Solo Cruise Retrospective

It is super humorous to me how I begin each of my posts (as of late) like I’m a fucking Carrie Bradshaw. Like some mega corporation is paying me to write about my adventures, pretending it’s not just me putting out my own fucking “brand.” (God that’s ridiculous: brand.) Each of these posts I start off as professional as I can, as if my editors want pizazz and intrigue to hook my readers. Like I have any…

I get about two paragraphs in and I feel so inauthentic. I don’t like how I sound or how I will be perceived. Then I delete whatever bullshit I typed out and drop this bizarre facade I don and then write how I truly feel; how it exists in my head.

Maybe this is just my technique? I need to broom out the cobwebs before I can get to my real “shine.”

Despite my prior post “waking up panicked,” the cruise was fantastic. I made some very fast friends (who I lovingly referred to as my Homo Homies) the first night on the ship at the LGBTQ meet-up/mixer. They accompanied me on my misadventures and I on theirs. I did lose my shit in one of the ports because I had reached my limit in regards to noise and being bothered. What I learned is I am not a “Vacation Port Town” person. I wish I could be like my cruise companion Christian. He gave zero fucks. His casual existence was so refreshing. He just went with the flow. As much as I tried, I have a point of being “over” whatever we may have been in the midst of doing.

I told my brother when I got home that I was at least proud of myself for knowing this and removing myself before my new pals got to see the ugly side of me; the spoiled only child that WILL throw a fit when he’s had enough. I like to think that is growth. Unfortunately for those who have been permanently adopted into my inner circle, I do not offer that luxury. They get me at my ugliest. Sorry, gals.

I would absolutely do another solo cruise. It was fun being by myself. I didn’t have to worry about anyone else. Just me. My own fun. Not like I don’t already do that. I seem to surround myself with those who cater to my every whim. It’s weird. Without them I didn’t have the worry/anxiety that I get that they’re just agreeing with me because they don’t want to upset me or give me what I want. Y’know, to avoid seeing the side only they get the “pleasure” of witnessing?

My only real regret was not recognizing my “friendly personality.” I genuinely thought I wasn’t going to make any friends, so I signed up for my favorite writing competition. As a result… I ended up stressed about competing and completing my assignment. I shouldn’t have, but I can never say no to the chance of flexing my skills. I love writing. (Clearly… ) What I don’t love is that this wasn’t my best. It was done for the sake of “getting it done.” Which means that it didn’t get the attention it deserved. If I place in the Top 15 it’ll be a fucking miracle.

One of the port towns I want to go back to is Puerto Vallarta. I’d love to spend a week there in the “gayborhood.” However… with the way shit is going I might not be able to. God… I hate this fucking place.

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.

Plan to not have one

It would figure that the day I sat down and actually mapped out our upcoming road trip that my template would get tossed aside. It’s the irony of my life. However, while it is irritating it is for the better.

We have been anticipating this road trip to Nashville since March. (Maybe even February, that whole memory thing though.) Initially, I had outlined a road map with one route but that got set aside because the husband wants to do two. And when the boyfriend joins us, mid-way through, he didn’t want to do the “southern” route. To be frank, I don’t want to do that one either. It’s all Texas. No offense to Texas, but the lone star state in mid-summer… hard pass.

So it was decided that we would do the southern route to Nashville first. That way we could make a stop-off in Dallas to visit the brother-huband’s close aunt. Now, that isn’t even happening.

The husband opined that there was a reason we were dragging our feet. We knew subconciously that it was going to change. That may be true, but I chock it up to us being lackadaisical about any sort of planning and preperation. Charlie just flies by the seat of his pants. I need (at least) an outline. I used to be one that needed a specific plan, one in which we stick strictly to and do not deviate from. That type of mentality does not mesh well with my husband’s typical approach to anything. It’s probably the reason we had such a hard go in those early years. I was trying to force him to do it my way and ended up frustrated at him when he didn’t.

I have since adapted. My husband and general life has taught me that plans are a joke. They typically never work out, and usually the bright spots are ones you cannot plan.

We’re still going on this trip it has just been bumped.

The reason it was moved is that we need to be in Los Angeles for the first dose of the ALS trial drug a week after we were scheduled to set out. I really wish they could have given him the first dose on Tuesday, but they needed to get him vaccinated for meningitis. There is a high risk he could contract it while on the trial drug. He already has ALS, let’s not add to the list.

Plus, it works out that I get to be there to see how to go about doing the injections. This way they can show me and the brother-husband how to do the injections and give us the medication we need going forward. (Side note: I fu-hucking hate needles.)

I wish I could remember the name of the one he’s taking, but (again) I was in two places at once on Tuesday and didn’t pay any attention. What I do know is that the potential of this drug (if he’s in the 75% who get the real medication) is will slow the progression and has a possibility of reversing some of the side effects of ALS. While I hope with every fiber of my being that it can undo some of it, I am not naive. In these situations it’s best to be realistic. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.

A Week Away

It’s quickly winding down and by in a weeks time I will be on my way to London. As my husband pointed out last night we have planned nothing. That’s right, Charles, we have not. I have set certain things I want to do, but otherwise I’m not creating an agenda for myself. The only thing I want to do is on my birthday and that’s to be in Oxford to visit the grave of C. S. Lewis. (The man is my idol, despite our very contrary dogmatic views.)

While I am so excited to return to (so far) my most favorite city in the world, I am equally as scared. Yeah, the ten hour flight has me sweating, but my fear stems primarily from that fact that we are Broke. I sold my stocks today to get a little bit of cash and let me give you a tip, don’t keep looking after you’ve sold whatever you own. Trust me. I have a couple new credit cards to bridge a little bit of the gap but that makes it to where I have a grand total of $4,000 USD to play with. At this point I don’t know what my husband is bringing to the table. He doesn’t want to admit it but he’s cagey about money. Don’t let him lie to you and say he’s not. And I feel I should note that it’s $4,000 considering that I max out my new credit card which Capital One stupidly gave to me. (Suckers!)