October; or why I don't really bother with Halloween

The best part of Halloween in my opinion is that it means October is over.  Since I was little, I have always just had bad memories that are associated with October, and because of it, I wanted to move onto something happier.  This week specifically, I'd like to move on to something a little better just because my back hurts insanely, because of a sciatic nerve problem I've had since I started working jobs that required 8 hours of sitting a day.  Seriously, I went to go get groceries today at Carrefour, and I felt like I was walking like an old man.  Ridiculous.

There's no better place to start than with my time back when I was a kid as to why I am slightly bitter about Halloween.  As they say, you attract more flies with sugar than honey.  My mother never really knew what to do for Halloween costumes for boys.  When I was a little kid, my options were pumpkin or dragon.  These were hand me down costumes from my older brother.  One of the most fun parts about Halloween is supposed to be choosing what you want to be.  For me, the choice was already made.  My sisters could always do something with what we had, like wearing one of my mother's old bridesmaid's dresses and be a Southern Belle, or wear a lot of jean material and be a hippie.  For boys, it always seemed like it was harder.

As I've mentioned before, we lived in Cornfield Central.  Because of that, our nearest neighbors were a ways away, and walking at night was scary.  Our other option was to take my mother's old car.  It was a really nice muscle car back in the day.  She had a 68 Firebird that she drove off the showroom floor in Defiance.  Now; however, it was 1987 and no one had rebuilt the transmission since it was bought.  So when you'd be driving the transmission bands might slip, and you'd drop from 60 to 0 in less than a second.  If the transmission didn't kick back in, you'd be pushing the car home.  We only used it for short trips, like to church and back.

We did it one year in the Firebird, and that was kind of disastrous.  There weren't a lot of young families in our neighborhood, so some of the families didn't have candy.  So we had to figure out which houses to go to.  Another problem was space.  A Firebird isn't designed to hold 6 people, regardless of age.  It also had no heat, and no radio.  Those were stolen when a cousin had the car on the local college campus.  On top of that, my youngest brother was all of 2 years old, and really didn't want to be out that long without making a fuss.  So between a young child, and nearly getting pushed off steps by one of my siblings for a snickers bar, that was the first and last year we did trick or treating.

That's not to say that my mother never tried to have fun on Halloween.  When we were younger, we actually had a really fun party among the 6 of us.  Since my dad worked second shift, we only had one car with a dependable transmission until 1996.  So instead of feeling sad about not being able to go trick or treating, we each got a sack of candy, dressed up in our costumes, and had pizza.  It was pretty fun.  I guess I just never really got into the spirit.

One of the worst parts about October was that my mother always used to get really depressed during the month.  She just seemed like she didn't want to do anything, and most of the time we'd just be curled under blankets watching Must See TV, hoping that no one would bother coming over begging for candy.  I never really understood why until I remembered that my grandmother died on October 21st.

My parents moved in with my grandmother back in 1981 to take care of her, and because the rent would be free.  My grandmother was getting to an age where it was hard for her to get around, and she would forget things sometimes.  My mother was a stay at home mom at the time, and she already had three kids.  It was pretty ideal.  After she had me in 1983 and my younger brother in 1985, it started to get more complicated for her.  My grandmother's condition was worsening.  She started to get more and more confused, and angry.  Finally in 1987, my grandmother passed away.

It took a good 10 years for my mother to really move on from the death of my grandmother.  I think much of it had to do with living in the house and seeing all of her clothes and possessions around her 24 hours a day. My parents even moved into my grandmother's room a few months after her passing.  On top of that, there were some problems with family because of the will.  My grandmother wasn't insanely rich or anything, but she had more than enough to live comfortably.  It was so bad, one  uncle and aunt wouldn't come into the house for the wake.  They were that ashamed of what they had done to the rest of their family.

Growing up with all this bad stuff happening in October, it seems like it's when bad stuff happens to me.  I always tend to have health problems in October.  I think the first breakdown I had was in October.  My sophomore year of college I got a sinus infection for the first time in my life and guess which month it happened?  The first time I had really bad sciatic nerve problems was in October.  I'm also pretty sure I just lost out on another job today.  It gets me coming and going.

So you'll have to understand that none of this is blaming, or whining, even though it may sound like it, but statements of fact all.  I don't actually mean to sound as crotchety as I probably do.  If I'm invited to a Halloween Party, I'll try and find a costume and go.  I'll smile and say Happy Halloween to people, but after I'm done, just let me go home and curl up on the couch or if it's been a particularly bad day, in the shower with the hottest water I can stand either running over my head or against my lower back.

The Queerest of Birds

While finishing the cleaning today, as I clean every Saturday to get it the hell out of the way, I was thinking about a lot of things, and I finally had a stroke of inspiration for writing, so I think I'll try and turn it into a full length book.  If you do National Novel Writing Month, I'll probably work on it there.  If you're around, I'm also Tamayn there.

I plan to try and make it similar to an Agatha Christie style story.  There will be an overarching murder plot, but a focus on the relationship of a long lost brother whom the family despises at worst, or wants nothing to do with at best.  The only grandchild will be the other focus character.

Lord knows that I read them enough, and have been watching them often enough here.  I still have more research to do on a certain aspect of the interesting part of the story line, but well, I'll leave that to be found out later.  If people want to see it, I'll post what results.

La Pilule Amère

So I'll start slow with this because basically all I wanted to do yesterday, and I still kind of feel like it today, is curl up in the bathtub with some cake mix.  As I mentioned, I started applying for jobs here in France.  I knew this would be a bit of a complicated situation.  I guess I never expected to get even a response.

I should really mention a problem I have.  The best way I've found to describe it is that I go up like a rocket, and come down like a stick.  Outwardly, I am a bit cynical about things, but secretly I'm already counting on success on everything I do.  So when I got a response from one of the first places I applied to, I was floored!

The schedule would have been 12 hours a week.  It wouldn't have been a terrible amount, but it would have been a start.  They asked me if the hours worked for me, and wanted me to respond as soon as possible.  So I called the number I had been left at the bottom, and set up an appointment to speak with the people necessary.  I was really excited, because this meant that I wouldn't feel so useless here.  I could contribute real money to the situation here, and we wouldn't have to worry about next year.  I was really excited.

I called my sister in law and mother in law to ask them how I should approach this.  I've never been terribly confident in my actual French level, so I always feel like I'm at a disadvantage.  They said to try and keep it simple.  Don't get in over your head.  Explain the situation exactly as it is. They said that given the level of the job, and that I wouldn't be speaking with people all that much, so I should relax on that front.  The one thing they said though was that this job isn't something that would appeal to a lot of French people.  Frankly people who are already on chomage make more than this job would give a month, so it's not to their advantage to take it.  I had maybe a bit more confidence with that.

They said for a job like this, the most important thing was to present myself well.  I just got a hair cut last week, so that was fine.  I needed to shave, which I did (even shaving against the grain with a new blade to make sure it was smooth.)  I wore dress pants and a dress shirt.  I even put a sweater over the top of it, one to look even more French, and number two so that no one would notice the shirt was off white.  Since the sweater was tan, the shirt looked really nice and white.  I even took one of those chemises with me and a pen and paper.  I don't think I ever tried to look that French in all my life.  ( I should just mention I hate shaving and never wear a sweater with a collared shirt because I get really warm easily, and I think it just looks so ridiculously Ned Flanders that I want to beat myself up. )

Digressing, I got there with about 15 minutes to spare.  I had always heard it was a good idea to arrive between 10 to 15 minutes before the appointment.  I spoke with the person at the Acceuil and was told that the person I was supposed to meet with was in a meeting, but someone else would be down to receive me.  In a few minutes I see a person in a suit come to the desk.  I assume that it's him.  He comes over and asks if he should know me.....?  It's not the right person and I'm turning about a thousand shades of red.  But I smile, excuse myself, and the woman at the acceuil explains that I'm waiting for someone and that he's fine.  She tells me that the person I'm going to meet with will be down in just a few minutes.

The guy arrives just a little bit after, now that I'm really embarrassed and even more nervous, it's a match made in heaven.  He's a young guy, probably younger than me in truth, and he asks me how I'm doing.  I reply that I'm doing fine, and we walk to the back.  He asks me if I had ever worked in a store like this before, I say yes, and explain a bit.  I'm so nervous I really don't know what to say.  So I try to explain a bit, but it's not going so great.  So. Damn. Nervous.....

We go to an office, and he explains a bit about the job.  We go over the hours, the days I'd work, how many people would be on the team I'd be working with, and just a few general things.  I get the feeling he's killing time until I can speak with the person I need to talk to.  He asked me if the schedule would work.  I say yes, not a problem.  We talk a bit more, and he asks me if I can take on more hours sometimes.  I say it's fine.  I try to explain the situation but I'm still a bit tongue tied.  Someone comes in and tells him that the woman I was supposed to speak with is now available.  So we get up, and walk to her office.

She says hello, we shake hands and she has me take a seat.  She asks me how high my level of French is, and I try to stammer out a response until the guy says "small," and she says, "oh, small."  That was it!  At that point, something just snapped in my head.  Now it was a challenge.  I responded with, "J'aime penser que je peux parler très bien Française, mais j'n sais pas."  She blinked and opened her eyes a bit wider.  She smiled a bit and said, "Ah bon, je trouve que vous parlez très bien!"  I felt vindicated!  We talked a bit more.  I'd be on a CDI, but for students, at which point I had to explain about visas and such.  She said that would be worked out with the person who handled that.  Of course, I was to speak with her next.

So I meet with her, we talk, and she says that she doesn't know how it would work to hire me, because with my visas, it becomes more complicated.  So she calls the prefecture.  Of course, no one's there until tomorrow morning, as the person who handles it only works two days per week apparently, so she'll have to call back tomorrow, get word back, and speak with him then.  I figure, ok so she'll do that, and I'll be working next week ok.

I'm pretty happy, I'm telling everyone on the phone that I don't know what will happen, but everyone seems pretty confident that it'll work out.  So I'm pretty happy, talking with partner.  He's happy for me, and we're a little relieved.  He has to go back in for his afternoon class that day, so I walk out with him.  I come back upstairs and see that I missed a call.  It's the woman who needed to call the prefecture for confirmation to let me know that with the visas I have, it would be IMPOSSIBLE!  No real explanation other than that.  She said to call back if I had any questions.  So just.....whatever......

So I was really pissed, and just annoyed with the whole situation.  I took a walk and called a few people...  The search continues only now, I'm just slightly less enthusiastic about the search.  France is a tangle of bureaucracy, so I'm not completely saddened by it, but I'm just, yeah....  If I could just marry my partner like in the majority of European countries, I wouldn't need 2000 euros per month with 400 dollar a month health insurance.  So I'm just done for a bit.

Where's that cake mix.......?

Elle est ma cousine!

I remember one of the first things I asked partner was " so since you're from Bretagne, do you speak Breton?" His response, naturally, was no.  He told me that people don't really speak Breton anymore.  There are older people who know it or knew it.  Such was the case with his grandmother.  She knew and could speak Breton until she had a stroke back in the late nineties.  Unfortunately neither of her children had studied the language, like I said earlier, this is a cyclical thing where people care about it and then don't, or her grandchildren.  This is how languages die out.

However; there will always be some vestiges of Breton culture.  People speak a few snippets of the language, and most people know basic phrases like degemer mat for welcome, or that the Breton word for Breton is actually Breizh.  These are things that people see on signs, not normally something that's shared among family members though.  The actual nuts and bolts of the language are only maintained through songs or in the names of dances, or the occasional song.

This song here, for example, was popular a while back in France.  The band, Matmatah, was formed in Brest, the westernmost city in Bretagne.  The song itself is Lambe an dro is actually in French, but it has that very Celtic rock edge to it.  You can find the lyrics here.  If anything, this song actually reminds me a lot of that song "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers or to a lesser extent "Jump Around" by House of Pain.  It doesn't have all that much to do with actual Celtic culture, but it's more than happy to borrow from it. 

Breton in Brittany is more of a cultural thing now than an actual language.  You will see the black and white flag and coat of arms all over the place.  Also there's a certain symbol called the triskelion in English, know as la triskell in Brittany.  It's the regional symbol, and you will see it everywhere they can stick it up.  Originally, it was a sacred symbol, but now, you'll see it on everything from a taxi service to pizza places.  

Another interesting thing that I remember seeing long before partner and I moved was a character called Bécassine.  It's a stereotypical creation of the old fashioned Breton woman.  Her name is also used in French as slang for a fool.  She was created as a caricature of Bretons in general, showing her as old fashioned.  She still wears a lace coif and clogs, and usually is not drawn with a mouth.  She's kind of a classic plouc.  It's an old joke, but a lot of people say, "Bécassine; c'est ma cousine."  It's actually a song written by Chantal Goya.  

The language still exists and there are always attempts to maintain the level of the language, but like any language, it will only stay alive so long as people speak it.  I can't say I've ever heard it spoken, but it's amazing to think about how this language has lasted all these years.  Of course, like any language, it's changed with the times.  For example, most signs are in Breton and French in the Rennes subway system.  That's the sign of a language that can stand the test of time honestly.  It has to be able to stay current with the times.  

I've seen things....

I'll make a list of things lately, and we'll vote as to the order I talk about them.

1.  I saw a man lick a woman's face, and yes, in a romantic way.  This will actually be more of a rant organized to appear like a serious article.  Just to let you know.

2.  I saw more Breton that I ever planned to today, and it still fascinates me, much like all Brythoic-Godelic Languages.  It would be one thing if it were just at the Brittany Museum, but we're talking about in the Subway.  I. love. Rennes. so. much!

3.  I saw a beautiful old map of Bretagne, which I will show soon when I get a chance.  It has a lot of old place names on it, and well, it's just beautiful!

4.  The Brittany Museum is incredible.  All I can say.  I'll be keeping an eye on what else they're showing at the Champs Libre.

5.  Apparently some French CV's require a photo.  Go figure.

6.  I am totally inspired to write the rest of chapter 2, because of the Brittany Museum.

More to come soon.  Let me know what you guys want to see!

The 35 hebdomadaire

The original reason why I didn't know what and if I'd be able to post was because I spent the week on the job hunt.  Monday was all about getting my CV in order.  Tuesday was getting help with my lettre de motivation, and then Wednesday was getting the word out.  Thursday my mother in law came for a visit, and to leave a few things next week for when she goes to see her daughter for Toussaints, my sister in law's family.  Friday would be a bit more relaxed.  On the docket that day was just a hair cut.  Saturday and Sunday promised to be more relaxing though.

Having never before written a CV, this was going to be an adventure.  A resume, I could write in my sleep.  I had modified my own three times in the US.  I had my form for Academic use, another for sales use, and a third for clerical/office work.  Each I had tuned over the years for the correct case and application, highlighting specific skills necessary for whatever I was applying.  With a CV, nothing doing.  You have to put everything on one form, and in less than one page.  So it becomes a matter of sorting out what is necessary and not, and how to present oneself overall.  There's the additional fun of having to write it all in French.  Of course in French, there is certain jargon and expressions that one uses in French, much like in English.  I wrote it out as best I could in French first, and showed it to partner, who corrected it.  After that, I sent it to my mother in law, who used to work in HR,  and sister in law, who works in online retail.  They ripped it to shreds and then told me how to do it right.  Step one, complete.

Tuesday I didn't feel like fooling around, because I got the feeling that trying to translate my cover letter wasn't going to cut it in France.  There are two things that displease me about the lettre de motivation in france.  The lettre de motivation has nothing to do with your skills.  It's about explaining why you were sending them the letter.  I was joking with my mother in law about explaining that since I was a child and I used to play grocery store, I dreamed of working at Carrefour and arranging cans in a supermarket.  The other fun comes in when you find out that if it's not formatted exactly to French standards, they will take one look at it, assume you have no idea what you're doing, and throw it the hell out.  My mother in law showed me exactly how to write it and what needed to be included, and then sister in law tinkered with it to make it exactly what I needed.  Now I just had to get up the courage to pass it out.

Wednesday is partner's long day in courses, so we had decided that I would leave with him the afternoon, pass out my CV and letter of motivation, and meet him that night by the car.  That meant that I would need to take the metro.  I hadn't taken it much, mostly out of fear of getting lost.  I don't usually get lost, as I do believe myself to have an excellent sense of direction, but I didn't want to risk anything happening.  I figured maybe it would be wiser to start the morning off with the places I could walk to.  So that meant that I was applying to the Netto on the corner, the Super U a little further down, and the Lidl that was just down the street a bit further.  Later that afternoon, if all went well, I'd get a day pass for the transit system and take the bus to Alma to drop off applications there, then take the bus back home.  That night I'd take the metro over to the school, trying to complete the impossible task that partner and I screwed up last time: how to get to the car from the metro.

I spent the morning finding the routes I'd need to take, and after breakfast and a shower, I was ready to drop off my CV and letter of motivation.  I hit the ones close by quick, and even got my shopping done along the way.  The only concern was Lidl.  I'd never actually been there, and it was supposed to be really close by.  I'd never gone though just because there were closer, and what I found to be cheaper, options.  I walked up the length of the boulevard, and came to the same road the metro was on.  I knew I had gone too far.  So I asked someone nearby if they knew where the Lidl was, and they said that I would need to take the metro to get there.  I could walk but it was a good 30 minutes then.  So I decided that I'd save that application for the afternoon before taking the bus to Alma.

I come back to the house, put away the groceries, and relax a little before partner arrives for lunch.  He and I eat a bit, we talk, and he goes to study.  I kill a bit of time before he has to go and we leave the building together, around 5.  I headed to the metro and went two stations north, and I start asking people where the nearest Lidl is.  No one knows.  I finally give up and look on a map, because I had to put it in an envelope with the address on the front.  I found the road, and it turns out that this particular road goes on for a while.  I have no idea what to do at this point.  I can go north where the road starts, or I can go south where it veers off and I have no idea how to get there.  I decide I'll go north first and see.  So I go two more stations north and look around a bit.  No one seems to know where the road is when I ask.  I even randomly ended up asking a Russian woman.  We spoke English as it was less complicated.  She said she had no idea where the road was, but wished me luck.  I walked a bit further down, and found the road, but no indication it was nearby.  So I looked around a bit more and headed south.  I went back down to the station where I started, and asked someone.  He said just turn right at the real estate office, and keep going.  It's about 500 feet from the station.  I gave them my CV, walked back to the metro, and caught the bus to Alma.

I dropped off my CV at the different locations, but I'm not going to get too excited about it.  The market is hard, especially for those people who have some education, but not tons.  Of course, right now it seems like it's hard for everyone.  I did the tour of the restaurants there.  I had to be careful about which clothing stores I applied to, because some of them require a special formation after high school.  They told me that they were full up, but they'd keep my CV all the same in case.  I applied to a few more places, one of which was a video game shop, and that made me very happy.  They were even looking.  So like I said, no getting my hopes up, but oh damn, that would be sweet.  Of course, I'd probably never have a check at the end of the month, because I'd spend it all there.  But damn, that'd be sweet.

I still had some time before I'd go meet partner.  I decided to bum around the center of town and see where might be interesting to apply there.  I always like the idea of applying at Fnac, but apparently there's some sort of formation you have to have, but well....who knows.  Anyway, I figured I'd try at Saturn and Virgin.  If no one hires me, no one can say I didn't try.  So I keep going.  I look around for an hour or two, and then take the metro further north to Villejean.

I should probably talk a little about the disaster it was trying to find the way to get from Pontchaillou to the medical campus.  That day, we thought it would be a cinch to find, so partner and I had just bought the hour long metro cards.  So we got the cards at about 4:30, expecting to have this wrapped up in about 20 minutes tops.  We wondered down past the Cardiology center, and back along the side towards town, but the buildings all started to become residential.  So we found a map posted, and looked around.  We couldn't really find where we wanted to go, since it was a map of the hospital, not the medical school included.  We figured if we kept going though, we'd find it, eventually.  So we came back and tried the other way.  Even worse mistake, as we were almost in Villejean.  So we try one more time, can't find it, get pissed, and make it back to the metro with 3 minutes to spare on our card. Partner is now determined that he will never EVER take the metro into school.  I time it all the same, and it's about 12 minutes by metro.  Truthfully, that's about how long it takes him in the car anyway, and he only has to fill up the tank for 20 per month, so it's less than a monthly pass anyway.

This time though, I came prepared.  I found out that we had taken the wrong way around.  We should have gotten off at Villjean-Université, and then it's just 800 meters to the parking lot.  I find the first road I need to take, and keep on going.  I am doing just fine, as we weren't supposed to meet for another half an hour, and I didn't want to get there too early.  It's a really nice night for a walk.  The campus is beautiful all lit up, and the buildings are almost enough to make me think of when we used to take the bus back to partner's place from campus.  It's just nice to feel independent and do what I want.  I make the turn, exactly where it said it would be.  The buildings are getting familiar, and I am right next to the car.  I wait a few minutes and then decide I'll surprise him and meet him a little closer up.  So I move closer up by the parking entrance, wait a few more minutes and inevitably get bored.  I decided I'd meet him in front of the school.  So as I'm walking up, someone is walking down.  It's partner.  He had finished early and was waiting on me.  We walked back to the car and decided since it was late we'd just get Dell'Arte.  It was bliss!

I guess the most important thing is that I have conquered the Rennes transport system.  I am confident I could go wherever necessary now with minimal preparation.  This Wednesday I'll head back to the center of town and drop off more CVs, Thursday mother in law will be staying the night before she catches her train south for Toussaints, so it will be good to see her again.  I have to meet her at the Autogare downtown, and we'll take the metro/bus system back.  So this week should be quiet.  Who knows, I may even get an extra day with partner for Toussaints!

An Outing in Two Acts: Act II

I run upstairs and take the portable phone off the charger and shut myself in the sun porch, a room that used to be an open air porch that was closed in but never heated.  No one came out there unless they wanted to put more pop in the refrigerator.  Since it was around 10 at night, that was unlikely enough.  Finally the phone rang.

Just hearing his voice was enough to make my heart race.  It was exciting and nerve wracking all at the same time.  He was sweet, and funny, and everything I imagined.  We talked about how strange it was to put a voice with the words.  I don't think we'd even seen pictures of each other at that point.  He was an absolute sweetheart though.  That's when my mother opened the door.

She asked what I was doing out here.  I told her that I was talking with someone.  She looked a little confused, and asked who I was talking to.  I said a friend.  She said, which one.  I said another time with a stern look on my face, a friend.  She got the message and left. That should have been a hint right there.

So we kept talking until the phone started to beep, which meant the battery was almost dead.  I didn't want the phone call to end.  This was the happiest I'd been in 19 years, and I wasn't about to let it end because of an old portable phone. I took the phone from the living room and ran the cord across the living room and into the den, running the cord under the crack in the door.  I took the phone of the switch hook and put the now dead portable phone back on the receiver in my parent's room.  

I came back downstairs and we talked for another hour or so.  He told me all about his life, and I about mine.  I told him about hopes, fears, and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.  I just felt so at ease with him.  I had never had the chance to talk with anyone else like this, ever.  He was interested in me, and what I did and what I was doing.  Finally, we talked about him coming to visit.  I told him that it wouldn't be a problem for me, and I could just tell my mother that he was a friend from the college where I was going, so she wouldn't even know.  He would have to stay in a hotel in town though.  He and I talked more about it, but now that we could talk, we figured it might be better to wait for the planning until later, like around spring break or something.  We said our goodbyes and hung up. 

Another thing I should mention was that the phone I had chosen was supposed to have a security function on it, where if anyone picked up the phone, the light for the line would dim.  It had always worked before, and it's specifically why I chose that phone. I even told my friend about it when he asked me if I was worried about anyone listening in.  I told him I wasn't too concerned. 

I was absolutely thrilled that night.  I felt like I could do anything.  Since I lived in the middle of nowhere, I ended up watching TV with my brothers.  My mother came upstairs to say goodnight, and she made a point to tell us all that she loved us and kiss all three of us.  That should have been a sign that something was up, but it was maybe just a coincidence.  She also stayed up to see my dad when he came home.  My mother was usually in bed by 9:30.  My father usually never got back from work until midnight.  Hint number 2 annoyed.  It should have been pretty obvious when she whispered something to Dad with a panicked look on her face before she went upstairs, but I was still partially in denial, and still partially just too happy to care.  I do remember telling myself before I went to bed that if she did know, it was too late to worry about it now.

This had all happened on a Friday, so on Saturday morning my father was the first awake.  It took about a half an hour for him to ask me about it.  He explained that yes, my mother had listened in on my phone call last night.  I spent probably about an hour denying it before I finally just said, you know what.  I am.  I still don't know why I spent so long denying it.  I felt better afterwards though.  My father had two things to say about it.  First and foremost, I needed to be careful.  Not only were there physical dangers, but more so there were a lot of diseased out there.  (He's a nurse, go figure that would be his first concern.)  Second, he thought that maybe we shouldn't say anything to Mom about it, and just say that everything was resolved.

The day was pretty calm, and I was up on the computer as usual when the phone rings.  "So I hear you're gay, and you're running away to Minnesota, never to see any of us again!"  It's my sister.  My mother had called her apparently last night, in a panic.  My sister was calling back to find out how much of it my mother had embellished, she has a tendency to do that.  I explained the situation as it was, and she said she figured that it was more reasonable than what my mother had decided.  So everything was fine there.  She said she was happy for me, and that she loved me.  

The last great hurdle that day was my mother.  She and I talked about it though, and her biggest concern was that I was going to run away and she'd never see me again.  Just for some perspective, after living through 15 years of schooling, she thought I was going to drop out of high school a half a year before I finished to run away with some guy I'd never met.  I had already been accepted into college, so come on.  Seriously.  She said she loved me though, and my being gay didn't matter to her in the least.  So that's now everything resolved nicely for me.  

Things haven't been easy all the time, but I wouldn't trade my life now for anything else.  There's more to the story, but I'll talk about that another time.  I also have some stories about subway fun, but I guess I'll talk about that later.