What Goes Down Must Come Up (Blog #1043)

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Last night I worked backstage for the national tour of Finding Neverland until one in the morning, rolling up Marley floor, wrapping up in padded blankets the windows Peter Pan flies, and pushing heavy crates onto semis. And whereas I had a fabulous time (the theater is magic), I could barely think straight when it was all over. Indeed, it was all I could do to get myself home, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. Thankfully, I had most of today to rest. Alas, despite the fact that I slept until one this afternoon and took a cat nap this evening, I’m still tired. What the hell?

Clearly my body is not a fan of manual labor.

For whatever reason, I’ve spent most the day in a sour mood. Perhaps this is because yesterday was simply marvelous and, according to physics, what goes up must come down. (I’ll explain.) In addition to seeing the “backstage” friends I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, I also saw my “onstage” friend Kirk, who plays Charles Frohman (the man who first produced Peter Pan) and Captain Hook in Finding Neverland. Not only did I get to chat and catch up with Kirk (albeit while he was changing clothes and combing his hair before the show), but I also got to see him perform. From row five, center. Talk about magic. It’s one thing to see a stunning musical, and it’s quite another to see your friend killing it in that musical.

One of my favorite lines last night was when Kirk (as Frohman) said, “I don’t have a child inside me. I have an ulcer.” What adult hasn’t felt this way? We’re encouraged to be lighthearted, to enjoy our lives, but we think, I can’t. I’m too busy. I have bills to pay. I’ll be happy later. My back hurts now. We meet a perpetually joyful person and are automatically suspicious. We actually say, “What are YOU smiling about?” As if smiling weren’t the most natural thing in the world.

Getting back to my sour mood today, I suppose we all experience a certain amount of let down after a glorious time. In the show last night the four young boys who inspired the creation of Peter Pan spent their days playing in the park, and at night the youngest would jump up and down on his bed and say, “I don’t want to go to sleep.” Likewise, as adults we go on vacation, watch a musical, or see an old friend, and think, I don’t want this party to end. And yet end it does. No party lasts for ever. One moment we’re flying high, and the next we’re back on the ground, at home doing the dishes. We think, Well THIS sucks.

Something I often tell people is that I almost always listen to the same instrumental music whenever I write this blog. And whereas the music itself isn’t important, what is important is that I’ve created a ritual around writing. Every night I pour a cup of tea, sit down in my chair, press play, and start typing, my goal being to process the day, figure things out, and walk away feeling better (or at least with more self-acceptance, compassion, and understanding). Well, the ritual works. I can be in the worst mood, turn my instrumental music on, and even without writing a word begin to feel better. Tonight, for instance, I was so frustrated.

But then the music started playing, and I found myself smiling.

It’s weird how we can get loyal to our bad moods. Currently I’m feeling lighter than I have all day, and yet there’s a part of me that wants to recount my grievances. And this hurts, and that hurts, and–worst of all–the party is over. Ugh. What goes up must come down. And yet more and more I believe the reverse is also true. What goes down must come up. That is, no matter how tired you are, at some point you find rest. No matter how sick you are, at some point you find healing (even if this is in death). No matter how ho-hum your mood, at some point you find yourself smiling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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How You Get to Be King (Blog #856)

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Last night I went to see a local production of Beauty and the Beast, the musical. It was glorious. And whereas I could go on about how talented the cast was (they were) and how fabulous the costumes were (they were too), I’d like to get right to what’s on my mind–the symbology behind the story. That is, there’s a reason certain stories (fairy tales and myths) endure for centuries. Not only do they address universal truths (don’t judge a book by its cover, beauty is only skin deep), they also speak to our psyches and souls. Indeed, psychology literally means “study of the soul.”

Psychiatry means “healing of the soul.”

There’s an idea I’ve mentioned before that you can tell a lot about a person (or yourself) based on their three favorite movies. This theory applies to one’s favorite fairy tale(s) also. I’ve found this to be true. When I look at my top two fairy tales (Robin Hood and The Sword and the Stone), they both have themes that I strongly identify with. That is, to borrow a phrase from J.R.R. Tolkien, the return of the king. But I digress for now. In terms of Beauty and the Beast, I see the the theme as embracing one’s shadow.

I’ll explain.

Joseph Campbell said, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.” To me this means that every character in a fairy tale or myth can be interpreted as part of you the individual. I thought about this while watching the musical last night. In other words, there’s a part of me that’s an innocent bookworm (Belle), a part of me that’s hideous and angry (the beast), a part of me that’s brash and arrogant (Gaston), a part of me that’s naive and stupid (LaFou). Le Fou, incidentally, is french for The Fool. Anyway, if you’re only watching such stories to be entertained, you’re missing out. But if you can connect with at least a handful of characters, well, now we’re talking. Because, ultimately, you’re connecting with and learning about–yourself.

As Uncle Walt (Whitman) would have said, you contain multitudes.

Getting back to embracing your own shadow, Belle is initially repulsed by the beast. He is, after all, quite the proverbial jerk. This is how our shadow often seems–unapproachable, hot, seething. After all, our shadow represents all the icky, gross parts of ourselves that we’ve been ignoring for most of our lives–our anger, our rage, our lust, our sexuality, our neediness, even our tender inner child (the one we tell, Grow up, real men and big girls don’t cry). And yet when we can embrace our shadow (in the musical Beauty and the beast dance together), we receive the power our shadow contains. In Beauty and the Beast this is depicted as the beast being transformed into a prince. That which we thought was our enemy (that which we banished within ourselves) turns out to be our savior.

This afternoon my aunt and I went to see the movie The Lion King, the new remake of the classic Disney cartoon. Again, the theme of the shadow appears. Simba is told by his father, Mufasa, to not go into the shadowlands, where death and the hyenas rule. But of course he does. Every hero must eventually. Alas, he’s still a young cub and can’t fight his own battles, so all he can do is run from his demons (the hyenas) and let his father save him. Later, after his father dies (spoiler alert!), upon the urging of his evil uncle Scar (who wants to replace Mufasa as king rather than letting Simba take his place as ruler), Simba runs away.

Here’s where things get interesting. At this point in his journey, Simba meets Pumbaa and Timon, a warthog and meercat, respectively. They take him in as a friend, and under the spell of Hakuna Matata (no worries), Simba does his best to not think about his former life and responsibilities. In so doing, he almost forgets who he is (a lion, a king). Hell, he even goes on a vegetarian diet. There’s a lot to “chew” on here. Where in your life do you run away from yourself, your true potential–because you’re afraid, because you want to be like your friends, because you’d rather not grow up (a la Peter Pan)?

Eventually Simba leaves his carefree life and goes back home. This is another story about the return of the king, about self-empowerment, self-possession, and self-rulership. Still, before Simba can “assume the throne,” he MUST face his shadow. This is depicted in his battle against the hyenas and his uncle Scar. Now, in this story our hero doesn’t embrace his shadow so much as subdue it (the hyenas and Scar are either killed or driven out), but the point remains the same. You don’t get to be king–of the forest or of your life–by running AWAY from that which terrifies you. Rather, you get to be king (or queen) by facing, perhaps embracing, that which terrifies you, by confronting or coming to terms with that which controls you. You get to be king by remembering who you are. You get to be king–by growing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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Finding a Better Version (Blog #267)

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Well here we are again, blogging. Welcome back to the world-wide web. I just finished breakfast, and up until a few minutes ago, the house was quiet. Dad was out running around. Mom and even our dog, Ella, were sleeping. But now Dad is home, shouting into the telephone, and Ella is rolling around the floor. Like they own the place. So I have my headphones in and am trying to find my happy writing place while listening to Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits, but it’s not really working. Emotionally, I’m frustrated. Physically, my skin is itching, my head is full of snot, and I’m pretty much “done with this shit” on every level.

Still, I’m trying to be pleasant.

Last night I dragged my ass out of the house to attend the musical Finding Neverland at Walton Arts Center in Fayetteville with a friend of mine. I got our tickets at the last minute, so we didn’t end up in the same row, but we did end up really close to the stage. This made the costumes, characters, and staging even more magical than they already were.

The show tells the story of how JM Barrie came to write Peter Pan and is absolutely delightful, although not completely historically accurate. (I’ve read a lot about Peter Pan.) For example, Barrie based Peter Pan on the children of the Davies family. The show says he met Mrs. Davies and her four boys after her husband died. In reality, Barrie met Mrs. Davies long before her husband passed away and wasn’t particularly liked by him. Also, there were five boys, not four. Michael, whom the character Peter Pan was most strongly based on, came to hate the association.

I don’t particularly have a problem with the fact that the show had to twist the facts in order to tell its story. Still, the commercial for the show does say it’s a true story, not based on a true story, and that’s clearly misleading. Maybe I’ve read too much about it to be objective. One of the things I love about musical theater is that it takes a messy, imperfect world and turns it into perfection. Look! Everyone’s doing a grapevine in unison! And the show certainly did that. Again, it was magical. Honestly, I like the stage version of Barrie’s life better than the one you can find on the internet. Perhaps we all deserve this–a better version of ourselves.

Today I spent some time editing my social media settings, turning off the majority of my push notifications. (Mom, push notifications are the pop-up messages that alert you, “John just liked your tweet,” “Debbie just tagged you in a photo,” or, “Jack just went to the bathroom at Western Sizzlin’.”) Additionally, I unsubscribed from a number of email lists and “unjoined” several groups on Facebook. All of this was in an effort to have fewer distractions, simplify, and spend less time in the virtual world and more time in the real one.

Now it’s five in the evening, and I’m ready to go back to bed. I’ve been debating on getting out tonight, going to a party or running to the natural health food store to try “one more thing.” But I think when this is done, I’m going to take a nap, stop trying so hard if only for a night. Even if the house can’t be quiet, maybe I can be. Chill out, Marcus. Rest. I’ve been thinking today that we’re allowed to rewrite our stories. This isn’t about changing the past, but rather about changing the future. Even if we’ve always done something one way, we can do it differently. We can spend less time online, take better care of ourselves, try to be pleasant, whatever it takes to find a better version of ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Some Days You Don’t Dance with Patrick Swayze (Blog #255)

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Yesterday I drove to Oklahoma to see my friend Marina, who’s ninety-five and an original Rosie the Riveter, in the Tulsa Christmas Parade. She was the grand marshal. As I understand it, grand marshals often lead a parade, but yesterday a giant floating dump truck led the one here. Not exactly the holiday spirit if you ask me, but I guess it was because the waste department sponsored the whole ordeal. So there’s that. Anyway, after the dump truck were a bunch of hot firemen (go tell it on the mountain), then there was Marina. Later Marina told me that growing up she wanted to be a comedian, but her mom said, “You’re going to be a lady.” So at seventeen Marina started working at Boeing, making planes for the war. Talk about a lady! You should have seen Marina yesterday–she was too cute–she wore the actual overalls she used to inspect planes in and had red do-rag tied around her head.

I attended the parade with one of my friends from high school, Kara, as well as my swing dancing friends Gregg and Rita. We all dressed warmly, but I personally wore ski pants and thick wool socks. Y’all, this may need to be my daily outfit until the end of March. My legs and feet are normally constantly cold, but yesterday they were so warm and toasty. Still, it was freezing at the parade, especially when we stepped out of the sun. As soon as Marina passed by, and shortly after we all got hit in our heads with a bunch of hard candy, my crew decided to call it quits. Gregg and Rita went home, and Kara and I went to a new bookstore in town (Magic City Books) because we both love to read. And whereas my willpower has been nonexistent with reference to food this weekend (I’ve eaten a lot–a lot–of carbs), it was intact at the bookstore–I didn’t buy a single thing. (It was a Christmas miracle.)

Last night Gregg and Rita and I attended the weekly swing dance they helped start and continue to help with. Marina showed up, and I can’t tell you what a fun time it was, dancing with people you love and care about, people who love and care about you in return. Plus, all my friends are entertaining. Marina said, “Everyone I wanted to dance with died. I wanted to dance with Fred Astaire–he died. And Patrick Swayze–he died too. I saw Dirty Dancing three times. I couldn’t get over him.”

“Well, who could?” I said.

Later Marina said although she didn’t get to dance with Patrick Swayze, she did see him dancing at a nightclub in Brooklyn once. I said, “That must have been a sight.” Marina said one of her friends that evening commented she didn’t think he was that good of a dancer. Patrick Frickin’ Swayze, and this lady was all I’ve-had-better. Talk about being hard to impress. I thought I had high standards. Anyway, then the conversation turned to the time Marina introduced The Rat Pack before they performed, about how there’s a picture of it–somewhere. I nearly fell out of my chair, just like I nearly fell off the sofa this morning when Rita told me she used to dance with Disney on Parade. Well, that much I knew, but today I found out she apparently performed with Cathy Rigby in a little production called Peter Pan. Y’all, I’m such a Broadway fangirl, I nearly spewed my coffee across the room. Of course, I tried to appear calm.

“Oh yeah, I think I’ve heard of her.”

Most of today has been spent telling stories like these, breaking my food rules, and thinking about how I’m going to tell my therapist tomorrow that I only took four naps this week instead of five. Shit happens, lady. Some days you don’t dance with Patrick Swayze. Still, I’m looking forward to sharing how I’ve moved my blog writing to the afternoons, the way it’s taken a lot of pressure off. I mean, the pressure’s still there, but it’s better.

Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m in Gregg and Rita’s office. I can see Christmas lights through the window blinds, Tracy Chapman is playing on my phone, and these things make me smile. Rita’s been taking a class through Pepperdine about how the brain works, and she said that this is one of the things necessary for being creative and coming up with ideas–being slightly happy. Just slighty is enough, so long as you’re not miserable. To me this is really good news and means that you don’t have to be perfect in order for life to work. It means that four naps may not be five, but it’s still huge improvement; that any pressure off is good pressure off; that you can get hit in the head with hard candy and still enjoy the parade.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

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When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be All Right (Blog #80)

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A few days ago my sister, Dee-Anne, posted pictures of my nephews dressed up like Peter Pan and Captain Hook, and I still can’t get over how freaking adorable they are. I guess they did some Peter Pan things on their recent trip to Disneyland (this uncle is totally jealous), came home and watched the cartoon, and decided they needed to do some make-believing. The younger one apparently did some serious make-believing because he jumped off the fireplace, tried to fly, and gave himself a black eye. My comment was–next time use pixie dust.

Just look how cute. Ugh. This is one proud uncle. This is also one guilty uncle because I didn’t send either of them gifts for their recent birthdays. However, I’m sure adding them to my blog will more than make up for it. Isn’t being on your uncle’s blog about mental health every child’s dream?

This afternoon was my second day at the Arkansas New Play Festival. After watching two short readings and a production by a group of local high school and college students, I used the break time to grab some food at a place called Deluxe. I’d never been there before, and I rarely break out of the familiar when it comes to restaurants, but I thought, Live a little. Well, I made the right decision. Check out this green chile and avocado burger on two slices of carbohydrate heaven.

I ate every bit of that delicious bun, but notice I had a salad instead of fries. (Something must be working. I’m down five pounds since Nashville’s Put Your Stretch Pants to the Test Tour.) Before I left the restaurant, I took a picture of this sign, which I kind of took as the universe sending me a friendly reminder.

Of course that reminder would be–use good grammar, since it should technically be “all right.” I blame my high school English teacher for the fact that I’m so anal about shit like this. She used to correct our grammar WHILE WE PRAYED. Also, I know that she would prefer me to say that she’s the reason I’m so anal about “shoot” or–even better–“stuff” like this, but not every lesson sunk in.

The last play today was (I)sland Tra(p), which was written and acted by Austin Ashford. It was a modern retelling of the story of Odysseus and was simply stunning. Throughout the play, Austin rapped, played a ukulele and sang, and even had the audience coo like birds because part of his quest included finding a magical bird. There were some beautiful lines, and I kept opening a notebook I brought along and writing some of them down. One of my favorites was, “Run away to a place where you know your worth.”

You may start out alone, but you don’t end up alone.

Not to give it away, but there was a scene at the end of the play in which Austin was about to die. Once again, he asked the audience to coo like birds, which they did, and it restored his life. As the room filled with cooing, I couldn’t help but think of the part in Peter Pan when the audience is asked to clap to bring Tinkerbell back to life. Austin made mention later that we all need each other, and I think that’s what the cooing-clapping imagery is all about. When you “run away to a place where you know your worth,” you may start out alone, but you don’t end up alone, and there will always be help along the way.

This evening as part of a Father’s Day that’s going to take me a while to celebrate, I spent the evening with my friend CJ because she deep-fried a turkey and gave it to me to give my dad. I hadn’t seen CJ in a while, and she kept asking if I wanted any turkey and potatoes, any homemade bread with honey, any apple pie moonshine.

Well, I wasn’t about to be rude and turn any of that down. I was raised better.

After dinner CJ took me outside to show me her bee boxes. (The honey came from her farm.) She said, “You don’t want to come back in your next life as a drone bee,” and then explained that drone bees have one purpose and one purpose only–to screw the queen and get that bitch pregnant. (These are my words, not CJ’s.) Anyway, she said that if a drone bee does get some of dat royal booty, he immediately dies. (Danger, Will Robinson, Danger.) And if the line of suitors is just too long and he doesn’t end up having sex with the queen, he is literally escorted out of the hive when winter comes, and the Secret Service bees block the door so he can’t get back in. So he freezes to death.

Well, I guess I have Peter Pan on the brain because that made me think of the pirates who were made to walk the plank. (Hope you can swim!) But really, talk about a raw deal. Screw the queen–drop dead. Don’t screw the queen–die anyway. The next time you have a bad day–maybe because you haven’t gotten laid in a while–think about drone bees and see if your mood doesn’t improve. In the meantime, check out this sweet honey. It’s sort of like the silver lining to the sad story about the drone bees. At least it was for me.

CJ also told me that if the queen bee gets sick or dies, the other bees–like wizards–make another one. I guess there’s this stuff called royal jelly, and they feed it to a few of the ugly duckling bees and–Voila!–they turn into beautiful swans (queen bees). Of course, “there can only be one,” so the strongest becomes the queen. And because bees are real hard asses, the lesser queens have to die. (Rules are rules.) Anyway, the part about royal jelly just goes to show that the right diet is everything, especially if you want to be a queen.

Tonight I ran for four and a half miles. That’s the longest I’ve gone since “getting back into it.” Pretty much the whole time, I kept thinking about those bees. CJ said that bees stay warm in the winter because they form a big ball (a bee ball–get it?) around the queen and vibrate their wings to keep each other warm. She said it stays 92 degrees in those boxes! Talk about teamwork.

I still feel sorry for those drone bees though, totally objectified, one-trick ponies really, valued only for their bee sperm. Part of me wishes I could tell them that they deserve better, tell them to find a good therapist, like, why do you put up with that crap?

Yes, CJ was right. You have it better as a human. You don’t die after sex (unless it gets REALLY kinky). You get second chances. Maybe sometimes you get kicked out by one person, one group, and it feels like a death. But guaranteed there’s another person, another group waiting for you somewhere, willing to let you know that every little thing is gonna be all right. If you haven’t found them, keep looking–go on an adventure–because they’re waiting for you–already cooing, clapping their hands, beating their wings to help bring you back to life.

[Thanks, Austin, for your inspiration and beautiful words. Thanks, CJ, for a wonderful evening. It felt like home.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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