Sunday Funk #3

Finally, I'm really scared that my parents are going to force me into seeing my uncle (the really awesome homophobic, washed-up patriarchal joke - you know, that one). Which is dumb because I have control (except that it never feels that way when one was in das homeland and in certain ways, I just don't). But my visit also coincides with a family birthday (another fabulous aunt), and I'm afraid that I'll be forced into having dinner with him again. And though my parents realize he's acted like a revolting fuckface to me (not their choice of words, mind you), I'm the one with the problem. As my father told me recently, I'm "ridiculous" if I'm avoiding das homeland because of my "fears." My parents, who have neither advocated on behalf nor aimed to limit my exposure to him...

Or even allowed me to limit it for myself. Love them some victim-blaming. Anyway, I feel super-triggered and wicked scared and pretty embarrassed to share this. But I'm going to anyway because I love reading the work of bloggers who open themselves up to vulnerability. Also, many of the folks who read this won't love me any less for being a freak right now. Finally, I'll leave you with three moments from yesterday to mitigate the overall angst of this post. Funny or sad?

1 - While smelling the wool with which I was knitting (why? it was humid. I wanted to see if it smelled more like a sheep. perfectly reasonable. don't judge), I poked the corner of my eye with my knitting needle. Really hard. 2 - The same skein of yarn had wound itself around my leg during the ride, and I fell out of the truck when SB and I arrived at Great Harvest Bread Company. 3 - I went to this awesome place of yeasty goodness for a cinnamon roll - of which they had none. The manager offered me some "hot-dog buns or hamburger rolls" in lieu of a cinnamon roll. Worst trade-off ever. I walked out the door.