Caterwauling

I remember this day last year. Funny how we remember the unimportant ones.

This one, however, will be worth remembering.

I got to attend an incredible conference. I worked through most of it but damn, it was fascinating when I did listen.

I got to hear directly from experts at two major hospitals about the coronavirus. Smart people. I got some new Twitter accounts to follow out of it. And my Facebook readers got the TL;DR of it all.

Without the past couple years of total bullshit, I would never have gotten, and taken, this opportunity.

Now, if I can keep everyone 12 feet from me for a good long while, I will continue being the lucky girl I always was, and was always meant to be.

Perhaps the only reason I’d call myself OK right now is because I get out of the house nearly every day, to interact with animals.

Also, it’s good to see Florida still hustling and bustling. I mean, it isn’t — good, that is.

My governor is loath to lock us down and people don’t have enough sense to lock themselves down.

But seeing sunshine and people not too worried about life has been oddly refreshing.

I wish coronavirus never had to happen. And I am not one to say things happen for a reason. There isn’t always a reason.

Sometimes they just happen and it sucks. So you either get through/past it — and you grow from it — or you don’t. Dealer’s choice.

I’ve been turning into a salt pillar, in a few ways. Not reading certain social media. It ain’t that snark and smug superiority I miss. Or being typed at like I’m a 6-year-old.

Hard pass, Grimace.

As if it wasn’t hard enough waiting 45 years to open up my heart to someone, and for what?

But I do miss everything else.

Now that being completely discombobulated is happening to everyone else, I feel like I’m in good company.

I won’t say what drastic things I’ve done to help me cope. But let’s just say I have my magic ways. And my magic tarot deck.

* I pulled the Six of Wands today. The victory card. If you look at the card, he’s just won a battle. I think he’s on his way to one. And homey ain’t playin’. He left behind a lot of things he loved, in search of the things he’ll love and the tribe who will love him. YOU ARE DONE MAKING MOVES OUT OF FEAR. YOU ARE NOT DEFINED BY THE WAY OTHER PEOPLE SEE YOU.

* I pulled The Fool yesterday. He’s not naive — he’s seen some shit and he’s frolicking off to do whatever the fuck it was that he was put on this earth to do. He’s remembering who he wanted to be before all y’all told him what you think he is and what y’all told him he can or cannot be/do. DOORS ARE OPENING. FORGETTING IS THE ULTIMATE SKILL; YOU CAN CREATE FREELY NOW.

* I pulled the Queen of Pentacles before that. She is done with surviving. She’s thriving. She’s releasing others’ definition of her. She’s the wild woman of the deck — she is mother and psychic healer and light worker and lover and guess what? SHE IS SHOWING UP FOR WHAT IS HERS, AND SHE IS ASKING FOR MORE THAN SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS EVER WORTHY OF HAVING.

The golden thread?

She’s done some shit. People think she needs to feel a certain way about it. They haven’t seen the good she’s capable of because even she’s pushed that aside to deal with all the other stuff. And guess what? She was always worth more than they thought … than SHE thought. And you can’t manifest what you don’t think you’re worthy of.

I mean, look at all these people with great mates, money, homes, whatever. They think they deserve it all. You have dipshits running around worshiping at their idiot altars. Or maybe it’s all their bots or fake accounts “liking” them.

Wait till these fuckers pull the Tower card and the Wheel and a Five of Wands.

I already pulled all those bad cards myself, and here I am. Running up the seventh floor. Knocking the eleventh door. I’ma sick of trying. Baby could you love me some more?

In any event, life’s about to change again. I have a really hard week ahead. Hard road.

But the Six of Wands calls for balance between what calms you and what excites you.

The Fool said be a writer, lady. It’s time.

And the Queen of Coins says you’ve suffered enough actual fools. Let the cream rise to the top and let the spoiled milk curdle.

God willing, Imma find that missing cup in the wall of the Eight of Cups.

Now to parlay a legacy out of all this.

I wrote down my new moon intentions — just three — and one already came true.

And the new moon doesn’t peak for another four hours.

Go, me.

I mean. I literally just jumped out of a dumpster. Something had to go right. Right?

Now to go after the rest of my intentions with equal force.

We’re all dressed for the zombie apocalypse. For saying there is nothing left anywhere, my gloves were absolutely filthy after this trip.

Foraging for cosmetics

Everyone is mostly keeping to themselves, although I did witness a fight between a senior citizen and some thot in a hoochie dress in the chicken section.

Which, all they had left were drumsticks. What is there to fight about, other than “You take it,” “No, you!”?

I got to talking with a store worker. He saw me wander down the same aisle twice, pretty much in bewilderment. I mean, I didn’t exactly hoard paper products — now where am I supposed to get any?

The second time he saw me, he asked if he could help. I said, I’m good, thanks. Thank you for being here. How are you holding up?

He seemed surprised that I was cheerful. He was super friendly. He said he mostly stays up on his ladder and observes people verbally abusing their family members and fellow shoppers.

He gets that tensions are heightened. But still. This store visit is an hour out of your day. You don’t know how many more outings or even hours you have left in your life. Act like it.

I said they probably are exhibiting their bad behavior that goes uncorrected at home. Just a hunch.

He told me a funny story about driving for Uber and getting the world’s most racist couple. How they pushed all his buttons and he smiled the whole way. Finally they admitted they wanted to get a rise out of him. He cracked a joke I will never forget, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

I said I wish I could say my best zingers like you do. I keep a Zinger for every Ding-Dong in Hostess-land that would make you proud. But I always feel icky when I lower my vibration. Why feed the trolls when there are quality people to shower love on?

He said some people need to be silenced. And just because you dip low doesn’t mean you have to stay low. Send them on their way so you can get on yours.

Hmm.

I didn’t leave with many items. But my mental shopping cart runneth over.

Who knew a random store visit in a locked-down town could be so productive?

Welp. It’s Paddy’s Day and Governor Tiny Trump has ordered all bars and nightclubs to close at 5 p.m. And stay that way for 30 days.

FORGET YOUR STRONG FRIENDS. CHECK ON YOUR IRISH FRIENDS. WE ARE NOT OK.

You can fake being Irish. But not a goddess

Restaurants are pretty much all-takeout at this point. The rest have a cap at 50% capacity. I’m getting emails from all the fuck over the place that tables are now six feet apart and servers are finally being tested for the plague.

You know, shit we could have done IN JANUARY.

And it’s Florida primary day. I could not give a fuck at this point. Go, Bernden.

In any event, I ordered our traditional corned beef and cabbage special from the local Irish pub.

I’d rather drive out to one of their nicer locations. But girlfriend’s got a new job and she’s busy AF so we’re adjusting.

It’s literally the only food we have in the house, so at least I got it.

On the way out of the Rock of Fraggles, I saw the son of a bitch I cursed TF out for kicking my duckies. Multiple times.

He actually looked at me, thought about it, smiled and sort of waved.

I was glaring at him because that’s what I do. But then I wiped off my expression, nodded and drove out of the Rock.

Spirit told me he’s had a heart attack since you last saw him. Don’t be a dick.

He looks different. Not the combative septuagenarian who basically invited me to go fuck myself one year ago.

I didn’t smile at the son of a bitch. I sort of wish I had. Heart attack and all. Hell, it’s more proving that he actually has a heart in there that stirred my little black heart.

I wasn’t really scared of coronavirus till today. Seriously, you took my bars away, Governor Tiny Trump. And wouldn’t it be my fucking luck to be killed (even indirectly) by the tRump administration.

I’m tired of being tired, is what I am.

Tired of people making decisions for me who have no business making decisions for anyone. (Government.)

Tired of having to choose between SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19 at the ballot box.

Tired of people who harm animals.

Tired of people who bail out airlines and oil companies and not the people who can’t even afford toilet paper … not that there’s any left because everyone who is privileged enough to get a SARS-CoV-2 test got their 20 cases of Charmin before the rest of us even heard of the fucking virus.

Tired of people who take me for granted or think they’re God’s gift and think it is their right and privilege to use my hair to wipe their ass. (*cough* but not a *coronavirus cough*)

Tired from learning a new job and a new team and volunteering for All the Projects so they know how goddamn amazing I am at a time when my portfolio/slush fund is in the collective shitter and I don’t have my long, established track record to keep me safe from 2008-style layoffs.

I know it will all turn out goddamn amazing. It has to. I expect it to. I will fucking MAKE it that way.

It’s just hard when the healers, the optimists, the empaths, the go-to people start to run out of hope.

After everyone and everything has bled us of every ounce of metaphorical sanitizer and there’s none on the shelves.

And not even Amazon can find you a bottle for $125 OR a person to deliver it to you.

Welp. Enough of this pity party shit. Let everyone else lie unshowered in bed and to themselves or whatever it is they have to do to get through a day.

I DON’T GET TO BREAK. I don’t even want to. I am grateful for high expectations.

I got three jobs to work, 12 kitties to feed, a momma at high risk for this shit to protect, and a house to clean.

And when I finally get to bed tonight, my soul will be nourished by achieving all that.

I pulled the Strength card today. Rescue comes from within.

My friend used to remind me to put on my oxygen mask before helping All the Others. I guess the modern-day twist is to put on my surgical mask first.

And then, I can breathe.

Finally.

Prepping for coronavirus is like waiting for a hurricane. Only it’s slower and it’s not like it will pass or hit and then life will go back to normal within the week. But you can always count on your president to do nothing to prevent it and botch the response.

But unlike a hurricane, there’s no joking around anymore with your fellow shoppers. Everyone’s just nuts right now. And not hiding their crazy.

No carts left at Publix

I went to a couple Dollar Generals yesterday because Mom likes their brand of birdseed. (And Big Lots. Both of which, we mix with oatmeal from Aldi’s. And peanuts from Texas Roadhouse. And corn shaved off the cob. And grapes. Mom’s oat blend brings all the birds to the yard …)

Anyway, it’s exhausting. But it makes her happy and therefore we drive all over Palm Beach to collect and distribute this stuff.

We know this car!

(And I do it for stray kitties too. They like some natural food that I happened to grab once and now they turn up their cute little noses at everything else. Oh and they love them some Costco rotisserie chicken. Costco cannot close or else I will not be able to face my babies.)

Bella likes salmon, not selfies

In any event, when I’m not being a witch, I’m being Snow White. Ever closer to earning that Disney wedding!

In any event, this cranky old hag chastised me as I was bouncing through the store with all my loot. She said what’s the damn hurry.

I said there are no carts, I have 12 pounds of seed and groceries for two days. I’d like to not drop it. Would you please move over a tad so I can sneak by you?

She grumbled and barely moved. Whatever.

I saw her again and she said, “You need to tell me your hurry.”

I said well I have other things to do today. I have lots of errands to run.

Like WTF dude.

Finally I was in line and she was blocking the doorway and setting off the alarm, waiting for her husband to pull up.

One day the universe will explain why these vomit and headache types seem to find nice ones to bully and emasculate.

Toxic women ruin good men.

But ONE MORE TIME this heaux says, “I DO NOT GET YOUR HURRY.”

I did not say, “Tell me, what is it that qualifies completing a shopping trip for seven items in under 10 minutes a hurry? There is literally NOTHING LEFT TO BUY.”

Her empty cart. Grr.

I did say, “If you are asking if I know something about this pandemic that you don’t, I will say that your president is a disaster and I have people depending on me. I’m happy for you that you do not seem to have that pressure.”

BOOM.

I went to the crystal shop around the corner after that.

The room where it happened.

Bought more black tourmaline, because my last one fell out of my bra and smashed into a million pieces on my marble floor. And selenite, because every witch needs a magic wand. And some heart-shaped lapis lazuli. Because, why not.

Seriously, this social distancing shit is sounding better and better every day.

On some platform …

Friend in quarantine: (latest update on that)

Me: Sorry it’s not all sunshine and rainbows

Them: More like all vomit and headaches

Me: New social media handle, ahoy!

Thirty days sober.

Social media sober.

Although hey, thanks for the gift off my Amazon registry. Damn, that’s some next-level stalking. But I love presents. So, thanks.

In any event, it’s been 30 days since I visited any of the near two dozen sites that chip away at my IQ.

Mmm chips.

A couple friends are still seeded and one asked if I want an update for old time’s sake.

I said hard pass, G. And unsub yoself. You live in the Acela corridor. Look outside instead for some high-speed wreckiness of the train variety.

Unsub Yoself.

I gotta get me that on a T-Shirt.

Best month ever. Looking forward to repeating it.

But first, chips.

ETA 3/13: Math never was my strong suit. It was 32 days at the time of writing. 36 today.

I just told my West Coast crime partner I can physically feel my IQ rising again.

Hello Lent. I ate all the chocolate in all the lands yesterday for you. Although I do still have some medicinal brownies. I’ll just be over here putting the hash in hashtag.

Speaking of the next 40 days …

I don’t think our modern-day Jesus (or She-sus — although I ain’t that woke. Or awake, for that matter) would like the lack mindset of “giving up.”

Surrendering something you love just makes you miss it. It reminds you of when you were able to enjoy it.

Which makes you crave it more. Because you remember how lucky you were when she was yours.

Especially because the universe hates a void. Something always fills it. Might as well be something great.

In any event, I gave up quite enough in recent months. The rest gave up on me. 

This year, my intention for Lent is to get back to the healthy habits that got me to my lowest weight.

I was at my healthiest this time last year. Life was so simple then. I was just a nice girl in pretty dresses with a job she loved.

And it’s not that boys pick the nice girls, or if we even want them to. But I would like to feel good in those dresses again.

Now to see which of those dresses still fit for today’s lunch meeting at a bar …

I read that Michael Bloomberg is hiring malignant narcissists and comedy writers to serve on his communications team. You know, to appeal to the deplorables. It’s genius, really.

Just writing it here in case a couple of Floridians need a job. It’s one of those rare times when I would give a throaty recommendation.

Speaking of, I was literally at my new job three days when someone from my past decided that they need a job there. They declared to a fellow industry friend that I’d be the one to get them in.

I laughed.

Then my new publisher called. You know, because word travels THAT fast.

I did one of my usual, super great person and easy to work with. The kind of person you tell them what to do, and they do it.

Code for: Interesting but not compelling.

Literally the guy was my boss three days and he said, hmm. “What is it you always say, Goddess? Interesting but not compelling?”

Further validation of my recent life choices.

In any event, I am reminding myself that words matter. You never know what’s going to get through to someone. And you really never know what’s going to wound them. Or their reputation. Or, you know, their personal economy.

As for me, maybe I’ve encountered enough mean-spirited fools over a lifetime that I can take most everything with a grain of salt and glass full of margarita on the rocks.

But I got to thinking about my MN from the past. The comment I’ve been sitting on for 20 years … the one that will shut that person up forever.

Funny I’ve never used it. I’ve needed it. I’ve wanted it. I’ve had occasion. But even I don’t want that level of regret in my heart for hurting that particular person.

As Aaron Burr sang in “Hamilton,” he’ll forever be the villain in Alexander Hamilton’s story.

[Gotta love when the self-appointed victims realize the role they create in our lives.]

Funny also that my latest MN has used a similar dig on me twice now. The one too low for even me to bring up to someone else who actually put my physical and mental and economic status in jeopardy.

So maybe words don’t matter.

But the fact that I still care how they land means there’s hope for me yet.

Be well. Be blessed. And please, for the love of God, be gone.