Shrooming with Batman.

Life is getting interesting again. I met Batman. I moved into the house where I actually want to live. All within 48 hours. More about the house another time...

For me personally? I decided that dating apps are not a healthy focus for people who recently quit drinking for the 1000th time - people like me who are healing; people who aren't sure of exactly what they are healing from. People who feel like an oil spill in the road after rain; drained into the gutter with decomposing plant matter and cigarette butts. We are people who see bright colorful rays of light in ourselves and each other. Dating apps are maybe not the best filter through which to see each other's light. Then I found Batman (not their real name) and found out that Tinder, like everything else, is completely fine.

We chatted for hours over text message, two days in a row. Then we made a date to get brunch, and eat psilocybin mushrooms if brunch went ok. I like people who communicate through written words. Writing makes me feel empowered. It allows us to organize our thoughts rather than regurgitate banalities back and forth, never getting a clear essence of who we are speaking with.

I am a shy person who has learned to speak up. I am a gentle person who has learned to feign toughness. I am no certain way in particular, but I want to grow and improve with age. I reject gender roles and believe we need to rethink the status quo. Batman is also a queer person along the continuum of gender norms, and we met somewhere in the middle from opposite ends. We both choose they/them pronouns. I don't know much about Batman, but I couldn't be more curious to learn.

Shrooms on a first date is bold. It's been many years, but of course I will always know shrooms. We entered that dimension together, and it was a beautiful experience. We watched the ceiling and the floor change shape. Sometimes we spoke or shared emotions.

I have been starved for affection or physical contact. My body craves it like sunlight, and I have been alone and out of reach. Aside from the brief electricity of an infrequent hug, I have been a flower in danger of wilting and drying to a husk. I asked Batman if they would feel comfortable holding me. I feel horribly awkward and afraid to initiate physical touch. Due to my physical appearance, it is assumed that I will make a first move, and I can't stand the responsibility. It is easy to be misunderstood; for there to be an assumption that I do not like to be touched. It isn't that. It's simply that in some certain ways I feel awkward as fuck.

Once my boundaries were reestablished, I could be held and recharged like a battery.

The sun set. Every song by Glass Animals continued to set the mood. The spirit of shrooms evaporated slowly like an invisible vapor, and I was invited to stay for the night. When latex gloves appeared out of the nightstand, I knew that boundaries were about to be tested in much more detail than a hug.

Wearing a frilly skirt in public.

I might as well be completely honest. I am happy. I have that comfortable feeling that I've had at times throughout my life - the feeling that I am lucky, and I am getting away with something. I have the feeling that I am trusting my instincts, and I am now in a position to reap the benefits.

I don't want much, and I have plenty of practice not having much. My expectations are low, so small wins come easily. There are nine of us living in this house in Austin. It is a perfect situation for somebody like myself who does not give a fuck about hardly anything. Somebody got home at 2:30am, and then it sounded like they were banging a hammer on the table in the common area. For awhile. No problem. Everybody does what they feel like they need to do.

I interact and socialize with the other roommates. I sit on the porch for hours every day. I am the only person here with a private entrance, and my door opens onto the front porch. I sit and read books, and sometimes cook a little pot of something. Sometimes my housemates come and sit with me. I like to hear what everybody is up to. Interesting people live in this house. Conversation has been great.

I'm using dating apps now. First time. There was a flurry of swiping at first, but now I'm pretty much over it. I'm timid about sex and I don't like putting effort into getting it. I don't have a type. I don't like trying to market myself. I'm using Tinder and Bumble to transmit radio waves and see if anybody is listening to the same frequency. If we start messaging, I pretty quickly reveal my authentic self, because I can't help it. All I can do is make jokes, and being candid is too amusing to avoid.

I've wanted to walk around wearing a skirt for years. I bought a pack of bright colorful liquid lipsticks, and never mustered the courage to wear any. I want to be the most authentic and uninhibited version of myself, but with so many variables to corral, it isn't easy to figure out who that is. I feel like a chameleon. I speak differently depending on my surroundings or who I'm talking to. I am equally comfortable talking to anybody, and I am curious about nearly everybody. I judge nobody, because look at me: who am I to judge?

Orange lipstick and a two-week beard isn't my look. It wasn't terrible. Maybe nix the beard and try light blue. Painting my nails feels normal, but I would like another pop of color on special occasions. I've saved some YouTube tutorials on sewing an easy skirt, but it was easier to find a frilly short one at a clothing swap. I met up with somebody from Tinder for brunch and a clothing swap. I think I made a friend.

I never used to wear bicycle shorts. I've recently discovered that I love them. They eliminate the problem of underwear bunching up, they hold everything in place, and the padding is comfortable. Bike shorts are also the perfect article to wear under a short frilly skirt. Especially if you are bicycling. That's how I dressed for the last Thursday social ride. It was easy, because that was one of the least weird things on that ride. Being totally sober felt way weirder than wearing a frilly skirt in public for the first time.

You need to fight again.

Sending transmission: are you receiving this? Are you receiving this, Chris? I want you to remember this day. I need you to channel how this day felt. You need to get back to your senses.

You were once 36, Chris. You sat on a porch in east Austin and you didn't need anything else. You hadn't been drunk in six days. The worst part was over. Lizards visited from the crack in the porch next to your door. Everything felt possible.

You knew by that age there was no free will. You knew the statistical odds that you would wake up again in a hell of your own making. Still, you fought a winning battle as the sun warmed the skin over your shins. You were happy and full of resolve. You need to go back there, and you need to fight again.

Finishing my second quilt.

I'm up in Pennsylvania getting some tools and my main sewing machine. I got some Adderall prescribed, and it's been a long time since I've taken it, so it makes me feel weird. I'm in a weird place. Pretty descriptive, huh? Weird isn't very descriptive.

I'm ready to get back to Austin, and some way or another I'm going to grab some belongings, shuffle some stuff around, and get back there. One step at a time. One step at a time, I am getting closer to my improvement goals and a new normal. I'm also finishing my second quilt. It looks cool.