Caterwauling

Despite DTOM, the CFO approved my $46 reimbursement.

I wasn’t surprised that the saner head prevailed.

I just need to know why no one sees a problem with employing someone who believes their entire role is to create friction.

This foo is in my DMs right now barking at me to make their next stupid idea happen.

I’m not saying this is a bad idea.

What I am saying is that I am tired of this person declaring to my boss that they will do a thing … and then dumping the thing on me and my team and telling us to do it … and then taking credit when it’s done.

Like, I’ve only just called off the jihad over the receipt. I haven’t quite gotten to the grateful enough to deal with nonsense again phase. Give me a minute here.

I have a photo open on my desktop.

It’s from when we took Cocoa to Gentle Pet Crossing.

Cocoa had passed Friday night. We took her there Saturday afternoon.

I would have kept her forever. But, she was already starting to decompose.

The pic is of Mom holding Cocoa in her baby blankets.

Cocoa died with her eyes open. Funny, since she’d kept them closed during the process of dying.

But then she saw who/what ever was coming from her, and those pretty green eyes opened one last time. And stayed that way.

I won’t publish that photo, obviously.

Here’s one from better days.

But here at the anniversary of Mom’s passing, I remembered her telling Cocoa in that moment, “Grandma’s coming.”

That was Jan. 27. Mom would leave in the earliest hours of June 16.

She wanted Cocoa to know she wouldn’t be alone too long.

This all came my way because I am hiring a new cat sitter for that day.

I am a strong woman, but even I know better than to hang around the house on the worst anniversary of my life.

Cocoa tolerated Grandma. So did Maddie. Belly plays all sides. But the black cats, Kadie and Magic, loved her best.

Happy birthday Kates. Hope you and Grandma spent it at the Rainbow Bridge.

Mom had also said this was about the only way to let her hold Cocoa. She was all about me in life. Grandma was the substitute human, for sure.

Anyway, I hope wherever they are, Cocoa lets Grandma hold her.

When Maddie, Kadie and Cocoa passed, I always said, “They’re too little to be all by themselves.”

I said that when Mom passed, too.

I still can’t believe she did something before/without me. First for everything, I guess.

There’s a saying that women are the only species that mate with our only natural predator.

I think about that every time a woman is harmed or graped or kilt. The ones that even get talked about, anyway.

I have had people talk shit about my singleton status like it’s something to be pitied.

At least I didn’t marry mental fucking illness. Or have to live with financial, psychological and/or physical abuse.

When they tell people to make better choices, that choice is to save yourself from someone else’s harm. Ain’t no moments of joy that can offset that.

And anyone who thinks otherwise IS the source of the abuse.

I finally told someone about this blog.

Not that I encourage anyone to read it. Or memorize the past 25 years’ worth of content and find ways to twist it to suit your sick fantasies, like Cindy does.

More just like hey it offers proof of life when I’m not feeling the socials.

Speaking of the socials, I pulled the Tower before my performance review. I also pulled the Queen of Wands as a clarifier card.

My favorite psychic friend weighed in on the socials.

Rather than imminent career suicide, the combo suggests I’m either keeping the Tower from crumbling or I’m finding a way to make good out of the flaming pile of ashes.

Sounds about right.

And speaking of flaming piles of ashes, I had a particularly spicy dream that I don’t want to forget.

As I’ve been out of the office and interacting with humans, well, I’ve met some interesting people. Ones I want to see again.

The dream indicated that feeling is mutual, in one case.

In said dream, said person and I kissed. I want to say it was inevitable. I was just surprised that we both got brave at the same time. Also that there were witnesses who said my god you two have been gravitating toward this long enough.

I said in the dream are we really doing this and they said yes.

And I said I don’t mind, but this is about to get so messy. You good with that? And he said yes.

Even in the dream, I laughed because I was listening to Alanis Morissette on the flight home from Vegas last week. I have many favorites but “Hands Clean” is my song.

“Oh this could get messy
But you don’t seem to mind
Oh don’t go telling everybody
And overlook this supposed crime.”

I was telling a friend the other day that, the thing with Alanis songs, is the names change but the lyrics continue to apply.

“Hands Clean” has applied to the people older than me that I’ve been involved with … and the younger ones.

“I know you sexualize me like a young thing would, and I think I like ya.”

If I think about it, everyone I’ve either dated or played with was either way older or way younger. I think ol Toad was the only one “my” age, as he was born in 1970.

There is another 1970 floating around in my current orbit. But my company refuses to hire him for some reason and I am not sure when our paths will physically cross. (Though he did invite me to a concert down here in FL — we’ll see!)

Anyway, I’m starting to think since I dress and act younger than my counterparts, I should just stick with younger. I am pretty good at teaching, after all. And I’m NOT talking about that.

Well, if this dream is any indication, 10 years younger may be about to happen. Well, he says 10 but I know it’s like 10 and 11 1/2 months. But who’s counting?

Mom appears in every dream. This time as a warning sign. Like, are you sure you want that name in your life? Run the other way now while you can!

LOL. I knew she’d come through with that message eventually. We all know what destruction that name brings.

Anyway, just something fun to think about.

The moment when you realize they want you, and you want that too, is pretty exhilarating.

Love it when that happens.

I’ve had a little tub of Momma’s homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer forever.

My plan was to use it on my birthday. But I ran off to Vegas for an entire week and am just now getting back.

I was feeling guilty that I was going to toast up some riced cauliflower instead of pasta. And that I was planning to use cottage cheese to protein it up (as we hated ricotta but I wanted something).

But you know what? It was really good.

It was strange holding that little clear tub in my hands. She was the last one to touch it. It lived in her little hands for a few moments.

I wonder if she even thought of that. That it would be the last time she’d make her special sauce — her mom’s sauce. Her grandmother’s sauce, really.

And I just enjoyed the last of it.

I have what my memory can conjure up from the recipe. But it will never be as good.

I do have her favorite pasta in the cupboard if I ever do try. At least one part of the meal will be consistent.

Thank you for the birthday dinner, Momma. Click-click.

My cousin sent me Taylor Swift’s favorite birthday cake (of 2023 — I had sent it to HER in 2024) … a gift from herself … and a gift the baby painted for me.

Her card was tops. Made me cry.

I read the card aloud for Mom. I told my cousin’s mom Elaine that she raised a fantastic daughter. Her son’s a loser like his dad, but the girl? The best.

I got another card today. From my mom’s BFFrenemy’s sister.

The sister always sent my mom cards. And weird gifts.

She sent a fuckin death shroud a few years back. We don’t know why. Felt like an omen.

It was.

She always sends dollar tree shit too. And I know she had an amazing career, so it’s not that. She just likes junky shit.

So hello, a birthday card! And that’s nice because she has zero reason to do anything nice for me.

The cart reads, “A Treat for You!” And there’s something hard inside.

A gift card?

I opened it and it’s not even dollar tree. It’s this weird dog face that’s peeling. And the magnet isn’t even a magnet. I can’t explain it.

I read the inside and she said she had to send this dog because it’s so cute, right?

Hm.

A treat for me … a dog, which I don’t even like dogs … and no treat?

At least it wasn’t another death shroud.

Everyone has figured out that I’m going to (redacted).

And I just got an uninvited request for what to do there. From a peer.

Listen.

I turned in one request for reimbursement in 14 years.

For two cheeseburgers.

And DTOM wouldn’t appprove it.

I get along with accounting so I am not worried about it. I was never worried about it. It’s just illustrative of things I would be crazy to type out.

Anyway, I paid a a good chunk to extend my hotel and cat sitter to go to this thing.

Out of pocket.

I’ve talked to my team about how to maximize this visit. And I have a great list. I also talked to the social media team. Great list from them. I’m good on “what to do.”

The only thing I want is to not have to use PTO.

Which I have too much of anyway.

I am delighted to do what I can for the company as I do love my work and it will benefit my work.

MY work.

I am typing this as a reminder to myself for when I get nuts from the weight of trying to please everyone.

The Bermuda Triangle of pain is how I refer to this era with my first Mother’s Day without my mother, my first birthday without my mother, and the day Momma passed.

The triangle became a box when I heard Joe Biden has Stage 4 prostate cancer.

My mom was terminally (ugh) online. If she would have read what I’m reading by people who were just experts on Bruce Springsteen last week (note: they did NOT pick up on generational poverty in “The River” is all I’m saying) … she would have felt even worse.

Cancer made her feel dirty. She was embarrassed. Like she fucked up by “catching” it. And these fuckface MAGAts would have only reinforced that.

May they all catch permanent diarrhea.

In any event, my box became a pentagon last night.

I logged into mom’s phone since Samsung threatened to delete her data if it wasn’t accessed soon.

Well that was a roundhouse kick to the head.

“Dawn commented on her post you haven’t seen.”

I mean, I know she hasn’t seen any of my posts for a year. But it hurt seeing it spelled out for me.

I felt like she was in the room with me. Magic supervised me. And I had a memory of her counting with him.

I haven’t ever counted with him. So I did it.

She would count to three. Plenty of 2 1/2 action too. After every number, he says, “Yeah.”

Now, no one has said this to him in a year. But he remembered. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I realized Momma was the love of his life. He’ll never forget her.

As for Snow White’s seven dorks who left messages looking for her, I hope they all figure she hasn’t called or texted back because they are losers.

Anyway, this was so heavy. Is so heavy.

I hope Samsung is satisfied. That five minutes I spent in that phone reminded me I had a whole lifetime with someone and now have a whole lifetime I’m supposed to get through without her.

Except hearing from people who claim to be near dead to get my attention.

I cannot wait to tell (redacted) next week when she asks if we are still friends.

After kicking myself for letting DTOM’s non-approval of a $46 receipt piss me off for a full day …

I see that my beloved friends who work at (redacted) received an all-expenses-paid weekend at the very same Forbes five-star resort for their milestone anniversaries.

Literally where I was when I bought the two cheeseburgers on that non-itemized bill.