Initial panic phase passed. If somehow I allowed you to miss the initial panic phase and you care, scroll down and hit previous. I'm done shaking. No major disasters have occured as a result of my being evicted from my closet in the last two days. I didn't even have a high-pulse-and-adrenaline-level related disorder. I may or may not have drunk myself into a slight stupor the night that it actually happened, which I realize is not constructive behavior, but it was better than throwing myself off the roof, which was my other sleep/unconsciousness-producing alternative at the time. I have spoken to her since and she's being enforcedly nice. I think she's repressing. I think there will be no PFLAG, but neither will there be True Directions get-straight camp. Which, looked at from the right angle, is a shame. In that movie the girl who got sent to said re-orienting camp met and fell in love with and eventually slept with Clea DuVall, and I could put up with almost anything for that.
I guess we really do know I'm done panicking - note the sense of humor. And the Being Queer, which started this all in the first place. Ah, well, such is life and life goes on. I go home on Sunday. I go shopping tomorrow. Barring disaster, I'll be okay.
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