Yesterday I was reading a review of Real Queer America and it mentioned a variety of people that were interviewed for the book, including the manager of the only queer nightclub in Bloomington, Indiana.
Several things went through my mind very quickly.
The first was the realization that I belong in queer spaces. Although I’ve identified as genderqueer for several years now, I don’t exactly look visibly queer, and finally getting past my repression on the subject of sexual orientation didn’t occur until last year. As my only romantic and sexual experience exists within a hetero-appearing marriage, it tends to make me feel like something of an imposter when it comes to spending time around other queer people.
The second thing that went through my mind was that after I arrive in Indiana, I could plan a trip to Bloomington to visit said queer nightclub. For a moment I felt excited by the thought of adding this to my list of possible activities.
The third thing that went through my mind was my brain saying to me, very dryly: “You know if you go, you’re just going to end up in a dark corner crying over the life you could have had.”
Well, thanks brain. I mean, you’re right and all, but that was quite a buzzkill, thank you.
I’d probably still go if I had someone close enough to come with me and babysit me while I got drunk and cried in the corner. Oh well.