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Vacation fears

W and I are headed to Provincetown, Mass., this weekend.

“I don’t travel well,” I told her.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

NewspaperI am a creature of habit.  I like my routine.  My newspaper in the morning.  The big stack of books that sits on the bench next to my side of the bed.  My cat.  The daily mail.

“We can get you a paper in the morning,” she said.

This is true.

“It won’t by my paper,” I said.

Because sometimes I am just difficult and a big giant baby dressed in flannel.

It’s a mask.  A mask to cover up the fear.  The fear of being somewhere different with different people and different food and a different newspaper.

I’m afraid of a lot of things.  You wouldn’t know this to look at me.  Every morning, I dress in a coat of armor.  Masculine clothes with straight, rigid lines shield me from the rest of the world.   My arms folded in a large X across my chest serve as my sole accessory.  An additional barrier between me and them.

The only problem is that it keeps everyone away, even those who love me the most.

* * *

So, we leave for P-Town in three days.  Any suggestions on what to do or where to go?  Maybe a great lesbian bar will help me lower my defense shield.