Finger of God (The Beginning; A)

7 Oct

It seems I ended up on a path where a lot of variables had to click into place.  Trying to explain it is hard, so I’ll just give you a timeline as form of explanation:

Graduate from Mizzou, get rejected from vet school (again), flounder around in a depression, and not knowing what next step to take.

Enter Cabin-Mansion.  Lose faith in my Mentor, and therefore my easy career plan of working as a vet in my hometown.  Realize I can’t depend on family much either.

Back to Missouri, shell-shocked and just as lost as ever.  Apply to island veterinary schools as a last resort to achieving the lifelong dream.  Get accepted to Saint George, but feel “off” about it.  Ignore doubts and plow ahead, preparing to move to an island to gain my DVM.

Am convinced by the parents that it would be best for my cats to go to their house for the summer.  This plan is against my better judgement.  BUT I decide to quit my stable job that I’ve had for the previous six years, give up my apartment where I live alone, and haul my cats to Nevada.  And just like that I am extricated from Missouri–my favorite place I ever lived.

As expected, fighting occurs in Nevada.  Unforeseen, (by me) my school loan falls through at the very-last-minute.  The parents retract any (emotional & financial) support they had tenuously provided and kick me out the same day I found out there is no possible way to salvage my educational opportunity on the islands.  After taking professional family portraits of course.  I’m back at square one, and lost again.

I look on the internet for any interesting grad programs in a place with ANY gays.  After watching Fraiser incessantly for the previous couple of years, and finding a Masters in Aquarium Sciences that feels, not quite interesting, but not boring enough I want to poke my eyes out, I settle upon Seattle.

And like that–I move.  And move in with my Great Aunt that I had met two-three times at family functions.  A lot of awkwardness.  A bunch of inactivity.  A whole lot of talking and sitting (and that’s all) with an 85 year old filled my days.

Living with my Auntie was not all that cool.  It was awkward (I saw her nakid and heard her fart on day one), it was boring, and I didn’t wanna feel like I was sponging off an old lady.  So, of course I looked for my own place right when I got there.  And it was slim pickens.  I hadn’t realized that I would not, under any circumstances, be able to live alone.  No way.  So I looked for a place with roommates, remembering my days in the dorms, fondly.  I figured it would be autonomy and built-in friends.

Boy did I figure wrong.  I finally, after much searching, and a LOT of disbelief and disappointment, found a suitable place.  With one gal and one dude.  They were horridly messy.  We’re not just talking clutter, we are talking vermin in the kitchen and remodeling that was NEVER finished.  Aside from that, the girl was overbearing and impossible to get along with.  This situation of renting one small room in a duplex with two other people, was costing me the same amount that I had paid in Missouri for my own one bedroom apartment with balcony and swimming pool.  I was astounded.  We were not friends, as I had hoped.  I wanted OUT, but had signed a year lease.

Lonely, almost immediately, I go online searching for friends.  Something I would normally NEVER do.  I had always that there must be a reason that people had to resort to the internet to make connections. I figured something had to be wrong with them that they couldn’t meet people in real life.

I got connected with Hannah, a lesbian looking for other lesbian friends.  Something I had never had, but always wanted.  My own gay posse’!  My very own “L-Word.”

When we met, Hannah brought along another girl–Kidron.

To be continued. . .

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