Jesus on a Unicorn

As someone who sucks up every emotion within 1000 cubic miles whether I want to or not, I'm also on a schedule of hysterically crying my eyes out every couple of weeks whether I want to or not. Yesterday was that day. Yesterday was also my birthday. As excited as I was to turn 42, birthdays are notoriously tricky for me. Long ago I decided the only thing that will truly make my day is a visit from Jesus....on a unicorn. Maybe it's because I was an only child who grew up celebrating every birthday twice or because as a writer I sometimes have small issues with fantasy v. reality, but COME ON, am I really asking too much here?? I think not.

And then, three days ago my endocrinologist called to say there's a significant chance I have an adrenal tumor-- again. My last adrenal tumor was removed 15 years ago leaving a 13 inch incision and a year of straight up hormonal hell. As part of their scientific (but insane) method of determining if I have a recurrence, I have to collect all of my urine in a jug for 24 hours. This means not leaving the house for longer than it will take for me to need to pee. In other words, this means not leaving the house. BECAUSE I AM NOT BRINGING A JUG OF PEE WITH ME EVERYWHERE I GO AS SEXY AS IT SOUNDS, DAMMIT. Yesterday, the thought of being sick again collected other sick thoughts like flies to honey. All the things that go hand in hand with being defective: not being good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, successful enough ETCETERA BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. It's a bundle of lies I'm working really hard not to believe.

Yesterday on his way out the door as I lay crying in bed my husband asked what would make me happy. "A unicorn," I said. "Ridden by Jesus." 

"I'm on it," he said. Bless his heart. 

And bless the hearts of all my friends and family, too. Even though I cried through breakfast, lunch, dinner, yoga and just sitting around on the couch, yesterday was shot through with the most beautiful calls, texts, emails, hugs, sweet gifts and delicious meals from a vast selection of truly amazing people who not only put up with me but love me. An elaborate picnic. A sweet family meal. My beautiful work wife took me to RuPaul's drag show, War on the Cat Walk. I got to watch the most sexy, butch, hot, bodacious well hung women on the East Coast strut their stuff and shake their booties amongst the most flamboyant audience I've ever seen in Richmond. And it was fabulous.

But last night was the real kicker. My husband was not been able to find Jesus OR a Unicorn. But he did find what he called the Devil Riding a Gay Pony. Which just goes to show, sometimes we don't get what we want but we get exactly what we need.**

 

** Still accepting Jesus and unicorn donations. Message me.

 

My New Manuscript: This Old House

My memoir (ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod) is in the hands of a third agent. The anthology is ready to launch. And because it is the first time in a bazillion years I'm not writing, editing or gnashing my teeth over a manuscript I have turned my focus towards my greatest source of pain since becoming a homeowner: our house. It is so hard to care for something you never really wanted! I always wanted a 33rd floor apartment or a haunted farmhouse or to travel my whole life without any keys or address so while buying the house I grew up in was both a necessity and in many ways a blessing it wasn't exactly a dream come true.   

After years of wanting someone else to take over, my house is my manuscript now. One I am at last co-writing instead of demanding someone else author for me. While my husband has knocked out walls, laid new floor, installed new windows and spent God knows how much time in the crawl space doing God knows what, I've never seen actual work on the house as my actual responsibility. And that has been miserable for both of us.

But something has been changing inside of me. I have becoming willing to actively participate in this aspect of my own life. 

And so, my husband and I spent all three days of Memorial Day Weekend building fence, hauling lumber and hanging siding, my own requisite blood, sweat and tears shed. The entire emotional gamut visited. But it wasn't the cursing that surprised me. It was the bliss. My husband is so happy I finally care about our house it's as if he married another woman. Sweating, lifting, hauling and heaving all weekend felt like the physical manifestation of a long overdue remodel of not only our house but our marriage. 

As I cut the siding and he nailed it on to the back of our house, I felt like this was somewhere I could live and he was someone I could live with in a profoundly new way. I never wanted to get dirty working on my house before and now that's all I want. Let the repairs begin! And please remind me I wrote this in 6 months when I've forgotten it all  again.

Today we have been married for 16 years. I hope tonight for our anniversary we hang more siding and celebrate managing not to tear the whole house down.