last weekend i went to my first 'intensive:' that is, a weekend in a cabin in the woods with eleven other people from my therapist's practice to go through some intense therapy equaling about three months worth of regular weekly sessions. needless to say, the name 'intensive' hits the nail on the head. J, my therapist, has a knack for getting you deep in your shit and, with the help of the others at the intensive, helps you through it.
by the end of sunday, i was emotionally and physically empty. in a weekend, i had resurrected my dead father, beat him up, then killed him off. i rewrote my own history and i was all the better for it. oh it wasn't all murder and ghosts. in the end i returned to play the piano for everyone else: something i had not done in over sixteen years, grace à mon pere, on that fateful night when he shot my piano full of buckshot, pretending it was me. but that is a story for another time best told over whiskey.
this weekend i lived through yet another hellish 'intensive:' this time with every member of my family, save for E, and my brother-in-law S, attending the high school graduation of my eldest sister's daughter.
we descended like a swarm of locusts [via a twin-engine skywest turboprop] upon a tiny, unsuspecting village in wyoming who will never again trust to allow outsiders inside. i will summarise it all by saying sibling rivalry was running rampant, terrorist-prone toddlers ruled the countryside, a potluck dinner saw many unrecognisable dishes left out in the sun hours before it was time to eat, and a graduation ceremony where every citizen of this fair hamlet attended and stood in line to congratulate each of the twelve graduates. not an hour passed that i did not ask myself to what new gay hell had i descended?
as a gay man i can offer you this piece of advice: never go to wyoming. it is no place for gay men. there is nothing for you there. nothing to see, nothing to do: no clubs, no sense of style, no wireless internet, no starbucks, and probably no blogs either. gay men are not meant to spend weekends among red necks in a red state surrounded by sheep farmers and burly women and spotty gsm service at best. lesbians are much more suited to such harsh environments and are usually born with deft skills allowing them to adapt quickly and integrate unnoticed into such places. but not me! remember, it is the state where they tie gay men up to fences in freezing weather and leave them to die.
on the third day of my new gay hell, coincidentally the christian sabbath, i ascended from the pits of pur-gay-tory: my return flight from denver was comprised of an army unit fresh back from the deserts of the middle-east and the dallas rugby team back from a tournament in california: a veritable man-meat buffet. i took my seat at the right hand of a greek-god of a man, buckled my belt low and tight across my hips, sat back, and enjoyed my flight back from b.f.e. into a promised-land of gay men, delivered on the wings of an airbus.
don't worry, it will all be in the mini-series. i think ewan mcgregor will play me. according to the june issue of esquire, he has a big cock, and being a transplant to texas, i can appreciate big things.
in the background::take me home:phil collins
2 comments:
So glad to have you back, o.p.b., Wyoming sounded like a scary place, scary then what therapy brings. I had a good therapy session today...it's amazing how qualified professionals can help, isn't it?
honey, haven't you seen his cock? Rent the Pillow Book, it's all over the place in that.
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