Saying good-bye to my mentor / co-worker
Posted: December 15, 2014 Filed under: Janitorial work | Tags: co-worker, emotions, gender identity, genderqueer, janitors, manual labor, non-binary, relationships, retirement, school, sentiments, work 3 CommentsMy co-worker just retired on Friday. This is someone I’ve seen almost every day for the past 8 years – not many people in my life I can say that about! (My partner, and others at work, basically.) I will miss him a lot. Some people have a lot of co-workers. I really only have just one. I have one supervisor, one co-worker, and one other person on the cleaning staff who is only there for 4 hrs a day (more of a higher turnover. A co-worker, but it doesn’t feel the same).
We didn’t actually work “together,” but we worked the same hours and we were still a team. I clean the first floor, and he cleaned the second floor. We probably only saw each other for a total of a half-hour every day. Still, I felt very connected with him. We commiserated together. We listened to each other. If I needed anything, I knew I could go to him. I knew if I helped him out with something, I was being highly appreciated for it.
I’d have to say he taught me more than any other person, in my journey to becoming a janitor who is very good at his job. He always had an opinion about how things should be done. And he had a lot of tricks-of-the-trade up his sleeve. He always wanted to pass those on to me (and anyone else who had the patience to learn from him – most didn’t). He was really difficult to understand. He’s from the Caribbean and has a super thick accent. He also has a speech impediment (I believe) on top of that. Over time, I began to be able to understand every word out of his mouth. Most people – teachers and other people in the building – could really understand roughly half or less of the things he was saying. Even after interacting with him every day for years and years and years. Sometimes I felt the urge to be his interpreter, but I think he might have felt insulted, so I really only did this if it really seemed necessary.
One of my favorite word-disconnects he uttered, was anytime he was talking about someone with Alzheimer’s, it would come out sounding like “Old Timers.” How great is that? I’ve pretty much started using that in my own lexicon. There are plenty of other neologisms and intonations I’ve adopted from him. Just one way I will always remember him.
There was a party for him after school in the library (this is the first “library party” I’ve attended – usually I haven’t felt like I was welcome / I haven’t gone). We ate cheese squares and broccoli & cauliflower. We drank Pepsi and had sheet cake. He made a brief speech and he cried. I was touched. He was presented with a few gifts, including a scrap book the Social Committee made for him. I contributed two pieces for it. This is what I wrote:


I think that he saw me as male. Or at least as not female. He always referred to me as “Man,” or, more like, “Mon” (the Caribbean thing). He was old-school in a lot of ways, but he never once tried to do something for me (unless he was showing me a better way to do it) or told me I couldn’t do something / lift something. I always appreciated that. There’s no way I’ll ever forget him. He impacted my life in ways he may never know…
You are missed
Posted: November 28, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: bunny, comfort, death, emotions, lgbt, lgbtq, lgbtqia, mourning, pet, pets, queer, rabbit, routine 12 CommentsLast Saturday morning, my pet rabbit passed away. It’s been almost a week now; it definitely feels like mourning, but I can’t quite elaborate beyond that. I’m functional, I don’t feel continuously sad, but it is a process for sure.
She lived in the dining room, which is where my “office” is (office means dining room table with my laptop and piles of disorganized papers and other crap.) I spend “internet time” here in my office. I write blog posts from my office. We’d sort of be hanging out, sort of not, while I was in my office. I’d be looking in on her – checking on her, all the time. Things feel disorienting now – her bunny gate is behind the TV right now. I can now glide from room to room with ease. her cage where she ate and drank and pooped and peed is in the basement right now. Her rug has been brought to the curb. The dining room is now a hard wood floor. She isn’t here. I keep having phantom impulses to go check on her, feed her, pet her, pick her up, etc.
She was 12 years old – that’s really old for a rabbit! I got her in my Junior year of college. For those last two years of college, it was pretty much just her and me, in the apartment. People didn’t come over. I didn’t have a social network. Later in her life, I would joke with friends that the reason she doesn’t like people is because she was never socialized properly. It’s pretty much true. She never really got used to other people (except my partner – she did like my partner a little bit).
She loved bananas! She loved being pet over her eyes, for some reason. She would just sit there, if you were covering her eyes with your hands. Her name was just “Bunny,” but usually I called her “Bunn-a-roo,” or “Choo-cha-ree” or “Choo-char-i-o” (that last one, sung to the tune of “Notorious” by Duran Duran). We called her “Bunn Ball” when she was compacted into herself, to conserve heat. We called it “Chicken Leg,” when she was all splayed out, her back legs totally exposed, trying to cool off. We called her “Bunny-on-Meth” when she was shedding, her fur coming out in tufts every which-way. We called the towel right outside her cage her “patio.”
My partner and I sometimes talk about pets as they relate to queer people. You know that stereotype about lesbians and cats? I think there’s something to that, although it’s not specific to lesbians and it’s not specific to cats… I think just more in general, people who do not follow prescribed narratives (whether they’re queer or not) sometimes find a very different space for pets in their lives. Sometimes pets become more like children. Sometimes people who face more adversity need more from their pets – more comfort, more routine, more of a sense that they are needed. A mutual reliance. I think that bond has the potential to run much deeper.
I felt that. I miss her.
Gender specific toys: advice column Q&A
Posted: November 19, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: advice, advice column, androgyny, emotions, family, family dynamics, gender, gender identity, genderqueer, lgbtqia, non-binary, queer, relationships, siblings 2 CommentsI came across a question and answer from a nationally syndicated advice column the other day. I read this in my local newspaper and got such a kick out of it I brought it home to share with my partner:
My 7-year-old daughter loves playing with her 13-year-old brother’s toys. She has her own toys, but she does not play with them because she said that boys’ toys are “way cooler.” I don’t know what “way cooler” means, but I would prefer my girl to play with her toys. Do you think I am wrong for thinking this way, or should I find “cooler” girl toys for my daughter to play with?
-Daddy’s Little Girl, West Orange, NJYour son’s toys will be fascinating to your daughter no matter what they are, because they belong to her big brother. Her desire to play with them shows her interest in connecting with him. Chances are, if you bought her duplicates of all of his toys, she would still choose to play with his. This could be extremely annoying to your teenage son, who is probably doing his best to grow up and be independent.
Suggest to your son that he devote some of his time playing with his sister. Enjoying a bit of her brother’s attention should help her to become less obsessive about his toys. Suggest that your son let her play with one of his toys on a regular basis as long as she agrees that she will not touch any of his other toys without his permission. Negotiating playtime and boundaries should help them to find a comfort zone.
When I read this, it felt like a tiny victory. This parent was, essentially asking what to do about the gender-anxiety-inducing situation of her offspring playing with the wrong type of toys. Should she find cooler girl toys so her daughter will be more drawn to the right ones? She wants her girl to play with girl toys.
Normally, I’d be miffed that the advice columnist didn’t address the question / concerns. But in this case, it’s so refreshing that gendered toys was not touched on whatsoever. Rightly so – seems like a non-issue. Also ignored was the impulse to buy more toys and control the daughter’s desires. Instead, the columnists focused on cultivating a good relationship between the brother and sister based around spending time together and creating boundaries. And also pointing out how the 13-year-old must feel about all of this.
It’s not about girls’ toys and boys’ toys. It’s about family dynamics and finding what’s best for everyone. The columnist gets it! Spread the sentiment!
Party, vacation, and TERFs
Posted: September 1, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: butch, emotions, feminism, gender, genderqueer, getting gay married, lgbtqia, marriage, queer, radical feminists, relationships, TERFs, trans, transgender, wedding 7 CommentsMy partner and I made it through this party I’d been half-dreading, a party to celebrate our prior unification ritual. It was a lot of things, but largely, it felt validating and joyous, in a chaotic sort of way. It was fun; we would not do it again! It was a different kind of experience for me; I was on a natural high for so long, it was starting to get tedious. I mean, I’ve had a lot of extreme highs and lows in moods, over much longer periods of time, but this was somehow different. Somehow much less scary. I felt confident that even though I felt this way, I could depend on myself to do whatever it was I needed to do. It was a high that was not really all that fun, in its duration. Maybe I am growing up.
High extended roughly, from Thursday (kicking the planning for Saturday into high-gear,) till Tuesday (by then, we were in Northampton, MA for the start of our vacation, and the long drive to get there felt like it happened in a snap.) I wasn’t hungry; I wasn’t sleeping well. I was able to just keep going and going and going regardless. I didn’t particularly feel euphoric or excited (I mean, I did at times, but not sustained.) I basically started feeling like all I wanted was to get a full night’s sleep, an entire meal in my stomach, and to come down from wherever up-in-the-clouds I was.
On our vacation, we stopped through Northampton and Spencer, MA before heading up to a tiny town (talking about a town with a church and a convenience store. No gas station.) in central Maine. We stayed with two friends who have an awesome cabin they’ve basically created themselves, over the past 10 years. It sits on 50 acres of land, and they live there part time. We went blueberry picking (organic! $1.50/lb!!!), swimming in a very cold lake (when the air temp + rain hitting lake was even colder), trouncing through the woods a bit. We kicked back, did some reading, connected with our friends, and heard stories about / met some of their neighbors.
At a rest stop on the way up there, I did an awkward dance with an older woman over the fact that I was in the women’s bathroom. She spun around to walk back out and check if she was in the right one, sort of touching my shoulder to prevent a collision between us, saying she’s checking that this is the right bathroom. I smiled and said, “Yep, it is.” This, surprisingly, does not happen to me often at all. I can’t even remember the last time. I enjoyed the experience (since it wasn’t threatening or uncomfortable, was in a way validating.)
On our way back home, we stopped to stay in a tree-house!
And on our way from Maine to this tree-house, my partner read aloud an article from the August 4, 2014 edition of the New Yorker (p.24 – “What is a Woman? The Dispute Between Radical Feminism and Transgenderism”). I’ve never picked up a New Yorker before. (I think maybe my partner hasn’t either, because she commented, “There are a lot of comics in here!” Haha.) It had been given to us by our friend in Maine, because she knew we’d be interested in this one article.
Imagine driving on winding roads through rural VT, rain coming down, having previously been bored out of my gourd, tired of our musical selections. And suddenly being fully engaged in this topic that seemingly came out of nowhere (I mean, I know it came from the New Yorker; I just mean I wasn’t prepared for it, but it surely was a much needed distraction right then.) At various points, I interrupted my partner to argue passionately both with the article itself and with the radical feminists the article was about.
Some of the gists:
– Not all, but some radical feminists still feel that transwomen are not women and will never be women (and that they benefit from male privilege…?). These rad-fems continue to want to exclude transwomen from women-only spaces, and to invalidate their experiences in numerous other ways. They reject the notion that someone could feel intrinsically female or male, and that all the ways that women and men are different are due to sociological forces and learned experiences only.
– The common term for these rad-fems is TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminists).
– Some TERFs are detransitioners, and TERFs often cite detransition as proof of the fallibility of transgenderism. (Expert reports state that the percent of people who detransition is somewhere between 1% and 5%. This is higher than I would guess, but hardly significant enough to attempt to build a case.)
– Some TERFs face threats, both in their personal and professional lives. Situations have become so escalated at times, that they must be escorted by security to events and go underground in their academics.
There was so much more to this article (such as why FTMs are OK, but MTFs are a threat -??? Maybe I’ll return to the article for a more in depth future post); I highly recommend seeking it out if you can. It was eye-opening for me because even though I’ve heard of this term (TERFs) and understand the basics of the arguments, this really painted a picture. On the one hand, TERFs’ arguments are terribly weak and seem fueled by fear and a lack of understanding, with no efforts to begin understanding.
On the other hand, I find myself empathizing (just a little.) “TERF” is not a self-describing term. It is essentially yet one more slur, coming from others in sexual/gender minorities – people all too familiar with slurs themselves, usually. These women have fought passionately (sometimes for decades and decades, creating groundbreaking groundwork) for changes in the view of what it means to be a woman, and now they’re kinda in over their heads here. One final passage from the article that really sums up how this sub-group of rad-fems must feel,
“[These] radical feminists find themselves in a position that few would have imagined when the conflict began: shunned as reactionaries on the wrong side of a sexual-rights issue. It is, to them, a baffling political inversion.”
A note to my partner
Posted: August 2, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: celebration, emotions, genderqueer, getting gay married, lgbtq, lgbtqia, love, marriage, queer, relationship, relationships, same-sex marriage, wedding 14 CommentsThis is probably going to come off as the most unromantic love note ever. That’s OK. That’s us! …We have been together for close to 8 years now. We lived together before we “got together.” We met as housemates, which was kinda an interesting way to get to know someone (if you’re considering asking them out) in terms of feeling out potential compatibility. A more detailed version of how we got together is here, if you’re interested: Happy Randomtimes, today.
Last fall, we got legally married, which I had a lot of mixed feelings about. It boils down to: We got married for health insurance purposes (and other legal reasons that seem unclear at this time, but may be super important at later times). We did not get married out of love. Every day we are together, it is out of love. Marriage has absolutely nothing to do with whether we are together or not. It does not mean we are any more or less likely to stay together now. It doesn’t mean that anything about how we operate our relationship has changed. Marriage is meaningless. So I guess I’m attempting to bring some meaning into it, because next Saturday, we are celebrating the fact that we got married.
I haven’t been in the best place, emotionally, the past few weeks, and that’s been making it feel like a struggle, to plan for this celebration. Which is OK. This party will happen. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed and nervous when planning something so big. Everything does not need to fall into place exactly how we want it to for it to be a good day. It’s going to be a good day because we are connecting with people and with each other. And not because the sound system worked without a hitch and no plates or glasses got broken.
But there’s kinda more to it than that. We are celebrating marriage, and I’m struggling to understand what marriage is. (Marriage is what you make it.) Almost anything that is traditionally romantic, anything that is a traditional ritual for a wedding day, the roles we play… I don’t get it. It’s not because I’m a contrarian or I’m “too cool for school.” It just does not resonate. I don’t wanna play those games. In general, we won’t be. We’re having a “ceremony,” (er, 2 actually, an opening and a closing ceremony) but it will be fairly aberrant, bent, queer, variant, deviant. We have no gift registry. Our photo album is full of pictures of our friends and families. Scrap the scrap book, and the guest book while you’re at it. I could go on…
We’re discussing the idea of slow dancing to “Everyday is Halloween,” (Not because we wanna stir shit up, but just because that has been our wake-up alarm song every morning for about 5 years now.) I love all of these ideas, but I’m still not comfortable playing the role of the person who is getting married (or already got married, and is now on display.) In a way, it feels like the party was just an idea a while back, and now has a life of its own. I think collecting some of these thoughts is really going to help me out.
So a note, to my partner:
Hey, you! I like you a lot. I trust you as much as one person can trust another person. As time goes on, I just keep finding that we are super highly compatible. You give me huge amounts of space and leeway to be myself, to figure out what I want/need, to experiment. I couldn’t be in a relationship any other way. I know that I often hold myself back, so I cannot be having someone else also doing that.
It feels like we’re generally in-tune, in-synch, we communicate about what is going on, regularly. And if we aren’t, we will be again soon – I don’t feel left in the dark for long. And if I do, it is not worrisome. We’ll catch up with each other soon enough. I know I’m a difficult person, sometimes. I can be moody, and I generally need a shit-ton of alone time, in order to feel like a person. I make things complicated when they are simple. That’s not easy to live with. You just roll with it.
I think that you are so super cool. You are a strong person with values I really admire. You stand up for yourself and for what you think is right. You’re not afraid of confrontation. You mold your life into what you want. We’re molding our lives together, continuously.
Love, me.
PS- At my most recent therapy appointment, I just kept crying and crying (that I couldn’t do this marriage party thing, basically). She suggested I write on my blog, where I’m comfortable, about it, before I’m in this less-than-comfortable situation. That perked me up. I said, “That’s a pretty good idea.” She replied, “That might be it for me – I might not have any more of those; I’ll take it.” I reiterated it was a really good idea. Also, at the end of the appointment, she told me it was a freebie – a therapist’s version of a wedding gift. Haha.
Getting slammed by visions of violence
Posted: July 16, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anxiety, depression, emotions, obsession, pain, self-inflicted violence, self-injury, stress, stress-response, trigger warning, violence, visions, writing 5 CommentsTrigger warning: violent imagery (as the title suggests).
Last week, I was in high stress mode. It’s due to an annual drastic change in my work schedule (and really no other reasons, as far as I know about. I mean, I have other stressors going on, but nothing I can’t usually handle.) This happens every single year, and it really affects how I engage with summer. I can always predict it; simultaneously, I always conveniently forget how extreme it gets.
I wrote what follows last week, when I was in the thick of it. And then I just sat on it, because I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to post it. Partially because it’s a departure from what I usually write about. Now that I’m feeling better, I find that, yes, I’ll post it. So, here’s what I wrote, only slightly edited:
My mind’s reaction to long-term stress is terrifying to me. I continue to wonder if this is really just how it is. (Why can’t I just grow out of this???). Some people get stress-induced migraines or upset stomachs or struggle with insomnia. Anything like that is, without a doubt, difficult to deal with. In a big way, I am glad I am not afflicted with those stress-responses. In some way though, a part of me wishes for something like that instead, but only because it’s relate-able and I’d probably feel like I could talk about it with others. “My stomach is in knots thinking about what I have to do.” Or, “I’m losing sleep over this.” These phrases are super common.
When I get stressed out for long enough, it feels like my brain is rotting away. I lose brain functioning (not a figure of speech – my cognitive abilities actually suffer in some big ways.) But more than this: It feels as if my brain has turned against me; I am bombarded by visions – images of violence being inflicted upon me. I do not know what I can do. I can distract myself. I can try stress reduction techniques. I can (and do) follow through with inflicting pain on myself in an attempt to stop the visions. None of these things have ever worked too well when I’m actually in it. When I was younger, I was “in it” on-and-off for years and years and years. It would become intolerable. It’d be beyond intolerable, but, of course, I had to keep waking up and living it, over and over again because there’s no getting away from your own mind.
Often, my brain would feel so rotten that I couldn’t read, I couldn’t make sense of things on TV or in movies. I couldn’t talk to people or follow a conversation. Eventually I couldn’t do any schoolwork at all. (And it wasn’t about concentration, which is a common issue with people who are depressed. It was specifically that synapses seemingly disintegrated.) I made it through because luckily I had a therapist at home and a therapist at school, and they helped advocate for me to get accommodations I needed to not flunk or drop out of college. I felt like dropping out. I “got by” with very high grades, because I couldn’t have lived with myself with anything less. ??? Does this make any sense at all? I was barely functioning, yet I somehow ended up with very high marks. If my grades had ended up slipping, I would have been even more abusive to myself. Maybe the people around me could sense that.
Somehow, I could still write, surprisingly eloquently. Although, it was limited to journal-style writing, not academic-style writing. Like what I’m doing right now. When I can’t seem to do anything else.
I get barraged with images spanning from mild (such as my face being slapped or my skin being cut) to morbid (such as being hacked away at with an axe. Or my head being whacked repeatedly with a 2×4. Or falling and hitting my head so hard that I pass out. Or my neck being held down as I am whipped over and over and over again.) These images are never sexual. They are disturbing and unwanted. I seem to have no control over them.
I have heard of some people struggling with urges to actively do something they do not actually want to do. Like inflicting pain onto someone else. Or stepping off the subway platform in front of a subway. Or driving their car off the road and down a steep ravine. There is an excellent graphic novel I would highly recommend that is largely about this compulsion. It’s called The Nao of Brown. What I’m talking about is so similar, yet strikingly different. I am never the one in control. I’m not harming anyone else or actively harming myself. It is always an anonymous person outside the visual frame, inflicting violence on me. I’m the object; I’m looking at myself.
Last week I told my therapist, “whoever made brains needs to try again.”
School is out for the summer
Posted: June 25, 2014 Filed under: Janitorial work | Tags: anxiety, changes, emotions, janitors, manual labor, school, summer, trash, treasures, work 7 CommentsMonday was the last day of school over here. Such an exciting time for students and teachers!!! A time of adjustment for parents, I imagine. For janitors, it doesn’t mean much. We’re still working, we’ll just be doing different (but just as physical, if not more so) tasks. And, it means we’ll be switching from working nights, to working early.
A lot of times, people (outside of work) ask me if I work during the summer. They assume that I don’t. For the record: school janitors work all summer long. How else would the school look all shiny and new on the first day of school???? Little tiny elves?!!
This has historically been the hardest time of year for me. Everyone is so excited about the nice weather and their upcoming freedom. Teachers are clearing out their rooms in anticipation of new stuff they ordered for next year. I start getting really emotional about everyone leaving. I start trying to save as much of the stuff they are throwing out. I start fretting about being ripped away from my routine, and having to work closely with my co-workers all day, every day. I start isolating as much as I can get away with. I know this is some strong language for what seems like no big deal, but it really has felt this extreme for me.
It’s been getting better the past two years. Like everything else in my life, I’m starting to be able to handle it easier. I feel more at ease with my co-workers, and the idea that I will actually be working with them. I chat with teachers about their summer plans. I don’t try to save everything they throw away; I’m becoming more selective. As a side note, anything I do get out of the trash, I immediately create a strong bond with it, for some reason. Stuff from trash is much more valuable, often, than stuff I choose to buy. Not sure why.
But I still can’t let myself get swept up in the energy of the last day of school. I don’t make an effort to say good-bye to all the kids or anything. What they do at our school is, Kindergarten through 4th grade students all go out early and position themselves out on the bus loop, so that when 5th graders head out to get on their buses, they get a big send-off. Then everyone boards their bus, and all the buses take two laps around the bus loop as all the staff cheer and wish them farewell. And kids are allowed to hang out the windows, just this one time, and everyone is yelling and cheering and crying. I cannot be there for that. Maybe one day. I just stay in the building and dump garbages, because it is too intense to be a part of that.
So far this year, I have found in the garbage:
- dozens of envelopes, in different bright colors
- two coffee mugs, one which says, “I ❤ Tea, I ❤ Teaching”
- a plastic travel cup with straw
- a bunch of tracing paper
- some books, one which is called, “Subway Art”
- a bunch of Teddy Grahams and string cheeses
- A North Face jacket, which will actually fit me
- silly bandz!!!!!
And really that’s it so far, which is a very good thing! The past few years, there have been times of huge upheaval. Asbestos removal about 6 years ago, massive room changes about 3 years ago, new carpet installation 2 years ago. Anything like this, and teachers toss out soooooo much. And I respond in a frenzied fashion. I cannot see useful things go into the dumpster. This year feels so smooth and relaxed, in comparison. I am glad.
A partial list of some stuff I’ve found in the past:
- an iPod shuffle
- another iPod shuffle
- Nintendo DS games
- lunch boxes, so many lunch boxes. I’m always in the market to upgrade, haha.
- a long-arm stapler
- a long long list of art supplies and books, calculators, cameras, just… stuff.
- silly bandz!!!!!
This time around, I am ready to try and enjoy the summer.
Trying to get out of the fog, back to the party
Posted: September 27, 2013 Filed under: Testosterone | Tags: bipolar disorder, depression, emotions, in a funk, mental health, optimism, testosterone, trans 3 CommentsI’ve been on testosterone (very low-dose) for a little over 6 months now, and in some ways, that was the best 6 month streak I’ve ever had. Now, I find myself crashing, in some very familiar ways… Did I think I was now immune to these lows? I’m not sure – I’ve felt more “normal” than ever before lately, so yeah I think I figured maybe my “highs and lows” would not vary as much as they have my whole adult life. But I think they’re still a pretty big part of me.
At age 17, I was diagnosed as bipolar. By 23, I was seriously questioning that, and slowly getting off all my meds, and deciding that I had been misdiagnosed. I’m certain of that by now. But, I’m pretty sure I do have some ups and downs that are outside “normal range.” I also have a tendency to just emotionally shut down to avoid the whole feeling things in the first place (not fun!) . Being in therapy recently has helped me avoid shut-down mode. So has testosterone. I think. Maybe.
I’ve been pretty down for the past few weeks. But, relatively, it’s not that bad. In the past, I’ve experienced bouts of depression that have lasted roughly 4-6 months at a time and have left me basically non-functional. Currently, I’m pretty much normally functioning. I’m just not getting much enjoyment out of things, and I’m dreading anything upcoming in the near future. Like, really dreading. Also, interestingly as per my unfaltering optimism, I believe this fog is going to lift any day now, and I’ll get right back into things. We’ll see about that.
It’s just… kind of a bummer. The first few months on testosterone were a really fun mix of elation, warm and fuzzy, cozy, euphoria, sexual energy, confidence burst, and anxiety-be-gone! Now it’s feeling like… party’s over! But, again with the optimism, I think that as soon as I navigate out of this gloom, the party will still be there, waiting for me.





