The Second Worst Christmas

Seems I’m leaning toward writing about seconds, more specifically the second worst things in my life. Am I saving the worst things for last? Seems that way. But I will write about the longest day of my life, and the worst Christmas I promise. They’re at least a fun read.  Someone once told me my life is like a movie with too many plot twists and turns to be real. I wish. The worst Christmas is a long drawn out saga of travel and adventure…haha. But it did have a happy ending, sorta.

But let’s talk about the Second Worst Christmas. Apologies for the shorter length of this, I’m in a fight at the moment.  Nothing new, just my body is waging war against an invader, yet to be identified.  Whatever is happening, it’s like I’m an innocent bystander who is forced to endure an ever worsening fight with pain, inflammation and severe nausea.  The pain in my gut is crippling, and I’m relegated to laying in bed all day, stopping every so often for a cig and more ginger ale..

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Coming Out to My Kids (or the Second longest Day of My Life)

I have a great fear of rejection I suppose.  That might be enough to write a separate post all on its own, why that developed over the years.  It  might be a symptom of PTSD, or being queer, or my relationship with my father. Who knows what really.  Maybe the fear of rejection comes from moving every year in grade school, and having to try to blend in and make friends.

I noticed it occurring this week again, as demonstrated by my inability to look at a post I made on Facebook.  Just like the email sent to my kids 2 years ago, living in fear of what they would say.    

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