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AUG 25th – SUNDAY
August 25th was when the burn officially started and the days were already starting to blur together. I was so worn out that I don’t remember much of what I did that day. I probably started at camp hanging and connecting with everyone and then biked around the neighborhood to scout it out, no doubt already having bike problems. Hurray for having bike repair camps close to us! It was too intimidating to think about getting to my other camp, Spanky’s, across the playa but figuring out that Mia’s camp happened to be right by me was a pleasant surprise. Especially since our phones had stopped working by then so it was going to be all physical coordination from that point on. Being so close was going to make it a lot easier to coordinate. Or so I thought.

AUG 26 – MONDAY
First hanging with my camp crew for a couple hours the next morning, I then headed back to find Mia at her camp, Draft Punk, to be emotional support during the elaborate brunch she was throwing. Her ex from a previously serious relationship was also camping there with his girlfriend and she wasn’t sure how she was going to feel. After the impressive brunch with no sign of awkwardness, I then continued what was about to become ritual for the rest of the burn by finally biking over to Spanky’s. Getting back into the sex-swing of things as soon as I got there, I jumped into a volunteer shift bartending and had a dude with quite the splendid moves shaking it in his shiny gold leggings and scarf around his neck within minutes.

Getting lost on the way to find Brigit and Aaron later, I finally found their camp for a low-key hang that was only to last a little under two hours since they were already buzzed and winding down. Just sitting around chatting over Aaron’s lovely cocktails, Brigit pointed out an extra Kodiak tent a fellow camper had brought with the intention that she was going to talk to him about selling to me so I could have a decent place to sleep for the rest of the burn. An idea that never materialized but brought some a relief to think about, even if just for a moment. Another compadre of theirs, one of Aaron’s innocent crushes and head of B.E.D, showed up on a OneWheel resembling a tipsy character out of Star Wars with her head-garb and maroon genie pants that slit vertically along the legs and joined at the ankles. “Loaning” her my headlamp on her way out shortly before my own, I knew it was likely the last time I’d see it. I wasn’t left in the dark, however, as I had my disco lights and that’s all I ever seemed to need.
A few of us from Spanky’s went out later including my girl, Kelsey, who played in the Black Rock Philharmonic and was going to be a roomie at the hotel after the burn. It ended up being the first super late night, not heading home until around 4 AM after Kelsey, some of her friends and I made it to a camp with aerial acrobatics and I took my leave both for alone time and to make it to the Black Rock Roller Disco. My night was soon to end upon arrival though when, like every other year, I couldn’t find my size skates. Probably for the best given that hitting my head could have instantly killed me since the ITP was hitting hard again. I knew it was back to bad but wouldn’t know exactly how much until after the burn.

AUG 27 – TUESDAY
Speaking of that pesky bleeding disorder, I finally forced myself to face the music and find the makeshift series of connected tan tents that created the Rampart hospital to get checked out the next day. Already looking to be a casualty of the playa herself, the doctor hobbled her way over on crutches with a hurt ankle when it was my turn and I had to fight back the emotions of being touched by this woman who cared enough for that world of ours to still be helping even with an injury. I was pretty quick to snap out of it, though, when she didn’t know about ITP let alone what to do about it. There was no way to take a tiny sample of blood and test my platelet count there. A little surprising as it seemed like such a fast and minor procedure at Dr. Vlad’s office. She told me I could have a special pass to leave the burn for a “real” hospital and come back or I’d have to be air-lifted if I needed immediate help. I knew it was unlikely that I’d make it back if I left for the playa. That meant that I wasn’t going to leave. It may not have been an option to say goodbye to the burn but what could have been was increasing the steroids back to their original amount since I had just started weaning off. My instincts were telling me to do it but I instead trusted her as a professional when she told me that it was probably best to keep the dose where it was. Steroids were a nasty business so I wasn’t all that surprised. I still wonder all these months later if my numbers would have been so bad when I got home if I had just followed my intuition.

I headed back to Draft Punk when I was done to spend time with Mia as a guest bartender at one of her camp’s happy hours. Confused why she and the RV-mate/friend, Susan, weren’t around (she had been sleeping when I swung by earlier), the board she kept up showing where she was had been updated to say she was out and about. Super vague, though who among us knew where we were going to end up at any given moment out there. Puzzled about her whereabouts but enjoying the company of a fabulous man who was still way too put together for someone who hadn’t slept the night before, she finally showed up about an hour and a half later having gotten the days of her shift mixed up. After that, she instantly disappeared again. Where did I find her next? Looking out into the street, there she was dressed as a giant beer standing on a crate as she hollered at people through a megaphone to come in and have a drink. That’s my girl!
My fifth year and I still struggled with how odd it was to never know who I was actually going to end up spending my time with regardless of plans made before. The Swan crew and I planned to go out that night and I was able to talk them into going over to Draft Punk with me to pick up Mia and Susan. When we showed up the ladies were still getting themselves put together and taking selfies for fifteen minutes before we all finally managed to hit the road in a pack on our bikes (the equivalent of our cars out there) and lost them almost immediately. I raised the white flag and told myself to let go. It could be the last time I’d see her regardless of being camped on the same street but oh well. At least we’d had fun fresh material to cover when we got home.

The rest of the night ended up being what may have been the best of my burn. Rolling around on art cars was my favorite thing to do at the burn and it ended up being the only night I did it. To our surprise given that we needed to attach Disco Inferno’s two person bike to any that we were able to get on, we managed to make it happen almost immediately when ending up on my favorite car for the year, a super cool dueling piano bar. Later on, we hopped onto one that was pretty much a big bed where I was fighting to keep my eyes open and another one of us couldn’t. It was entertaining to watch given that he had been the one who always seemed the most pumped up. Entertaining, that is, until he bragged after about how he can fall asleep anywhere. Damn him and his not having my sleeping problems. Our group finished up the night with a bang both literally and figuratively when making it to Thunderdome. A fighting dome inspired by the movie Mad Max where participants are hoisted into the air to battle with foam-covered bats, I hadn’t been into it my first couple years but was finding it pretty damn fun that year. It was an amped way to end the evening just before the clock hit midnight. Still early on the playa but not for us, we then made our way back to camp.

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Dr. Vlad and Mom (still can’t believe it) knew how important it was for me to get to the burn. Mama even helped by lending me a big tent last minute after the one I was going to borrow from a fellow burner fell through. She went so far, in fact, as to be giving it a test-run, setting it up in her driveway as I walked up.
Que an impactful and touching moment while also triggering traumatic flashbacks to when I had taken it to the playa before and it had been a total nightmare. A nightmare I already knew was going to repeat as it wasn’t made for such harsh conditions.
She (again surprising) hadn’t been one of the people giving me a hard time about going so soon after discovering the ITP regardless of a specialist who had been before giving the green light. Especially my sister who was to resent me going for months after, if not forever. Her ex-husband managed to freak her out even more than she would have on her own by worrying her with news of challenging weather conditions on the playa after I had gone. Add it to the list of “I owe you one” he’s due.
Negative feedback from those in my life against doing things most important to me had always been confusing regardless of knowing big picture that it was unintentionally about their comfort and happiness, often at the expense of mine. The advice of conservative squares had lost power, respect and consideration when my first burn helped me to understand just how much all of that bullshit had kept me away from what was important and kept me in a place of unhappiness most of my life. I was going to the burn, dammit, and thank God I did. It may have been the only thing that got me through the couple months after.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

AUG 22ND – THURSDAY
Flying to Reno as opposed to road-tripping proved itself to do the opposite of it’s original intent by being way more work than driving. Mostly because of the chaos of setting up extra rideshares. One for my stuff from and to San Diego, one to get me onto the playa from Reno, another to get be back to GSR in Reno and then one for me from the airport in SD to Jewels’ pad for house/dog-sitting. For my stuff, I managed to find someone somewhat quickly through a local burner page on Facebook. The connection was strained from the beginning, though, as it seemed hard for him to grasp that he would only be taking my stuff, not me. I in turn got confused about what I must be missing that made it so hard to understand and where I was failing to communicate clearly. It was a pretty clear flag for how things were to go down (as if I needed help in the hot-mess department) but I had such a long laundry list of stuff to take care of, I let it go. At least joining a burner cocktail hour at his house the week before takeoff made me feel confident that he was an upstanding guy. Upstanding in intention but still not good with coordination or how much he took on. By the time we were all to leave, he had committed to taking stuff for way too many people (for a fee) making the whole thing even more of a mess. Among other things, he hadn’t realized he would be taking my perishables and I had failed at packing the cooler with enough ice for that food to make it the two days to the playa. In no small part because it was only supposed to take one. He had decided last minute to go a day later and hadn’t thought it a big deal to clear it with all of us. Doing my best to hold back panic with reminders that things going awry was the way of both the burn and travel, two main focuses in my life, we ended on the note of him putting in an extra bag of ice on his way and me lugging the heavy tent with me.
Part of the reason I was going by plane was already out the window but the main goal had actually been to get some sleep before getting onto the playa. I still had a shot there. A shot that was also to end up missing the mark thanks to anticipation-induced insomnia and a roomie who thought bringing a guy back to hookup with was a good idea. That part was fine, actually. What wasn’t was for both of them to be constantly opening and shutting the door all night for god knows what reason. Before that lovely grand finale of the trek, though, and after dealing with the headache of figuring out my stuff, I had gotten to the airport only to find out that the flight had been delayed. I could only laugh about that though I could have strangled the dude sitting by me in the airport as he loudly chomped away on his food and talked at full volume on his phone.
Finally getting to the Morris Burner Hostel in Reno and still having some time in the afternoon, I managed to turn my frown upside down when walking right into being able to show off my knowledge of the 10 Principals for a discount followed by being offered homemade biscuits and gravy. I also lucked out in being assigned to a very cool mermaid room. Forcing myself to not let an exhausting rough start make me miss out on too much after check-in, I even managed to make it to the thrift store across the street in that uninviting industrial neighborhood followed by checking out the grounds of the actual hostel. There was art all over the place along with the varied themed rooms I had checked out earlier. Meeting a new humpty-hump door-squeaking roomie when dropping my stuff, a sweet gal from overseas who had never been to the burn, I had been excited for her being a virgin and a little worried on her behalf that she was going to tire herself by going out to meet up with friends before hitting the harsh desert. Those feelings of excitement and care were replaced with agitation, however, once her and the dude she brought back were in and out, in and out, in and out. Man. I just couldn’t catch a break.

AUG 23RD – FRIDAY
The next rideshare to get me from Reno onto the playa was with a local Reno burner name Party Marty. A name, I was about find out, that had been given to him being fun but also in irony since he was sober. When communicating virtually, there had been a couple comments that sounded a little pervy in the bad way so I was relieved when he ended up being a sweetie who had a meticulous RV and loved his girl. Sadly, she couldn’t come as she was battling some pretty serious health problems. I’d agree that the playa wasn’t a place to go in that situation, even if I wasn’t following suit. Picking up one more road-dawg (who looked to have been partying most of the night at her hotel), we managed to see the the sun come up as we drove onto the playa. It was a peaceful moment mixed with excitement as we only had to wait two or three hours in line as opposed to the ten hours we could have been waiting if we didn’t come Early Entry.

As soon as we got to the cones that lined the last couple miles to entry, I breathed in the dust and exhaled the toxicity that I had been holding onto. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still feeling up-tight in other ways. It was so good to be home but I was stressing about finding what was to be my main camp, Twisted Swan. Especially when so much of the city hadn’t been built yet. Once getting over that hurdle, I had to get that huge damn tent set up, which I finally did with the help of the only two campmates who were already there, a couple with the playa names of Disco & Inferno.
He helped me set up while she made us yummy treats. Sadly, if the tent ever had the possibility of standing a chance, it was already doomed when no other tents or RVs were set up yet to shield it from the wind and the shade structure I was borrowing from Mia wasn’t to show up for a few more days. That meant that some of the poles were about to snap before the sun even went down. Another guy in our village of PolyParadise (though not in our actual camp within the village) proved to be incredibly resourceful when he helped me figure out how to duct-tape metal piping to the poles for a quick fix and stronger support. I would continue to be impressed with how hard-working T (we’ll call him) was and to hang here and there but the puppy-crush he had already developed was starting to smother me. Not that he was too incredibly overbearing. That stuff just got to me easily and I was frustrated that so many seemed to be blind to the fact that I had the same flirtatious and sexually-charged energy with everyone.

Besides setting up my tent, I went back and forth between hanging with Disco Inferno and helping to set up Polyparadise. Terrible at being responsible with wearing a mask, I’d majorly regret it when the head of the village, Scotto, hazed me by getting a few of us to shake out huge tarps, creating a big cloud of alkaline dust to breathe in. I still wonder if it played a roll in the ITP bruises returning within a couple days.
Finishing up and having a couple drinks with new friends, I headed to my three-roomed tent early. With doors open and screens closed, it was magic to hearing people howl at the sunset as I watched El Pupo, the flaming metal octopus, shoot flames to add to the pretty colors filling the sky. It was a lovely start to the evening, not that I was going to actually get any sleep. The irony still gets me that my main goal had been to do just that when it was about to end up being my worst yet. However I did accomplish my second goal with flying colors. To reconnect with romantic and sexual intimacy. More on that later…

AUG 24 – SATURDAY
More of the camp finally started showing up the next day including the camp lead, Guami. Setting up Twisted Swan was faster than the much larger PolyParadise had been but a lot more of an unorganized mess, to which I handled by running around jokingly calling everyone “fuckin hippies” while switching back and forth between helping and taking small breaks thanks to already being worn out from the day before. An impatient person, I got a break from the disarray when it was my turn to go to the village kitchen under the huge tent behind the Swan, it being one of the two shifts of the year I was reasonable for pitching in to provide a meal. Back by popular demand from the year before, sandwiches and smoothies it was. It was fun providing for a smaller more essential crew. There was a sense of relaxed and appreciative community as opposed to the Hunger Games fight to the death amid unfamiliar faces that would be the case rest of the week.
Man, day two and not only was I already worn out but I had also woken up with big bruises signifying that the steroids weren’t working. Distracting me with the surprise of a fun connection later in the day, though, was when a weekend lover from the off-playa past, D/S (we’ll call him) showed up dressed fabulous albeit spun out on who knows what acting lovey-dovey enough for me to feel awkward as my new little camp crew looked at me with excited “who’s this” smirks and raised eyebrows. Explaining that they shouldn’t take it seriously, we were soon off for some physically uncomfortable tent sex before I told him to go home and get some sleep. Together on and off from there, D/S and I tried to hang with Mia and others but trying to turn our attention away from each other was a little pointless. I was guessing his being so “you’re my whole world” was the same attention he gave to all of his partners so I had been able to take it lightly and not freak out. Instead I soaked it up and enjoyed the sex. Really good sex.

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It was the month of Burning Man. That meant a lot of saying no to most other events popping up, though I’m sure it won’t be all too surprising to know that I did still manage to sneak in a fair amount of smaller things. It was also the Month of Mia, as I like to call it, as we kicked off on the first with brunch and another go-round at a burner bike decorating party. Throughout the rest of the month, the two of us got rowdy at a Hash House Harrier event and hung at the burn. I also managed to do the smaller non-party things I loved like farmer’s market, beach time, taking my parents to an event called Tiki Oasis and hangs at the houses of family and friends. Free time on most days, though, was consumed with thrifting, Amazon orders, sorting through my storage unit and lots of other organizing before taking off for the burn on the 22nd.
The biggest event I allowed myself was the aforementioned Hash House Harrier weekend with Mia. Lots of hedonistic shenanigans that ironically ended up playing a roll in saving my life and doing so in enough time to still be able to go to the burn. The Red Dress Run of the Hash House Harriers (a drinking group with a running problem) had been sparked in 1987 by a woman named Donna Rhinehart and then made official in San Diego the following year. Mia told me that it was the biggest event of the year. Something easy to believe given all the other related gatherings over the weekend. Now you may remember from previous posts that I had been getting more and more self-conscious about bruises that had been appearing out of nowhere. By that point they had gotten bad enough that I and the abundance of nurses surrounding me in family and friends knew I needed to get checked out. I had no other symptoms, though, so I never would have guessed it to be too serious. That was until a hematology nurse I was hot-tubing with at the event told me it really could be and that I needed to get to the ER right away.
I had known I wanted to go to the doc before the burn so I didn’t have to “hear it” from other campers but after that nurse’s comment, I finally committed to going within the next day or two. A big part of why I hadn’t already was because I didn’t have insurance and didn’t know how to do it. That had been more stressful than the actual bruises. Go ‘Murica, huh? Anyway, heading over to visit my family the next morning on Monday August 5, I pulled over to the ER on Coronado Island with the intent of leaving if the wait was too long. Good thing it wasn’t as I was told by the ER doc with very little explanation that my life was in danger from the platelets in my blood being too low and I was facing being hospitalized.
I’d be in shock for months but things became a lot clearer as far as what was going on over the next week. I was assigned to an oncologist, as they are “blood doctors”, and was indeed hospitalized on the 13th. Turned out that I had developed a super rare autoimmune disorder called ITP (Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpa) where my immune system was misreading the platelets in my blood as a foreign entity (think germs) and killing them off. All I had really known about platelets was that I used to donate them so it was going to take me an extra minute to try to understand and grasp the whole thing. Especially because I had no other symptoms.

What was explained to me was that the platelets in our blood are what causes clotting and stop us from bleeding out. Because mine had gotten so seriously low, I could have started bleeding out of my orifices like a horror movie at any moment. From there, the reaction of professionals would be constant enough to get annoying as they exclaimed over and over about how they couldn’t believe I was OK, not to hit my head and constantly questioning as if I had forgotten that I had shown signs of internal bleeding. I was told such things as how not having a period (I have an IUD) may have saved my life and had a nurse practically doing an interpretive dance over how OK I seemed when he expected to walk into my hospital room to find someone on their death bed. Like so many other times in my life, I was some kind of freak. That time, however, it saved my life. I must note that throughout it all, it was fun to put a smile on the nurse’s faces. I was in the oncology unit so they were used to being around super sick people dying of cancer. I came off as healthy and was full of my normal fun and smiles. Shit, the day I was hospitalized, I was even having a good hair day.
When meeting Dr. Vlad, an oncologist and hematology specialist originally from Eastern Europe, I had no idea he was about to become the main man in my life for the foreseeable future. Attractive, close to my age, taking trips around the world to do goodwill work and with other similarities, it made the connection a bit odd in that it sometimes made things a little less comfortable while at others a little more. Picking up on a relaxed side of his personality underneath the front of professionalism, I had to fight the urge to see him as a challenge and force myself to focus on the ITP. The best part of being paired with him: he had been to Burning Man and knew it was important. For my condition, his plan for the next couple months would be to use (absolutely horrible for the body) steroids like chemo is used to kill my immune system in order to balance my body back out.
When they looked to be working right away, he said he didn’t see any reason I wouldn’t be able to go to the burn with the reasoning being that I still had to live my life. I was more than appreciative for his understanding. It was healing to experience a doctor who actually thought of me as a person and considered the things that actually made my life worth living as opposed to just telling me not go. The ominous question on my mind about that was how much his point of view had to do with, as an oncologist, being around death on a constant basis and how much he categorized me with that group. I couldn’t grasp it but I really was walking a tightrope of life and death. I’ll always be thankful to him for realizing how much more important that made to be able to go to the place that was the foundation of my heart, healing and soul. I’d imagine it to be the reason I was able to get through the next couple months.

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Before heading to Nor Cal, JerseyJ had been pushing me to stay with her when I got back. Partly to be thoughtful (and so I could more easily pay her back) but mostly because she didn’t like being alone. By two weeks before coming home on July 3rd, I hadn’t heard anything. Calling to basically confirm that she was flaking out, it was a relief when she did. It was unfortunately also something that added to my resentment. Not exactly a shocker to find out soon after, who should had moved in but her hot-mess of a loser boyfriend. A guy who had not only tried to screw me when whacked out of his morning on God knows what (I had given her written proof) but also tried to make her believe that I was the one trying to bang him AND his friend. She knew I wasn’t like that, luckily, and he was a ridiculously terrible liar. Even so, she made excuses for him and swore (more to herself than anyone else) that she wasn’t going to let him move in when it was so obvious that he already had. The whole thing was too familiar. She liked to tell herself that she was such a loyal friend but I had watched her betray anyone who got in her way when it came to men. Often putting old friends and roomies in traumatizing situations when her and her ex would unleash on each other around them. And then she would be heartbroken, worrying why they distanced themselves as she played the victim and ranted about loyalty. I had loved her so much and she had been so good to me in so many ways but the other shoe was dropping. Hard.

I already had my finger on the “publish” button to nail down a place before even making the call and boy did I luck out. Scoring a pad half a block from my favorite beach in SD, I finally met my sweetheart of a new roomie (big sigh of relief) for about two seconds before she disappeared for what would be most of the rest of the summer. Jenny was a soft and sweet woman to the point of being Disney-princess surreal. A blond cutie close to my age, she was about half of my width and, following in the vein of nurses taking over my social and family life in SD, an LVN from the Midwest. Just having gone through a big breakup, this was her first time having a roommate. She was gone a lot as part of her recovery was to travel for the first time in her life. In the famous words of George Strait, she let herself go. Let herself go to Central America to do goodwill work, to visit family and to a surf camp for women. We had just met and I was excited, happy and proud of her in a way that made it seem like we had been friends forever. It was a slightly strange feeling to feel that way about someone I had just met but I did.
As always, I was working myself to death. Because that’s what I did no matter what (I kept meaning to go to therapy for it) but also because of the more legit reason of it being time to start hardcore prep for Burning Man. Part of that was saying no to most of the stuff that came up for the summer. That part sucked. Mini moments of redemption managed to work their way in, though, by finding a few hours here and there for some good times on a smaller scale starting with when I had finally checked off the goal of making it to Venice Beach when hanging at Grandma’s in Eagle Rock for a couple nights. Once home, I started catching up with my regular haunts and habits in OB. Writing at Te Mana, foodie moments such as eating the seasoned fruit more typically sold on the beaches of Mexico when a woman walked around with it on Dog Beach and finding a 3.2 mile path to walk along the coast that started and ended at our duplex with a turn around at the local skate park. It was perfection to be able to hang with Team OB for the 4th of July. Such a great feeling to be back in the mix with the old group of friends, it was a little foreshadowed not only from still feeling insecure (and a little worried) about the mystery bruises but also because of being distracted as I tried to ignore the painful knowledge that the bond would once again break when I next left. I hated that part of travel so much.

Going to Mexico with Mia and friends for a day was a great snack for the growing hunger to get back out of the country. Previously flying off on one of her own adventures through the Tijuana airport, she had met the sweetest guy who happened to live there in TJ (also flying off one of his own many adventures) when they bonded over the challenges of finding a morning mimosa. Josswell was a sweetheart who was excited to show us around his city those months after their first meeting. If he could have talked us into staying all night to paint the town, he would have. A lovely day but those damn bruises were distracting as I was becoming more embarrassed and even a little it worried. There was plenty of other distractions to pull me out of it though. One being when our server was so high that he didn’t listen to our orders at all as we gave them and then just randomly sat down at our table. Even Josswell’s jaw was on the floor. It was later hilarious to us and had to be in the moment to others as we must have looked like confused cartoons with eyes bugging out of our heads.
I got to spend a lot of time with family, both blood and honorary. I even managed to have a few one-off homie hangs with Jewels and a friend, Rachael, who I only saw once or twice a year. She had gotten in a relationship, moved 45 minutes away and later had a baby. Unlike the expired wedding dress she ditched that stared at me every time I went to my storage unit, I was lucky to see her at all. I was proud of myself for getting better at those moments of making a point to spend time with loved ones. I was also feeling pretty good at myself for getting better at executing the goal of using the rideshare work as an outlet for sightseeing and making it to events. It was fun people-watching at ComiCon from the safety of my car. Way more than it would have been navigating through the packed crowds. Balboa Park offered free museums to locals on Tuesday so I managed to make it there a couple times. Once being when it was the day for MOPA (Museum of Photographic Arts) given that photography was the second of my creative passions. I even managed to meet up after a work shift to Gay Pride with some girlfriends I hardly ever got to see. A valiant effort but I arrived a little too late based on the amount they had already drank. Them and everyone else.

Continuing on as a foodie, I made my way around by mouth *insert dirty joke* to, among so many other places, my always-favorite OB farmer’s market. So much of the magic in Ocean Beach radiated through the festival-style event on Wednesday nights. Great food, people watching, happy hour, musicians and acro-yoga that was followed by a drum circle and fire spinners once sunset hit. It made me think of the burn just a little. I also got the chance to share some traditional fun with Wendy by taking her to a very old community event called OTL. Over the Line was a rowdy bat and ball social sporting event related to softball that had been around since the 1950s. Inappropriate team names, lots of drinking and a notable amount of men in their fifties and sixties who had been playing for years took over Fiesta Island for a couple of weekends a year. Not being too far from my place, it gave Sis and I a chance to bike there so that I could test-drive the one I had newly decorated for the burn. A big fail that I should have seen coming given that the bike had been shit on the playa the year before. Puffing away on our way there, she did me the service of switching when I was too exhausted from the malfunctions of mine. Her effort solidifying that mine was a heap of donezo, we eventually gave up and locked them up on the island for me to pick up the next day.
Having a blast there, especially her, we got to have another special sister moment a few days later when I went with to watch one of her salsa classes. A hobby that made her so happy, it made me happy. Good times together had been on a roll. For the next hang, we added in not only more of the family for more of the fun but also a couple of the friends who I had met up with at Pride and OTL. Pool party at the Satterwhite Sanctuary, baby! Fun for sure though my dear sister screwed up royally with her behavior toward one of the amigas badly enough to threaten our long-standing friendship. Well, if it could even been considered a friendship anymore. One of the sad examples where, once inseparable, we had become something between acquaintances and party friends who hardly ever communicated let alone hung. The reality was that it might not have made a difference either way if sister caused any damage. That hurt. What felt victoriously validating, though, was Wendow taking the crown as the family fuck up. Oh how the mighty had fallen. Even if just for a minute.

It was a good month for getting back to my “normal” life at home. There was something anything then normal that was about to come around the corner, though. Instead of getting better, the bruises were getting progressively worse. A lot worse. By July 29 I had one the size of a baseball. There was no more trying to ignore while hoping it would go away. Something was wrong.

As expected and hoped for, the rest of May was pretty low-key with the one small hiccup of a semi-shitty situation with JerseyJ. She had said I could stay with her the night of my return from Sint Marteen but then retracted when I checked in before my connecting flight. Her reason being that it was going to be too late. To be fair, I hadn’t thought of how late the hour would be before then. It was hard to keep track of all details with travel and she was a night owl so it hadn’t occurred to me to make sure she knew. Maybe it wouldn’t have been but I had a hunch it wasn’t the real reason anyway. As I saw coming but she had been in denial about, RJ had moved in. I was trying to work on salvaging our friendship but also unintentionally testing her, as I expected the final nail to be hammered down into the coffin at any moment. Since St. Patty’s, we both had switched over to our frustrations with each other taking precedence over the good stuff. The situation with him was a whole new level of trouble adding to the challenges we were already facing.
Given the situation, I was forced to spend the night at my paren’t house. Something I wasn’t comfortable with and a situation that was made even worse by an allergy-caused cough from the pups that popped up every once in a blue moon. Also the folks waking me up at 8 AM after going to bed in the wee hours due to the maid, gardener and pool guy coming. I swore I was never going to sleep a decent night again. Feeling horrible physically, we still managed to spend a nice morning and early afternoon together with breakfast burritos, pizza and watching GOT. Then it was time for me to get back into the daily life routine of managing the headaches of my rental car, working on applications to teach in S Korea and the always unavoidable, bills.
Three days passed and, trying to not be resentful, I visited JerseyJ. Or should say I visited her dogs given that she was MIA for a couple hours. Once more miscommunication to add to the mountain that was building. A much happier visit was to Nikki, Brent and the boys just ’cause and also to see the progress on their new house before heading back to Nor Cal. Back to Brigit and Aaron’s the next day with a stop at Grandma’s in L.A. for the night, a much smaller commitment of socializing was on the roster. It was nice, though, to have brief moments like when B’s friend Hondo visited. A sweet guy involved in the music scene of Indiana (among other creative outlets), he was such a sweetheart that he even went as far as to help give Brigit’s elderly cat Meowlie fluids intravenously.
From there it was back to my every day life of hiking in those mountains that I loved so much, sometimes by myself and sometimes with Brigit. Also with her tenancy to scold people with dogs. One of the pleasures that came with driving all over the Bay when working too much was the delightful opportunities of being a foodie. Munching on fish and chips when hitting my old stomping ground, Britannia Arms, I was flooded with memories of drinking Long Islands with my bestie at the time, Nicki (not to be confused with Nikki), in my very early twenties. It was nice to add a little nostalgia with the new spots.
href=”http://freerobinfly.com/2019/11/mia/”>Mia (as in the person) came to town for Bay to Breakers, something I had always been excited to check out, and I spent the night to join in. More than a little bummed, we never made it but did instead to a crazy Hash House Harriers party. A fun and hedonistic group that managed to make even me blush. Picking up Svetlana‘s son Nick from school a few days later, I even squeezed in one night with them and her great cooking before the end of the month. A visit that always managed to be accompanied by too much vino and my forever trying to get her evil cat Daisy to love me. Nice and scratched up, I said goodbye to May and got ready for summer to start creepin in.