follow you around.”

— Taylor Swift, “Wildest Dreams”

YOU HAD ONE JOB, MORON. ONE! ONE JOB! ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I say go find these three things, with this one specification, and put them all together in one “thing.” And if you have time, another “thing.”

And I said that knowing the second “thing” would never happen because LAZY MOTHERFUCKER OMG.

And I only asked for the first project because I know they are sitting around twiddling and I worked all day yesterday and I thought let’s share the wealth and make sure we all earn our money.

And now I have to go fucking do it anyway because they can’t read a goddamned e-mail.

I don’t need Trump. I just need the ability to fire people. Without worrying about getting sued because their pwecious widdle feelings got hurt.

ONE JOB. ONE!!!!!!!!!!!

“Never sure when the truth won’t do
I’m pretty good on a lonely night
I move on the way a storm blows through
I never stay, but then again, I might.”

— Kenny Chesney, “Better as a Memory”

I was looking through someone’s recent photos on Faceypages. (I swear that app will be my demise. If drowning the neighbors in our lake doesn’t do me in first.)

And I got to thinking how different he looks now that all has been said and done. (And admittedly more was said than done.)

There was a time when his eyes were brighter than any supermoon. Somewhere between my arrival and my final departure, I would guess. Now, I can’t find that light anymore.

Of course, I look at my own photos (of which I post relatively few now), and I could say the same.

I didn’t really connect the light going out in my eyes with his lesser role in the play that is my life. But then I notice a correlation between my own distance and the brightness of his own light.

I’m sure I’m hallucinating. But I wasn’t seeking this particular information. I just wanted to see if he looks happy now.

And though that ship has long since sailed, I just don’t get why I don’t look all that happy, either.

Pictured: Getting sloppy at Sloppy Joe’s, Key West  

“One day you’re gonna find someone
And right away you’ll know it’s true
That all of your seeking’s done
It was just a part of the passing through.”

So I never slept last night. Thanks, Thundercunt. 

That’s not the confession. 

The confession is that I was just surfing Faceypages and saw another friend bragging about their betrothed online, like I was ranting about last night. 

But my missive wasn’t aimed at them. I wonder if they think it was. 

How do you apologize for something you didn’t actually do?

In any event, I am not going to worry about or even speak of the things I was thinking about the people I originally wrote about. 

After today, that is. 

I’m just very hurt that they are in a position to help me with something very important but refuse to. But when someone benefits THEM, they are all over that. 

It makes me sad and it makes me realize that some of the things from my old life that/whom I miss so much, are part of the past for a reason. 

And having the good memories be proven incorrect hurts almost as much as a so-called friend literally not giving a shit about a matter that’s life-or-death to me because they don’t want to get involved if it distracts them from living their happy life. 

But Poor Them if things aren’t going well … and my sympathy has run out. 

Do you ever see a friend gushing over his betrothed online and want to say omg you are so getting played and I can look at that person with my third eye and know what a gold-digger they are and to run not walk away before you can’t?!?!

I take no responsibility for this post after tonight. But man, I think you picked wrong. I can see in their eyes that they are going to fuck you over. 

And they aren’t as cute as you think, either. Sorry. There, I said it. 

I know they won’t see this. And I’m not trying to shit-stir. I just can’t bear to see another person think they found their happiness when even Stevie Wonder can see through the desperation of people who don’t want to be alone anymore. 

I only hope that if I decide to settle, my real friends will stand up and say something. Or maybe they will be like me right now and understand the need to “couple” at a time when it seems like the one thing otherwise-smart people just can’t seem to master. 

I happen to be friends with an amazing playwright. She wrote that today, in the broader context of a true story. 

I made me feel better about some “wasted love” that haunts me sometimes. 

Love is beautiful because it’s given, as she wrote. And that it is kept. 

That got me to thinking. Love gets received, too. And in the best-case scenario, returned. 

But all of the above criteria don’t have to be met to see the beauty of its existence in the first place. No matter how ephemeral. Because, regardless of how long it exists, isn’t everything?

Thank you, TWC.

Since there’s no reasoning with upstairs, I’ve taken to screaming “Yo, yo motherfucker” or “Shut up, bitch” or “Go to bed” through the vents. Now Thundercunt is blasting her shitty music after her ugly ass rattled the ceiling all night. 

I genuinely have never hated anyone in my life the way I hate that family. And I got a nice stack of real estate newspapers I’m about to drop like a mic on her doorstep.