Category: racism

Baby The Rain Must Fall

Work at home Friday! I have a doctor’s appointment later on today, and I may run some errands after that, but for the most part I am going to be here at home, hunkering down and doing my data entry and my quality assurance; tedious chores, to be sure–but much more bearable when done in the comfort of my own home wearing my sweats and Sparky sleeping on the desk between the keyboard and the computer. I also have chores to do when I need a break from the computer. It’s going to be easier from now on to stay away from social media, because it is definitely not good for my mental health. I have to stop wishing bad things on bad people, for one–the fact they flourish, to me, shows there is no God (which is easy to believe once you pay attention to the so-called “godly” here on this plane)–their soulless emptiness should be enough punishment for me.

Besides, I’m not the one who worships a jealous, vindictive God of wrath and punishment.

I guess my posts since I got home from Kentucky have upset some people–who saw themselves in them, and now I’m supposed to absolve them and relieve their guilty consciences. That isn’t going to happen. I’m tired of ignoring your thoughtless cruelty, and I’m not going to be the bigger person and let you off the hook so you can feel better about yourself. Everyone loves to talk the talk, and “oh Greg we love you you’re so smart and funny and kind and a joy to be around” and pat themselves on their backs about what good people they are, so inclusive! We’re not like those horrible people! But when that so-called friend basically called me a pedophile and a groomer (not me specifically; just all queer people shouldn’t be allowed around children) exactly two people on Twitter defended me. Two. Two people called her out and basically had to lead her by the hand to see what a fucking bitch she was being to me. She even reached out to mutual friends to make sure I didn’t hate her. She was very sorry, you see. She would have never said such things “if (she’d) only known.” Well, when a gay man angrily tweets that he’s very tired of such horrific lies, why the fuck would you reply agreeing with the lies? Oh, honey. Would you forgive someone who called you a horrible mother and unsafe around children? IN PUBLIC, for everyone to see?

It’s very nice to no longer give two shits about coddling fragile straight people and their privilege. I’ve not even come remotely close to talking about how abusive you people can be without a care or a thought in the world (because queers don’t have feelings and aren’t really people, and I should just be grateful people talk to me in the first place and have deigned to tolerate me within their midst). Sorry, I’m not going to pat your pointy little heads and reassure you that you’re not one of the bad people. That’s not my job in life, and I am fucking exhausted centering your massive egos and your thin skins so you can just keep sailing through life with your casual, thoughtless cruelty and your absolute lack of concern for anyone outside of your own demographic group. If you want to make us feel welcomed, maybe stop making gay jokes and accusing everyone you don’t like of being gay? I guess y’all aren’t creative enough–despite being writers–to come up with something else?

So, your careless cruelty is also lazy.

How does it feel to be criticized honestly and not let off the hook for your actions rather than the phony collegial courtesy you offer to me? How will I ever feel safe around people capable of such dishonesty? How will I ever know for sure you don’t laugh at me when I walk away? How can I trust straight people ever again? How would you feel if you found out what people really think about people like you by reading it in a public forum? Well, I know now what side you were on in the 80s and 90s, don’t I?

I guess I should be grateful you weren’t afraid breathing the same air as a gay man would give you HIV, right?

Another reason I need to get off social media entirely is I’m so tired of people exposing themselves in this crime “community” I was so pathetically desperate to be a part of. One of my mantras since I first started trying to fit in has always been “don’t keep score.” Yesterday I was on one of the social media sites where people are doing “starter packs”–people to follow for the new users. I saw one by someone I know yesterday and clicked on it, the way I always do to look for friends to follow, and it struck me as I scrolled through the list I’ve never been on one of these and as I continued to scroll through Mr. Straight Man’s list and noticed that they were only two queers out of about forty writers on the list and they were both women. Straight men, you see, will never recommend a gay male author to anyone lest someone think maybe he’s gay curious and so the queer women are always safe to mention to get their inclusive points and show everyone how “woke” they are. The person, whom I first heard of when one of the truly horrible straight women community-adjacent pulled a racism on him out of nowhere (she basically called him, and all racialized people, illiterate. Horrified by this, I immediately ordered his books and started following him on social media. I saw him in person at the next Bouchercon, and was going to walk up to him and introduce myself to him in the bar. All I was able to get out was “Hi, I’m–” with my hand stuck out when he gave me a very cold, dismissive look–his face curled in revulsion, and turned his back to me. It didn’t register to me as anything other than odd–stupid me forgot that when people don’t know who I am, all they see is disgusting faggot get away from me. It wasn’t the first or last time something like that has happened–and then later when someone introduces us they’re cordial but distant. It didn’t occur to me until yesterday as I read his “oh so woke” starter pack that yes, indeed, he could tell I was gay and was revolted that I would try to introduce myself to him–probably was worried I was going to hit on him (seriously, straight guys. Do you honestly think a gay man wants to fuck someone who doesn’t understand anal hygiene? Sorry, not into having shit on my dick, thanks). But when one of our mutual acquaintances did introduce us–and he knew then who I was, he at least pretended to be glad to meet me. I’ve actually had straight men I’ve introduced myself to (who got away as quickly as they could) apologize later and said “I didn’t realize who you were.”

Because that makes your initial behavior acceptable? You only treat gay men nicely when they’re somebody you think matters1?

Just goes to show, minority male writers are just as homophobic as white ones, if not more so. So much for intersectionality.

And there was that book everyone told me I should read by an up-and-coming writer who used homophobic slurs on page one. Yes, guys, I really love paying for a book and seeing the word faggot used derisively on page one. The irony that the book was one of the initial titles in a press’ new “diversity line”? Showed me that that publishing house was okay with homophobic language, and that diversity commitment was very insincere. I’d actually thought about pitching them! So, I guess I should be grateful my straight friends told me to read a homophobic book, so I didn’t waste my time pitching to a homophobe.

Grim thoughts on a grim Friday morning as the country teeters on the edge of the abyss.

I guess some straight white people finally learned how it feels to be hated by the majority of the country.

And I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Friday, queer people. Straight people are on their own.

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  1. Joke’s on you, dude–you were nice to someone who is reminded on the daily by my “colleagues” that I am anything other than a non-entity second or third class human. ↩︎

Tired of Waiting for You

Thursday morning and my last day in the office for the week. It’s not been a bad week at the office, and of course, seeing my clients always ground me from everything else. I may not be able to change the world or affect hearts and minds on a large scale, but I do make a difference in their lives–and helping people on the smaller, one to one scale, is very rewarding. Back in the days before PrEP and undetectable viral loads, my job was to find new infections and get those people set up with treatment and medical care. That was difficult, and while rewarding, it was also emotionally draining. My job taught me the importance of listening to people’s fears and concerns while only responding with kindness and empathy. Even now, finding out that you’re HIV positive is severely traumatizing for people; and while members of my community are more knowledgeable about risk, infections, and preventive measures to keep themselves safe…it’s still a shock to the system, and it’s vitally important for their mental health that you talk them down and keep them from spiraling into depression and despair. Being kind and reassuring in that moment is crucial…and giving them self-empowering messaging about their health and body in the wake of a positive diagnosis makes a huge difference. I generally don’t talk about my work because people tend to idealize it–being told “thank you for the important work you do” always makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t feel like this work gives me any moral authority about anything other than the history of HIV/AIDS and how we’ve been treated by Americans as a whole. Sometimes I wonder if my job is a way of atoning for surviving those times and never being infected when so many good people died, but I know I wish I could have been even more there for the friends I lost–for everyone we lost.

Of course, they have all been pretty on edge this week. They’re worried about their access to PrEP; what insurance companies are going to be allowed to do (whatever they want, the way it was before the ACA), and whether we will still be funded to provide the services that we do. All I can do is shrug and say “well, this organization was founded during the Reagan administration, and we survived George W. Bush…”

I never thought I’d miss that presidency.

My job has actually been a wonderful education in examining my own prejudices and biases, and also realizing that everyone is the same, no matter what color their skin or what their native language is or what their gender or sexual identity might be. Everyone taking an HIV test is terrified–even with all the advances in treatment and prevention–and it’s my job to provide a warm, welcoming and friendly place to lesson their fears about the entire process and how it might go. If I had a dollar for every time I said, “It’s okay to be nervous or afraid, even if you’re pretty certain you’re not infected” I wouldn’t have to worry about retiring anymore, would I?

I should take my own advice more, you know? I am not a fan of conflict–which is why I try to avoid it whenever possible; my mother was the same way, and even with the anxiety medications I’m on that have made my life so much easier than it used to be, I’ve still been spiking since the election (big shock), but it’s not as horrible as it used to be, and those anxiety spikes are easier to get under control then they’ve ever been before. Imagine what a wreck I would be without it! Perish that thought, you know?

I’ve also not written anything besides blog entries, some emails, and a couple of essays for Substack this week, and I really need to circle around back to my book this weekend. This week is already toast for all intents and purposes, but being done wasting my time watching college football on the weekends is going to free up a lot of time. Most of college football players, coaches, and fans are all MAGA anyway; and I’m not even sure I can bother watching the Saints anymore since most of the NFL owners, players and coaches are as well–at least the white ones. I actually took comfort last weekend in the embarrassing loss in knowing that most of the other people disappointed in that game voted for the monsters, and it actually made me smile. Good, I thought when it occurred to me, I hope they’re all embarrassed and upset and angry and heartbroken. Then they’ll get to experience one tenth of what marginalized people in this country have been feeling since the election, even though they won’t learn a fucking thing from it.

They never learn. And while I know it doesn’t speak well to me as a person, I do smile and enjoy it when they suffer. Someday I might be able to dredge up sympathy who laughed as they slit the nation’s throat.

Then again, this isn’t the country I was raised to believe in anymore. It never was that country, and apparently has no interest in being that country. We’ve been conditioned to admire and respect the rich–no matter how they got rich–and now, here we are, heading into an oligarchy like the one they currently enjoy in Russia. The signature achievement of Reagan’s presidency, according to those who worship at his altar, was defeating Communism and ending the Soviet Union. Current Russia is exactly the same as the old Soviet Union–the difference is the Republicans have rolled us over and exposed our belly to our biggest enemy. We are now Russia’s little bitches, beta soy boys to one of the worst gangsters of our time.

Never been prouder to be an American.

And on that cheery note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need a to-do list (the world keeps turning even as its burning) and get everything together to get back to my own work for as long as I can write and publish. Have a great one, and I promise I’ll be back to being my usual cheerful self.

At least, I hope so.

Blowin’ in the Wind

Wednesday morning and the middle of the week! We’ve made it this far, Constant Reader, even though this week hasn’t quite gone the way I would have liked.

The decision to limit social media consumption isn’t going as well this week as I would have liked; I hadn’t anticipated the pull of my phone while I am at work. And getting home from work every night this week, after I finish whatever I need to do (errands and so forth) I’ve repaired to my easy chair and watched some “MAGA voter regrets” videos on Youtube before my eyes started to glaze over and I kind of zoned out for the rest of the night. I don’t like the part of me that enjoys their pain; it is not my instinct to default for sympathy for people who want to harm everyone else. You can never go wrong not having any faith in the decency of the majority of Americans, because they have no decency or shame.1

But, I am not going to be hard on myself. I am trying, at long last, to break all the programming/grooming that I don’t deserve anything or even a writing career. I am going to keep writing–make no mistake about that–and i have to figure out ways to market them and get the word out there. Going to mystery conferences was clearly a mistake; why bother pitching readers on books that are not in the booksellers’ room2? I finally got resigned to them never having my books–or only one copy–and hoped people would possibly enjoy listening to me on panels and maybe take a chance; and now I am wondering if my presence also gaslit queer writers into feeling safe at conferences? I guess that will be on my conscience till the day I die. (Ironically, the substack posts about homophobia get way more than ten times the views that my other essays get, which means one of two things, or both. I was either wrong about scaring people off by being honest about how much it sucks to be queer in this modern time, or people enjoy reading about queer pain. I don’t think I want to know which one is right, to be honest, or even consider that the two are linked.)

But what I need to do is get back to writing my books and stories; I need to put all this shit aside and focus on my work. I was able to get through the first forty-two years of my life with my sexuality and my love life against the law in every one of the fifty states (and the territories! Can’t forget those bigots either!). I lived through the Reagan administration and the George W. Bush years, both of which callously didn’t care whether we lived or died (in fairness, Reagan and his people thought AIDS was an excellent way to get rid of us). My country was willing to let us all die. Remind me again why I should be a patriot, or a conservative? All our equality movement did was make people realize if they were openly homophobic, some people they cared about would think they were bad people.

And I’ll keep writing about the bad shit, of course. It won’t change any hearts or minds, of course, but I need to get that poison (and anger) out of my system before it festers and makes me as bad a person as everyone else is. I don’t want to be a bad person. I don’t want to give into the darkness; I don’t want to feel bitter about the crime fiction community. I know I have friends, actual friends, in this community, and I do cherish them because they love and support me. But I need to stop thinking well of people who I’ve met and have been nice to me because I always forget the vast majority of people default to polite when confronted with someone/something they are revolted by. I don’t think most straight people realize what it’s like to be viewed with revulsion, like you’re some disgusting thing, some abomination. But it’s also much easier to go through life assuming people aren’t bigots until proven otherwise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be someone we’ve racialized as a society. I kind of get it, but am still white privileged so will never understand completely; even my imagination is too limited.

The good news is a federal judge struck down Louisiana’s Ten Commandments in Every Classroom law as unconstitutional, but an immune from prosecution or consequence executive order from the White House will overrule that. And this Supreme Court already is on its back with their legs up in the air and their ass lubed, ready for some serious Constitution fucking. The Federalist Society is about to get their wishlist for the country for Christmas, isn’t that great? I, for one, look forward to not paying income taxes to educate other people’s children anymore. Wonder how my MAGA nieces and nephews are going to educate their kids, but hey–they voted for it.

I’m so tired of being ignored like Cassandra on the walls of Troy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day. Constant Reader, and we will soon be returning to our regular content. I’ll go back to ignoring the slings and arrows of “allies” and enemies, like a good little gay, back in his corner–and no worries, folks. I wouldn’t go to a conference even if they asked me to be a special guest–and that is never going to happen anyway. Not as long as a straight white man has written a first novel, anyway.

  1. And even as this administration destroys their lives, the government-controlled media will help convince them it’s someone else’s fault, because it always is. Is anyone ever surprised about how horrible people after all the genocides? The gleeful bigotry and the embrace of hatred? ↩︎
  2. This is something I left out of my Substack essay yesterday about homophobic booksellers: they are also never to be criticized, no matter how bigoted and horrible they are. “They work so hard on conferences,” is always the response, “you can’t even question their bigotry.” If you want to read it, this link should take you there. ↩︎

Save Your Heart for Me

Well, hello, Tuesday, how you doing this week? Yesterday wasn’t too bad. I was on social media more than I needed to be1, which I must correct, but I had a nice day at work and then ran errands on the way home. Paul was home shortly after I got home–I also left earlier than usual–and I grilled the hamburgers I didn’t last night, which was nice. We watched the last episode of Rivals–most excellent, highly recommend–and caught up on Someone Somewhere, which I also love. I wasn’t particularly tired when I got home last night, so I picked up some and read a bit more of my book, which I am loving, even as it also makes me squirm a bit (more on that later, when I write about the book)–and you know what? I should squirm while reading that book. Every white person should, but they won’t read it–or finish reading, if they start– because it might “make them feel bad.” Well, if you want to be a decent person…you need to do the fucking work and feel bad every once in a while. I think that’s the real truth: straight white people don’t want to completely understand how horrible they truly are–which is why they are so defensive all the time. They know they’re bad people, they just don’t want to face up to it, and so lean into being horrible.

And they sure as fuck don’t want to do the work to be better people, so why waste my time with them?

Hell, why am I bothering writing this book? We’re going to be all labeled as porn soon enough, and my publisher might be forced to close. And for the record, I know what it feels like to have your entire canon, your entire writing career, labeled and called pornography. I know what it feels like to get death threats. To paraphrase, there’s nothing as hellish as Christian love.

It’s raining again this morning, which is relaxing. I did sleep well again last night, which I was expecting to do, even though I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home. Today I am in the clinic working with people for the first time in a while, so we’ll see how that goes. I have to get myself back into counselor mode after an enormous (well, several of them) shock to my system…but I was able to counsel after Mom died, so I should be okay. I wonder what their mood will be like? I mean, we are entering the dark times. I think that’s why I wrote that Substack post; it was after the election that I realized that people who are casually homophobic like it’s no big deal aren’t going to step up to rescue queers when it comes to that, so…this is what minority people are talking about, straight white people–if you’re so callously dismissive of us and don’t care about that sort of thing, how can we truly ever believe we are allies? It’s a return to the 1980s again (which were not fucking great, no matter how the Reagan apologists try to make it seem like this glorious lost time; likewise the 1950s shit, too–those may have been good times for straight white people, but not so much for anyone else. And straight white people will always close ranks against outsiders, because ultimately their privilege is the most important thing to them. More important than outsiders…”others.” And sorry, I’m not here to make straight people feel better about themselves. You’re homophobes at heart and it’s not my responsibility to absolve you so you can feel better about yourself…I really don’t give a fuck about how you feel; why should I when you clearly don’t care a fucking thing about how you make us feel? “Oh, sorry if we turned Bouchercon back into your junior high school hellscape! You’ve survived it before, right? You’ll be fine.”

I never should have gone back after the initial homophobic experiences back in 2009-2010. I’ve given the crime fiction community so many chances, always thinking oh it’ll be better this time and optimistically tried again…but unlike Lucy and the football, this faggot Charlie Brown has finally learned to accept that it has failed me, repeatedly, over and over again, and talk about diversity and inclusion is just that–talk. I’m no more welcome in the mainstream mystery community than I was in 20022. That old cliché about how trying the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is insanity?

Well, now I am sane and clear-eyed.

When I tried again this last time, I refused to be chased away the second time because I’ve tried, as an adult, to always stand up to, and fight, the bullies. I hate giving them the satisfaction of admitting defeat finally, but you can only try so hard for so long before realizing that any win for me in this regard would always be Pyrrhic in nature. I’ve never, ever be able to completely relax or feel welcome or made to feel like a part of things, like I belonged. I used to think it was because I was so scarred from my past, and that it was entirely on me and not anything anyone else was doing to make me feel that way. I convinced myself we were welcome.

So, so naive and trusting that this time would be different.

I should have known from seeing friends do book events in stores run by homophobes and racists but then claim to be allies. How big of an ally are you when you talk the talk but launch your book in a store known to be unashamedly homophobic, misogynist, and racist? What message do you think you are sending to people who you claim to support until it comes to your money and your career? How you “don’t want to rock the boat”? It’s called collaboration, and after the Second World War you’d have been executed or at least your head shaved and a public shaming. But–at least in our brave new world you won’t have to pretend to care anymore.

This is why minorities don’t trust you, you know. You can blithely go through your life smugly patting yourself on the back about what an ally you are, how you definitely talk the talk so people know you’re one of the good guys, but guess how we feel when you announce your book launch at one of those stores? We see you, but most of the time we’re too nice to call you out for supporting stores that hate us. Miss me with your boycotts of Home Depot and Walmart and whoever; it’s all just performative bullshit when you really only care about yourself–and you’ll shop there if you think no one will ever find out.

And for the record, telling a minority writer “you’d be so successful if you’d just write about straight people” is condescending, invalidating and deeply offensive. You think I can’t write about straight people? Bitch, please. I understand you people better than you understand yourselves. Believe me, I see you.

And no worries if I’m boring you with all this, Constant Reader. I’m giving you straight people the okay to stop reading this blog, without judgment. It’s a queer space, and I care about your feelings as much as you care about mine.

Then again, you’re probably not reading this anyway? Straight people won’t read me for free, let alone pay for something I’ve written. Christ, what a fucking fool I’ve been.

But give me another day or two and things will go back to normal. I’ll be over it, and not to worry; none of this will ever come up again because I will never be hurt by betrayals from straight people–especially men–ever again. I’ll just expect y’all to be homophobic garbage from the start. It’ll be easier that way–and like I always used to say, you can always count on straight people to carelessly, casually and thoughtlessly cruel…because you don’t matter to them. You’re subhuman. You‘ve heard the things white people say about racialized people–well, that’s also what they all think about queer people.

All these years I’ve smiled and let you demean and dehumanize me, over and over again, with a smile on your face as you performatively act like I’m a colleague when you really are disgusted by my existence.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows.

  1. In fairness to me, I was enjoying the “find out” phase the Nazi voters are experiencing. But if your feelings are hurt, MAGAts, no worries–we’ll probably all be dead by the 2025 holiday season so you can gloat to your heart’s content, guilt-free! ↩︎
  2. When mystery bookstores wouldn’t let me sign in their stores because “they don’t carry those kinds of books”–which is why I will always be grateful, and loyal, to Murder by the Book in Houston–to this day, the only mystery bookstore in the country that would have events for me. ↩︎

California Girls

And here we are at Remote Friday again in the Lost Apartment. I was very tired when I got home last evening, after my doctor’s appointment and running some errands. I went to my first ever podiatrist, and the good news is I don’t have arthritis in my big toes yet, but the bad news is that there’s really nothing to be done about the pronation of my feet, which I was expecting and was kind of a Hail Mary ask. What was super-nice was his PA was a lesbian, which she revealed in one of the most amazingly nonchalant way, and did make me feel better about being there, if that makes sense? (I think the primary care physician I fired last summer was homophobic, if I am being honest. He was certainly dismissive of me and all of my concerns to the point where I was uncomfortable asking him anything. He could just be a shitty doctor, but one of the great joys of being marginalized is never knowing, or being completely sure, if someone is homophobic or not homophobic and just an asshole. Got some serious trust issues, don’t I?)

And of course I slept late this morning! No wonder I was exhausted; I also asked him about the chronic ingrown toenail on my big toe, so he took care of it in the office as an outpatient procedure. I won’t go into details of what he did on my big toe, but for the next week I have to soak my toe twice a day in epsom salts and re-bandage it after applying Neosporin. I always forget those kinds of things are a shock to the body, and it needs rest after trauma, so it takes a while to recover. I’m not used to these sorts of things, which is pretty amazing that these little traumas and shocks to my body didn’t start until I was in my sixties. I’ve always been relatively healthy for the most part, and also…lived in pain for a good portion of my life mainly because it never occurred to me to do anything about it, which is really kind of insane. But all those years of no insurance taught me to live with pain because I couldn’t afford to see a doctor. (I am writing about my low-paying job history and being the working poor, in an essay for my Substack, which I really need to finish and post before I leave for Kentucky on Sunday.) He also gave me a cortisone shot in my right big toe to do away with the reoccurring pain, and it’s actually kind of nice to not have my toe joint hurting for a change. Woo-hoo!

At some point today I have to take a break from working remotely to head out to Metairie to pick up my new glasses, which is very exciting. I have a lot of cleaning to do around here before I leave Sunday morning, but LSU is off this weekend so I am not terribly vested in watching games tomorrow; I’ll have it on in the background but will mostly clean and read for the day. I also was able to read some more of House of Blood and Rain, which is extraordinary, and I am hoping to finish that before Sunday, too, so I can blog about it before I head up there. I’m going to listen to Shadowlands by Peter Straub on the way up there, and probably Lisa Unger on the way home. I am also going to experiment with going a different way than I always have–I always go through Chattanooga–but this time I think, for something different, I am going to go through Nashville. Exciting, no? The drive to Birmingham will be the same; that’s where I’ll leave 59 North and head for Nashville instead of driving through northeast Alabama. I’m not going to worry about doing any writing (or blogging) while I am up there; you’ll simply have to get used to doing without me for the duration of the trip. (I know, I know, whatever will you do without your daily Gregalicious?) It’s also going to be rough being with my conservative family during the election, but I can keep my mouth shut, and years of experience (and knowing they will never change their minds) has taught me how to be honest but noncommittal; it’s not my fault if they interpret my responses as agreement or concurrence. (Example, from 2009: my dad says “Sarah Palin is no Hilary Clinton” to which I reply, “you can say that again.” I can certainly can agree with that statement , right?) But at least I’ll know how the right is taking the results, regardless of what happens. It may be harder if there’s violence, as I expect there to be. (I’m hoping not, but…those hopes aren’t very high.)

I did watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City last night; as you can see, the excitement level around the Lost Apartment for Halloween was very intense. Paul went to a friend’s party (I was exhausted, as I already mentioned), and so I stayed home, reading and cleaning (very lackadaisically) and watching news clips on Youtube to stay slightly aware of what’s going on nation-wide with the election. All the desperate shrieking from the right side seems to be getting more shrill and hysterical on a daily basis. I also had to laugh at the right being so upset over the false claim that President Biden called them garbage; let’s see, what have you trash called me over the course of my life? Pervert, sinner, fornicator, groomer, pedophile, traitor–so yeah, miss me with the hurt feelings of the “fuck your feelings” crowd. Maybe the lie hit too close to home to the people who know, deep down, they aren’t good or nice or Christian or even decent? Just like the “deplorables” thing. Hillary said one negative thing about “some” of his supporters, while they were chanting “lock her up” and worse, and they lost their fucking minds. They sure don’t like being called names, for a group of assholes who feel pretty strong in their ability to call everyone else names but should remain free of criticism myself. And at this point? I’d correct Hillary to say they are ALL deplorables. Maybe not in 2016, but they sure as fuck know they’re all trash and a disgrace to all humanity now because they’ve seen what he is capable of doing and they are looking forward to the end of our democracy.

I don’t think that’s patriotic, actually. I find it deplorable and disgusting and treasonous. (Someday I will write about how the right wrapped itself in the flag and absconded with the country’s symbols to such a point that the word patriot no longer means what it once did.)

Ugh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I may check in again later.

I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am

Yeah, I’ve been big on the Tudors for most of my life–first the Virgin Queen, and then her father, Henry VIII and his many wives1, and eventually the entire family (Henry VIII’s sister Margaret was a pistol–and it is her descendants who sit on the throne today, not Henry’s). As I got older, I became more interested in the century as a whole, and eventually I moved on from the Tudors to the Stuarts, who I find much more interesting. I still love the Tudors, and will watch documentaries and films, but won’t read any more books about them, especially because I’ve not really scratched more than the surface with the Stuarts, and I want to read more about the Tudors’ French contemporaries, the House of Valois. (Yes, I loved The Tudors, because it was more of a Renaissance version of Dynasty; I don’t watch historical films and expect accuracy2, and if you are, wake the fuck up. Book adaptations are never the same as the book, either. It’s entertainment, not a fucking documentary.)

Speaking of entertainment, I finally gave up on Jon Stewart with his defense of the indefensible. His joining in on the media’s decision to badger and hound Joe Biden–one of the most successful presidents of all fucking time–out of the race? None of that, not one bit of that, was actual concern; they all were giving (and continued, until recently) Shady Marmalade a pass on his obvious mental decline…and Jon’s decision to defend the indefensible “because comedian”? Fuck off and die, you arrogant rich white cisgender piece of shit. I’ll never watch him again, so congrats on that year contract extension, Comedy Central. You thought calling Puerto Rico a floating pile of garbage was funny? You thought comparing Travis Kelce to OJ, implying he’ll murder Taylor Swift, was funny? And on and on and on. Straight white male comedians will always circle the wagons for another comedian with a penis, but when a woman comedian (see: Kathy Griffin) is being attacked, not a fucking word? So he’s a misogynist, too. I’m not telling you what to do, Constant Reader, but Jon Stewart is dead to me, now and forever. And don’t even get me started on the 49ers and Nick the Traitor Bosa. Talk about pussy. Someone got slapped down by management when he hit the locker room and before he talked to the press, and like a good little beta soyboy, he caved and sulked like the pathetic emotionally-and-intellectually stunted bitch he is. He’s not being punished because when asked he shut his fucking mouth, which is the other primary difference between him and a true hero, Colin Kaepernick (besides the obvious “white man gets away with shit a Black man never could” racism).

And really, 49ers managers and coaching staff? Your team represents San Francisco, the most tolerant city in the country. Trade him to Dallas, where he belongs.

Thank God I am on anxiety medications. If not, I probably wouldn’t have slept at all since June. But the medications and my personal ban on legacy media companies who are garbage and untrustworthy has helped a lot with my election anxiety, and refusing to engage with the trash on-line (block, block, block) I’ve managed to take good care of my own mental health this time around. I refuse to worry about what will happen if he wins, or if he loses and they try another violent coup; I do, every once in a while, think you always wondered what it was like to be a Berliner in 1933…and I didn’t really need to get an answer to that question, you know?

I feel good this morning yet again; I’ve been sleeping well every night this week and it’s been really nice. I did my errands last night, got home and got started on the dishes and did some other clean-up around here. Paul didn’t get home until late, so I mostly went down Youtube idle curiosity research holes. I also managed to get the Scotty Bible’s first draft finished; it’s just raw information for now that I have to reorganize and pull together. I am also realizing, as I mentioned yesterday, that I should do a concordance of everything I’ve written by place; Kansas, California, New Orleans, Louisiana, Florida, and Alabama. That’s the problem of having characters cross over from stand-alones to the series and back again, you know? I was realizing that the lawyer the boys hire in Royal Street Reveillon doesn’t have as much information in the Scotty series about him as I would have thought…only to remember that Loren McKeithen has a much larger role in the Chanse series than the Scotty. Oops!

I also realized last night, as I watched news clips and documentaries about the Civil War, that with my anxiety gone I no longer feel the need to belittle and dismiss things I’ve accomplished in this wild and crazy career of mine. I’ve written a shit ton of books, short stories, and blog posts–and when I think about all the queer papers and magazines that I’ve written for over the years, yes, my output has been a bit prodigious. It wasn’t false humility (though I am often horrified at how easy it is to slip into egomania, and always over-correct once I catch myself); I honestly still thought I wasn’t very good at what I do. I always compare myself to other writers and come up wanting; but it’s really not a competition of any kind; I appreciate great writers who produce great work, and my work is different from theirs. I always strive to be better, to get better, and not stagnate–the problem that creates is it extrapolates to I could have done that better and dismissing it. Those are the kind of brain landmines I need to watch for, and avoid whenever possible. I’m proud of all my work, for the record. Sure, going through the old Scotty books was always difficult (I always edit it another time as I’m reading it) but doing it for the Bible, where I’m just looking for information, was different. Sure, there were some clunky things I could have said better, but overall, I was actually a little surprised to see how good–and clever–the books actually are. It also reminded me of how I used to write the first ones, what I have always tried to do in my work–whether anyone notices or not. (Someone once emailed me after reading one of my books and said, “Did you deliberately do this?” and delighted, I wrote back “Absolutely!” That was a big thrill for me.)

And I am proud of my work. I overcame so many obstacles to build this career, and I am pleased with myself, too. My books are pretty good–yes, there will always be a few where I think, God I wish I could give that one more pass, but even those are pretty good. There are some I am more pleased with than others; yes, I have favorite children. But that doesn’t mean that I am not pleased with all of them. How many people told me along the way that this would never happen for me, that I didn’t have what it takes, or that I have no ability at all? Maybe, maybe not–but if that’s what you think, how many books have you published? How many awards have you been nominated for, or won?

I really wish I’d known it was anxiety much sooner.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again, perhaps later!

  1. I love that historians count all of the women he married as his wives; although technically the first two were actually annulled, so the marriages were never, at least legally, valid. ↩︎
  2. I totally understand why films and television shows based on history have to make changes; the actual stories don’t play out perfectly for different media and thus must be adapted. I do ↩︎

Down in the Boondocks

What exactly are boondocks, anyway?1

Monday morning and back to work with me today, which is fine. Yesterday was nice–despite the Saints losing; not a good weekend for Louisiana football outside of Tulane–and I feel rested and relaxed this morning, which is great. I have a lot to do today, and am really looking forward to having a good day. I did work on the book; I got the outlining of the first seven chapters done; I made a character list (a good start); and also recognized in the rereading what needs fixing and what needs adding and what needs redoing. I also outlined the rest of a short story I am working on, and figured out how to solve the problem of another one, too, which is very cool. I also read for a while, and really am enjoying House of Rain and Bone. I also figured out why it’s taking me so long to read, which I am puzzling over, and it hit me this morning–I am reading it slowly because I am savoring it, and because it’s making me think as I engage with it, and that’s not an easy thing for any writer to do with their work. The book is also a lot of things I generally don’t care for or like–lots of violence–but the language is very beautiful yet raw, the emotion is like an exposed nerve, but I am enjoying it very much, and it’s very intense…but takes me a while to process and digest what I read, so it’s not going very quickly. This is not a bad thing. Most readers will take this ride and not be able to put it down–it moves very quickly, the characters are remarkably likable, the main character is a relatable guy–but as a fellow author, I want to savor the language, the structure, the pacing, all the things that make the book so stunningly brilliant.

And that’s a good thing.

I feel pretty good this morning, actually. I slept really well last night, and feel rested and relaxed as I face the day. It’s my Admin day at work, so I have no pressures or stress and no interactions with clients, unless I see one by chance as I walk around doing other things this morning. I love my clients–I really do, and the long-termers are lovely to see every quarter–but interacting with people all day as someone who is, at heart, an introvert despite being a Leo (I like attention but it also makes me uncomfortable2), wears me out a bit.

I also worked on the Scotty Bible some this weekend. I marked up the final volume that wasn’t (Royal Street Reveillon) and then took down the notes from those pages, and will need to get that typed up. The last step of finishing the Bible includes reorganizing the notes into book order, before sorting them all into categories and so forth. I also need to do a synopsis of each book, detailing not only the case but developments in Scotty’s personal life, the family tree, and so on. Also going through the books to do this–even just pulling the notes out–has given me the opportunity (without the anxiety and all the little naysaying voices in my head, banished by my new medications) to reread (a bit) and reacquaint myself with the work with fresh eyes. As you probably already know, I am very hard of myself and was always dismissive of any achievements or recognition I may have received, and have forgotten a lot of the stories and what happened and why and where the idea came from and why I wanted to tell this story…but this revisitation without the usual Greg-crazy has made me appreciate the stories and the writing all the more, which is lovely and incredibly cool. I also realized yesterday while making the notes that while a Scotty Bible is needed and necessary, that an overall Greg Multiverse of New Orleans Bible is necessary; I’ve crossed over all my New Orleans writing (short stories and novels), using the same fictitious spaces and minor characters. (For example, Cooper Construction from A Streetcar Named Murder is also the construction company Scotty is using to renovate the building on Decatur Street.) So, yes, it needs to be more encompassing. I realized that Paige–Chanse’s best friend–whom I’ve also used in the Scotty series–most of her background is in the Chanse books, and yes, I should probably do one for him, too….sigh. It’s like pulling a string from something knit.

I’m kind of going to miss the Swifties, to be honest. We’re used to tourism here–non-stop conventions, the big events, and so on–but there was a marked difference between the Swifties and other big groups that take over New Orleans. For one thing, they were incredibly friendly and nice! So much good energy that I didn’t mind the crowds of them I had to pass through, and the outfits and everything. They were here to have a good time, of course, and the city welcomed them (and their wallets) with open arms so that it became almost a symbiotic pairing. Hospitality workers marveled at their kindness and their generous tipping; store owners and workers didn’t mind being busy because everyone was nice and polite and didn’t complain about anything. I loved the friendship bracelets adorning the Superdome. I loved the endless karaoke of Taylor’s songs that went on as they took over Bourbon Street. Every bar and every shop was playing her music. Her economic impact on the city was undeniable, and I can’t wait to hear about her local charity giving, which she always does–usually food banks and homeless shelters, bless her.

It’s no wonder MAGA hates her. They hate anyone who is kind and giving–they certainly do not recognize Jesus’ messages in her (which goes to show you how they would react to Jesus’ return, doesn’t it? I find it very interesting that his followers are the ones most likely to reject and crucify him). I won’t talk about the Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden yesterday because what else is there to say, other than “we’ve not seen anything like this since the Nuremburg rallies” but we did have one in MSG back in 1939, didn’t we? (And it should come as no surprise that it was conservatives who were pro-Hitler in 1939 America, does it? They hated FDR with the same kind of passion Trump ignites in his acolytes, and since they smeared him as a socialist/communist, naturally they got into bed with Nazis.)

Everything old is new again.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back later or tomorrow, we’ll see!

  1. So, turns out it means “rough, isolated country”–and has come to mean, in slang, a remote place with little to no civilization. Interesting. ↩︎
  2. And yes, that is on the list of issues to unpack and make peace with. ↩︎

Take Good Care of Her

Ah, here we are on what I wished were Taco Tuesday, but alas, it is not to be. Too much food already on hand to go out and get something entirely new. It’s dark again this morning, and of course there are any number of tropical systems out there that need to be watched, but at least we’re in the final months of the season. I was very comfortable in the bed this morning–Sparky was cuddled up with me when I woke up–but forced myself to get up. My week is kind of messed up already. I had to cover the clinic yesterday because someone’s on vacation (I kept thinking it was Tuesday all day), and now today I am working clinic by myself. That means I’ll probably be tired when I get home tonight, which is okay. I made groceries and got the mail last night, so I can come straight home tonight. I ordered some things on-line this week–new shoes, coffee–and I also repaired a book whose binding had broken (a Three Investigators tome), and tried repairing a pair of very cool Oxfords. I’ve had the shoes for almost thirteen years now, but have only wore them a handful of times (I rarely dress up and they’re too dressy to wear otherwise) so am not comfortable with just throwing them out when they just need to have the sole reattached. (Gorilla Glue failed me, so they’re going to have to wind up going to a shoe repair.) There wasn’t a lot of traffic last night on the way home, and after getting home and bonding with Sparky, I relaxed in my easy chair and bonded with the kitty while watching the news on-line. We did end up watching another episode of American Sports Story, and this season is really about the dangers of the closet, and how that level of self-loathing can twist someone into something dark.

Kind of sad, really; yet another example of the dangers of toxic masculinity (as if we needed another). And the guy who plays Urban Meyer is kind of uncanny.

I also read some more of Rival Queens, and have finally reached the part where the final Valois king, Henri III, has ascended to the French throne, and talks about his gender identity and homosexuality–and of course, the most interesting part to me; the mignons, his handsome young men that danced attendance on him as his favorites. Both mother and sister queens (Catherine de Medici and Marguerite of Navarre) despised the mignons, but weren’t so above the fray to not use them in their own attempts to either control the country or save her own life. It would be interesting, methinks, to write about this treacherous period of religious civil wars in France, with Spain, the Empire and England all meddling in French politics–lots on intrigue, back-stabbing, the changing of sides, assassination and murder, and of course, war. The second half of the sixteenth century saw France torn apart by factionalism and war, which wrecked the economy and kept France from building itself into a major power; fear of France really drove European history for centuries.

There certainly has been a lot of celebrity death lately, so much so that I’ve not really been able to keep up. Maggie Smith–what can I say about Maggie Smith? I first saw her on film in Murder by Death, and she was my favorite part of the movie. When I saw California Suite in the theater, I fell in love with her and wished the entire film had focused on her and Michael Caine; the other stories were dull and trite and cliched. From then on, I made a point to watch anything with Maggie Smith in it, and I was never disappointed. Such a massive talent, and so many great performances left behind. Kris Kristofferson was another giant, of music and acting. I first really noticed him in A Star is Born, and DAMN the man was fine. And that voice! Kristofferson was also a progressive and that came across in many of his classic songs. Just “Help Me Make It Thru The Night”, “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” and “Me and Bobby McGee” is enough to ensure an impressive legacy, and that’s just scratching the surface. He was also a very good person, a classy guy who cared about people and the downtrodden–from that period of country music where the greats (Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Kristofferson) were progressives who stood up to oppression and bigotry. (I also love his quote about Toby Keith’s music–“he’s done for country music what pantyhose did for finger-fucking.”)

In other exciting news, the so-called “abortion pills” have now been banned in Gilead, er, Louisiana; the bill banning them outright went into effect this morning. I never thought I’d see the day when we had a worse governor or legislature than we did during the Bobby Jindal “burn Louisiana to the ground” administration…so of course the Reich Wing bigots in Louisiana had to elect someone far, far worse. Such a beautiful state–with so many ugly people living here. That is unfortunately true about the entire South, really, and no, Southern states don’t deserve hurricanes as punishment, either; that’s the kind of hellfire and brimstone shit the Reich believes in, and I reject any natural occurrence as being “God’s punishment” for sin–when God doesn’t choose to protect children from physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, you can miss me with your bloodthirsty god.

I’m looking forward to working on the book some more, and I also want to submit a story to an upcoming anthology deadline that could actually work for me. We shall see how motivated I am, shan’t we?

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I hope you get some tacos tonight!

I See The Want To In Your Eyes

Ah, Thursday and my last day at the office for this week. Huzzah?

Yesterday was a good day at work. I managed to get caught up on all my paperwork and admin stuff (just in time to get trained for some more new duties, woo-hoo!) before getting the mail on my way home. I also managed to finish Chapter Six (it’s terrible, but that’s what future drafts are for) before repairing to my easy chair for Sparky cuddle time. He was especially sweet last night; he even went and cuddled up to Paul on the couch on his own, which was delightful for Paul. Our cats have always been more Paul’s pet than mine (not that I didn’t love them), so having me be Sparky’s primary parent has been a bit weird for us. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, he was curled up at the foot of the bed between my feet and Paul’s–so he’s starting to sleep in the bed, too. Progress! The problem, of course, is that we got Sparky right before my surgery, so I was stuck in my easy chair for several weeks while Paul was gone all the time because of work…so Sparky got used to me. It’s also kind of hard to believe that the one-year anniversary of the surgery is coming up. Last fall was rough for me, wasn’t it? LOL. I went to Bouchercon for Labor Day, came home to oral surgery, and once that was all taken care of I had my other surgery.

2023 was quite a year.

Helene is battering Florida today, should make landfall this evening, so stay safe, my Florida peeps. This storm is large enough to effect everyone in the state–Miami is getting strong winds already, and they aren’t even in the cone–and it looks like it’s going to be even rougher the further inland and north it goes. Looking at the map, even Kentucky is going to get slammed with about 2-4 inches of rain, which I know is a lot for a place that doesn’t really get flooding rains regularly. Everyone in the path, please be careful and I hope you’re prepared for it.

We watched this week’s episodes of Bad Monkey, English Teacher, and Agatha All Along, all of which we are thoroughly enjoying, and I think we’re going to start Grotesquerie and American Sports Story tonight. I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow, which is a lovely thought, and then it’s the weekend. Woo-hoo! I want to get to work on Chapter Seven, and I also want to finish a couple of essays. I still want to rewatch the first episode of Monsters before I write about the show (it truly deserves its own entry), and I also would like to get some of my other essays completed this weekend. I think I’ll try to make a to-do list at work between clients this morning.

I was realizing last night that my life seems so weird to me now because I was on a serious treadmill for well over a decade and now I am no longer on a treadmill with an inbox full of emails every morning needing to be answered and books and stories to write and volunteering on top of my day job and that I was also editing anywhere from fourteen to thirty novels a year. Editing was the first thing I cut loose to try to get myself more rest and free time, but the last almost but not quite two years has been very rough for and on me, and also made me realize that giving up on the volunteer work was the smartest thing I could have ever done for myself; there is no way I could have handled everything since January 2023 on while still trying to get the volunteer work done, too–so that was the right decision. Right now, I am using the free time to acclimate and write and clean and organize and read and to relax, which is very lovely and nice.

It’s also super lovely to not worry about making sure I answer all my emails within 24 hours of receiving them, either.

Oh! And in another great and delightful development this week, I solved the primary problem with another thing I am working on and am delighted and excited to get back to it. Yay! I also got some thrilling (for me) news from Paul last night re: the Festivals, which is going to be awesome.

Louisiana politicians continue to prove they are raw sewage, and will always try to one-up each other: “Oh, Senator Kennedy went all Klan Master on someone at a Senate hearing? HOLD MY MOONSHINE!” Clay Higgins continues to embarrass the state and his constituents, and it’s really amazing how the quality of national politicians from the state of Louisiana has declined since the rise of the Tea Party and the horror of the country electing a biracial president two elections in a row. Louisiana used to have people like Hale Boggs, Russell Long, and Mary Landrieu on the national stage–now we have garbage like Kennedy and Cassidy and Higgins;1 who is probably more racist than David Duke. We also can lay claim to disgusting piece of shit Steve Scalise, a power-hungry hateful bigot whose only god is power and money. I’m not sure what happened to the Democratic Party in Louisiana, but it’s been pretty ineffectual for quite some time. Louisiana has always been a banana republic under one-party rule, but there are still Democrats in Louisiana and the Project 2025 takeover of the state has been unopposed for the most part. Part of is the national party’s total disinterest in red states to the point they’ve written them off completely. We do get some decent candidates in races, but without money or active boots-on-the-ground work, we will continue our slide into a third-world country (we’ve always joked about the state being just that, but now it’s not a joke anymore). Alas, I don’t have the energy or time to do much about any of this, and so that’s why I don’t complain about the situation more. But on the other hand, if I can bring attention to what’s going on in Louisiana to my small audience, that is something, isn’t it? Utilize my own gifts and focus on writing about situations that concern me? Well, I can try but I make no promises. (For the record, I love when I post something on social media about something going on here that’s horrible and then people come shrieking in to scream about how horrible it is here…um, thanks I HADN’T NOTICED)

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and please stay safe all those in the path of Helene.

Screenshot
  1. And Moses himself, the false prophet Mike Johnson, who is no Christian. ↩︎

Ride ’em Cowboy

Well, here we are on Wednesday morning, and I’m awake and feeling okay, if a bit on the sneezy side. My coffee is wonderful and delightfully tasty. The humidity and heat aren’t as bad as they have been, which I am hoping means we are easing into fall–summer is over “officially” on the 21st, which is of course next week, but New Orleans weather doesn’t really follow the calendar three-months per season the way that weather does further north from here. I don’t mind the cooler weather (fall and spring are spectacular here), but we get a bit chilly here in the winter and am always grateful it doesn’t really last very long. It’ll probably snow this year/

I had a nice day at work yesterday, fairly productive all along and managed to get shit done, which is always a plus. I came straight home from work, fed His Majesty and wrote for awhile before collapsing into my chair for Sparky cuddle time, which is lasting longer and longer these days, with fewer moments of him turning into Apex Predator Attack Cat. He really is a dear, and I don’t mind the “attack cat” mode because he’s so cute, and I love it when he pounces because he always seems so proud of himself when he does. And is there anything like having a cat cuddled up to you, sleeping soundly, secure and safe? I do worry that he doesn’t seem to purr all that much–he usually only does when he’s feeling super-needy, or when he’s riding on my shoulders. He does love it up there.

Yeah, I am a childless cat dad for the Vice-President, and fucking proud of it.

I also managed to get 1600 words done last night fairly easily, which was nice, so I am now done with the transitional Chapter 5, which is an enormous relief and also nice to know I can take some down time whenever there’s some kind of interruption (hurricane, in this case) and get back into the book. I think working on the Bible when I couldn’t wrap my head around writing the book was a definite help and kept my head in the game. It’s kind of funny, really. I try to write 3000 words per day (on a writing day; I don’t work on the book every day), and it always seems like the first thousand takes so much longer than the last two, you know? It’s like pulling teeth, but once I get to a thousand, it gets easier. The last thousand is always the easiest, somehow, which is cool. I’d hoped to have the first draft finished by the end of the month, but that is certainly not going to happen. But again–no deadline, which is kind of heavenly, and I kind of like the lack of pressure. It all needs to be revised and rewritten, of course, but I know I am writing some sentences that are making me very pleased with myself–something I am embracing with both arms wide, frankly. My self-doubt and lack of faith in myself has been incredibly self-defeating, so I’ve decided to work on that as well. I don’t want to become an egomaniac, of course, but I also need to stop believing or anticipating criticism and trying to head it off by saying it about myself first. I don’t like every book I’ve read and there are definitely authors I will never read again, so it stands to reason that that would be true about me and my books for some people, and it’s okay for them to feel that way. I appreciate good criticism, the kind that makes me look at it from a different perspective and determine whether I accept said criticism or not; what I don’t appreciate is slams for being too gay or too political or not gay enough or not political enough; you cannot please everyone who reads your work, and you’ll go mad trying to do that, as it’s impossible. I also need to understand that I have no control over my sales, and low sales doesn’t mean the book isn’t any good nor is the writing (two of my favorite books of my own–for personal reasons–are also my two lowest selling, and some of the ones I am super proud of aren’t my biggest sellers, either). Part of the problem, of course, is my anxiety-based fear of not being liked–which comes from years of betrayals by people I thought were friends (but they weren’t) and my own naïveté; I always take people at face value and forget that people wear masks to fool others into thinking they’re decent human beings. I’m always afraid I am going to be ganged up on by bullies similar to the ones who made teens so fucking miserable, that I’ll be ostracized by a friend group because I’ve never really gotten over that first betrayal. But while I do think that fear is valid–it was definitely earned, for sure–it’s something I need to work through on my own and conquer. I don’t trust as easily as I used to, but I’ve become keenly aware over the years that just because someone seems nice and fun doesn’t mean they actually are.

But…I’ve often been amazed when people I really dislike considers me a friend. I may be polite, but if I never actually laugh or make a joke when I’m talking to you–I don’t like you.

And if you have a single bigoted thought in your head that is rooted in race, gender, or sexuality–you can be sure I don’t like you.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again either later or tomorrow morning.