Caterwauling

When I was in school, elementary on up, I was never shy about letting a boy know when I liked him.

I always regretted it. I always got made fun of. And he was never worth the ridicule. But that was the thing. I never felt embarrassed or anything less than entitled to my thoughts.

Today I got my performance review. It was an interesting mix of 2s and 5s. Like, the extremes were mostly accurate, and kind of hilarious when you think about it.

A few things are stuck in my mind. And I will be up all night ruminating about those. But, Mom overheard me and she said you stood the hell UP for yourself. So, at least there’s that.

BUT.

While it’s fair to tell me I am way too casual (I believe I’d call it loose-lipped) with my staff, I don’t really look back with much regret.

Cringe, sure. I probably shouldn’t have, say, confessed how much I don’t like someone. Who has been a complete jerk to me publicly.

Dave always said I wear my heart on my sleeve. I wouldn’t pretend to be on board with some big fucked up changes six jobs ago. Eventually, I did get on board. I just needed to vent about it first.

(Also I got all fives for loyalty. Again.)

Anyway, maybe I won’t lose any sleep. I am loyal to me.

I say when I like the boy. And I say when I hate the girl.

I am QUITE attuned to my judgments. And they were accurate at the time I said them.

I know my lesson probably should be to just do my job and not let my guard down.

But I think my lesson is to continue to be my authentic self. I don’t apologize for liking XYZ or kissing ABC in class. (Oops!)

Nor do I cease to enjoy the Taylor Swift treadmill video when she faceplants. For reasons best left unexplained.

I’m turning 30-ish this weekend, which I am sure mINDY will celebrate wherever she is. Speaking of people I have An Opinion about. And people I got too close to.

I got too close to everyone, really. Icarus flies too close to the sun, too often. And most of these people have put the “Ick” in Icarus.

But honestly, I get close — I get what I need out of people, even if it’s not enough but it’s all they can give — and they flame out. Sucks but I don’t expect much more.

So whoever is snitching … or more likely, the AI is betraying me … whatever. I am not going to be any less me to appease anyone.

Maybe the lesson was that I should have changed the first thousand times it got me in trouble. Or maybe the lesson is to say deuces and say hey, it’s the rest of YOU and the things that MAKE ME CRAZY that need to change, eh?

I am sure nobody is viewing my blog, tweets or photos who finds me soooo pathetic.

So I can post a little ditty without them knowing or caring or responding, eh?

Sing it, Megan Moroney. Heard live at the Hard Rock Holly 5/16/24.

I bet one of his friends let my name slip again
And it sent you down a rabbit hole spinning
Now you know I sing, know my sign, know my drink
Size me up in a matter of minutes
Did you mean to double tap 
That spring break throwback from 2016 in PCB

I was going to fire up my deactivated Xitter account today out of morbid curiosity. But the 30-day reactivation window has long since closed.

Not sad about my inability to peek in on someone whose fashion sense I once described as Boy George in “The Crying Game.”

Really terrible of me to talk shit like that. I mean, what did Boy George ever do to me?

I don’t know why I was thinking of that necrotic wound. I am sure they are still seeping poison about me and making themselves the hero of a story no one cares to read.

“Trump has to be the bride at every wedding, the baby at every christening, the corpse at every funeral.”

That Xeet (Xit?) could apply to either of those festering, fungating fools.

I mean, really, what would I even see if I could see their nonsense again?

My guess is them using one of my life stories and inserting themselves in it somehow.

Or claiming that I breathlessly read every misspelled word.

Or giving HIPAA-violating, and Googlable, details about their kids.

Or bragging about things under the guise of “just providing content” that, again, nobody asked for.

Or, my favorite, ignoring or insulting people who genuinely try to engage in conversation in the comments.

Truly. You get one or two people who don’t realize this is utter fucking nonsense, and you are mad that they didn’t recognize that this was simply another soliloquy.

Anyway I haven’t thought a lot about death till Cocoa passed and something took her, like something took Kadie.

But I know someone who said five “shadow people” showed up for them. They didn’t recognize any of them. And they managed to avoid them.

What if this wretch showed up for me? You just KNOW that when I croak, I’m going to have my mom, grandparents, hopefully Sia and a few others I won’t name here, and a dozen cats. But what if I get fuCk you mINDY, scooter, psycho and more as my “five”?

Shit, I better get healthy if I want to avoid THOSE jokers.

I wish I understood the afterlife. And that at least I could get a day pass so I can decide whether that’s what I want or if I should raise some more hell so I can get sent somewhere that sounds way more fun.

Just don’t send me where those billowing Boy George frocks go to die, and I promise not to complain too much.

It’s Mother’s Day weekend.

My mind is mostly with my cousin, whose mom was diagnosed with cancer last June and she died in September. On a Friday. At 11:11 a.m. Listening to her beloved Ozzy Osbourne from her hospice setup in my cousin’s house.

The following Tuesday, my cousin birthed her first baby.

I can’t even imagine what it’s been like to be a mother without having hers to lean on.

And I really don’t know how it feels to see her first mother’s day as a new mom but also the first as a motherless daughter.

I think of my colleague who was knee-deep in her own cancer battle when her mom died unexpectedly. This was years ago.

My colleague never had kids of her own. The whole treatment saga of it all threw her into early menopause. But she’s practically co-parented her niece for the past decade. So, that absolutely counts.

She came to mind after I saw a thread on Xitter. A lady wished a very involved auntie a happy mother’s day. A week later, the kiddo’s grandmother (and auntie’s mother) found the nice lady to say thank you for acknowledging her.

I got to thinking about how someone out there made a variety of jabs at me for not being a parent; therefore, I didn’t have any right to make any observations on anyone’s parenting skills.

Sure, let’s forget I have eyes and ears and a pretty good memory. But even factoring that out, I know what it’s like to love someone or something so hard that you would do anything in your power for them.

I’m not just talking about animals.

For saying they took the time to read, what, 25 years of my blog entires in one sitting (hey, thanks!), they don’t see the private posts. The handwritten journals. The endless to-do lists. The piles of notes from conversations and visits with medical and other personnel.

And before dipshit tries to say they know what I mean, they don’t. As ever, they are talking out of their arse and would be wise to continue to just sit on it.

(The funny thing is, said individual always felt the need to “explain” things to me, via the internet. Or should I say mansplain. In any event, I don’t owe nobody dick and that’s exactly what they get.)

In any event, I feel like I get held back because of a lack of dangly bits. And I feel like I’m completely underestimated because of a lack of legal dependents.

As if the three-ring circus I run — work, home and other assorted nonsense — isn’t fuller than all their normal “full plates” combined at times.

So I guarantee, if I have an opinion about something — eyes, ears and memory aside — I have plenty of experience being good to people. And being really fucking good at taking care of MuLtIpLe people who are not named Goddess.

So, I know about which I speak when I see otherwise.

So, wish a happy mom’s day to the aunties, the cat moms, the caregivers, the babysitters, the financial supporters and/or everyone else who stepped up to give a shit when people who should have been required by law (parents, medical personnel, etc.) to provide moral, financial or compassionate care couldn’t be arsed to do so.

Don’t wish it to me, though.

“I don’t cater to all these vipers dressed in empath’s clothing.”

Yesterday’s tarot pull was a combination of The Hanged Man and The Tower.

Clearly, I need rest and I need to do it at a place with the Tower of Terror.

Today’s combo is Death plus the Three of Wands/Rods.

So, big change is coming and it’s going to propel me far away.

The 2W is kind of being at the baes of a mountain. By the time you get to the Three, you’ve figured out the general direction you should head.

Very general direction. But, say, you’ve started looking at places to live in a specific neighborhood rather than a general one.

Since our trash chute will never be fixed, I ran trash downstairs today long after the parking lot cats would know to look for me. (Heavy sigh.)

It was the first Saturday I didn’t feed. And now the second Sunday.

I think about them all the time. But I have to admit my anxiety is less, knowing I don’t HAVE to deal with people here anymore.

I stood downstairs for a moment and took it all in.

You’d never know how much evil resides here. It’s quiet and hot and the last of the snowbirds are taking their lanai furniture in today. We should lose the last two snowbirds from my floor this week.

Unfortunately, Peppermint Patty and the Let’s Go Brandon Lady will stay up here with me. And Tommy, who seems incredibly normal by comparison. And Alfred, who’s been trying to get new cabinets for seven weeks now.

Al’s workers seem like they come, drill two holes and go home. I asked if he’s getting a gourmet kitchen. He’s like no I just wanted some cabinets before I go back to New York; my god what is wrong with people down here.

Exactly. My god, what is wrong with people down here, indeed.

But, like I said, you would look around here and see nothing going on in the day. Maybe someone walking a dog, which was never allowed but the pandemic seems to erased that rule.

You’d never know that Pastor Paul kicks the ducks by the pool nightly. Or the little bastards (who grew up to be big bastards) in Building 101 take baseball bats to ducks and lizards. Or that Peppermint Patty and Cheryl scream at people for looking at ducks (just IN CASE they might be thinking of feeding them) in between going to the pool and touching each others twats underwater. (I can see a LOT from up here.) Etc.

I am not sure what the Death card represents. Maybe it’s full-on Reputation in that …

“And in the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive.”

Can’t wait to close the chapter on this place.

They say the essence of pleasure lies in its impermanence. That sounds really nice right now. REALLY nice.

The 3W card could mean promotion. Which, that would be ideal.

It also means finding a job overseas. And Death means, either find it yourself or I’m gonna MAKE you find it.

I’d rather not have (even more) fear as a motivator, thanks.

“When it’s all roses, portrait poses
Central Park Lake in tiny rowboats
What a charming Saturday
That’s when she sees the littlest leaks
Down in the floorboards
And she just knows she must bolt.”

Someone said I swear a lot.

Which I do. But they referenced it to a group chat where I said … “damn.”

Said person also said they won’t watch one of my favorite ’80s movies because there is too much sex.

You know, if I am the sum total of the five people with whom I spend the most time, it’s basically a religious nut, Heifer, and the idiots in my complex.

God or something help me please.

I texted my cousin yesterday about a non-work struggle I was having. I said promise me if this situation gets any worse, you’ll Cricket Noem me.

Speaking of inappropriate jokes, I noticed Faceypages hasn’t been showing me an ex who I pretty much consider a therapist on retainer. I pay, and I get some support or companionship in return.

He did get me through one of my friends taking their own life not long ago. That one fucked me up pretty good. So, the hourly rate was worth it on that one.

Anyway I guess FB had the good sense to digitally sever this relationship.

Not surprisingly, he was writing about a friend who took his life young. Which honestly always touched me, that this bright boy didn’t see that light.

“Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people—they always go away, sooner or later. You can’t hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they’ve touched you, if they’re inside you, then they’re still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart.” — Bruce Coville

And of course on the inappropriate front, he referred to the man’s suicide as “self-checkout.”

I wasn’t offended. In fact, it made me plot about how I can use it in a sentence to activate someone at work whose voice makes my lady balls retract.

I got to thinking a lot about self-checkout. Like, at what point do you say enough with the pain, physical and mental?

Why isn’t there an award when you realize there is no life in quality of life anymore?

No, we want to force women to have babies and we want to force sick people to hang on and die a slow death with incompetent/lax “healthcare” till we finally die of a heart attack or pulmonary embolism or aneurysm that develops as a result of the pain and/or stress.

Seriously, it’s noble to say enough. To not let doctors let you down anymore.

Yes it might hurt people around us. But they’ll get over it.

We miss our friends. And we are messed up about it. But, there are more things to fuck up and fuck us up ahead.

Plus, I can bet you that the top five people I loathe most will be more revered than ever once we can’t hear their gonad-shrinking shrieks anymore.

As for me, I doubt anyone would notice. Shit, my payroll system told me to set up a trust since I can’t be my own beneficiary.

Who TF else do I trust to make these decisions? I had Facebook Boy as my legacy contact.

But I happen to have some cash left after what I’ve spent on Eras Tour merch, who do I want to have it? Alexandria? Becca? Riley? The street cats?

I swear what keeps me alive is it is more goddamnmed complicated to die than it is to live.

Yes, I said god AND damn. In the same word, gasp!

I was outside with Belly and Magic. Just on the balcony. Looking over at where I used to feed the street kids.

Mom loves a big gray and white fluff ball of a dog here. I used to see her walking her daddy at 6 a.m. over there by the dog walk. Her name is Rosie.

Mom asked me to try to get her a pic of Rosie.

Meanwhile my kids were fascinated with a butterfly who was hanging around.

I’ve had a dragonfly show up for the past several years around dates that we associate with my Kadie. So … was the butterfly Cocoa?

As I tried to sneak pics of Rosie, Mom said this butterfly was weaving around my calves and ankles. Did I not feel it?

I really didn’t. But I was staying still so Cocoa the Butterfly would stay on the porch with us for as long as she wanted.

I wouldn’t have known about that visitation without my momma. I would have never let the kids out because Belly is always trying to run off the balcony and it’s exhausting trying to pull her back by her hind legs every damn time.

That’s one of my regrets, that I didn’t let Cocoa out because her siblings are assholes. She was SO good.

And now she can go wherever she wants, whenever.

I realize how much I’ve had to give up this year. My baby. My outside babies. All my podcasts, witchy and political, too. Trying to keep what’s left of my mental bandwidth focused on work and health and mental health.

The things I’ve had to pick up in their places have not been worth it. At all. Not one bit.

Thank you for visiting, Cokes. Momma loves you more than anything, and always will.

I woke up with that same punch in the stomach that I would always get on mornings when a lowlife neighbor (so many of them) would pick a fight with me whilst feeding cats.

I realized it was last Thursday (eight days) that Butterface on a Bike circled me like the baby shark she is.

Fugly cunt must be out there right now. DIE.

I fed them daily for three years. THREE YEARS.

I haven’t fed the kids since Saturday, when Latin Bitch Boy hosed down the cats/food because he is a FUCKING BITCH.

And TBH I don’t really trust that my fellow feeder stepped up after I resigned. She’s sweet but flakier than baklava.

But … I got a surprise last night.

I ran out to get some dinner. And when I came back at 7 p.m., I saw Meatball! And Whiskey! And Fancy! EATING!!!

“I look in people’s windows
In case you’re at their table
What if your eyes looked up and met mine
One more time?”

Lordt, I cried. They looked so happy.

They didn’t look up. Which, they used to dance and run when they’d hear my car.

Not anymore.

Meatball and me after Latin Bitch Boy took a hose to them.

I thought about all the fuckin lowlifes here who think it’s their right to harass humans and abuse (or, at least not be kind to) animals.

Like, it was hard for me to drive past them and not love on them.

But how do you actively hate on them and try to TRAP them and otherwise STOMP THROUGH THEM to send them running?

Are you really that much of a fuckhead that you cannot see a cat eating a morsel of food that they didn’t have to work for?

And they did work for it! We used to have RATS in our trash rooms. We DON’T anymore.

And frankly we should because our trash compactor bit the dust three months ago and we have to all walk our trash downstairs now and the room stinks so bad now.

Anyway.

It’s not that I would wish, say, a necrotic, fungating wound on Carl, Lauren, MJ, Connie, Frank and Butterface on a Bike.

But I would raise a big fat glass of something expensive to the universe if they suffered the way they want those babies to suffer.

“Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?
Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

Happy High Infidelity day to those who celebrate!

Had a bad night. I mean, a BAD NIGHT. Ran over to my cat feeding friend’s house at 2 a.m. to leave all kinds of stuff on her porch.

I mean, she said she’s feeding at 4 a.m., right?

The place was dark. And she replied … 12 hours later at 2 p.m. to say thanks. Which tells me that’s when she woke up.

So sorry, kitties. I’ve clearly forsaken you. Christ, if you have to rely on her, forget it.

I think I fell asleep around 5 a.m. — there is NO WAY I would have gotten up at 6, anyway. I mean, I WOULD have. And if someone harassed me, they would have probably been dead meat. Or I would have been.

You see, I was a debutante in another life
But now I seem to be scared to go outside.”

That’s the limbo I live in. Someone is going to get hurt, and it’s usually me.

Speaking of me feeling like shit, I had three very good ideas today. My colleague agreed to one, so yay.

The other ideas relied on the big boss being on board. Which, he was like no I have too much to do right now.

He always says no right away. I promise you, give it a week and he’ll come to ME with a GREAT IDEA that sounds like mine. And I’ll say that’s AWESOME; I know JUST the way to execute on it!

But then middle boss says to me to go figure out something else.

What, I should grow some dangly bits?

(ETA: I have an alternate idea for one. I also have 47 other priorities so we’ll see if it’s worth it to have delayed all of those time-sensitive things for this.)

I’ve never gotten a single atta girl or great idea or go with that or I believe in you from this one. Anything I say, even if it is echoing something he said to me in the past, is something to be challenged.

“If I were the man
I’d be THE MAN.

When I got fired from the last company, they brought in a guy named Aaron to take my place.

I mean, they really wanted a marketer. So they got a marketer.

Also he has dangly bits. Which only could have helped my cause there.

Aaron just told them to go suck wind and he went back to his prior job. (Yes!) Like I was able to do. Interesting parallel.

There’s another Aaron who just resigned from his job. I freaking helped him build his new company and when I needed a job, he fucked me. So he can fuck all the way off.

Anyway, he is now taking a sabbatical. (Must be nice.) And we heard some dude is taking his place.

There’s a woman who’s worked there AND at the predecessor company (where I worked, which is how I knew what worked/didn’t so he could work around it).

My friend says, why doesn’t this woman step up and be the publisher?

I said for the same reason I will never have the publisher job. Dangly Bits.

As in, you can’t see mine. So, let’s find someone who has visible ones.

“You know there’s many different ways
That you can kill the one you love
The slowest way is never loving them enough.”

Welp. That was my April 29th.

My co-feeder, now the main feeder (god help those kitties), was not thrilled when I said I’ve had enough.

Suddenly, after months of me saying, could any of your friends around here help us out from time to time (uh, no), she suggests oh maybe this or that person can take over for me.

She calls today to say instead of her going at 1 and 6 a.m., she went at 4. And it was great. She will just feed once a day at 4, from now on. Maybe one other time a day, if I could contribute financially a bit.

So I guess the friends were a fizzle. Or maybe they will figure it out and maybe really unite against evil. Who knows.

I got five straight hours of sleep last night and it was GLORIOUS. But I still feel like shit.

Like, when Cocoa was alive and someone at Publix or Petsmart would ask how many cats I had, I’d say 10. Three inside, seven outside.

Then I got that punch in the fucking heart every time people would ask, after Cocoa passed. Nine. Just nine.

Today I got to talking with a gal at Publix about our cats. My haul was tiny today. Usually half my bill is cat food. Today, maybe six cans.

She said how many do you have. And I channeled my bio dad when I asked him how many children he had, when he said, “Just two.” (Neither of which was named me, but I digress.)

I started to say nine. But I said, no, just two.

Old habits die screaming.

The gal told me she got her kitty because some dumbass family in her neighborhood moved and left her. She found the cat, took it to Peggy Adams, and they held her for 10 days, during which they tried to get in touch with the name on the chip.

The owners did respond, nah, we don’t want her.

So they called my casher, and she was like YEAH.

She showed me a pic of a gorgeous Calico. Like my Maddie. I said what’s her name. She said her dad named her Mooch … after he bought her a cat tree, five cat beds, every flavor of food under the sun and other critter comforts.

I said the best day of Mooch’s life was when you went back to that shelter.

I texted my friend here to say, well, if Butterface DOES manage to take a cat to Peggy, you’re the name on the microchip. They are going to call you.

OH! I got home from Publix and I swore I saw Butterface out walking past my parking spot. I circled the lot three times and took lots of photos.

It’s … definitely the lady in the photo I posted the other day. But she seemed like she could not give less of a shit about the world around her.

Like, the other one looked a lot healthier and sounded a lot less literate. Not that this one talked, but she had a good aura about her up close.

In any event, I won’t lie that it felt GREAT to sleep till 7:30 a.m. on this Sunday morning.

I also won’t lie that I have no intentions of being outside at dawn or dusk, when I would often sneak out to see the kids. It will kill me to see them and be someone else who let them down.

But, knowing that I will never have to be within NOT punching distance of Carl and all those other bitches/bitch boys is kind of nice.

There were many nights I would give the kiddos rotisserie chicken or turkey or even split a few quick cans at 7 or 8 p.m. since I knew my tag-team partner doesn’t roll in till the wee hours.

I can still do that. I just don’t want to be reliable right now. I’m barely parenting the kiddos I got, with everything else going on.

All I ask the universe right now is to let me have October. I have schemed and dreamed and planned and paid for something, and I need for it to happen.

“I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind

People need a key to get to the only one is mine.”

It is literally the only thing I’m living for right now.