Caterwauling

Every damn day: 

My Spicer: I need your opinion.  

Me: I pick X. Here’s why. (Insert long list of experiences, and what we’ve tried that hasn’t worked.)

Spicey: We are going to do the complete opposite of what you picked. 

Me: Why?

Spicey: I promised Bannon. I was not tasked with knowing why. 

Me:  I was in your position before. And now I’m going to have to be the one to execute certain failure after you declare it so. Does this save money? Make 10% more? If so, happy to do it that way. If not, it costs man hours. And lots of them. Do you purposely pick the exact thing I advise against? 

Spicey: Takes 90-minute lunch.

I must fear no-talent assclowns. Because they are running my country and ruining my life.

When fucknut got elected, I was thinking about promotional ideas for my services that everyone has since gone and murdered. I noted to myself, “Your CEO is now your president.”

I didn’t mean my CEO. I just mean, the election was my worst nightmare in more than the obvious ways.

With that orange shitgibbon in charge, he conjures up memories of every leader (at any level) you ever rolled your eyes about. The human bag of douche got enough illiterate people’s votes to ruin your non-working life. Because you weren’t stressed out enough.

I need to start fearing yachts, handsome men, bank accounts with commas, and people who don’t murder successful services and shame excellent writers because they’re not as milquetoast as the spook everyone throws their panties at.

Fuck this day.

But …

If I have not replied to an email that I find incredibly demeaning …

To follow up a comment that someone went out of their way to repeat five times because I had to pretend I didn’t hear them, for their own safety, because I found THAT incredibly demeaning …

Assume that I was doing my level best to not hop through the monitor and deliver a punch in the face.

I was special once. I get that I no longer am. Which I said in reply since I couldn’t just keep on keeping my head down to stay out of trouble.

I also said I know I need to learn my place because it isn’t as high as it once was.

And that was satisfactory enough.

At least, it got me the space I needed to get back so desperately.

But just when I think I can’t die more inside, there goes another piece.

Jesus had B.C. and A.D.

I have “Back before I wanted to kill myself, every moment of every day” and “now.”

Two good days out of 32.

They have one thing in common — the absence of something.

The new dress code policy is that you will not be paid if you are sent home.

Where did I put those wildly offensive dress shorts …

I figured a nice guy would be a change of pace. 

There’s a reason I can’t stand nice guys. 

Guess I need a bad boy again. 

The body count keeps rising.

A
B
C
D
G
JB
JC
JW
MC
MS
N
SB
SG

Honorary mention would be P. P and the second S and I were the Three Mouseketeers.

Funny how you always knew this was how it would turn out.

“You should ask X for (thing I really need from them),” they tell me.

I say I’m still mad. Not necessarily at X. Well, not entirely at X. But when one person’s decision ignites YOUR world on fire, yeah. Need a little more mad time, thanks.

“You NEED to ask,” they text back.

I say look. I’m grateful for all the good. There was a whole lot of it. And I think I cherished it all. Maybe not as much, toward the end. But I still knew the risks of leaving first. And those helped me stay.

“They owe you, Goddess,” they say. “Your life was dedicated to them. Your heart, soul health was invested. They know that. Don’t let it all be for nothing. It was bigger than all of you before it was a pile of dust.”

I think about it. And the revelation appears out of nowhere.

He didn’t want to be one of “my boys.” And I don’t know how to compute that.

They aren’t all “my boys,” you know. Sure, I give them every opportunity. Most of them realize a Goddess-less life isn’t worth living. And a Goddess-blessed one is filled with a whole lot more joy than the alternative.

One of my boys typed to another the other day, “If you’re not one of Goddess’ boys, what are you, really?”

I was cc’d. And so very pleased.

I think I always felt second/third/whatever fiddle. No matter how much I gave or tried or hurt or stressed or worried. Maybe I wasn’t so far down the food chain. I don’t know. Perhaps I needed more validation than I got. Or perhaps my apparent lack of needing any was off-putting.

In any event. I do feel owed. You go all-in and you are standing there alone half the time. Not bond-building. You memorize every detail of their life, and they probably still don’t know your cocktail of choice that you never ever deviate from.

It’s OK. It’s always OK. You’re always OK, even when you’re not.

I’m not a fan of this “Smile because it happened” shit. I will damn well cry because it’s over until I die.

But I’m getting better. It’s just not happening on any timetable that anyone would deem quick. And I may never get what it is I need/deserve. Not from this person. Maybe not from anyone.

But there is always the hope.

Folks ask my friends how I’m doing. What I’m feeling. If I’m plotting.

No one has asked ME, mind you.

What’s funny is that I catch the main asker whispering. A lot. And the conversation always stops when I walk in/past. Either it’s about me (doubtful — I don’t give people much to talk about) or problems/insecurities you don’t want confident, happy, secure Goddesses to overhear.

Maybe folks shouldn’t ask if they don’t want me inquiring right on back.