Caterwauling

I’d say “at the risk of TMI,” but this is me we’re talking about …

I was rationing TP to the point of basically pretending I’m in an outdoor-concert portajohn, wasting three minutes air drying before finally succumbing to a limited number of squares.

Then out of the bloody blue, Mother Nature reminded me once again that my reproductive system is still ready and waiting for me to meet someone worth reproducing with.

The good thing about dating men with kids is you see if they can make a cute one before you take your chances.

In any event, rationing ends here. TP, not BC.

Also, I don’t want to be knocked up unless this is the sonogram I’d get …

Happy yeaster! Nothing like a Good Friday fish fry.

It hit me today. The reality shitshow that this country has become.

I was in the Starbucks drive-thru and got a call from the vet.

I’d managed to kidnap one of the kitties today and took her in.

Where I was not allowed to be with her because no hoomins are allowed in the clinic.

Where they would only speak to me my cellphone despite the asshole who left his loud car running and the other guy who was playing REALLY GOOD R&B music, also loud.

Where I had to pay OVER THE FUCKING PHONE because no one wanted to touch my credit card. Forget gloves — someone put a condom over my BofA card information.

I literally had no idea what I signed myself up for.

So it’s like OK you need to get her this medicine and give it to her every two months. And a flea bath. And this, that and the other.

Me: Um, so do you have all this stuff available for purchase? It’s not like I can go walk into a store without waiting in line four hours and then not knowing if anything IS there because all the websites say you have to COME IN and see for yourself.

Them: Nope! Good luck.

Me: I did tell you this is a stray, right? How the f… Oh never mind.

Them: Didn’t you say you had another one you wanted to bring in?

Me: __

So yeah.

They managed to fleece me for some exams and treatments. Fine. Now treatments. Whatever.

Hopefully if she doesn’t hate me too much after this bullshit today, I can figure out how to treat her when I see her at night.

You know, when I can procure all this magical shit.

Meanwhile, I’ve probably exposed myself to all kinds of god-awful outdoor diseases, too.

Coronavirus is officially the least of my worries now. So there’s that.

But yeah. Not like you can waltz on in to any store, and find 20 of what you need on the shelf.

Not like you can order something online, and it actually a) LET you order it if you are not a healthcare professional, and/or b) GET IT sometime before June.

Meanwhile I have this moppet looking at me like, are you really going to put my ass back on the street after you just paid them beaucoup bucks to fix me up?

Maybe when I said my intention was to be my best self this year and be spirit’s messenger this (last?) month (what is time anymore, anyway …), I should have just asked for better decision-making skills.

In any event, Good Friday is a workday, so back in the saddle again. Is it Friday? Who am I?

The good thing about WFH is that day drinking is acceptable and, just my luck, the days are getting longer.

A wise guy once said, don’t read shit that triggers you.

A wise person takes that advice.

Always clean. Always happy.

Was sitting in the car with Mom, admiring the full pink moon.

Neighbor walks up and asks, “Does your license frame really say, ‘My other broom is a car’?”

I laughed but she was serious and looked nervous. I said yeah, it really says my other car is a broom.

She whispered, “Are you a witch?”

I didn’t feel like that answer should be yes.

Fellow witches recognize magic in each other. If she didn’t see mine, it wasn’t her fault. She just wasn’t meant to.

Same with children of the moon. I am attuned. That’s all I need to know.

Happy pink supermoon in Libra, witch-bitches!

This full moon is in Libra, the only zodiac sign without a heartbeat. Libra is scales, justice, balance, temperance. Act thoughtfully and justly. This month, understand and decide on a relationship — is there compromise or are your wants and their wants uneven, and can it be fixed?

First-world problem: My foundation makeup no longer matches my skin. Because I have become a pasty fuck, hiding out in my room with my laptops and my tarot cards.

Corn-teen blows. In any event …

The more I read about the coronavirus, the more I think we had it here in February.

I missed our February coven meeting because I was feverish. Mom was a lot worse. Like, feeling like she drove through a high-powered car wash on a scooter.

I’m glad I had the sense to self-isolate before, you know, it became mandated. Wish others had the same sense.

We’re better now but pretty jumpy at any weird new symptom. I keep using the word psychosomatic for me. Like when some dumb bitch wearing gloves PUSHES ME out of the way in the return line at Walmart. HELLO that’s not what gloves are meant for … oh hey was that a tickle in my throat?

My coven leader got us involved in the worldwide meditation against coronavirus last night. It started around 10:45 p.m. I was half asleep at the time. (Musta been the wine.)

But her meditations always leave me feeling like I had a four-hour nap. So I bounced till about 6 a.m. Wanted to go see my cats but I am going to isolate today and do some work.

My kitties pretty much walk up to me now and ask for food. I still have to chase Bernie around, but I have a secret spot where I leave his bowl and he runs right to it. I chase Kenya and Kadie too — they usually miss out because they are not bright enough to realize that the lady who fed them yesterday is the same one feeding them today.

It’s a process. Some days I feel victorious. Some, defeated.

It’s clear a lot of my babies were loving, happy housecats who were dumped into the colony.

They meow at me like, hey lady, what flavor is on the menu today? And to hear some of them purr! God I hope they are safe from this virus shit and that purr-onavirus doesn’t become A Thing.

My two favorites, one keeps re-injuring herself and the other has the most ferocious breath on the planet. People probably saw vet bills and dental surgery ahead and said nope, hard pass G. So, I guess that’s why I have so many lovies — they just miss that hoomin interaction.

I don’t blame people for not wanting to see the pets they can’t afford to treat. I got lucky with Maddie and Kadie. They were fine until they weren’t. They both went pretty quickly when we figured out they were sick. Like they wanted to spare me further expense.

I do want to take a couple of these cherubs to a vet. Hopefully it won’t be an arm and a leg. I just want to do some good in the world, even if the only payback is a nose boop or two.

Anyway, I don’t know if our collective (international!) meditation did a lot of good at basically telling coronavirus to contain itself.

But there was a lot of power in it being the fourth day of the fourth month, on the dawn of the fourth full moon of the year.

Four is number of support, stability, boundaries and resources.

I take that to mean, do four good things. Or four more.

I know the Chinese are wary of fours, but four is the Emperor and that means it’s a time to marry energy and action. Also, I’d say eff China for this stupid virus, but you’d also have to talk me out of blaming Russia for it because their timing of picking a fight with Saudi Arabia is awful suspect.

In any event. speaking of marrying energy and action, I learned the hard way not to talk big at my new job because they are like, great, go do it. And I’m like wait, what? Me? Isn’t there an adultier adult to make this decision?

It’s like being a Wallenda and getting halfway across the tightrope over whichever famous chasm they want to cross.

Like, well fuck.

You can go back or forward but you’re on a high wire either way.

And either one could send you hurtling into a pit of molten lava or a vat of rushing rapids.

Existentially, I always go back to, if they weren’t them and I weren’t me, where or who would I be?

Especially now that I know my old safety net was stronger than I ever thought it would be.

I guess the question now is, who will I be?

I don’t believe things happen for a reason. They just happen. Or you make them happen. And wouldn’t you rather pick your direction … and make sure that direction is forward?

Idea for a screenplay:

You drive up to one of those places that is giving out boxes of TP, water, eggs, chicken and Clorox wipes.

They put it in your car and you drive off.

You get home and find a dead hooker in your trunk. Strapped to her is a case of N95 masks that the government is in hot pursuit of and there’s a tracking device on the box and you don’t know it and try to give them to healthcare workers but the tRump administration doesn’t want you helping the greater good and sends his goons after you. Hilarity ensues.

Call it “National Stockpile.”

OK that’s all I got. Too much Dateline and wine for me.

Actually it could be the prequel to the “Saying Goodbye to Dawn” plot I foiled. Where a “researcher” who solves the case gets foiled by my spot-on intuition. Dawn visits her college friend in Vegas and hits the jackpot.

New career, ahoy!

Not just quarantine. Although, that too.

Had a great leadership call today. They value my experience and opinion. And gave me a big, fat project.

Edited a beast of a document. Tamed it into submission by version 5.

Had a great team call today. Where the writer of that beast thanked me in front of 14 people for having the instinct he didn’t at the time of writing. (We got the data on the call to back up my instinct.)

My boss thanked me for making a big difference in a short time.

My niece sent me a sweet gift that she made with her mom during their quarantine. This is the best part of the day, no doubt.

The happy halfwit who blasts his “God Bless Amurrica” music when Grey’s is wrapping up can’t get his signal to hold.

I got to see my little trick-or-treaters.

Morris and Magic

And I’m me.

Glorious day.

Someone asked on dah Twittah what the first thing is we will all do when we get sprung from self-confinement.

Financially, nothing has changed. What I used to spend at Ross and TJMaxx goes into cat and bird food.

(Birds love cat food. It’s exhausting trying to keep 37 of them from it for the dozen kitties who deserve it.)

I still work and I read up on tarot. Play with my crystals. Wear essential oils instead of Chanel. Wear makeup less but I will always match my clothes to my headbands and shoes.

I tweet more, blog more. Not taking topic requests, though. Festivus ended in December.

I don’t binge-watch TV shows; I’m barely caught up on 911, This is Us and Grey’s Anatomy. I canceled Hulu after Handmaids jumped the shark.

My coven leader just scheduled some Zoom calls. So that will be fun. Now to remember to attend on Saturday.

Actually as for returning to a normal that will never again exist, I’d like to move. I’m happy here so it’s not a rush. I mean, if you’re gonna be quarantined, having a view of the Intracoastal Waterway is pretty fucking stellar.

I miss the gym too. And the salad bar at a local place. And lunches and happy hours. And Target. Definitely Target.

I still win quarantine.