Caterwauling

The building manager saw me throwing away trash with my mask and gloves on. Because that is what life has fucking become.

He was joking around and asks if I know anyone with coronavirus. I said yes. He kept joking. He said did they die and I said yes.

He kept joking and I forgive him because I know he’s got about six out of nine chickie nuggies in his happy meal.

But I realized, no one here takes it seriously because no one has lost anyone to it. It’s just a stupid Democrat hoax to all of them.

I said please take care of yourself. There are morons in masks and no gloves, physically pushing past me in stores and reaching over me when I bend down to get something off a low shelf. Nobody here has any goddamn sense. Please have some sense. This shit is real.

I said this isn’t going to peak down here in the Florida hotspots for another two to three weeks. I bet we don’t get back to normal till September. Quit standing so close to all the girls, OK? I know we’re cute and all, but we ain’t worth it.

He laughed, and said OK and be well.

I guess maybe his heart grew three chickie nuggies this day. Let’s hope.

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 …

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?