heads-up

I'm not working today. I'm getting ready to go to Nashville. I'm slightly anxious. Who is this guy I'm going to visit? What will we do for the next four days? Will we have sex a lot? Will we have sex at all? I'm still not sure. I don't know why I've gotten so paranoid about things all of a sudden, but I'm not sure it was really all so sudden. Buying a ticket to Nashville a couple of months ago has given me lots of time to think about it. I'm excited about the trip, about the possibilities. But I got a phone call from B last night saying he wanted to give me a "heads-up" on a possible development. His grandfather is sick in Georgia and he might have to dash off at a moment's notice. He wanted to be sure I have another place to stay if it came to that. I do.

S and I got high and watched a pretty bad movie called He Was A Quiet Man starring Christian Slater. And then I tried to write, and then I tried to journal. It was no use. I started wondering if perhaps the story about B's grandfather wasn't true, if he was just trying to find an out in case we didn't hit it off. I'm wondering how much weight I've gained since I saw him, what kind of shape I'm in since then (which is silly because I never exercised when I lived in Nashville, and although I'm not exercising now, but up until a couple of months ago I was daily). I wonder if he'll notice my gray pubic hairs. I trimmed my wild weed patch of pubes today in preparation for a weekend of sex.

I don't know why I've become so insecure. "Become?" Let me take that back. I don't know why my insecurity has become so pronounced of late. Oh, even that isn't true. I know why.


A couple of nights ago, S and I went to see a movie called August Evening and then I met Br and G at Bouldin Creek Cafe. We had a great time. I wrote this in my journal when I got home:

Br thinks I'm this way with everybody. But I think I have discovered the kind of love affair I can have with him, a straight man. "Humor is my weapon." He laughs at that line (because I said it with a humorous flare) but it is true. In a deep way humor is my talent borne of my insecurities. He's not the only one. I have lots of these lovers, men (straight, usually) and women, our intercourse is laughter. Sometimes it's just masturbation on my part, and they like to watch as I prance around and take their thoughts and spin them into "funny." I know I'm funny. But sometimes they join in, they make me laugh, too, at them and with them and it's done right there in the open and anyone can watch and enjoy it if they want to. But I don't necessarily notice anyone around me. It's just the two of us and our laughter. Sometimes it can be a three-way or even an orgy--

That's all I wrote. I got sidetracked, started doodling on the page. I was trying to say it was wonderful, it was satisfying, this relationship I have with Br. He even called me the next morning and I felt like a blushing bride. Not that I expect or even hope that it will eventually become a physical thing between us; I don't think it will, and I really don't want it to. What I was trying to say was that the laughter we share is special, it's like the best sex.

I tried to write about it again last night, starting with my reaction to having gotten the call from B, the "heads-up" about his grandfather:

about a boy, part whatever
If this doesn't happen there's going to be some kind of a shift, there's got to be. I don't know what that means, but I know something's going to change. It's like some kind of a sign. It is a sign. Because that's what I want it to be. I choose to know. D from the Dance always used to say that; instead of "I don't know," he would say, "I choose to know," which doesn't always work. If you asked him what time it was and he didn't know, he'd say, "I choose to know," and it kind of made sense, but if you asked him something like how does it feel to suddenly be forced into fatherhood by his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend's dead-beat-dad-ness and he said "I choose to know," it didn't make much sense. To me. That's true hippieness, that narrow view of the universe, and it isn't all that different from the narrow view of the universe my fundamentalist grandparents had, so I didn't care much for it.

(Did I mention I was high when I wrote that?)

I'm sad and I'm rambling, about nothing really. B called tonight to say he may have to dart before I get there or sometime during my visit because his grandfather in Georgia isn't doing so well. He called to give me a "heads-up." But if he doesn't call, I'll see him at the airport tomorrow night.

I was really avoiding voicing my fears about him making it up. I don't really think that's the case, so I don't want to state it as fact, but I want to point out now that I was avoiding writing about it. I continued:

If worse comes to worse I can always stay with L and C -- L said "my room is always available." I wonder if I could just stay at B's and take care of his animals if he has to go away. I'm thinking I'll take my book, all of it (maybe on disc) and make a writing weekend of it. That would almost be better than a fucking weekend. But then again, maybe not. We'll see.

Night before last I met Br and G at Bouldin Creek Cafe after they got out of the Dance and I was home from seeing a movie (locally filmed, etc.), a preview. Br did the warm-up music at the Dance and maybe I would have gone to that if I wasn't going to the movie, but I don't know, something happened between me and the Dance and I can't get it back.

At the movie, a woman sitting next to S was holding a piece of paper and writing a list on it. I was intrigued and copied what she had written:

1. Copies
2. Grades on books
3. Grades on reports
4. P. development
5. Drop downs
6. Comments?
7. Conference forms
8. Call parents for conferences

It went on but the movie started and she put it away before I could get it all. (I know, I'm snoopy for no good reason, kinda like that college student who hacked into Sarah Palin's email account.) More journaling:

There are several restaurants in Nashville I want to go to. Family Wash for their vegetarian shepherd's pie; that pizza place on 12th St near L's. I asked L if maybe we could all have pizza together on Saturday night, but I haven't mentioned it to Br yet.

And then I tried to write a poem:

We are not lovers
But we laugh like we're in love
The only two people in a crowded room
The woman with you
Laughs at us and at our jokes
But she can only watch from the outside
As I touch you
And you touch back
Eyes wide open
Screaming, throbbing, slobber and tears
Our raucous laughter
Thrusting out and sucking in
Begging for a truce
A moment to catch our breath
Before we wind up again
For another round

I know, it sucks. The first two lines were in my head for a day, and I tried to turn them into something, but I think I failed.

I figured out a way to continue putting entries on my blog while I'm away, the outline of my book, anyway. They're all in there and scheduled to show up, one a day, so it'll look like I'm around, but really I'm not, I'm in Nashville, hopefully in a bed, hopefully with some part of my body buried in some part of B's, or vice versa.