Caterwauling

I started doing it yesterday on Faceypages. It’s the only way to pull myself out of this funk. 

Here’s a positive for today. I got five hours of uninterrupted sleep. A recent record!

Speaking of Faceypages, I am reminded of all the cool people I’ve ever worked with. They invited me into their homes, gave me good wine, let me get close to their spouses and kids (and fur kids), encouraged me to borrow their vacation homes and call them for sports tickets, etc.  

I’ve worked hard at the job I did for them and worked just as hard at building these relationships.  And it’s nice to see that even after years have gone by, they still remember me fondly. 

I don’t do that anymore. I stopped being too buddy-buddy with people recently. I don’t know people’s kids’ names. They don’t know my situation either. I hate it but it’s better this way for now. 

One day I’ll be able to talk about it. Probably after congress stops badgering Hillary about her e-mails. Let’s just say I may or may not be in a position to understand how she feels, having vultures picking apart the scraps of a life you’ve put together. 

In any event, my happy item for today is streetside sangria …

Relative peace as I edit tonight. That’s all right by me. 

I’ve been saying a new mantra, that money is coming my way from unexpected places. My great-uncle called tonight to say he’s sending mom a little money. 

I’m certain it’s not going to be life-changing. He sold something of my grandfather’s and got a couple bucks that he felt she should have. 

But still. Anything that doesn’t end with me spending money is a blessing. 

Yesterday brought a miracle, my new nephew H.  

My friends have been trying to have a baby for years. There are no options, natural or scientific, that they did not explore. 

And yesterday at 10:05 a.m., the world got a little bigger and a whole lot cuter. 

Having a baby is the ultimate act of faith. You somehow trust the universe will take care of him, of you, of your family for the rest of your lives. 

My faith is not that big. I wish it were. All I have to do is look at the news and see the peaceful protest for the violent death of Corey Jones, see another local cop who shot a dog who was waiting in an open car for his owner to take him to the vet, see the girl raped on a cop car in mah ‘hood and he got off Scot-free, and see the funeral of a high school friend’s nephew … and it’s not a world i want to be in, let alone put any kind of faith into. 

But if anyone can handle raising a good child in a messed-up world, my friends can. And I’ll do everything I can to help because I believe in them. 

I wonder if the two girls upstairs were as wanted as H. I’d bet not. I imagine these two twits upstairs just did their jungle boogie after a fight and bam, shit out kids. Just what the world needs, for that demon spawn to perpetuate. Sigh. 

It’s a long shot to hope they will turn out well. But the universe has a funny way of giving me the finger. They may not act civilized at their next house. But eventually they will grow up and move out on their own. And one day, I won’t even remember that I ever knew them because I’ll be hanging by the pool with people I actually want to be around. 

And the act of faith it’s taking to think that way may be the biggest one I’ve achieved in years. 

My BFF from up north texted me that her mom had a surprise baby shower today. 

I have the biggest pile of gifts here for her. I’ve been waiting for this day. And yet here I am. 

She said her mom sent me an invitation twice and it got sent back both times. 

I wanted to be there. I would have been there. It sure would have beaten sitting around here all day listening to Yo-Yo Morherfucker (i.e., Thundercunt) and Jesus Fucking Christ (i.e., Big Giant Pussy), christened accordingly after their favorite phrases, fighting for 16 solid hours till I had to leave. 

I can’t stop feeling sad. I wanted to be there. I was ready to be there. I’d give anything to be there. And I will always be there in any way I can. I’m just bummed that this world keeps turning and it’s like I’m not even a part of it anymore.  But I guess attending a shower won’t solve that. 

I thought briefly of when my friend Susan wanted me to be her kid’s godmother. I bought piles of gifts and sent them and was getting ready to go back home for the christening when I heard she picked someone else and had the christening early. 

I quit talking to her over that. Wouldn’t you?

Anyway this wasn’t even close. But this is my second “fambly” and it sucked missing out on such an important day. But I’m over the moon that she had a great day and sent photos like she has through every stage of her pregnancy. 

It’ll be ok. But I has a sad and I’m going to keep it for a little while longer. 

There are no famous copyeditors. And it’s something I happen to love doing.

I don’t know that I excel at it anymore, and I certainly don’t think of it as a calling. Because, after all, there’s no way to become famous or rich THAT I KNOW OF.

But, this made me smile. Hope all you old J-school escapees can enjoy it too.

From Copyediting.com’s 25-year anniversary issue …

With my screwy sleep schedule (i.e., only getting shut-eye when Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy and their lead-footed brats can shut the fuck up for more than 20 minutes at a time), I missed a meeting today.

I was driving to the office at the time and could have signed in, but it was raining and honestly my brain wasn’t fully on anyway.

I was just really surprised to have three different people ask if I was OK. My boss, especially, was concerned. Because, neighbors.

You know, it’s sad that it has come to this — that me not being available/alert round-the-clock is pretty much 100% caused by the screwballs upstairs threatening me and making every moment I’m alive pure hell.

But it does my heart good that someone knows I walk around with pepper spray, I fear walking to my car (whether I’ll be attacked or that they tampered with it) and that I’m on edge ALL THE TIME … and that he would know exactly at whom to point the finger if so much as a hair is found out-of-place on me.

It just breaks my heart that it’s come to this.

I booked another weekend away. You should see my savings. It’s toast, buying all these damn hotel rooms. But the price of sleep — at the expense of someone else’s kids/family when I don’t have one of my own (oh, and FUCK THAT) — is worth the cost right now.

I happen to be friends with an amazing playwright. She wrote that today, in the broader context of a true story. 

I made me feel better about some “wasted love” that haunts me sometimes. 

Love is beautiful because it’s given, as she wrote. And that it is kept. 

That got me to thinking. Love gets received, too. And in the best-case scenario, returned. 

But all of the above criteria don’t have to be met to see the beauty of its existence in the first place. No matter how ephemeral. Because, regardless of how long it exists, isn’t everything?

Thank you, lord

For thinking about me

I’m alive and doing fine. 

I got to thinking about a lot of things last night.

Russell quitting his job to take care of his wife. Is that what is going to happen to me if/when Mom gets sicker? The only thing in life that gives me any sort of purpose is work. Or maybe it’s money. But I think it’s work. I do like what I do. But what if I had to take care of her … could/would I? And how long would it take for me to kill us both?

Russell loving his wife for nearly 70 years when every man I know is at his wits’ end trying to figure out how to cheat or at least whack off without being caught.

Oh, who am I kidding. Every man I know … and probably me if I stayed with any of them long enough.

Related, I have nothing to say about the Ashley Madison debacle other than that maybe we need to finally redefine privacy as what we in management know as, “You can see and do all the evil you want. Just don’t speak about it … yours or anyone else’s.”

I’m feeling terribly uninspired. I want to say it’s because of the lack of sleep/peace/sanity. Although the psychos upstairs did give me one good night on Saturday. Or maybe it’s that life is progressing at the speed it’s supposed to be (i.e., not warp speed).

Or maybe I was built for mental warp speed but my body can’t keep up anymore, so I should just get comfortable for a change.

Or maybe I need to leave the party before they ask me to. Or decide for me.

Because, people making decisions on my behalf has never ended well.

I’m thinking about Europe again. And also about cleaning the office. I have enough SkyMiles to get the fuck out of town. I also have a new vacuum cleaner and other supplies in my trunk.

Last time I was planning a trip to Europe, I got shitcanned. Last time I cleaned an office, I got shitcanned. Well I had to shitcan myself but I’ll spare you that sob story.

In any event, I’m getting real fucking tired of planning my life and seeing it spread its butt cheeks and shit all over any semblance of progress on my part.

I made a random comment on a story on Facebook. It was about a bunch of girls on a wine train being thrown off for being too loud. I said let the girls have fun and maybe throw my violent neighbors out instead for screaming at each other, their kids and me for five-plus months.

People commented to say violence cannot be tolerated. Screaming turns to hitting.

Tell that to my HOA. Or maybe that explains why they don’t/can’t do anything … because they get threatened too.

I went to a gun store yesterday. Ended up with pepper spray and a taser for when I can get Big Giant Pussy to sneak his balls out of Thundercunt’s purse long enough for me to zap them.

I’m tired of being afraid that they’ve messed with my car (again). Or that they will mow me down in the parking garage. Or that they could have any power over me.

I survived a stalker. I really don’t need this shit.

Anyway. The guy at the gun store said, “Ever consider concealed carry?” I said, “Nah, I’m a Democrat.” I did not say, “More than you know.”

Last night as Fraggle donned her concrete shoes and STOMPED ALL OVER MY HEAD past 10 p.m. (I mean, she started after 10 p.m.), and I screamed my fucking head off to go to bed already, I thought about that gun. And how I would have shot through the ceiling if I had it.

So yeah, no concealed carry here.

I went to the police and fire stations yesterday. Nice people in my town. Truly. They asked where I live and I said the complex and they said, “Umm hmmm.”

Not only do they know the place, I think they know exactly who I mean. Even though they didn’t say it. They wished me luck and gave me the number of someone I need to call to discuss this further with.

Don’t think I won’t do it.

I just feel bad that even the people who are willing to put their lives on the line to protect me, can’t do it. Says a lot about this world. And that makes me sad.

Maybe I need that trip to Europe after all. I just can’t imagine leaving Mom to listen to those fuckwits all day and night alone with no protection.

For what it’s worth, when fuckwits went silent, I LOVED my apartment. Loved, loved, loved it. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

See what happens when I dream? *crush* I don’t know if it was kind or cruel of the universe to give me a taste of what I’m obviously not allowed to have.

Of course, isn’t that what relationships and jobs are for? WHY MY HOUSE INSTEAD?!?!!

Mom and I ran into Russell today.

Mom ran up to him in Wal-Mart when she recognized him. Handsome man. Looks just like her daddy did. I wasn’t sure whether to throw myself into the giant banana stand or to go say hi.

I said hi, and when I said, “It’s nice to see you, Russell,” he was floored that I remembered not only meeting him two years ago, but his name.

I said there aren’t too many handsome men around here like him. He’s hard to forget.

A light bulb went off. “You’re the one who bought me dinner!”

I laughed and apologized since it was kind of a disaster. I said I remembered his wife was in the car, wondering where he was.

Mom asked how he’s doing now. She said she remembered he wasn’t feeling great the day we met him.

He didn’t mention the cancer this time. He did point to the cane in his cart and said that’s new since he saw us last. And he uses a walker around the house.

He still gets around better than Mom, although I had the grace not to say it.

He’s 91 now. His beloved wife of 68 years died three weeks ago. He went to the nursing home every day for over a year to feed her. But then she got too sick to eat, and he spent the last six months holding her hand.

His eyes welled with tears as he told us about this wonderful love, and how he quit his job 31 years ago to take care of her after she was in an awful car wreck, and how he doesn’t understand how life can keep happening without her.

Russell said they never had one fight in 68 years. (I thought about the Ubangis who can’t go 6.8 seconds without going ballistic on each other.) He said most couples fight about money and sex. He said he gave all the money to her and he wasn’t all that sexy, so apparently that’s the ticket.

We all laughed. We all choked back tears. It was a wonderful, wonderful stroke of fate that brought us together.

Mom and I are thrilled he’s still alive and in our ‘hood. (Well, not THIS dump, thank God. I wouldn’t want him here.)

We weren’t sure if we should force our number on him to stay in touch. We didn’t. I did tell him it did our hearts so much good to see him, and I hoped that maybe we gave him a little bit of a bright spot in his day.

He gave us each a big hug goodbye and he waved and smiled at us.

I know this was another “God moment.” I don’t know what to make of it. It’s like seeing my Grampy again. It also gives me hope that ___ Beach isn’t the most fucked-up city on the entire planet. Not a ton of hope. But some.