Truths of Escapism

I genuinely hate the horror genre. That is the one gay stereotype that seems to have skipped me. Got the rest though, so relax. I just don’t see it’s appeal. And it’s not because of the gore, I have watched a many action film with enough blood and guts to fill an oil tanker. I just don’t enjoy being stressed. The idea that people are fighting for their lives and at constant risk is not the escape I want. In fact it’s nothing like that. Films, books, comics, video games, are meant to be a break from the reality we are experiencing. Well, for most of my life it has been mostly anxiety and stress that jumping into a movie where the hero may or may not live is not something I want to indulge in.

All of this was brought about because I watched “The Fall of the House of Usher.” It was a fantastic show, but I had to hide behind my hands from some of the more graphic moments. There was only one that truly made me want to vomit, and that was in the second goddamn episode. I told myself, “this is the first one… I can’t imagine them getting tamer.” Surprisingly they did for the most part. I learned after seeing the episode that the first two were featured at some film festival and then it all clicked.

After that the gore was significantly toned down. The only one that genuinely made me uncomfortable (after the human soup) was not so much gory but psychologically unnerving. I saw far too many parallels between one of the bed bound characters and my husband. It made me feel for him moreso because of how vulnerable he is. Luckily he is in the hands of a self-proclaimed and wannabe “white knight.” (I wish I had the photo of me pretending to be Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty from when I was 2 to include.) The helplessness of the character just made me sick.

There’s a moment when the husband of this bed-bound character starts to shout “Where’s your wedding ring?” So I started doing that to my husband as a joke. He hasn’t worn his since he lost 150 lbs. It wouldn’t stay on his finger and so he took it off because he’d rather have it at home than lose it without noticing. Now only I know where the “one ring” lays hidden.

I think that’s why the river of my writing runs in the valley of adventure, only forking once to journey into the ravine of non-fiction and self-reflection. Life is scary enough, that horror just isn’t in my wheelhouse. To those that do, kudos, and good luck. I appreciate your talents, however I will not indulge because to do so only causes me anxiety.

Fucking Over It.

It’s fairly certain, at least to me, that homophobia is drastically on the rise. The rhetoric surrounding our culture has once again looped us into being pedophiles (as opposed to their religious leaders and coaches who have been caught multiple times) and it’s genuinely scaring me. Having my little scrape within my own bubble popped me out of my delusion.

I will be the first to admit that as far as homophobia goes I haven’t really had anything done directly to me. Sure, when I was a kid they were the ones to tell me I was a faggot (before I even knew what it was) but since then it’s been relatively mild. Just the “political” stuff. Oh, and my mother disowning me and treating me and my husband rudely.

Other than that I haven’t come across anything “scary,” for lack of a better term.

As noted in my previous posts, that is no longer the case. Now I am hyper-focused on every little piece of news that references our community. What I have seen is quite chilling.

Now I don’t want to be the one screaming “the sky is falling!” when it’s not but… The sky is fucking falling bitches. Hopefully I’m wrong but, it is what it is.

I think the thing about the whole situation is that all these fucks are “so concerned about the kids” but choose to ignore the deep cuts to school funding, climate change is rearing it’s ugly head, and statistically the number one killer of children is guns. Do they bother to focus on of those issues “for the children?” Nah. It’s drag queens. Drag queens and gays are the issue here.

So, to make sure I don’t lose my mind completely I have been actively working on the subtle art of “not giving a fuck.” Haven’t read the book yet, but I am trying to accept the things I cannot change. Which is basically everything in my life.

Old Wounds, New Blood

It’s amazing how one never really gets over childhood trauma. One could spend copious amounts of time in therapy and working through it and it still finds a way to rear its ugly head.

The weekend after my first workplace “bullying” I kept complaining about it. Growing angrier as I recounted the story and even more anxious as it ruminated in my unending thoughts.

Then during a blur of verbal vomit I spat out the nugget of truth. I was hurt that once again, after I believed someone was my friend they betrayed me.

When I was a kid, and even still, I was so desperate for friends that I gave too much of myself. I’d do things for them, but then things, and tell them my deepest darkest secrets all in an effort to forge some kind of friendship. The problem with that kind of behavior is you tend to attract a lot of unscrupulous people. Which I did.

I was burnt and betrayed many times over my youth that I put up really high walls and a prize winning RBF that I continue to wear to this moment. It was a way of warding people away from me. And even though I was short I was broad as a preteen. (Aka I was a fatty.) Coupled with the mean mug I was thoroughly unapproachable.

This whole incident shoved me right back there, where I feel like an idiot and never want to feel that way again.

Tell Me More About Me

Ever since Orlando we have been on the road home. We had intended to have a longer stop there, so I could go to the Magic Kingdom, but we cut it short so we could meet my in-laws in New Orleans. Unfortunately their flight was cancelled and they never made it. (Bummer.) We would have had a lot of fun. I love my in-laws.

So with an extra day in New Orleans we were left with a lot of time to fill. All of which was spent in the French quarter.

While parts of it are derelict and ugly, it still maintained this beauty that I cannot quite explain. Aside from the smell on Bourbon Street. It was pungently sour and I could not place it.

“That’s vomit,” my brother-husband informed me with a confidence I could not argue with.

And seeing as how we were on Bourbon Street, that tracked.

All of our trips are pretty much dictated by food. As I’ve gotten older I’ve deviated from the husband to be more of a sites and experience guy. I think because I pack on weight like I’m heading into the harshest winter in existence and food will be scarce.

My husband was adamant on trying gumbo, jambalaya and even a po’boy. But once the two boys learned it was seafood they were out. They don’t eat anything that comes from the ocean. I’m okay with it when it’s battered and deep fried.

Lacking any real direction we wandered the quarter and then did a walking ghost tour with this adorable guide who made me smile every time she did her “fuuuuuuuuun fact!” She lunged foreword on one foot and did excited jazz hands, jangling her jumble of steel bracelets.

The other thing we did was visit the shop if the famous voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. It was quite the tourist stop. There were all sorts of magical things, rocks, potions, candles, alligator feet. As we were waiting for the brother-husband to find a voodoo doll to get his step mom, my husband turns to me and says “let’s get a psychic reading!”

This is not anything my husband has ever wanted to do. However being in the shop his enthusiasm was understood.

So, since I didn’t get the psychic reading I had wanted to do in Salem, I thought here would be even better.

“Yeah? Let’s do it.”

The gentleman was meek, small framed with blonde hair. He had on a tight black shirt that went to his mid thigh with woven fabric on the sleeves. He was definitely playing the part of a mystic. It was fun. He took us through a door with a combo handle to a tiny little wood cubicle. In it was a small table and two chairs. My husband could barely fit into it with his power chair but we made it work.

He took my hand and started.

“So, the diabetes skipped your generation.” It was both a question and a statement.

“Yeah,” I said. I was shocked because if that was a guess it was a good one.

“And you had a lot of ear infections as a kid, those are all better?”

“Yeah.”

He proceeded to tell me everything about me. Later, when I asked my husband about the reading he said, “he had you pegged perfectly.”

And he did. I just didn’t know if it was my own interpretation of the moment or real. Getting his confirmation made me feel better.

He proceeded to tell me many different random facts that had no correlation. It was almost as if he was skimming the page of my life and retelling me in this sort of stream of consciousness.

I would never leave California. I’d travel a lot but never leave. I’d have a son; and a daughter. Both adopted. And that I would start school again in the spring.

That one was weird cause I’m like… I don’t see that happening. However… since then it has become very clear that if I want to move into a better role at work I have to go back to school. My husband said the psychic, Phillip, said I’d be going back to study math.

I don’t remember the specifics of how it came up but I told him I was married and he looked genuinely perplexed.

“Do you have someone on the side?” He says point blank.

I bark a laugh, give this wry smile, and say “yeah. You could say that.”

I proceed to tell him the dynamics of my and my husbands relationship.

For whatever reason he did not pick up that I was referring to Charlie.

“You will never get divorced.” He said matter-of-factly. “And your boyfriend isn’t going anywhere.”

(My husband said that Phillip stated that “he wouldn’t go anywhere until I got bored with him” and I genuinely don’t remember that.)

He stops my reading there and reaches out and lays a hand on my husbands knee. He proceeds to tell him that he’s not leaving the chair. (“Duh,” I thought. By the way, we did not give him details of my husbands diagnosis.) He said that there were many doctors appointments for my husband in the future. And that he was going to start an experimental treatment that was going to improve it. Which… is a stretch.

The number one thing that stood out to me about his reading was that he told my husband he wasn’t going to die any time soon.

Some highlights that tickled me, were when he said that my mother would never remarry and was content in her small space. He was right but not in the context he was telling me this information.

When I told my in-laws about this they were convinced he looked up my social media. And he may have, but the fact that it took him a concerning amount of time to comprehend that charlie was my husband was odd. I made multiple references to him as my husband. He eventually picked it up but… it was strange. The other thing is the details he told me, his good guesses, is not info I have EVER or would EVER share here. I mean, I have now in the context of this retelling, but at no point have I shared the medical facts he told me.

We were both thoroughly pleased with it. Absolutely worth the price. If you ever find yourself in the French Quarter, get a psychic reading from Phillip.

I would like to add that I am someone who does believe this stuff. There are things in this world no one can explain. And rather than attribute it to some higher being I give the credit to the immense power of the universe. Some may also call that god, but I do not. And I don’t think psychics can tell the future. I think they’re more interpreters of energy. I think Philip just read what he felt from our interaction.