The Bloody Doors Off

(TLDR: I go on some wild tangent – again – hinting at baring a piece of my soul, but it could also read as bullshit. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.)

Mollie and I went to see Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness earlier today.

But this isn’t about the movie.

No spoilers. This isn’t about the movie.

Some asshole in the theatre thought it’d be hilarious to project a red laser pointer at the movie screen. It got so damned frustrating that someone yelled out, “Knock it the fuck off!”

Oh yeah.

That someone was me.

And I’m seriously trying to process this.

1. Idiot acts out in theatre.
2. This seriously pisses me off.
3. It is goddamned insulting and insensitive and my eyes keep getting drawn to the damned thing.
4. So I express my displeasure verbally.
5. And when that doesn’t have an effect, I go find a manager.

And now I have to ask.

Have I become a Karen?

I went looking for the manager.

Okay. So now I realize this was long-winded way to make a “Karen” joke. (And my apologies to all the Karens within the orbit that is my life, and for all others as well.

But you have to admit.

It’s kinda funny.

Right?)

But, as better men than I have explained, humour is tragedy plus time. (You’re thinking of the Woody Allen film quote “comedy is tragedy plus time”; turns out, Mark Twain said it first.)

There’s truth behind the ha ha.

I don’t know where that outburst came from. I’m generally more measured, it takes a fair amount to hit my boiling point.

All of a sudden, I feel 55.

April was shit. (Excluding the final few days that led up to Maddy and John’s wedding.)

Work-wise, it was great.

But my health.

Sorry folks.

Storm clouds on the horizon.

The waves may get choppy.

There were struggles.

That night just weeks ago. “We think you’re having a heart attack.”

Well. Duh.

It’s how I’ve been dealing with it emotionally.

And.

Not so good.

I mean. There are restrictions.

Can’t get my monthly testosterone shot now. Don’t know how that will react with my beta blocker.

Can’t take one of my pills either.

In this moment. Right now. It feels like I’m being stripped of invisible armour, exposing me at my most vulnerable.

But I dunno how comfortable I am with that.

And everyone’s got stuff that is purely theirs, and only share with those with absolute trust.

Yes. I realize that by stating I have stuff I will never share on social media won’t surprise anyone.

They’ve probably got the same. Stuff, five people in a world of billions, are privy to.

And that in a circular way, I’m looking for loopholes to insinuate something salacious.

I’m not TMZ.

I’ve lost the thread of this post.