Atlas

Last night I came out of my slump. I went to watch Little Miss Sunshine with Rose (yes, like the fucking flower). We were two of eight people in the theatre. I laughed loudly and uncontrollably.

We went to Karaoke. A friend, Michael, was there. His mother was ill. A gal began singing The Rose by Bette Midler. Michael got teary and told me that this was he and his mother's song. He had his heart broken at the ripe old age of 14 and his mother in a moment of infinite motherly wisdom told him, "Michael, honey, I think you are going to understand this song."

Years later, when he was in his thirties his mother said to him again, "The Rose, that is your song." He told me last night that his mother was ill having just suffered a brain aneurism. I stood with him for a moment not knowing what to say and realizing that it was perfectly fine to be quiet and just let him talk. He said that The Rose is their song. Afterwards I told him I felt very similarly when I hear my mom and I's song, Time After Time by Cyndie Lauper.

Well, didn't the little tart request Time After Time for us to sing. We did what I believe to be the most absolutely fabulous gender-fucked, heavy punk version of Time After Time . . . ever, which is a feat considering it is already a Cyndie Lauper ditty.

Last night, somehow, I just knew that I was done doubting myself. It is funny how one day you are just done with a thing. It was okay that I spent this time, a year of my life, not knowing who I was or what I wanted to do. It was another year. But man it felt so good to put the world down and be myself again.