Thursday, August 04, 2005
not a care in the world, not a how, and a why Yeah...that pretty much sums up my life right now. Talk about unpredictable. A big glorious road trip of a life.
no destination, not a cloud in the sky
back on the road not a moment too soon
dish ran away with some other spoon
wicked & weird I'm a road hog with an old dog
singing slow songs trying to hold on
wicked & weird I'm a rat fish
tryin’ to practice doing back flips on your mattress...
Hole in the muffler, ghost on the shoulder
cough drops, loose change in the beverage holder
to roll down the window you gotta use a wrench
I'm thinking about brushing up on my French
Right there in the glove box, if you should look
You'll find forty parking tickets
And a copy of the Good Book
Don't bother looking, you'll never find me
I'm starting from scratch and leaving trouble behind me...
The highway's a story teller, I just write it down
Already been beaten, there's no way to fight it now
I just kick back and keep warm on the cold days
And laugh 'cause it ain't like it was in the old days
I figure when I make it to the heavenly gates
I'll be working on my car and playing 78's...
-Buck 65 - Wicked & Weird
I had a great unweekend. It was short, but sweet. I went to the island with the bro, and I wore my rather orange star shirt that says Pride 2005 on it, just to test out the gay vibes again. It was alright. My brother inquired as to why a straight person would want to wear such a shirt, but I didn't feel like explaining it to him in public like that. I ran into a woman who knew me from when I was her daughter's camp counsellor back in the day, and she was super-friendly and talked to me for a good half hour. I didn't even get any weird looks. Goooooo West Coast of Canada!
However, I started to get a bit depressed halfway through the day. I decided that this was the weekend I was going to "come out" to my parents, or to my mother, at least. My dad always asks a gazillion questions, and it's not like I talk to him about sex or relationships much anyway, so I'll let him get the filtered version from my mom. As for the bro, well, we'll have to have the conversation when he's a little less judgmental about everything I do, from the food I eat, to the music I listen to, to the books I read. I almost told him when we were about thirty feet away from the beach, floating in the ocean today, but I decided against it. I had a ferry to catch, and these things can't be rushed.
I started to worry about telling my mom, not because I thought she'd be closed-minded about it, but because I was worried she'd misinterpret, or think I had chosen this "lifestyle," or something. As it turns out, she didn't. Her first words when I told her were "so, you're thinking of switching teams, then?" That freaked me out a bit, but it turns out she was joking around with the hick expression. Huge sigh of relief. She ended up telling me that she'd had relationships with women back in the day, which I hadn't known at all. She said she worried that my life would be harder because of who I am, but I assured her that there was no changing this, and I sure as hell would rather fight my whole life to maintain my identity than live another day pretending to be straight-as-an-arrow. It is just not worth the pain and the lying.
I am very, very worried about my super-conservative relatives. I simply won't tell them. I love them, all of them, but I cannot deal with their disapproval. They hate gay people. It is that simple. I won't dodge a direct question, and should I have to introduce them to a girlfriend then I'll do what I have to do, but for now I plan to spend as much time as possible amongst the glorious and free people that this country was supposed to hold. The others can take their neo-fundamentalist conservative bullshit and shove it.
I am more stressed out about this than I'd planned to be. Emma's girlfriend said to me on Monday, during our Pride recapping session, that gay people have nothing left to fight for. All we do is celebrate our newfound rights, rather than struggling just to be tolerated. I had to go ahead and disagree with that statement. Sure, I may not be being dragged behind a car because I want to kiss girls, but my relatives will not go quietly into the dark night. There will be eye-rolling and disappointment and Jesus loves you and threats of holy water galore. I'm trying not to think about it. It makes me feel a bit sick to my stomach.
On to better things.
I went to the beach today, the best beach on the island. It took us a full forty minutes to hike to, and there were only three other people on the beach besides us. We couldn't stay long due to the long trek in and out and the unfortunate ferry schedule, but we made the most of the time we had. I rolled out my most excellent straw beach mat, slid out of my board shorts and waaay too small little red Whidbey Island tank top, and lounged for exactly five minutes. There's no sand on this particular beach, just lovely little black and green pebbles, and a blissful absence of sand fleas. Then I picked up a Sleeman's Honey Brown ale, which incidentally is Kylie's favourite beer, and drank it in exactly four and a half minutes. I felt a nice little buzzy feeling, because I'm a lightweight. I went down to the water and successfully skipped five stones into the unbelievably green ocean, outdoing my brother -- whose cockiness on the subject of stone-skipping is clearly misplaced. Then I took off my sandals and all my jewelry (two rings, one from the Boy and one from Mexico, my watch and my rhinestone name bracelet, plus the ankle bracelet with starfish on it that Kylie gave me) and hit the waves. I swam out about fifty or sixty feet. The water was so warm and so salty I could have floated in it all day. After about ten minutes I front-crawled my way back in.
I am not a great swimmer. Nor am I great at beach lounging, normally. But it has been a good summer for me. Being comfortable with myself for the first time ever has translated into my being comfortable in my own skin. For the first time since I was twelve years old, I feel great in a bathing suit, even in my sporty purple two-piece. I haven't a care in the world when I'm lying on the beach.
I have to go back to work tomorrow. That's a bit shitty, but I like Fridays because they're my picture-book reading days and because tomorrow is open-mike night. I actually have to write some more stuff for tomorrow night. Yikes. Writing under pressure is not so smart.
I'm housesitting for the next couple of weeks for a friend of my mom's and her ten-year-old daughter. The little girl, Natalie, is very sweet but also pretty plucky - an excellent combination in a girl her age. She was adopted from Siberia and has gorgeous blue eyes and delicate features. I am also feeeding and, er...entertaining, their hamster, Honey, and some fish and possibly a budgie or two. These are not terribly congenial pets to look after, especially because hamsters have a disturbing proclivity for early demise, as do fish. But I will have a house to myself for a good couple of weeks. It would be sweet to get Kylie to stay with me, or even Jordan if he's in town.
I also ran into a family friend of ours on the ferry, a woman called Jenna who's one half of a very kind and intelligent lesbian couple who's leaving on a European vacation in September. They want me to house-sit for their beautiful house and garden and their curly-tailed cat, Karly. While they do live waaaay out by Little India, I could stand to take in the smells and sights of Ersatz Bombay (um....Mombai?), for a while. Plus I can bike to work. That would be even healthier than my preference for V8 juice.
Speaking of which, I ought to get off my butt and go get some groceries. The rents are still on the island, so I must be self-sufficient this week.
The sky is an absolutely gorgeous shade of purple right now.
That colour, and my seven minutes in the ocean today make me thoroughly glad to be alive.