Caterwauling

Mom got up to make me breakfast, which she tries to do no matter how bad she is feeling. And that ranges from god-fucking-awful to holy-fuck-make-the-pain-stop. On a good day.

Nevertheless, I get beautiful omelettes every day. Different ones. Usually vegetarian, per my request. And the occasional breakfast sandwich, corned-beef hash, basted egg paired with turkey or Canadian bacon, or “egg in the hole” sprinkled with bacon bits. Which, she says, aren’t real meat so that’s vegetarian.

Today, knowing it’s a working weekend, she got up to make breakfast. But I said nah, I get extra points at Starbucks if I get breakfasts this weekend. Let me grab us something.

I ordered her a tea, which I always do. But today I gave the barista her name instead of mine.

Mom gratefully accepted her tea. And she read the name on the cup and burst into tears.

“It’s my name!” she cried.

We were at Epcot about a year ago and I don’t even know why I got her name on the cup. She had a similar reaction.

She can’t buy me anything, and it kills her.

She hates being dependent on me. She will go without food and say she’s fine and that she doesn’t need anything. Even though, come on, everyone needs food.

We fight about that a lot. “Save your money,” she pleads.

I’d rather save my momma, I tell her.

It’s a moment like this where you know that you did something right in this life. Even if it was as small as telling the barista your name is Princess instead of Goddess. (Her daddy always called her Princess. Or Punkin, although sometimes I got that one too. But she was AWAYS Princess.)

Also, no I didn’t use either of those nicknames, but you get the idea. Names are very important in this little family.

I haven’t gotten much done at work yet. But I did break down and finally sign up for Obamacare. You know, the ones the fuckwits on Capitol Hill are currently eviscerating, decimating and destroying for the poor folks like us.

I finally decided to suck it up and figure out how to pull $700 a month out of my ass. Which, goodbye storage units and lunches and Starbucks. I’d rather save my momma, as I said.

Everyone knows I hate that cocksucking piece of shit and his merry band of deplorables. And now I hate Congress even worse than before, too. I was hoping maybe I didn’t have to become destitute to afford care for my mom.

That was my one hope out of the Orange Oppressor — that he might have, amid all his lies and other assorted bullshit, actually planned to improve the system.

I shouldn’t say it but I’ve been really sick myself lately. I mean, really really not well. And I haven’t been using my own insurance because why should I when mom doesn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I’ve been socking cash away and hoping that she’d be ok for a little while if something happened to me. (She wouldn’t. She’d be Debbie Reynolds. Trust me.)

In any event, I digressed way too much. But think about it. A woman who is so grateful to have her name on something, anything in this world — wouldn’t this world want to have her well and IN IT and participating fully in it?

Next time you sit your stupid ass home and not vote, or vote for a stupid ass, think of Robin. Please.

Momma told me never to settle.

Even at 42, “No settling, girlie.”

We watch Facebook way too closely. We see people who waited their whole lives for love … and what loves they end up finding makes us so sad.

Beautiful people we have loved for a long time, inside and out … taking the first thing that comes along.

Basically, when you are finally ready to introduce the world to your significant other, you want, “Dayum, girl!” to be the response. In a good way.

Mom even left this on my FB wall one year ago today, which is what inspired this …

But a couple of weeks ago, as I was sort of going with a random flirtation in my world that I wasn’t ever planning to tell her about …

She says to me, “It’s OK if you settle, Goddess.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Mom: “I don’t think I can live with this pain anymore. I need to know you’re not alone. Maybe you shouldn’t hold out anymore. I need to know you’re happy.”

Me: Lots of tears. Lots and lots of tears. Same kind of ugly tears I had today when she told me she packed up our New Year’s decorations and said she changed the 2017s to 2018 “just in case.”

But to rewind from today a bit …

She’s since backpedaled on the settling.

Mostly after seeing my one beautiful friend with her dopey-ass boyfriend and even-dopier gaggle of kids. She went from single and free to fucking Brady Bunch just to say she has a man.

She’s definitely back to, “Don’t ever fucking settle because I will thwap you upside the head from the great beyond.”

I told her she just can’t leave then.

Also, I am so sick and tired of her being sick and me being tired.

God is a last-minute god. A beyond-the-last-minute god. But could we possibly get him to rouse Lazarus BEFORE he’s in the grave, please please please?!?!

Normally I’m riddled with anxiety. But on this Christmas Day, I took a long walk, argued with idiot Trump voters on Facebook, enjoyed my Panrsuit Nation friends, dressed up like an elf, dressed my cat up like an elf, ate delicious food and chilled with a hot cup of blueberry tea. 

Today we learned the world spared Carrie Fisher but took George Michael. 2016 is going to suck until its bitter end. Then it’s nuclear war thanks to Deputy Dumbshit down the road when he moves to my beloved Washington. 

I’ll worry about all that, and then some, tomorrow. 

Today I learned that someone has a crush on me. I’m terrified and yet I feel limitless. 

That I can have people treat me poorly and try in their pitiful way to make me feel “lesser than.” And yet others think I am pretty terrific just as I am, as “Bridget Jones” once put it. 

Just as I am. 

So yeah. I’m going to keep being me. And snarking and changing my hair color and dancing and dreaming and moving along with my life. 

But yeah. Me. Bring loved. 

I mean it’s not a new concept. I know of many songs that were sung about me. But it’s nice to know what when I was getting snapped at and put down by lesser people, others didn’t see the scratched soul. 

They saw something special. They saw me, just as I am. And it wasn’t just that I was good enough, but even better. 

Merry day, indeed. 

Impossibly and wonderfully short first “thing” of the day. Winner winner, ham and turkey dinner.

Then I ran to Bux. My favorite barista told me how great I looked and asked “my number now.”

Now, we’ve had this ongoing thing where she will ask me how much weight I’ve lost. I use my highest number as a baseline.

I thought for a second and said “76.”

Before I could do the math, though, another barista yelled out, “Her number is 1-800-BABE!”

LMAO.

They congratulated me and we all went about our day.

Then I walked outside and found a lucky penny on the ground. Heads side was up.

Good to see you, Abe. I already knew it was a good day, but it was good to have the confirmation.

I love this day.

When I started this masterpiece 15 years ago, all I really talked about were my relationships. Then it was all about work and occasional Ecstasy use and song lyrics. Then veiled contempt for neighbors, some daytime situations and pretty much everyone I’ve ever known, buried beneath positive stories of people and things that did not suck the will to live from my very being.

Today I find myself once again stripped of my ability to work from home on a Friday. And I’m like, fuck it. Advantage: Goddess. Use it.

So, I thought about someone I’ve bumped into around town here and there, and set an intention to run into said person.

I don’t often get out at lunch and certainly not for long. But today I finished a project (that’s been sapping my will to live all week, mostly because of 13 long calls and limited “focus” time) right around 12:30.

And I know I will see this person right around 12 at a certain coffee shop.

So I headed that way.

And I actually walked past it and grabbed a salad nearby.

Was walking back to my camp when I thought, eh. I really could use some coffee. At this point it’s 12:45 and no chance of seeing anything interesting.

Right?

Well …

I have a smile on right now. That is all.

I don’t need progress. I don’t even want progress. We all know I fear it anyway. The universe likes to take away the good things, so best to not really have too many.

Naturally, I was an idiot. Couldn’t talk or function quite right. I’m sure it showed even more than I think it did.

But still.

I like my shirt today, I like my lunch, I like my coffee, I like the final result of my project and I like the 15 minutes midday of anticipation, relief and maybe even a little reward.

Look at me, being brave.

My cool Melissa Etheridge goddess shirt …

I fell asleep way past midnight, thinking of my recently deceased friend and wishing I could ask her a question about a known liar’s conversation with a big pussy.

If she were still here on earth, she’d give me a good opinion. I can only imagine what she’s seeing now.

Fell asleep and dreamed that I walked into a restaurant. Saw my grandparents and my mom and my Uncle Ed at a table. Was walking over to them when …

THE FIRE ALARMS WENT OFF.

All.

Night.

Long.

Then the new neighbor upstairs started stomping around, just like I did the other night to inspire the women downstairs to cut the freaking TV volume.

Anyway, left for work super-early and super-pissed at the universe.

Then …

Went to my favorite Starbucks that I rarely visit because it’s by the old office and we have another, lesser location in our backyard.

(I had to go there to pee twice yesterday, so I can’t talk smack about them. The baristas gave me their code to use their restroom. Traffic jams at my place.)

In any event …

My favorite barista was stocking shelves. She took a quick look at me and said …

“You better stop that. A gust of wind is going to blow you away pretty soon!”

🙂

Yeah, that made my day.

A colleague from up at HQ said something similar yesterday too.

That melts everything else away.

Also, yeah. I look a little different than what they may remember …

Thanksgiving in Key West 2010 and 2016

My favorite, favorite, favorite teacher passed away.

I’ve written about her often in these pages. Never by name though. I wish I had.

Loved everything about this woman. She would say “my poet” when she saw me. She kicked my ass and made me better.

I have yet to meet anyone so inspiring.

I wonder if people know how much they impact someone. Like, does she know the McKeesport graduating classes of the past 30 years are in tears today because this amazing woman is no longer on this earth?

Miss you so much, Madame. Thank you for everything you did for me, from our AP English classes, to French lessons, to personal growth exercises and private chats about being a gracious and graceful teenager/high schooler.

I hope I made you proud. I know you’d hate this blog, and I know you’ll see me now and want more for me than what I have now. But know that I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.

My heart …

Thanks, Facebook Memories. I get something like this once a week. 

Miss you, Sia. So, so much. 

Took mom to see “To Joey, With Love” the other night. I dragged my feet going to this movie. But I’m so glad we went. 

It’s the love story of the country singers Joey + Rory. But it’s so much more than that. 

What was meant to be a focus of their homesteading and raising their baby daughter, turned into a beautiful chronicle of their little life as Joey was diagnosed with, and died from, cancer. 

It’s also the best advertisement of how a loving momma nurtures her child with Down syndrome. How all children have value. How Joey loved that smart, sweet baby. 

The joy in all their hearts, every day, struck me. They loved and trusted God every step of the way. Through the life He gave them … from the baby He wanted them to have … to the path He planned for them to take. 

They were lucky to be successful. They were smart to scrimp and save. They could afford their year off. And they could focus 100% on Joey’s treatments and, ultimately, her final months. 

Thy will be done, they sang. This was their journey. 

I thought about how I’d be dragging my IV and port to the office every day in the same situation. Assuming full employment till recovery or death. 

And the “thy will be done” hit me like a ton of bricks. Did God choose this life for me and does He think I’m ungrateful for all the rocks I have to roll up the hill?

I mean, do I aspire to more or do I finally trust Him to guide my next move … Even if it’s to stay in place?

I liked the idea that God chose the baby they were meant to have. That means He picked the family I was supposed to have. And the job. Maybe not the apartment, though …

Or like Rory, the family he was supposed to have for now. Not that he will love again. You can tell, he will never be the same. 

I guess trusting God sure beats trusting humans who have let you down before and who let you down again just 12 hours of leaving the theater. 

There’s a lot to be said for giving your problems up to God and letting them be His to solve. 

I think I lost my faith when a million prayers for mom’s health went unanswered. On the other hand, I still have her. So there’s that. 

I still don’t have anyone else to love or trust. Plenty to hold in downright contempt. And a few I like from my daily interactions to leave behind whom I will miss. 

But faith would tell me better days, things and people are coming. 

My prayer is sooner rather than later, and the strength to thrive in the meantime. 

Yesterday was one of those days when I saw a bunch of colleague-types checking into Faceypages from Bermuda and Europe and others. Meanwhile I checked in at the grand opening of Wawa in Stuart.

To be fair, my experience was way cheaper. I won’t claim it was better and I don’t want to hear anyone play down their fun as it being too fast of a trip or not as fun as they made it look. Would rather they just say it was great and sucks to be you.

I remember thinking it was crazy of one of my places to send me to exotic locales. Mostly because it was very hard for me to pull it off financially. Eating one meal a day wasn’t fun either once I did get there.

But as the lovely Vitamin D put it into perspective for me, it was gracious of Big D to give up his spot for me. Give up his spot. Those words have echoed in my brain for 11 years. He did it for me. He picked me to represent him and everyone else.

I always took trips like that seriously. From no talking politics (honestly!) to always being “on,” even when my work shoes were off.

And for what it’s worth, I need to run back to Stuart today. And I will definitely be hitting Wawa again. I like it that much!

I’m going to buy something I forgot. Have been amassing a collection of sugar-skull decorations and cityscapes. Hot pink and black everywhere. For my next house.

I admit that I am not-nice to Mom sometimes, because I’m always buying HER decorations. Like, every weekend it feels. I always tell her that’s my retirement fund. My cardboard box will be festive for every season with things that are her taste. So it’s a big deal for me to come up with a new theme for my hope chest.

She said something that disturbed me the other day. She said she hopes she lives to see my next home because it’s going to be so well-coordinated.

That wasn’t all. She said, “You’re really going to fly when I’m gone.”

I don’t know about that. I mean, maybe. Possibly. I gots to get ME to Europe, that’s for sure. Unload the two storage units. Get rid of the clothes that don’t fit. Maybe buy some furniture or, better, a new car.

Uncle Tom, I think, was interested in giving us his car. But his daughter is giving it to HER daughter. The one whom he said never looked at him unless her hand was outstretched — looking for money. He worried that I still drive my grandfather’s and Mom doesn’t have a car anymore because of that.

The power of wills, people. Elaine gets it all.

Funny how my family was poor as fuck, but filled with love. I refused money when my family tried to offer it. I knew they were going without food to make sure I didn’t. Of course, they said my assumption was wrong. But it wasn’t. I know that now.

Now all Uncle Tom’s money will go to his ungrateful offspring. But Mom had his love. Somehow I think she got the better end of the deal, though.

Speaking of someone handing me money ($40 once a month, to be exact, during the 1990s), today would be Gram’s 89th birthday. The 17th one in heaven.

I was up most of the night. And doing math in my head. My mom was 42 when her mom died. The same age I am.

I’ve felt Gram’s absence every day. Mom was more of a Daddy’s girl and hasn’t been the same since we lost him 10 Novembers ago. But I was Gram’s favorite. 🙂

So yeah. I don’t know why some people get to have great experieces and money and prestige, but not all people. In some cases, I REALLY don’t. But I appreciate my little life. In fact, I need to appreciate it more.

I think that realization, and having time to DO it, makes me richer than most …