Caterwauling

I never dreamed this would be the last photo I’d take of Sia. Nor that I’d be posting it in her memory, one year to the day that she left this world.

I’ll always remember us dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. Seems so unfair and yet so fitting that The Killers will be back in Miami on what would have been her next birthday. But this past year has been all about coming to terms with the unfair.

I was sobbing in the car Friday, thinking about her. Wondering what’s out there and where she is now. And a Killers song (“Runaways”) came on a station I had never heard play their music. Was that lyric “A blue-eyed girl playing in the sand” a sign from her to me?

The band was far from our only connection. But at a time when all you have left is the hope of a sign, you hold onto it fiercely.

I don’t expect this living with a Sia-shaped hole in my heart to get any easier. And I don’t know that I believe anything comes after all this. But if there is, I hope she’s able to enjoy all the best of it.

Miss you so damn much, Sia. So much.

“Be still
One day you’ll leave
Fearlessness on your sleeve.
When you come back
Tell me what did you see.
Is there something out there for me?”

— The Killers, “Be Still”

There’s someone here who has had it out for me from day one. 

Or maybe not. I don’t really know. Maybe they just didn’t like me or care that I’m alive. 

Either way, really. Doesn’t matter to me. 

But …

Instead of things I do or don’t say getting back to this person, the opposite happened. 

This person told a whole bunch of people that “(Goddess) could run that (massive entanglement of ongoing insanity) blindfolded.”

Duuuuude. 

I know I’ll never hear it directly from this person. But that’s OK. Just knowing they think it is reward enough. 

Got a text yesterday from someone I’ve been a bit mad at. And I realized I’m not mad anymore. Life has gone on. Funny how that happens sometimes. Never gonna be BFFs again but that’s ok. Saying hi every couple millennia is just fine by me.  Happy to say I can. 

I don’t dream much. Mostly because I don’t SLEEP much. But I did get a cat nap in around 4 a.m. and boy was it great.

Dreamed that the original three Mouseketeers were reunited at work. S&P (not to be confused with Standard & Poor’s) and I got the band back together for a big project.

Nicholas and Angel and Andrew and Marci and Sean and Jesse were all in an office with us, buzzing about. I think even Matt showed up late and went out for a cigarette and was never seen again. But Shern came in from paradise. Even “Linus” flew in from the Left Coast because this was so monumental.

Don’t know that it has any special meaning.

Things were never perfect, and certainly nothing to be mourned for too long a time.

It was just nice to remember some really cool people who made me smile at one time or another.

Finally got to my favorite town … and my favorite restaurant in it … with some of my favorite people. 

Friends since ninth grade!

Da. Da. Damage. 

Gemini goddesses. 

Yummy Indian vegan entree with Boneshaker wine for me. Love anything Lodi. And chickpeas. 

Great fun!

Without my boss leaving and our Steve Bannon burning our life’s work to the ground…

I would never have made it to my friend’s dad’s memorial service one county north of here. 

I was already an hour south of this midpoint area. And I never left earlier than 7 pm. 

Now I’m no longer all that special. So I could bounce at a good hour and make it up there for six to be with her on the saddest day of her life. 

Now to find another advantage to all this change. Day 54 and, thankfully, counting. 

Amid the worst month of my life, there were some bright spots. Thanks, of all things, to my birthday. 

My good friend decorated my new, well I wouldn’t call it a cube. More like a desk in a fishbowl in a hallway that has odors that make my eyes water. But it was filled with balloons and signs and homemade cupcakes to share. And a cute little special box of cupcakes to take home to mom. 

It brought two lunches with friends. In the same week, holy shit. The only lunches I had last week. 

And two more to come, I hope. Although one will never happen. 

There are two of us who aren’t allowed to eat at the same time. So I often miss lunch entirely because I can’t leave when I have time. She got us special permission to eat together on my birthday but I already had plans. So we lost out. And will likely never get that blessing again. 

(No one else has missed a meal yet. Least of all the decider.) And we all know I’ve had like three lunch hours a YEAR before this. It’s not like I have used the time afforded to me, let alone abused it. But it hurts when I am sitting there alone and the whole rest of the department gets their hour at the same time and by the time I am able to go, I’ve gotten busy again. She’s out most of July. Guess I’ll starve to death.)

In any event, I also got a big surprise day trip yesterday. Did not expect that at all. Pleasant adventure all around. 

I’m used to being good to people and never having a soul even acknowledge me. I’m not used to people being good to me. I don’t even know how to react. 

Maybe folks know I’m depressed and one more missed lunch away from walking out. 

I don’t know. I just know I’m grateful that I know some pretty awesome people who care about me. 

I’m sitting here trying to attend an all-day financial conference. (It’s not going well. I don’t multitask too well and there are many tasks to “multi.”)

I wanted to tee-hee a minute about a talk I had with a friend the other day. He was saying how he worked at Polo, and I was recalling my days at the flagship Kaufmann’s store.

I sold Donna Karan. (I happened to be wearing DKNY on the day we had this discussion.) Calvin Klein, Jones New York, Dana Buchman and Ellen Tracy were also sold in my department. So I have an appreciation for these labels.

But my story is that I was the only person not on commission, yet I often had the highest sales.

If retail paid more, I’d probably still be doing it on the weekends at least. But I don’t do well with people on commission — they would return my sales and re-ring them up so they’d get the credit. It was pretty awful, working with those women.

But … customers loved me. Like, “came in on Sundays when I was working by myself” loved me. Because I would help them and not shame them if they didn’t like something. I wouldn’t lie and say they looked great if maybe a different size, color or style would have been better. I wouldn’t cut a bitch to steal the sale out from under the one who had made 30 trips to the dressing room with more merchandise. (Which I as the kid would have to hang up and restock.)

I was about 22 years old, give or take. (I was there for a few years.) Wore my Lerner New York and Gap and Old Navy clearance-rack clothes. I looked like I was 12 years old most days. But I was energetic and kept my clothes steamed and worked way too hard for my (then-amazing) $5/hour.

It was then that I learned I loved being around wealthy people. Different problems, for sure. But never fretting about how to spend that last dime in a way they wouldn’t regret. Like I did every single day. And, to some extent, still do.

My friend said isn’t it funny how nothing has changed — I work lots of hours, I am available when you can’t find anyone else for miles, and I quietly produce a lot while no one is looking.

Good friend, and good memory.

Today would have been Sia’s 32nd birthday.

She’s been on my mind all day. She’s never far from my mind, really.

Facebook Memories has her thanking me profusely for whatever I did for this birthday many years ago. In a way, it’s like she never really left. But then when you go to call …

I’ve reached out to her mom and sister. They don’t reach back. I figure I was close with her while they weren’t, and vice versa. We could fill in some blanks for each other.

But that’s how it works. Blanks don’t get filled. You don’t get to say goodbye and doors get slammed in your face, if you even get a door in the first place. (Which most don’t.)

I like to think the universe hates a void and works to fill it. A pet dies, you get another. A job ends, someone else who was dying to hire you finally gets the chance. A relationship ends, something better comes along. Right?

Not in my experience. You can be single for 40 years. No one to step in for friends who died or voted for Trump. (Same thing, really.) There’s no replacing a parent or a sibling who’s gone. And judging by how many people are sleeping on the streets because who the fuck can afford two grand for a studio down here, jobs don’t magically appear because you want one.

I tried to think of the best way to honor Sia today, since she’s gone and I’ve never had a friend like that before or since. And perhaps never will again.

Working 24 hours straight sounds about right.

But I went the other direction and left right before 6. Pile of unfinished work be damned.

This after an IM at 4:30:

White-on-white: I can’t finish that today. Almost quitting time.

Me: (I worked all weekend and only had yesterday off and I’m STILL behind and you won’t stay 15 extra minutes?)

Sia would have had a few choice words for the situation. I don’t care either way, honestly. I’ll regret leaving on-time-for-me tomorrow. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll be white-on-white and be perfectly fine feeding my mom at a reasonable hour and watching “This is Us” together like we love to do on Tuesdays.

Miss you, Sia. You were the only one out there just like me. With the disease to please. It took you. And I want to beat its ass for that. 

Love you, girl. So, so much love, today and forever. Knock Trump’s wig off for me, OK? I’ll know it’s you …