I spent probably three or four glorious years part of the Chicago goth scene when I was in my mid-20s. I found a home there, with the music and my friends, hitting Nocturna (at the Metro, and later SmartBar) usually around 11pm and often staying until close around 5am. The night would start with some Bat Cave and usually end with some EBM, which was by far my favorite. When Scary Lady Sarah was spinning, she’d often inject some sets of psychobilly. There were a few songs that would reliably get me on the dance floor, whether a club in Chicago, Cleveland, or Seattle - ‘Marilyn, My Bitterness’ by the Cruxshadows. Another favorite towards the and of my time there was about any VNV Nation, or ‘Omnis Mundi Creatura’ by Helium Vola.

Sometime I’d dress up in high goth, sometimes I’d be more casual. It was my safe space. Socialization (and an occasional hookup) was often the goal, but sometimes I just needed to be on the dance floor, and a few drinks (gratis) from Shomari, my bartender. It was a ridiculous time, where I seldom paid cover. Where I felt free. When I landed in Seattle, I never quite found my home the same way, despite being a card-carrying member of the Mercury.

This week I thought about this guy who seemed to always be at Nocturna, I feel like his name was something like Alphonso, and he’d come in with a white shirt and tie, black pants, and dance very robotically for hours in front of the speakers by the stage at the Metro. I was told once that when asked, he’d say something about “dancing for Jesus.”

“I’m doing OK, as these things go,” I said to my doctor this week, during my follow up appointment. I’ve known her for almost 20 years, and I filled her in on the past few months. She, and almost everyone I’ve talked to, have felt compelled to congratulate me on dating, or “putting myself out there” - and it just didn’t sit right. My therapist helped me understand why — because every bit of that congratulations made me want to not write this. As “fun” as getting to try to rejoin that world of sex, exploration, and music that was my pre-Seattle years, it was also miserable.

You don’t end up in a mostly happy, mostly fulfilling, delightfully queer and perverse relationship for two decades by becoming a different person. There’s a clear line between who I was dancing in the club, and who I am now, preparing to go to a very dark karaoke evening tonight. I just tolerate less bullshit, and don’t drink anymore.

These past few weeks I have sobbed and howled. I am not “moved on” nor do I feel like I’m in the process of “moving on” — if you’re one of those people who understand that you can hold multiple loves in your heart, there’s a piece of mine that is still completely, utterly heartbroken. I don’t know how long I will be, but it co-mingles with the flirtation and transient affection.

This week, I’ve found myself unwilling to entertain cooking an actual recipe, relying on pasta and sauce and hopes and dreams to feed me and mine. Joy has been sucked out of what was a cornerstone of cohabitation with Jon. Going into Jon’s office has caused spikes of rage as I try to pick up my hospital reimbursement paperwork off the printer, prepare my youngest’s Girl Scout booth materials. The unfairness hits me across the face. My utter unwillingness, OUR utter unwillingness to accept defeat, when we were most definitely defeated. Could we have done better?

I hate these questions.

“Am I ok? I’m sure I’m not.” (Afghan Whigs)

I had a coffee date earlier today, and the person is into synths and synths have been an ongoing fascination, and when I mentioned that I liked electronic music they asked me what I liked, and I came to a blank. Let’s face it, as a chronic KEXP listener, a former club goer, friend of DJs, I’ve often relied on other people to mix the things, and I’ve consumed them readily.

This week I tried to construct a playlist of sounds I like, or at least songs that contain those colors. There’s sounds that always scratched an itch in my brain that I return to over and over again. I don’t know how to find them on my own, but thanks to friends I’ve found them and listened to them on repeat. This week I returned to Nine Inch Nails ‘The Fragile’ because it has some of my favorite sounds. I have a DJ friend that doesn’t like NIN for the vocals, and I find that defensible after following listening to ‘The Fragile’ with ‘Hesitation Marks’ (another favorite) - there’s just something more pleasing about the more instrumental work. The bonus interview at the end of ‘Hesitation Marks’ though continues to be a favorite gem, just because you do get the sense of what it sounds like inside Trent Reznor’s head.

I’m going to continue to try to find sounds and collect them, maybe make sense of them. I’m not sure what I’ll do once I finish, but I wish I could create a sound collage. Something I wish I had gotten to do when I was in art school, but never had the chance.

I fear I’ll end up with another expensive hobby if I’m not careful.

And a distraction, if not way to exorcise some of this pain.