Crack of the Pistol

26 Jan

It’s nearly a month into the new year and I’m feeling like I’m at that point before a foot race when you’re getting pumped up; when you’re stretching and breathing and waiting for the ref to give the order to line up with the other runners. That twinge of adrenaline is starting to pump and we’re all waiting for the ref to shoot his little pistol in the air.

When I was a kid we had field day every year. I never won anything… I mean really I had to have been one of the most fairily faggoty fluffiest queen of a little boy. I hated sports. I hated P.E. class where I had to run around with all the other kids. I wanted to sit on the grass with the girls and talk.

I was so gay in elementary school that I had a couple of hags in my class that were allowed to spend the night, and none of that “separate rooms” bullshit that the straight kids had to do when they had a girl sleep over. We made forts in the living room, played in my room with the door shut doing all kinds of stuff where adults couldn’t see us, but I was “that boy” that parents knew wouldn’t play doctor with their daughter.

Anyway, redirecting from my bizarre childhood back to my real point – On field day when it came time to do the little foot race thing where we all lined up and ran around the little track and got little ribbons or cupons to pizza hut or trips to Europe or whatever it was that the winners got (again, I wouldn’t know I never won) I was terrified of the ref shooting the gun.

I talked to my mom about it, I talked to my teacher about it (you know, because I was one of those kids that would actually talk to his teachers… not to mention my mom WAS a teacher at my school), they both gave me a pep talk and said it wouldn’t be that bad when he fired the gun.

Sure enough when the ref fired the gun instead of running straight away I jumped a little, tried not to cry, then skipped along sprinkling magical gay fairy dust to catch up to the rest of the kids that were actually trying to win.

That’s the way I feel now. I’m waiting for that big bang that’s going to start it all and it scares the HELL out of me.

Pause that…

Turn it back…

Look at what I said there – it scares the hell out of me. As I thought of that statement right after I wrote it I realized that I’m not afraid, I’m excited. It’s so funny to me how fear and excitement are so parallel; even though they’re opposite emotions they’re often confused as the same thing.

And really we’re already hearing the gun firing. Obama’s been at work for like HALF AN HOUR and we’re already getting Guantanamo Bay shut down. This man means business and he’s not afraid to take names. This excites me. But what excites me even more is I know, no matter how hard I get rattled up by the crack of the pistol I know I’m just gonna keep skippin along sprinkling magic fairy dust.

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