.another round of caffein-eldate
You sit down in the corner, far away from the other denizens of the Sunday haunt, trying to figure out the order of the new iTunes playlist. The order of your thoughts tries to approximate the jumble of the playlist - and does a damn fine job. You pick a song that has nothing to do with the new playlist to put on - “Prostitute”, from the new G’n’R album. Your thoughts do not follow the same tangent; at least until they are interrupted by the need to pee. You stand, and walk to your favorite bathroom, trying to use the extra moment to figure out what comes next.
You wonder what nerves connect your bladder to your cognitive processes, as upon your return you feel much more clarity. It wasn’t even that spectacular of a trip - the shallow white porcelain fixture was what it always is - aesthetically pleasing, calming, cool. There was little spectacularity in anything else; regardless you are not looking to punch gift horses in the mouth. As you write the last words, you wonder if the waning feeling is more chemical or interest in your topic; it can be hard to detangle the two sometimes. You push on.
The last week has only added to the veracity of your claim that, functionally, your family is flypaper for freak circumstances. Though until recently, your paternal aunt has been relatively estranged from your father, and, by extension. The last time you talked to her you were in your First Freshman Year, and that was nigh a decade ago. You were awoken by your Old Man, at the ungodly hour of 0830; you are sure that waking times before 0900 were outlawed by the Geneva Convention. Your Old Man understands the seriousness of this very sacred right; usually he respects it. But this particular morning, he had called you twice. In a row. Uncommon. You try to remember the gist of the conversation:
“Hi. Did I wake you?”
(Your semi-Puritan work ethic seeps in, and you decide to craft a lie.)
“I got up a bit ago, Dad. Going into a meeting, what’s up?”
(Meetings are always good excuses to truncate a conversation.)
“Well, your talking with your cousin the other week inspired me. I decided to call some of the family, myself.”
“Yeah? How did that go?”
“Well, cousin Mark is doing well after his hip replacement….”
(Mark was always a nice guy, good to hear…)
“…and seems to be doing well, otherwise.”
(Even better, since Mark’s brother died it has been rough for him.)
“I also talked to your aunt.”
“Really Dad? That’s great…”
(You mean it, as it seems that the Old Man has been reaching out to forgotten family.)
“how is she doing these days?”
“Well, are you somewhere where you can fall down safely?”
“Yes…”
(you respond, not sure of the truthfulness - if you are already laying down in bed, can you really fall safely?)
“Well, she and her husband got divorced on 06/20/09.”
(He really didn’t say oh-six-twenty-oh-nine, this is just how you thought of it.)
“Oh wow, haven’t they been together for something like twenty years?”
“Yeah…”
“That’s pretty intense, how is she doing?”
(Some quick mental math at this point reminds you that your aunt is about sixty - hell of an age for a divorce.)
“Not so well, and that isn’t all. They’re still living together…”
“After being divorced for nearly two and a half months?”
“Yeah, well, there’s something else…”
(You wonder what else there could be?)
“Your aunt’s ex husband is now living as a woman.”
(Oh, that’s what else there is.)
The conversation continued for a while, but really, the general feel of the importance of the convo is captured in the above. You now have an ex-uncle who might have gender dysphoric disorder? How (fucking oddly fitting but un-)cool is that? You wonder what other oddities your relatives in the miasma have encountered, and start to think that the predisposition towards living the epic life is possibly genetic in your kin. You are reminded that epic does not always mean excellent.
This new revelation has only steeled your resolve on another front, though - apparently, the son of said aunt now resides somewhere in your half of the Golden State. You have never met this man, but now, you feel like you must. Everything’s strange, when you’re a stranger; but what if you’re family - does that make things stranger still?
Stranger still. You like the sound of those two words together. You decide to wander back to the dark halls of the internet, post your newest, and get back to work.