In Which There Is Anxiety, Under An Overpass

Sometimes, Gentle Reader, having an adventure means that you don’t know where you’re going to sleep. I think that it’s necessary, in some cases; the uncertainty itself is what gives the experience its spice. My dears, this adventure is not a happy one, and does not necessarily reflect well on me.

I have a male friend that I call Auntie R., as he is involved in the local drag scene (he’s not trans*, those are entirely separate things, if you’re unaware, and if that were the case, I would be using female pronouns), and he has introduced me around the scene, a little. Auntie was performing at a BDSM themed drag show at a nightclub that has since closed, for charity. A few other friends were scheduled to go; it was a fairly popular nightclub, and Auntie is well liked.


I believe that I’ve mentioned that I don’t drive, and typically rely on walking, the bus, and the kindness of my friends. Living out in the country really doesn’t facilitate the non-automotive lifestyle, but I’m stubborn, as well as a terrible motorist. To make it to Tacoma, I have a two-hour walk, and a one-hour bus ride, and then a transfer to wherever I’m specifically going. Sometimes, if I miss a connection, and my destination is along 6th Avenue (which essentially the Main Street of Tacoma), I will just walk, adding another hour or more to my travel time. During all of this , I am generally laden with my trusty brown leather bag, Bucephales, and typically have to arrange or pay for a ride home, or a place to sleep.

This was the case on the evening in question; the show began at 7:30. To arrive on time, I needed to leave by at least 2:00 ( the local bus departs on the hour, and the last bus from the small town I live nearest to is 4:00.  Therefore, to catch the 4:00 bus, I’d need to depart my home by 2:00 in the afternoon), and I’d need to begin dressing for the evening at 1:o0 – incidentally, this is why I customarily wear evening clothes, no matter the hour. Naturally, once in town, I missed my connection, so off I set.

Unfortunately, March in my hemisphere is not a forgiving month; dark comes early regardless, and sooner than it ought, when there’s rain. It was just such a day, and I shivered, damply, in my blue velvet blazer – I had neglected to bring my umbrella.  As the rain turned to sleet, I received a telephone call, from the friends who I was to meet at the Metrogrüv. Naturally, it was a cancellation. I immediately began telephoning any local friends I had, to make emergency arrangements, but no one was picking up. No matter; it was still bucketing down, and I was a good forty-five minutes from my destination. I hied me hence, looking forward to the prospect of being in a crowd of leather-clad strangers, with no way home.


If you know me at all, you know that my mental state is not precisely stable, and that I really can’t handle crowds of people in an unfamiliar environment. Also, I am prone to severe bouts of anxiety, even when circumstances are ideal. This did not bode well, and when I took shelter under an overpass, I began to cry. I realized that my options at that moment in time were to lay down right there and die, or to soldier on. Still shaking, I forced myself to my feet, and trudged forward.

When I eventually gained the club, it was empty – I was still rather early. I wish that I could say that, first thing, I wrung as much water as I could from my clothing in the men’s room, made myself as smart as I could, and began making telephone calls. I did do that, but not until after two double gin-and-tonics – I was feeling sorry for myself, and still rather anxious. I eventually roused from slumber an excellent friend, a stalwart friend, an old friend, S. Though physically disabled – and though I had just woken him up – he assured me that as long as he had a roof over his head, I would have a place to stay, and that he would be more than happy to drive me home. While he didn’t join me for the show, he did show up at a quarter to midnight, to take me home.

About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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3 Responses to In Which There Is Anxiety, Under An Overpass

  1. ekgo says:

    And that is why friends are awesome.
    And also, you’d think there would be a tent out there that smallerizes down into bag form so you could stylishly carry it about but pop it open at a moment’s notice for just such circumstances. If I were an inventor, I’d get on that.

    • Tyler J. Yoder says:


      Sorry I haven’t caught up on your blog yet. You’re so prolific! I’ve been doing five million things lately, and I’m trying to keep up. I swear I’m not ignoring your awesomeness. ❤

      • ekgo says:

        I know. You already told me (and others) about the tight leather pants that won’t come off. 🙂
        I think you’ve got more posts than I, though, and you started three…well, two and a half months…after I did so I’m not sure you can call me prolific.
        Don’t worry. I’m not sad you’re not backstalking me at the same rate I’m backstalking you, though if I were good at math, I could probably prove that you’re ahead of me in backstalking because of percentages, or something, but that would be hurty to my feeble female mind. And also, I don’t have that kind of time or motivation. But anyway, I’m planning on locking it or deleting it any time soon so it will be there when you get to it! The blog, I mean. In case I’d rambled so far off track, you’d forgotten what I was talking about.

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