June 16, 2023

A Snowball Straight to Hell

Dude… the world is going to shit. I am astounded at the depths the Republican Party will sink in their quest to… what? I have no idea what the end goal is. I don’t understand. Are they sowing hate and division because they’re actively trying to start a civil war? Have they been corrupted by and actively working for a foreign power? Or is it that their platform has nothing to offer the everyday person that they get them riled up about shit that doesn’t concern them? Whatever the reason it’s finally reached me in my personal life.

It started as an innocent question. One of my co-workers, who knows I boycott hate-chicken, asked me if I was going to stop going to Starbucks because of their new policy that the stores must remove pride decorations effective immediately. I just groaned and said, “I don’t know.” As I took a sip from my iced mocha from the bucks.

From there it quickly devolved into a tirade by him that I would respond with (or attempt to) a different perspective. He was hitting all the same Fox News misinformation talking points. One that stuck out to me was he reiterated this bs point my niece had said to me about a little kids “tucking bathing suits.” Like it did the first time I had heard it, I immediately thought “that is bullshit.” But I won’t speak on something unless I know for a doubt. And I can’t even remember the last time I went into a Target store. So I answered with “if that’s true then just don’t buy it.” Then he gave me some ridiculous thing “about the kids.” Which is funny to me because this the same guy who made a point to showcase his NRA hat in the office parking lot so I would see it, (this was after I had made some comment, to my husband on the phone, by the way) and has no problem with “the little guys” getting murdered at school. So. Spare me the bullshit about “the kids.” Literally, the number one killer of kids in this country is guns.

This conversation escalated to a point where he made a “veiled threat” that I “didn’t want to make him mad.” That’s when I freaked out. Okay. That’s the end of it. And I shut down. However he clearly had an ax to grind and wanted to use it, so he kept going.

The second half of the conversation was him telling me what I have experienced in life. Like, how I didn’t know I was gay when I was a kid. One, I did. But two, the other kids who teased and bullied me, they called me faggot and gay way before I even knew. I VIVIDLY remember the moment I asked my mom what gay was. She explained it to me. I sat quiet for a moment and then said “maybe I am.” This was at 7 fucking years old. Her negative overreaction made me backpedal so fast, I should have gotten whiplash.

This argument crescendoed into him angrily asking me if I had ever been bullied. This was after I tried to answer all of his “questions,” yet he didn’t want to hear them. He just wanted to rant.

Finally he let me answer and I told him, “honestly, dude, I feel bullied right now.”

This dude exploded. He stormed through the office, slamming drawers and the front door, shouting. For the life of me I don’t remember what he said because I just wanted this to be over with. I am NOT a confrontational person. I like to think I am but I am ultimately a coward.

He left and I was dumbfounded. Never in my 20 years of employment had I ever experienced anything like that. Ever. Yeah I knew that there were people who didn’t like me. Sure. But never had I been subjected to this. It was unhinged.

I wasn’t going to say anything to my “boss.” If he asked where he was I would just say “give him a call.” I wanted him to explain it.

Up until yesterday I genuinely thought we were buds. He had until then been super sweet and this behavior was super uncharacteristic of what I had seen. So I can only draw two conclusions, he was riled up about some bullshit these people are peddling to rile up “the base” or he is bipolar. And I want to immediately state there is nothing wrong with that. At all. I am not shaming him. It’s just now I know.

He returned, calmer headed, and I immediately apologized. I should have stopped it after the first half by saying “hey we’re both heated, let’s not talk about this anymore.” But I didn’t. I instead chose to make this a “learning moment” because I stupidly thought I could offer my friend a different perspective. He just didn’t want one.

At the end of the day he had apologized to me twice. Once after I had and the other before he left, slapping me on the back.

I am just at a loss. I’m super depressed. The office used to be my one safe place. My one “haven” where I had some control. That’s all gone. I’m shutting up and shutting down. Work will just be me clickety-clacketing away while I listen to music or podcasts.

After I had apologized he had the nerve to say “well I don’t want this to stop you from talking about your life.” Oh, you mean my life that is “political?” Sure, jan.

My favorite part was, “I have gay friends.” No you fucking don’t, bitch. You have stand-ins, props. Either that or you have the faggots that try so hard to please their heterosexual counterparts to “fit in.” They thrive on your approval. I on the other hand do not give a shit. I learned at a very young age that my peers approval was temporary and situational.

My boss spoke with me and him. He said to keep “politics” and religion out of the office. You got it, boss! You can count on me.

June 2, 2023

On Repeat in My Head

The hubby and I have had many odd adventures throughout our nearly 20 years together. The weirder and more bizarre the better. They are the stories we tell when we’re drunk with friends or strangers. And I try and stick to the actual events as much as possible, because nothing is more disingenuous than fabricating details of a story to try and make it funny. It’s why I could never be a comedian. I can’t lie about details for the sake of a laugh.

I have this habit of putting a single song on repeat for hours, until the song holds little to no meaning for me. What I have discovered in my many TikToks is this is a habit of people with ADHD. Well, you pegged me again, you creepy app. Since last night I have been obsessed with a YouTube video of an unreleased Taylor Swift song. I don’t quite understand why this one didn’t make the cut for her album, it is truly phenomenal and I am OBSESSED. I’d post it here but I don’t want it to somehow get caught by the TSMachine and have them remove it. My queen should just release it! But she’s probably just waiting to do so with Lover Taylor’s Version. Sneaky gal.

Todays obsession reminded me of my first trip to London for my Honeymoon/Birthday. We dove head first into this trip without any careful planning. All we had on the agenda was our stay, a trip to Leavesden to experience the sets of Harry Potter (a different time kids), and we had purchased the “London Pass.” Nothing more. Which is kind of our M.O., honestly. I personally feel like that is the best way to travel because it always results in the weirdest stories. As in this one…

Charlie had asked “what are the most ‘English’ things you can do?” And the most obvious and desperately pathetic was to have “authentic” fish and chips. Of course we’ve had them here, but I thought maybe (just maybe) they were different in the land in which is originated. And… It did not disappoint.

The newly minted husband researched and found a place that was supposedly “the best fish and chips in London.” Obviously they had given themselves that name because… Dear god.

We grabbed a black cabby and made our way across town to a residential neighborhood to go to this hole in the wall restaurant. We walked in and the fry cook was listening to this sad, somber song at ear splitting levels. We made our order and then went and sat on the right side of the shop which I thought was this huge dining area. Oh no. It was this thin strip of space, with a counter attached to the wall with a full length mirror immediately above.

“This is going to be fun,” I had said, gesturing to my reflection. “I get to watch myself as I eat!”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.”

As we waited the sound level of the music was undeterred. At least it was an okay song. I have a tendency of getting easily irritated with music I do not like.

We got our fish and began eating. That’s when we became abundantly clear that the scales were still on the unbattered side of the fish.

“Oh my god,” I said, showing him the steely-gray side of my meal.

“Oh, that’s weird,” Charlie said, “Maybe that’s just… No. Mine too. Maybe that’s just how they do it.”

“Well, they’re doing it wrong.”

He chuckled, “Is that so? The place that originated-“

“Yes.”

As we picked it at our fish, trying to avoid the scales and the reflection of our grimaces in the mirror, it became abundantly clear that the song that had been playing when we walked in was on repeat. I started to laugh to myself as I concocted this elaborate story in my head how the fry cook was going through a recent break-up and just could not stop listening to this song.

I imagined the cashier reaching their limit and turning to him, “Oy, Trev, please play anything else. I beg of you!”

And Trevor would continue on, frying fish and singing along to the song. (Did I mention the fry cook had been singing along to the multiple repeats?)

The two of us couldn’t stand looking at ourselves eat this scaly fish any longer, while Trevor went through the motions, so we headed out onto the street and walked back to our hotel.

This is where I fell even more in love with the city. (Side note, it was guy fox day.) The gentle orange glow of the street lamps lit our way, as we passed by an old, old, old cemetery and a couple of boys who were kissing and hugging until they saw us coming their way. I wanted to say “Don’t worry, boys, this is my husband.”

Now that I have successfully bored you with my lackluster story, I will return to my repeated listen to “Need” by Taylor Swift. Please, excuse me.

May 24, 2023

One More Loss…

Well it’s official, after a 2 year journey to get my parents’ house cleaned out and spruced up, it is no longer ours. It belongs to a whole new family, who I hope will make wonderful memories of their own. With any luck they will get just as much joy as it brought my mother.

One of the things she would repeatedly say to me, as her dementia worsened, was that she was going to die in that house because it’s where “my husband died and my mom died.” Both of them, including my mother, passed in hospitals. So, I don’t know where she got that idea. Yet, it did just occur to me, that it was my mother’s garbledegook she spoke. It wasn’t that they had died, it was where they had lived. The house brought her joy and comfort.

After my mom had lost the ability to swallow, I contemplated having her moved to her house to fulfill her wishes. I feel terrible that I didn’t. It would have brought her so much joy to be there when she passed. But all I could think about was her dying in the house, and me having to disclose it. Then there is the fact that the move may have been too much for her, and on top of that it wouldn’t have been cheap. Also, I would have had to stay there with her, which wouldn’t have been a problem, but it would have put all the pressure on the brother-husband to take care of Charlie.

It is this exact scenario in which my husband has outlined his wishes for his final days. He’s seen how I blame and beat myself up for doing all the wrong things. Even years after my dad’s death I still doubt my decisions. I feel like I made all of the wrong ones. To avoid that, he had a frank conversation with Tony and I about what he wanted. We also filled out his advanced directive. (Every time I think of it I always call it ‘prime directive.’ Without fail.)

Now, with my childhood home gone all I need to focus on is caring for my polycule, specifically my husband. Once he has gone I will have officially lost everything related to “my youth.” I will enter into the next stage of middle age.

May 22, 2023

The Night is Growing

I am unfortunately sinking into a depression. I can feel it in my chest, every bit of progress it makes. And the only way I could even describe the sensation is this image from Game of Thrones. It’s when Dany goes into a scalding hot bath and, her eyes fixed blankly forward, just slowly goes into until she’s submerged.

The unfortunate thing is I want to write. I want to specifically talk about these feelings and try and work through them. Though when faced with the reality to do it, I hesitate. Trying to get myself to move past these emotions is a herculean task. And I have things to discuss, topics I want to hit, but I just lack any motivation.

Lately, the only “motivation” I have had is to “run away.” When I think of… Where things will inevitably conclude with my husband, I imagine myself just taking off for a month and driving the country solo. When I had voiced this desire to Charlie, he brought up a very, very good point, “what about my family?” Being the knight I long to believe I am, I realized that wasn’t an option. At least, not for awhile.

So, the desire lingered, but frustration was attached to it. Sometimes I pull out this “want” whenever I delve into my misery, and today a new emotion floated up. What do I do in these towns? I thought I would just sight-see but alone. I will be alone. That realization brought me pause. Is this something I really want to do? Yeah, it sounds like a good idea now, as the tide is rising, but no matter how much space is put between me and home, the water travels with me.

I notoriously don’t know how I will respond until I am in that moment. I like to think that I have a frim grasp of my emotions, but I am a mystery even unto myself. Things I always thought would upset me, when faced with it, I was fine.

The other day, I was doing a re-watch of “Dungeon & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves” and there is a line that my husband croaked back at me.

“That’s you,” he said.

“What is?”

“You are at your strongest when you think you’re at your weakest,” he restated the line to me.

Right now I don’t feel very strong. I really do feel weak. I’m worn out. And I don’t know if losing these things that have caused me anxiety will be good or not. For instance, tomorrow is the day we are supposed to close on the sale of my parents house. My childhood home. I’ve said my goodbyes to it (y’know, like a weirdo) and I am looking forward to it no longer being a drain on my limited resources. But then it occurred to me, this is just one more loss from “my childhood.”

Once my husband passes I will be in a new age. Everything from my youth will have been taken from me. It is the natural progression of things, but… when faced with it I am just overwhelmed.

Which is why I think I’ll fix my eye to the horizon and just keep driving. I’ll take a month off of work and just run… But most likely, I won’t.