social obligations

The date with (C) was a bust for the most part. He's very cute, very sweet, and not very interested in me. Have I already written about this? I feel like I have. Maybe I haven't blogged about it. I hope not. That would seem obsessive, and I'm really not obsessive, or don't like to see myself that way. That was last Wednesday. I had a little cry over it; nothing big, just a little flushing, and I felt better, and feel better.

Wednesday was kind of a weird double-whammy on the emotions. Wednesday evening was my second improv class at the new place. It's a level one class. I've taken a couple of each level up to level three, but I wanted to get a different perspective, expand my improv knowledge. I mentioned it to T and she approved wholeheartedly. (It's weird, it felt like a confession. I had mentioned it to a few people in the community randomly and hadn't mentioned it to her, so I felt like I had to make a point of telling her, which I guess is why it felt like a confession. But anyway...)

The teacher is a nice guy, if a little clueless. Or at least it feels that way to me. I don't want to make a deal about it, but there were a couple of things that got under my skin. Which makes me thankful that I'm back in therapy - twice a month. The first class, he made a completely innocent comment about the fact that we plan what we're going to do before we go on stage based on fear, wanting to be accepted, cool, funny, "attractive to the opposite sex so we can procreate." Maybe it sounds a little biblical, now that I write it out. I just had a feeling of "he doesn't mean me, he doesn't 'accept' me." I'm really not all that political about identity, but my religious and suppressive upbringing kind of makes it similar to a political feeling. Now that I write it out.

Anyway, so I had therapy the next day, and I was able to get over it, whatever that means. Truly, I'm only bringing it up because I'm writing about it. It's been so long ago now, the fact that I haven't written about it yet should point to the fact that it's not all that important to me. Same as with the date. I'm a little buzzed so I'm feeling eloquent, in the movingly expressive sense of the word.

In the more recent class, the second class of the six-week session, the class that followed soon after the date, the teacher told everyone to find the person they felt had the most in common with them. I went to the big dyke with the piercings and black rock T-shirt on. We were instructed to find three things we had in common. We both had spacers in our ears (mine a "2," hers an "0," which is bigger, natch), so I pointed that out. Then I said, "And we're both gay." It seemed to take her by surprise. Maybe I'm projecting. She said, "What?" I said, "You're gay, right?" She said, "Oh-- yeah," which sounded like she hadn't heard me the first time. Maybe I slurred it out nervously. I have a tendency to do that. The dreaded G word. But I'm facing it, I'm getting closer to an understanding, I think, slowly but surely, one day at a time, sweet Jesus...

We then had to choose the most interesting thing and write that on a strip of paper the teacher had passed out while we were all rumbling in our two-person teams. He said, "Not the most obvious thing; something that would make everybody in the room go, 'Ooh!'"

My partner said, "What do I write, 'We're both gay?'" I said, "Put 'We're both homos.'" Which she did after a smirk.

The strips of paper were put away and forgot about for the rest of class - almost forgotten completely. As we were about to leave, the teacher stopped us and said he had to read them. Everyone froze. They were probably all wondering if what they had written was good enough, I know I was. Had I tricked this poor 20-something into doing something she wasn't comfortable with? Or did the notion that we needed to point it out seem unnecessary to her? That could be the case, I guess, if she believed there was no need for distinction other than a way of dressing, if the need to define yourself publicly was/is passé.

What am I even writing? Did I say I was buzzed. Have you seen those billboards that say Buzzed Driving Is Drunk Driving? Well, Buzzed Writing Is Drunk Writing, Too, then. But I'm not so much drunk as I'm high. Not drunk at all, actually. I didn't have enough money for a beer tonight. I was at a film party at the Art Alliance or Art Authority or The Place Next to Spiderhouse - whatever they're calling it these days. I digress.

The improv teacher read through all of the strips of paper, some interesting, some funny, some just fine. "We're both homos." was the very last one. When he read it, he stopped on the word "homo" and read it carefully, then said coyly, "Well, okay, that may be true-- And that would be okay..."

It doesn't seem like much. It didn't seem like much when it happened. I felt a weirdness in my center. My partner didn't seem to react, and everybody else just kind of laughed or ignored it, as with the others. When I mentioned it to S and others, though, I started feeling a little more isolated by the experience. It drives me crazy that I can't see these things in the moment, can't work with them. I know, I know, recognizing it at all is a step in that direction (Thank you, Pëma).

I had therapy the next morning, and when I told the story to L, he stopped me a ways down the path and said, "I'm sorry. As a straight man, I didn't even realize that was what you were saying." I love L, he's a wonderful therapist. What he said made me realize what I suspected: A doesn't even realize it; he is speaking only from his own experience. That's good to know, but it may make me judge his teaching efforts differently. I hope this isn't truly the case.

Thursday, I took S to the airport and he flew off to NYC for forever (not really, he's back on September 20th, driving back from Indiana in the car his parents are giving him). I'm going to NYC on the 9th and his rock opera (I guess that's what it's called) Lizzie Borden opens on the 10th, and I'm gonna get to see it!

I didn't do a lot else on Thursday or Friday. I had a barometric pressure headache (I don't know if that's a clinical term or my own); I get them sometimes when rain is coming. It feels like a hangover and/or a minor migraine. Sometimes the migraines get full-blown, but this one didn't. I felt feverish. And then I realized that my window unit was frozen over and blowing outside air in, and it was in the triple-digits! The rain came at some point in the afternoon, and amazingly, the headache all but disappeared.

I was thinking about going to see a movie on Thursday evening, but the a/c episode butted into my schedule. The foam over the cooling intake part of the a/c had frozen to the iced over ribs, and in trying to remove it, I pulled a hole shaped like Africa about 2 x 3" big. So I was thinking I needed to get a new one of those. I also needed to go to the store for candies, and it was almost time for the stores to close. I carried the foam thing to Home Depot, and they didn't have anything like it! Then I went to Target (because I had to go there for the candies anyway) and carried the muddy foam thing in with me in case they had one. They did not.

I needed the candies - mini Snickers, Twix, 3 Musketeers, etc. - for a Christmas Tree I was making for T's surprise birthday party (with a Christmas theme!) on Friday evening. I popped popcorn on Wednesday and it sat in my room getting stale, which I eventually told myself I intended. Friday morning I strung two strands (12 feet maybe) of popcorn and mini candies. It was quite lovely. The tree I got last weekend at a garage sale; it's a 4-foot tall fiber optic tree, so it didn't need lights. S&E put up other Christmassy decorations and the three of us made collage cards for T. I wish I had taken a picture of mine.

C had no real plan for getting T to the theater after their show at the Hideout. They were heading to East Side Pies, she thought, then somebody in the car said, "Let's go to the theater and drop off these fliers." T is easygoing, she said, "Sure." She was the one with the key at the door; I stood peeking out of the door curtain after we got the text. I saw her arriving, shushed everyone. The door was unlocked, so when she turned her key in the door, she thought it had finally happened, they had gotten broken into. She had a quick succession of dreadful thoughts - We don't have insurance; they took all our shit! - and she turned to run away, not wanting to go inside in case the bad guys were still in there. C grabbed her and pushed her into the room; she stumbled onto the stage and fell laughing. It was the best party she's had in years.

Last night I saw my friend M at Cafe Caffeine doing a monologue (with several other good storytellers) on the theme of "Clerks." M's bit was very funny, as was another guy, who read a story about a fat kid (him) trying to slide a 64-ounce Coke across a movie theater countertop Western movie style, only to hurl it onto its side sending sticky liquid flying on everyone in the lobby except him. I had tears flowing!

After that, I went to S's regular hangout, the Chain Drive. I've gone there a few times, but I'm not much of a bar person, and the times I've gone haven't been with S, and I've had some social anxiety issues there. But I got a notion to text S's friend G and see if he would be there. That was where S met G, I'm pretty sure. He indeed was going and we met up after the show. It was nice getting to know him a little better, as well as D, his ex-boyfriend best friend, who showed up. A weird thing happened, though. There was an attractive guy possibly looking at me, "cruising me," as it were. (He could have been cruising G, but I'm pretty sure we were making eye contact.) G was content to just sit there and chat with me, and I was trying to decide if it was rude to excuse myself to talk to a stranger. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that. I don't think he would have considered it rude. D did that very thing when he showed up and the three of us were talking.

The young man went inside and back out a few times, and when G, D and I were talking, I was thinking to myself that that would be a good time to excuse myself and make my feeble attempts. But I couldn't figure out the wording for it. So I just became anxious and eventually had to leave. I did do one "Fruit Loop" as D called it (a walk around the square bar with the seating lining the walls opposite it). It was during my Fruit Loop that I realized my potential suitor had left, so when I returned to G and D, I told them that I had decided to do a "Fruity Pebbles" and "rock out!" (Weird, I know.)

Today was Sunday. I started working on some minor revisions to my manuscript - woo-hoo! At 5 I had book club at BookPeople, this month discussing J. M. Coetzee's Nobel Prize winning novel, Disgrace (Wow.), but I left the house at 2 and stopped by P.Terry's for a #5 and a double-chocolate shake. That was good, of course, the book club was good. After that I met up with M at Spiderhouse to hang out before HomoScope, the film party that was going on at the place next to there. There were a lot of really weird but pretty interesting films. I saw a number of people I knew and so felt socially relaxed. I snuck out in the middle of the after party right after telling someone I wasn't going home, that I was just going to my truck, which was the truth, because I was thinking I would roll a cigarette and go back to the party and join them where they were all smoking cigarettes, but I'm not much of a social smoker, I have realized. I like to smoke alone. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good because if I'm busy I smoke less. (I guess that's what I'm supposed to say; I actually like smoking.) But if I'm lonely I smoke more. (Oh, that's not really true. I've smoked three or four a day for the past couple of days - two or three more than my usual daily intake - and I'm feeling indulgent.) When I got to my truck, I decided I did want to come home. It feels good to be home, particularly when I left a party feeling good and brought that feeling with me as opposed to the opposite.

tuesday, november 30th (2004)

10:03 pm

I went to the post office today during a full day of work. Re was out sick. We had a birthday breakfast for Ca. I made a fantastic fruit salad. LW and Ra were in Memphis; it was a small crowd today (T was out sick, too, and L showed up late, andy {sic} Ci wasn't there).

I went to the post office under the Frist Center (the Center used to be the post office - our post office when S and I first arrived in Nashville). It's all modern now. But in an artsy retro way, so it's cool. It was on the way to the bank. It was a nasty, dark, coldish rainy day (it got less cold by this afternoon; it was odd). It had rained all through the night and I was feeling particularly down - I was gonna say "disenchanted" - starting yesterday sometime, and it was before S told me by email that LIAB had been turned down {by the Sundance Film Festival}.

I was also feeling the realization that I am broke: $1 in my wallet, just over $2 in the bank, and $59 in savings (after having to withdraw $140 to pay my BofN loan). What the hell!

I haven't gotten any work from NY since Thanksgiving (Ca pointed out that that was just last week, but then I realized that it must've been longer than that because I really had to struggle to pay that bill - and more are on the way, approximately $400 a week).

I've started working a full 20 hours at Co a week, but that just started a couple of weeks ago, and it was represented on the check I got today. Gulp! Thank goodness I made $150 from Ra & B for dog sitting Sophie last week.

ANYWAY!!! I didn't intend to get into all of that, but it was hard to avoid because I was thinking last night about what-the-fuck-is-next.

R & I watched a so-so movie last night called... I can't remember the name of the movie, which is okay since I don't have too much good to say about it. Two guys were set up by their straight friend. (It was All Over the Guy - and I feel okay naming it since the movie seemed to go out of its way to dis' that Kevin Kline movie In & Out.) One thing I liked about the movie - or that affected me deeply - was the fact that the two guys were clashing because they seemed to want different things. It made me feel a whole {sic} in my soul (to accompany the one in my heart caused by my little Crush I got on Thanksgiving at G&M's (that is a treat that needs to be written about)).

So, as I lay in bed last night, feeling sorrowful, I asked myself what I really want. Sometimes, I feel strongly that its love. I want the chance to have a significant relationship with someone unencumbered by all of the things that S and I had in our relationship except for the knowledge we gained. That's so sappy! But it's true...

And I keep going back to A. I know that he is interested in a relationship with me, and the sex we've had has been wonderful. So I was thinking about Denver.

11:00 p.m.
Upstairs in bed now. Jesse is lying next to me, her head buried between her back legs...

I got the idea last night to look at the Denver classifieds online. So I did this morning. There was an ad by the Unitarian Universalist Church looking for a youth and teen coordinator of some sort. Coordinate schedules for programs and replacement staff (I'm assuming volunteers from the congregation) for days the coordinator is not inhouse. They have Sunday, Wednesday night and Thursday night activities. The pay is only $10 an hour, just like Co, but it's 30 hours a week (guaranteed), unlike Co. It hit me as one of those meant-to-be things.

I told S I was thinking about it. He seemed disappointed. I just don't want to spend my whole life struggling financially. S said he couldn't imagine not being an artist, and I said I could because I can't live in this state much longer. He said he would kill himself if he couldn't be an artist; I said I've considered that. He said, "Don't do that." I said, "Most likely I won't." That seems like a weird thing to say...

I went to the post office and forgot to go to the bank and had to go back. I discovered while at the post office that I'd left my shaving kit at the Y the night before and went to get it. (I forgot it because I'm such a letch.)

S said I disappoint myself more than anybody else, and I agreed with him. I had said I feel like I'm spending my life disappointing people lately. S asked who and I told him, "You, R, Ro..." AND IT'S ALL ABOUT MONEY!!! Money is ruling my life.

I'm gonna start meditating; I set up a chair for it when I cleaned house last week (all week long {I haven't meditated} because I didn't feel good... a cold or something - and this blasted darrhea is still with me, since the Friday follow the election. That's a month now!).

I also saaw a cutie at the post office. He got there the same time I did, threw around hundred dollar bills - well, one anyway. He has a p.o. box there. He glanced my way a couple of times. That's all it takes lately. I putzed around in the p.o. and felt like he was too, both of us waiting for the other. This is my fantasy, my creative imagination (who needs to make money at it when it's so much more rewarding doing it in your head for your own and your closest friends' entertainment?).

I had to putz around a little longer in the car before he came out. He walked close by the Suburban and then just passed up his SUV and went to the Union Station Hotel. I contemplated it for more than a few minutes - we were both parked in the POST OFFICE 15 MINUTES parking spaces - but went ahead into the lobby. I convinced myself it was a good idea since I've never been in there.

And I was right. The building is beautiful - I've always thought that - but it's much more beautiful inside. The ceiling, three or four stories up, is made of stained glass. The faux sunlight behind them was bright and wonderful. A fountain trickled in the middle of the room not far from the baby grand piano, which I didn't realize was even being played at first. I heard the music, beautiful - gorgeous - music. But then in a one-two punch, I realized the piano was being played, and was being played by the guy I'd followed in there. The dark-skinned Greek or Italian man was playing the hell out of that baby grand. That was why I wrote all of this, I didn't want to forget that.

11:27 p.m.

tuesday, october 26th, part three (2004)

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I've been reading Bukowski's Tales of Ordinary Madness. It's very inspiring.

Or it could be that I feel the depression lifting; I see a rosy future. Well, that may be going a little far! I see change and I see opportunity. And, of course, now that I've set my sights on a goal, other opportunities are gonna come up, and they're gonna look so good - things like M tonight, or A1.

I had a nice chat with him in Denver tonight. He went through a similar thing with R, and so I've looked to him for insight at times, and we've got a really deep connection in other ways, too.

By the way, I've stopped smoking cigarettes for real.

tuesday, october 26th, part two (2004)

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Cutie at the gym tonight. I've seen him there before, once or twice. I thought he was the young friend of the rich guy in the fancy house next to the little East Nashville post office. I saw him and a guy who looked a lot like this cutie at the Merce Cunningham dance performance. He was wearing what someone pointed out was a Commes des Garçon suit which was kind of a joke - completely unfinished, with the laundry pencil marks on it where it should be cut out and pieced together, and without finished hems anywhere.

A couple days later I think I saw this guy at the Y, he said hi. More recently, I thought I saw him again, and he had bleached a sprig of hair in the front. I don't guess they were the same guy.

The cutie I saw tonight was the one with the bleached sprig. I was coming in from working out, he was coming out of the shower, toweling off. We looked at each other across the room, our eyes meeting over the tops of the lockers. We were both at end lockers, with four or five rows were between us. He smiled big at me, watched me undress and wrap a towel around me. I walked directly to him, said, "What was your name?"
He said, "M. Have we met before?"
I mentioned the dance, the house, A, the friend of his. None of it sounded familiar to him. I said, "So I guess we haven't met before!"
He said, "M."
I said, "JDJB."
He asked to see the tattoo on my arm: JH in a small blue box. He said, "Oh, from across the room I thought it was a blue dot." He pointed to the blue dot tattooed on his arm, "And I was gonna be like that's just too wild!"

He face was soft, young. His facial hair made a sparse design on his face. A real cutie. He held my gaze and smiled into me, and I returned the experience as best I could.

I went toward the steam room, but didn't have my shave kit or fresh towel. I retrieved them and walked past him again. I mumbled a line to him as I passed.
He said, "Pardon?"
I said, "You made me forget all my stuff!"
He said, "Oh-ho!"

I did my stretches in the steam room, shaved, showered, hot then cold. It's getting easier to be focused on the task at hand and not getting caught up in looking at all the nakedness. I think meditation is doing me good. What would happen if I did it every day instead of just Sundays?!

As I left the building, I had to walk through the workout area. M was finishing up on a treadmill. I walked over to him, holding my canvas bag and sweaty gym clothes over one shoulder. I started to talk, but stopped myself when I saw him taking out an earphone.
"Pardon?"
I said, "You shower before you work out?!"
He said, "Yeah, sometimes...!"

It would've been funny and light if I'd say, "I was thinking I'd never see you again!" But I didn't think of that till I was down the road. It's probably best I didn't say much more at all. Better to look uncomfortable than obnoxious, I think!

I told him to have a good night, he chuckled and told me to do the same. Then I left him there. He was on the far inside treadmill, so I had a while to recompose myself before our eyes met again. I turned and saw him looking up after me by his reflection in the wall of mirrors surrounding us. I was behind a column. I wonder if he knew I was looking. Probably better not to make a big deal out of it!

Cu-tie!

thursday, october 21st, part two (2004)

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I'm being good to myself tonight. And bad. I didn't transcribe. I checked my mail then closed the email program, looked at dirty movie clips on the web and jerked off, then smoked some (more), poured myself a SoCoCoCola, and am lying in the front bedroom writing.

I didn't write the above story here in bed - I just got here, at the line. I read one story - no, two - from Bukowski's Tales of Ordinary Madness. This inspires me. Same thing happened when I read that collection of short stories by the guy with the cool first name; I can't remember it. The inspiration happened while I was reading his book of short stories (can't remember the name of it either). I don't think I took advantage of the inspiration enough at the time and regretted it, so I'm trying to remedy that regret by taking advantage of what I'm feeling, where I'm at right now.

I'm also making Bourbon Street Red Beans & Rice (vegetarian-- vegan, actually). R asked me today if I would. I'm glad he asked, it made me feel good for some reason. A little more content. It seems that maybe our relationship is settling into a place that he can handle. He's an odd bird. More odd than I thought! (But loveable all the same; perhaps even more loveable because of it.)

wednesday, october 20th (2004)

11:55 pm

I wonder if Dr. C has any clients who aren't smart beyond measure and talented and good? I'll have to ask him about that. Or is it some kind of trick to help us to get better? It's working; I guess that's what counts. I've never had a relationship like this with a therapist-type. And he's an actual shrink, and people say they're usually disinterested in the person and keen on filling out prescriptions. But that's not Dr. C. He said, "Worker {sic} harder than you think you need to, and save faster than you think you have to," and I've been doing that without even realizing I was taking his advice so strongly. But I guess I am. And I'm glad I am.

I do get drugs from Dr. C, but I'm pretty much in charge of my medication needs status. I started taking double the Wellbutrin and weaned myself off of the Lexapro altogether, a little at a time. I'm just off of them for three days or so, and in the last couple of days, my equilibrium has been off. I feel dizzy now and then, particularly when I turn corners or turn my head left and right quickly. But it's not always, and it's not forever. I think I remember feeling like this when I first got on Lexapro. I'm not sleepy all the time now, and I feel pretty darn good. I've even gone so far as to sing the extended version of "Throw Away the Dove" as Nell Carter in the Suburban. (Now, that's crazy!)

tuesday, october 12th (2004)

10:36 p.m.

At first he didn't want me to try to change him. He felt like I was always trying to change him. What it was was I was always trying to be myself, but kept running into his "You're trying to change me!" And I'm talking about as simple as rearranging stuff in his house. The "controversial library," I call it, was the first of these big clashes.

And now that I'm going away (in a year), it seems to him that we were just falling into place, that I know where things went, and I let him do the things that only he (and his dearly departed mother) knew how to do right. But it felt to me like we were falling into a stuck place. That was the impetus for me wanting to leave. I also feel like sex should be a part of a relationship. A close one. And then I also realized that I desire that creative connection S and I have, and that was the easier thing to focus on, for mine and R's sake.

The reason I picked up the journal to write, I wanted to say something in particular. There's been a $40-something-dollar receipt floating around the kitchen. R cooked a wonderful meal the other day and afterward said, "That was a $35 meal." Wow, I thought, I like to eat at home to save money.

But I didn't say that. The receipt seems to keep appearing in different places. R tends to put things away haphazardly, but the receipt isn't floating around haphazardly. I don't think. Am I just high? Does he want me to/expect me to pay half of that receipt? Shouldn't he say something if he does? Should I say something to him or will that cause bad vibes?

My paranoia's making me think he is trying to cause bad vibes. Not intentionally, but he may be doing what he's doing - moving the receipt around (if he is) - as a way of saying something to me. It causes a number of opportunities for the creation of a tangent in my mind. Is he keeping track of what I'm eating? what he's bought? Should I willingly pay for whatever he asks me to pay for since he isn't asking me to pay rent? Should I offer to pay rent? Haven't I already? Could I even afford it? No. I would have to go back to LW's. She'd be more than happy to oblige. She just brought it up again recently. But I really don't want to live in that area, in that little house. I'd rather live in a small apartment by myself. But could I find anything cheap enough to afford? And why wouldn't I give that money to R? I have no problem with that, but it's hard to get answers to all these questions when I'm the only one talking.

It's 11:00. S's gonna call any second now.

friday, october 1 (2004)

9:30-ish

I'm in Johnson City. I got here at 7:30, had to shit real bad and went to see a movie just so I could. I wanted to see Life of Brian - that would've been fun - but it had already started (well, actually I don't know, what with all the previews; but I didn't know how long it would take me to shit...). I watched The Forgotten, only because it starred Julianne Moore. It had Anthony Edwards in it, too, which might've swayed me away from it, but I didn't know that. It was all right, that's all. Sort of an extended "X-Files" kind of movie. All right.

I realized on my way eastward today that I was sort of taking Big Blue on a test run. To see how she did/does long distance. Today was a 7.5 hour drive. It could've been shorter, but I didn't push her. I stayed behind slow-moving 18-wheelers on the long inclines.

I told R on Sunday that I want to go to California by the end of next year. He didn't say much until Wednesday, his first day back to work after a 5-day weekend. I was in the home office transcribing. He came in and was putting on his shoes. He looked up at me and his face was all wet and his eyes were all red. I still tear up when I picture his face, even here in the Olive Garden (all-you-can-eat soup and salad - old habits die hard!).

I knelt in front of him and we cried for a while. He said, "I don't want to lose you." Up until Sunday I thought all I wanted was to get away from R, away from that relationship. But after I thought about it some more, and after Wednesday, and after I put my thoughts into a 6-page letter, I realized that it isn't what I have or don't have in my relationship with R, it's what I don't have in my life. Namely a creative collaborator. And that is something I could never have with R. The fact that he's not an artist (although he could be with his photos) is one of the things I love about R. I was ready to get away from that part of my life. And I did. But I couldn't stay away from it forever. I tried to convince R in my letter that we should have this relationship for this next year, that we should continue to work on it and ourselves. And when it's time for me to go to California we can have the satisfaction of ending a relationship that is not a failure.

I dropped the letter in his lunch box today. He left a message on my voice mail while I was out of range in the Smokies. He said he'd already read my note (I'm assuming before he even left for work). I'm glad I told him last weekend. I told Dr. C I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him before I came to the Storytellers Festival or if I wanted to use this weekend away to ponder it. As it turns out, telling him on Sunday and not getting a response from him until Wednesday, and then taking the past couple of days to gather my thoughts and deliver them to him, turned out to be best for all of us. I have all that heaviness off my mind and can concentrate on the festival. And since I'm out of range, he'll have the weekend by himself to ponder the mysteries of me!

tuesday, september 28th (2004)

10:27 p.m.

For the last four nights at least, I've looked at a clock when it read 10:27. I wonder if RM still sees "1027" like he used to all of the time.

I'm under the tin roof of the carport, with insects singing their night song. (or) with the night-song insects playing away. (!)

We saw John Waters' latest tonight. E said the other day in the dog park that Chris Isaak would get R to that movie.
I said, "Oh, really?"
He said, "Don't you know about his Chris Isaak thing?"

I'm smoking again; killing myself. For what?

Sc from the dog park was there at the movie with his friend M - who I thought was H because I didn't remember his name. R and I were the first in the theater. Sc asked if they could sit with us. Our arms and legs touched now and again during the movie. I don't think it was all me (oh, god, what a pervert!). I'd plied R with a pot brownie. We stopped at Chez Jose because he had a coupon. I'm so tired of eating at places just because we have a coupon! R didn't say a word to me the whole meal; didn't even look at me, I don't think. He had eaten the brownie before we got there; I didn't know it. I thought he was just being hateful. I asked him if I'd already told him that JT from our bridge group is in an upcoming production of Sweeney Todd and he just shook his head and looked off into space.

I enjoyed the movie. The last time I enjoyed a movie that much was when we saw Sordid Lives for the first time - when we were on the "ski trip" last February in West Virginia. We were on pot brownies that night, too.

When Sc and I laughed, we leaned into each other. When R laughed, he pulled away.

I left R a note recently that said: I've been struggling lately, in case you didn't notice(!).
He wrote back: I notice, anything I can do for you?
I wrote back: Don't pull away.

Since then, he's pulled further and further away. Poor thing, I know he's stuck, but I can't help him anymore than I already have. It became clear tonight and ended with him vomiting in the compost pile and clambering off to bed.

RB was at the movie tonight, too. He and his friends sat behind us. When they arrived, he kissed me on top of my freshly shaved, buffed-looking shiny head. He told his friends I was the only bigger fan of John Waters than him.
I cawed back, "I've got an award with his name on it, and I got a postcard from him!"

What kind of monster must I sound like? I was just playing the part with RB like I always do. But I probably still sounded like a braggart to some of the people around me. Hopefully Sc and M saw it as me being confident and wealthy of acquaintances(!). [I keep putting parenthetical exclamation points because I like the way that came out. And I only explain that because I love the word "parenthetical!"]

There's a gas can clicking in the garage; I'm having a hard time including it in the symphony.

RB said he and his friends were going for a drink and invited us along. We didn't commit. I was willing to go if R wanted to have a drink. (He often does - that's the way of his people. And I often do too, of late, because it seems I've become one of his people.) Turns out R was too high to go out, but not too high to stop at the liquor stor for beer.

When we got home, he said he was having a hard time getting out of the car. He was way-high by this point. I lit candles in the carport, opened beers, gave R an excellent dark chocolate bar, put the plastic Cape Cod chairs on the carport. R came out and said, "This is perfect!" He was content and I was enjoying the moment.

It didn't last long. He was at Ida last night, and said tonight that the last time he was at Ida, he and E and JV went together, and they slept in one tent, and he slept alone. (R was so in love with E.)
I said, "That's a drag."
He said, "Yes, it was." He looked into my eyes and I could see his sadness. This is what made me fall in love with him.

Is that sick? I fell in love with R because of his sadness. At the time, I was lonely and insecure. He was lonely. We fell in love. Me with his sadness, with the need to help him; him with my desire to take care of him. I'm his caretaker, I'm not his lover.

I do love taking care of R. But in the bargain I've neglected to take care of myself. Two weeks ago I told my shrink I was content with my relationship and what I'm getting from it. Yesterday afternoon, I told him I was unhappy, that I need a change. I said I realized that OK wasn't good enough for me.

After that session, I decided I wanted to move to California, to be with S. Since then, I've decided I will move to California by the end of next year.

I decided this would be a good time to break the news to R. I didn't just decide on the spur; I considered the decision carefully.
R said, "I'm so high!" He was enjoying himself. Then he brought up the sadness he felt about E and JV closing him out. About E closing him out throughout their relationship.

It seemed to me that he was in the state of mind to deal with my issues. But before I got the chance to say anything, R said he had to pee and I helped him up and sent him on his way. While he was gone, I sat back in my chair and thought about what I would say and how I would say it. The insect symphony was joined by a single cop siren, up and down, as the candelier with the beautiful ceramic ball in it swung gently over my head, hanging by black chains and metal rings.

I'm not happy. I haven't been happy much lately. I'm not happy in this relationship, and I've realized I once had a goal to live in California, and I want to continue to pursue that goal, that dream. I'm not leaving you. I'm still here for you. For now. I plan to be in California by the end of next year.

When R came back from peeing and plopped back into his chair next to me, after we'd exchanged a few pleasantries, and after a silent time had passed between us, I said, "I have something serious to talk to you about."
He said, "Nnnot nnnowww... I'm not in the right mood for that."
I said, "What kind of mood would that be?"
He didn't answer. He bent over, almost in a fetal position, eyes barely open.
I told him to lean back, to relax, "We don't have to talk about anything."
He leaned back in his chair, sprung back into position like a rubber band, locked his fingers together between his knees. "How's this?" He was defying me, refusing to communicate, flaunting his defiance.
I decided to tell him anyway. But he beat me to the punch.
"I think I have to go to bed," he said.
He didn't need help getting up this time.
I said, "All right." (Still practicing patience...)

I leaned back and looked up at the gently swaying candelier. The wind picked up as R walked away and the deep, dark windchime rang its three tones in a new variety of patterns.

I had to hear him heaving a third time before I realized R was vomiting. Still, I wasn't sure. I got up and carried my beer with me. He was leaned over the side of the compost bin. For a brief moment, his heaving sounded like deep, dark cries of pain - heart pain. But he wouldn't cry over me like this. Maybe he was feeling like a failure at this relationship, and any failure reminds him of the biggest failer in his life, and that was his love for E.

As I helped R into the house, poured him a glass of water, put toothpaste on a toothbrush and handed it to him, I thought, God, he's such a Tennessee Williams character! I should call him Tennessee Williamson. I should base a character by that name on him. I mean, how perfect was it to avoid having a serious discussion by getting sick enough to vomit?

I had to find my jounral while I was in the house taking care of R. I kept saying to myself throughout the evening, Remember this; write this down.

How perfect was it that I was sitting between R and Sc at the movie, sitting between What Is and What Could Be? It was very telling.

sunday, september 26th (2004)

12:17 a.m.

I'm kind of in a daze. Not because of the movie, though it was good. I decided today (or yesterday, technically) that I'm gonna move to California within the next year. Most likely, S and I will live together. Now the question is how do I tell R? And what do I tell R? And when? He's at Idapalooza tonight, maybe till Sunday.

Dr. C pointed out three times that I said I was glad today:
1) Glad that R was going to Ida without me;
2) Glad that I was going to Jonesborough next weekend without him; and
3) I can't remember what the third glad was.

S dreamed a "Peace. Love. Y'all." logo for the documentary. (A peace sign. A heart. A lucky green dress.) He and C finished the submittable edit of the film (2 hours) in the nick of time to get it to FedEx to send it to the Sundance Festival committee.

I'm wired. I think this is the right decision. Perhaps one year will be a good goal for being off of antidepressants as well...

2:56 a.m.
There's an old tale about a woman who cut the ends off of roasts before putting them in the oven... I heard that when I was young; maybe that's why I came to despise my mother's Sunday roasts.

hotne$$

I believe I am having an identity crisis. I feel slightly afloat, unmoored. It is not a completely bad feeling, just awkward. I'm used to that. I haven't gone to yoga in over two weeks. I was supposed to have a therapy session tomorrow (I've been going once a month), but I canceled it. All to do with money. I kind of miss the yoga, but I really miss the therapy, even though I won't have missed a session until tomorrow. I feel the need to tell someone in The Profession that I'm having an identity crisis. Well, not someone, him, my Therapist. He's good. I like him. I was afraid that if I quit going to yoga and therapy, it would be hard to make it back. But I long for both of them.

Financially, I feel okay. Things are tight, but for once in my life I'm handling things pretty well. Except for the $28 I spent on two groovy 1950s chairs from Goodwill on Friday, I think it was. Retail therapy. They're in very good shape. I put them on the front porch.

Today I moved the logs to the side and the trunk to the front of the porch next to the (for now) unused chimenea. We now have seating for six out there. I don't know if there are six people I would want to be around at the same time. Not right now. I have been feeling very anti-social lately. I enjoy my friendship with S, and my other housemates are easy enough to get along with, though I don't spend a lot of time with them - I don't think I've ever sat on the front porch with them. P1 is a good friend; I feel close to her. She makes time to come over and sit on the front porch with me.

Last night, I had a performance with M, her one-woman show in the Ladies Are Funny Festival (LAFF). It's the same show I did with M several months ago as part of the FuseBox Festival. I screwed up the last line of my song (and therefore the grand finale of the show) that time and had a lot of anxiety about it happening again, even though I never missed the last line while rehearsing the past couple of weeks at home.

Plus I just didn't feel like doing it. But I did. And I didn't screw up the last line, but nobody noticed anyway because they were clapping for M through the song. I was just glad to be done, glad the stress was over. As soon as the applause ended, I unplugged my keyboard, walked offstage and out the backstage exit, to my truck and home.

Nobody was here. It was 8:45 pm on a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. Oh well. I read.

I'm reading Edmund White's States of Desire, the whole thing. It's a good read, published in 1980, and so written right before the AIDS pandemic. It is research, inspiration really, for my novel. I'm trying to get a handle on a character who speaks more eloquently than I, who is more educated, more sophisticated, more wealthy, more gay. Sitting on the front porch last night, I wrote this:

Charles talked incessantly using words I didn't know the meanings of, but which he used so convincingly that whenever he asked if I knew what he meant, I invariably said, "Yes," and was able to respond in some (albeit brief) way that kept the conversation going. The cocaine helped.

I didn't become addicted to coke because I couldn't afford it, but whenever it was offered I partook. Somehow our talk found us in bed together, having sex, not because Charles was attracted to me - as he said numerous times during the act - but rather to "catch me up," as he put it, on all I had missed in my eighteen years. My boyhood crush on Rich White, who fucked me without regard, and my "adult" experience with the famous drag queen in Las Vegas were inconsequential, according to Charles, who was three times older than me, and admittedly a very good lover.

His tastes were more toward buff Chelsea Boys, whom Charles met at the gym (where he regularly went to keep himself physically and mentally youthful), and it was almost a relief when I was set free to pursue my own sexual interests after living in his guest room for a month-and-a-half.

I myself feel inadequate much of the time. When I read Edmund White - who is an intellectual elitist - I have waves of embarrassment thinking of people reading my writing, because, like Randy Reardon, I've always felt that if I surrounded myself with people who were smarter than me I would naturally soak up some of their intelligence. But most of the time I just feel inadequate.

One place where I don't feel inadequate (most of the time) is in my improv troupe HOTNE$$ IN A PO$E, which is CG and me. We had our first rehearsal with T today. I've already learned so much in just an hour-and-a-half (besides all the other hours of class I take every week, because they're free for the most part). Here's a rundown of the scenes we did/characters I played (mostly for my own edification):

• silent scene; me eating, elaborate process of opening basket, taking out food/drink; CG arrives, offers me a flower; I pack up basket, set it down, take flower, say thanks, drop it to the ground, pick up basket, repeat elaborate process. This happens three times; third time, I eat the flower. It went on from there, but T said that should have been the edit.
• I'm father in mother's dress; daughter arrives... The scene went awry because I showed shame for being in the dress instead of it being normal or fun... (T's note: MAKE THE PLAYFUL CHOICE).
• I'm a happy bride (absurd) who wants a wedding dress made of clovers, want to be married in a barn by a crow; CG is the wedding store worker who tries to play it straight but falters a little.
• I'm crying against the wall. CG arrives, says "Mr. Smith, you have to come down; we have to do your taxes." This scene went on too long (T: need to recognize natural edit) but there were some fun things happening. I had spent all of the company money turning my office into a castle; I was up in a tower with a Rapunzel wig and dress; I had long curly fingernails and couldn't sign the company over to CG's character...
• Quails. I had pet quails in the house; CG said we had to eat them. The scene turned into a Yes-I-am/No-I'm-not scene, got stuck.
• Two characters folding laundry. CG: Your brother's coming home today. Me: He was denied parole; what happened? CG: He's coming home; you have to move out of his bedroom. Me: But he killed all those people... The scene turned dark and (worse) mundane. (T: MAKE THE MORE PLAYFUL CHOICE.)
• I played a gay man (ha) feeding a girlfriend odd foods he's prepared in hopes of luring a mate: Quail that I caught in the park with a butterfly net (but couldn't figure out how to get the "claws" off so I tucked them under), grated sponge that "acts (and looks) like rice" (!), gravy made from mold, biscuits made from powdered cow hooves, alcoholic beverage made from fermented olive juice. (Pretty good scene with me doing most of the talking, CG responding physically.)
• Housewife on speed (me) after husband's death, rearranging petunias, drinking champagne, in love with her doctor. CG played the daughter who couldn't get a word in edgewise. Tiring scene for me, but funny.
• Transaction Scene (T: Sweet!) - I'm the moving man, ask for payment. CG: Checkbook is in one of the boxes. The scene was, according to Tami, well-paced at keeping the transaction from being completed, which you don't want to happen in a transaction scene.
  

thursday, september 23rd, 10:30ish p.m. (2004)

I'm in such a fucking quandary right now. For the last day or so, I've been thinking I need to do something about this relationship I'm in. I don't feel like I can leave, for so many reasons. I love R, but this isn't the relationship I wanted; this isn't the life I wanted.

I saw Sc at the park a couple of days ago. There was flirtation. I invited him to see Maria Full of Grace as we were packing the dogs in the cars. He said he has a big job this week, but took my number and said he would call. He did. He couldn't go.

I didn't go to the movie either. I found out it's playing through the weekend. He was at the dog park again tonight, with his friend who was with him the first time I met him (when R was in Wisconsin, because I didn't have Bayne at the park with me then). I felt a little weird around Sc.

When I was first courting R, L commented to S that I was going in fifth gear, and S told her I always do. What's that about?

I was trying to think of all of these things Sc and I could do together. I did mentioned the other night that I have a "partner." Tonight I found myself wanting to take that back.

My attraction to Sc isn't what's making me contemplate and reassess my relationship with R, but it is making the fact that there's a problem in my relationship with R all the more clear.

I called A last night - he had a short-lived relationship with R and then lived with him for five years as a housemate - I figured he would be a good shoulder to lean on. He was. But he complicated matters a little by telling me I could come live with him. I don't feel that's at all an option, but it's tempting - or it is on occasion.

The fact is I do need to reassess my relationship with R. Well, we need to reassess, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who'll be taking part in the reassessment (though I'd love to be wrong about that).

This whole thing started yesterday or the day before when I was thinking about how I shouldn't be going to the Galapagos Islands {with R}. I can't afford it. If I go, I'll be $3,000 deeper in debt. I really have no right going off on an expensive

monday, september 20th, 7:39 a.m. (2004)

I go through these periods where I don't know what I'm doing here. I feel like I need to get out to save myself, but I feel like I can't because I have a certain responsibility to R. He is non-communicative, emotionally unavailable and sexually disinterested 100%.

10:30 p.m.
I'm a lost boy. I'm unhappy. I don't know what it is. My life is not becoming what I wanted it to be; it isn't anywhere close to where I hoped it could be. I have no energy, no inspiration. I felt like I was gonna fall asleep at work today. Or cry.

Sophie has the ottoman against the front window with a blue tones Indian blanket on it to keep her from ruining it. She likes to lie there and look for something to bark at. We've already gotten into a ritual, and it's only been two days. I walk over in the morning, take her home until I go to work, then pick her up after work with Bayne and Jesse on board, and we go to the dog park. Then it's back to our house for the evening, and then back home for Sophie.

R&B have such a well-appointed house. They have a happy little life here. I'm not saying it's what I want, but I can certainly appreciate the appeal. Of course, I'd have to have a filthy rich boyfriend to live like this because I am 40 years old and haven't made the choices in life that would allow me such luxuries.

Handsome S who works for Sony was at the dog park tonight. The last time I saw him there, I put a note on his car door: Call me if you're heading to the park, I'll meet you there, or something like that. He never called. That's been about three months or so.

He's disgruntled with his corporate life. I think he is fascinated and slightly appalled by my life. I take his fascination as flirtation and I'm right there, even tonight, despite myself.

J said from the stage Saturday night, "Weve got a local celebrity in the house tonight. He's part of the Hey, Y'all Group." Oh, brother.

I imagined saying to him in our fantasy life together somewhere down the road, "I can't believe you said that! I hated you for saying that! But really, that was the only thing I could find to not like about you that night, and now look at us..."

Oh, brother!

R left me a note tonight: Where have you gone? I seem to have lost contact with you again. Or something like that. I hate that note. The last time he left something like that, I poured out my heart in a multiple-page letter to him and he barely responded to it, if at all. I don't recall anything. Why would I want to keep opening myself up like that for no return? I just simply can't. I love R, but I'm not getting what I need, and if I don't just tune him out sometimes, medicate myself more than I normally would, I'm afraid I would begin to hate him for his inabilities. And the fact that they are inabilities - deeply ingrained inabilities - makes me feel so much sadness for him and for us.

sunday, september 19th, 1-ish (2004)

I don't know what reason I have for feeling down today, but I do. I've been thinking a lot about my life here lately. What am I accomplishing? Where is this going? L and I went to see some singer/songwriters last night; one I know, one she knows.

His songs moved me - I cried at the one about his friend R's cancer treatment. I wonder if it made me cry because of Pamela, or because it was that beautiful.

Or was I just longing for a different life for myself? One with him? He smiles a lot, he's very gentle; not at all like what I've got now. I find myself wanting to leave this relationship, wanting to run away. But I feel trapped in it, too. Mostly for his sake.

I've always called his anger a good lesson for me, for my cultivation of patience. But have I learned enough? Is that what this feeling is? Is my relationship with R the reason I'm disgruntled with UU? Or is that another issue altogether, another factor contributing to my funk?

Or is it the medication? Is it wrong for me?

Today is ST's birthday lunch. I don't want to go, but I don't want to say anything. I don't want to eat; I don't want to spend the money. And I'm thinking it's gonna cause some kind of funk on the group. So I feel like I should say something to R. But at the same time, I feel like I should stand my ground. It's my right to go and not eat and just celebrate his birthday, right? But then why am I avoiding signing the card for the present R bought ST?

Does it all go back to my pulling back from this relationship? From that church? From this life?

I daydreamed about just pulling up and going to California. But that doesn't feel right at all. First, S doesn't even have a place to live, and he won't for some months. I know he'd be happy to have me at that point, but it's not something I'd even consider right now.

So I think to myself, How many months? But that's so irresponsible. I have enough jobs here and the living situation to support getting myself out of debt. That's a good and noble goal, I know that. But I fantasize about a relationship with poor artists like singer/songwriter J, and try to arrange sexual encounters with people like that older swimmer dude at the Y who flirts with me with his huge dick. My sexual life beyond that is pretty nonexistent.

Party time...

5-ish
Novel idea: Big Blue. Starts off with my depression and switches back and forth between that and the Suburban Big Blue.

thursday, september 16th, 10:08 a.m. (2004)

Even though I really can't afford it, I bought tickets for a weekend at the Nat'l. Storyteller Festival in Jonesborough. When I mentioned I'd like to go, Dr. C said he thought it sounded like the best idea he'd heard in a while.

sunday, september 12th, 5:52 p.m. (2004)

They say you aren't supposed to relight a cigar once it goes out. What they should say is it's damn near impossible to relight a cigar.

There's a beagle in the neighborhood. I can also distinguish the raspy bark of the black Doberman at the end of our alley.

I quit smoking cigarettes while we were in Nova Scotia. I got a cold a day or two before we left Nashville and had smoked the last of the pack of American Spirits I had so I didn't buy anymore to take on the trip. I smoked one of R's early on when we were at J's, there by the 20-foot high cliff overlooking St. Mary's Bay, and it did nothing for me. Well, it made my throat sore (more). So I didn't smoking another and didn't really have a second thought about it until I was reading an article by a columnist in the Montreal newspaper who smoked 25 Camels a day and had cancer. A side bar in the article mentioned the addiction people have to the smell of the match, putting the cigarette to the lips, the first drag, the curl of smoke rising, and I thought, Oh, yeah, that's what I like about it. The nicotine addiction is an unfortunate side effect. So that's why I just smoked the last Sweet Daddy cigar from the tin that I bought in Las Vegas.

I cross my legs, left ankle on the right knee, and I see a bundle of wrinkles at the top of my calf and I think, Oh, yeah, I'm 40. That's a sign of my aging. There are several gray hairs in my moustache and my goatee is almost solid white, except for a stripe down the middle. My jazz tooth isn't aging as fast as my other facial hairs. I plucked a few gray eyebrow hairs yesterday, and I've been pulling out shocking white coarse nose hairs for a while. Crazy.

I'm having a Spiritual Dilemma. Did I mention that? Let's see... I guess not.

Mosquitoes are starting to hover, even here on the front porch; I'll either have to go in or slather on some Burt's Bees Insect Repellant. One mosquito in particular is testing the ground that is me. My shirt, my arm. He hasn't dipped in yet.

Should I have a third Southern Comfort & Diet Coke? Should I smoke another bowl? Should I go inside and turn on the TV? It feels like I've been watching TV for two days. I've only been watching IFC and Sundance, and once in a while Comedy Central, but still, my eyes hurt from staring at the tube. I saw some good documentaries though.

Should I turn on the computer? And do what? Play Internet games? I feel like that's all I've done besides watch TV the past two days.

T's in town. (J's new boyfriend; we met him in Nova Scotia). We were supposed to go have a couple of drinks with him tonight, but we haven't heard from him. And here I've already had a couple of drinks.

It's one of those times when nobody's answering their phone. I called S. I called T. I called Sa, I called Ci, I called my mom. I called the S's, whose house I clean.

It rained all day today. Till now. It's cooler now; it's nice.

A's in town and we've been having sex. We're very connected in that way. And now that I've "figured out" my relationship with R - my "place" in our relationship (or something like that) - there's no need to hold back.

R and I had a shower together yesterday or the day before, and he said he had to jerk off; he hadn't had an orgasm in two weeks, which was the longest he'd gone in 20 years! I enjoyed watching him jerk off. He yanked my dick while he jerked his. I got hard but I didn't come. He made some comment that I can't remember, but which made me say, "Our relationship is not about orgasms." He said, "That's true," or something to that effect.

I am so out of money right now. My checking account says I have $10! I hope I have some money in savings to put in there. I was gonna go to the bank Friday morning and R discouraged me because it was 8 a.m. And so I ended up not going. And I've been spending some of the leftover cash I have from the trip to Nova Scotia. Actually, I didn't use any cash there because we heard you get a better exchange rate to Canadian if you use credit cards or even debit cards. And since I didn't have any money in my checking account (I thought I had $40; I only had $10), I told R to just tell me how much I owed him at the end of the trip.

S got to California in three days and starting working on the doc with C yesterday. They watched the 3-hour 45-minute edit that S created, and he told me that every idea C had, every suggestion, went right along with his thinking, and he's very excited to be working with him. They have a week to create the next edit, which they'll send to enter the Sundance Festival. (Sundance will accept unfinished entries.) And then they'll work another two weeks (? three weeks?) to finish the final edit. And at that point the budget for C's part will be spent. It's very exciting, really.

I've been having weird dreams lately. The most recent, most memorable weird dream included a family of deer running about, doing tricks and even dancing on busy streets, as well as a church service with a lot of inappropriate behavior (a weird play-acting thing in which a young guy is wearing only long john bottoms as his costume - though he has underwear or shorts on under them - and a mouthful of cassette tape that wouldn't stop coming out). I woke up with severe cottonmouth after that!

I had a falling out with R today. I don't know if he even knows it. He had gotten all his pictures out and was inspired (by A) to do a collage in an old window frame, and I thought I'd give him a hand by organizing the photos into Nature, R, R and Friends, Friends only, Animals, Things, etc. He came into the dining room, said, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm organizing your photos, and looking at them." He said, "Well, they already are... I'll take care of it. It doesn't matter. I just have them in groups so I know where they were taken..." I left the photos and watched TV and played computer games. What am I saying? Of course he knows I had a falling out with him. It often happens as a reaction to him seemingly overreacting to something I've done in which I think I'm doing him a favor.

A and I joked about the fact that I could live in Denver.

I don't know if any or all of this has to do with my Spiritual Dilemma. I was reading UU World the other day, and there were article after article on the recent General Assembly, and I found myself getting bored and thinking, This is all a bunch of religiosity. Now that MK is gone, I don't seem to have a Spiritual base here. It seems that it's all about choir and lay ministry. And choir is a lot of input (Thursday night rehearsals and early Sunday morning calls). And lay ministry seems to be suffering from a lack of leadership.

saturday, september 11th, 11:12 pm (2004)

My right arm and neck hurts as of yesterday morning. I can't write much; will try to recap the trip to Nova Scotia sometime. But I'm not sure I need to; it's not the kind of memory that'll fade. {2009: I have written things like this a couple of times and have no idea what these unforgettable memories are!}

I saw Dr. C yesterday. He asked me to grade myself on how I'm doing compared to "a while back." I said C+. He said he figured I'd grade low (what with my self-deprecation and low self-esteem and the fact that I'm an artist, which is the antidote to those other things); but he thinks I'm doing better.

I did do a lot of soul searching in N.S. Came to terms with what I think R's and my relationship is. Decided I need a straight man onstage with me. And I considered (am considering) taking the Improv class in town, but when I was saying that to Dr. C, I said something about wanting to go to the (a?) Storytelling Festival, and he jumped on that and said that sounded like the best thing I'd struck on in a while.

system overload

I've been feeling a bit down lately. No doubt the effects of my lost friendship with C. I started thinking a lot about friendship, about the friends I have, and what they mean to me. But with a kind of dark view, because I've been feeling a bit down. I guess it's the depression thing. I didn't make it to yoga on Sunday, and then on Monday, I felt like I hadn't done yoga for ages; I was tight and hurt when I tried to get into certain positions. It was very frustrating.

So yesterday, I tried to talk myself out of going. But I was feeling pretty bummed about things and decided the meanest thing I could do to myself was go and deal with the frustration. (I knew it was also the nicest thing I could do for myself.) Actually, I let work decide for me. If there is no work to keep me at home, then I'll leave at 3 in time to get to the 3:30 class. That's what I told myself. And I even almost talked myself out of it when 3 rolled around and there wasn't a transcript to do. But I had already worked 37.5 hours in the preceding six days (12.5 of them on Sunday), and my eyes were bothering me.

When I got to M's apartment (the yoga studio), he was cleaning windows. He asked how I was; I said, "I'm here." He said, "Oh, it's like that, is it?!" He's a cheerful sort. Good-looking, strong, patient, funny, intelligent, a great teacher. I told him I couldn't think of any reason not to come, and he said, "You could've cleaned windows!" I said, "Yeah, if I had thought of that..." He said, "Call me next time and I'll give you some suggestions!"

Inside, I told him I deal with depression. He said he does too; he told me if he wasn't on anti-depressants nobody would be there. Interesting. He pushed me a little harder than I thought I wanted to be pushed yesterday - I thought maybe he would take it easy on me since I was feeling down (I wanted him to take it easy on me) - but he pushed me to do a jump-back. I struggled with it a while, complained some, got more instruction, then viola! I saw the light. I even said that. He said, "I wouldn't have told you to do it if I didn't know you could...for future reference."

And so, he gave me the ability to accomplish something difficult. I didn't do the jump-back very good, mind you - and boy were my arms tired after - but it felt good to have succeeded at something, to have done it that well.

I have a friend that I needed to take a break from. I realized after the loss of my friendship with C that it is a friendship that takes (a lot) more from me than it gives. And I think I need to surround myself with people who lift me up, people I want to be like. At least my close friends. There are some people in the improv community who annoy me (their sense of humor), but I don't feel close to them. I feel my friends should be willing and able to listen to me, that I should feel that they're listening.

With this one particular friend, I don't feel like that is the case. I never have. It has felt more like I am a caretaker all along. I came to this realization when I thought about telling this person about what had happened with C. I couldn't imagine saying anything because this person doesn't deal well with that kind of information. I don't need that in my life.

So, I ignored this person for a while, and kept getting phone calls that I didn't respond to, which caused the person to call another friend of mine and ask if she knew what was up with me. I didn't want to be rude, so I sent an email to this person saying that email was a much better way to correspond with me, that I was lying low and not answering the phone. The person responded to the email by calling me! I ignored that call, and then started getting emails and texts, asking me to do this or that. When I responded in the negative for whatever reason, I got a follow-up request for a different date and time and event. So, I sent an email saying I was not going to be socializing for a while, that I was concentrating on working and writing and doing much of anything with anybody.

The response was "Okay. I understand. Unless it's something I've done." Followed by another two paragraphs about how we could deal with it if it was in fact something that this person had done to upset me or push me away.

Too much work, that's what I say.

So that's where I am. I'm still feeling a bit blue, but I feel like I'm getting through it. And I'm very happy about the writing I've been doing.

wednesday, august 25th 11:12 pm (2004)

I feel numb. I have a hard time having a conversation with R. Compassion and gentleness don't seem to affect him. He has so much anger there is no such thing as understanding.

On the way to the movie (The Corporation) tonight he had the talk radio blaring as per usual and grumbled about the points being made. I tried to just ignore it all. I hate talk radio! On the way home from the movie he told me he was wearing one of his anti-corporation T-shirts at work last night and a co-worker, "if I could understand his thick accent," said, "You just don't give up."

I told him he could take it as a compliment and he said, "But that's not how it was intended."

I said, "But you still could. You can take whatever is said to you to feed your anger or fuel your fight." (What I really said was "fuel your energy," but I meant "fuel your fight.")

He said, "Why would I want to take something other than the way it was intended?"

I said, "People are always misinterpreting what is said to them."

He said, "Oh, absolutely." And he said it in a way that sounded to me like "End of discussion."

But of course, I could've just been taking it the wrong way.

message in a dream

I had a dream this morning. I was walking through an area with warm, low Frank Lloyd Wright type buildings, live oak trees were abundant and old, their limbs like hundreds of big strong arms hovering near the hilly ground and high into the sky. It was a sunny day but it was cool and shady where I was.

I heard someone say my name. I recognized it as being C's voice, a friend with whom I've recently had the third and what seems like final falling out (in the course of our short and very intense relationship). I turned to look and saw someone who looked like him but wasn't him.

"Did you call me?"
"No," the stranger said, "That was just C pointing you out. He went inside."

That sounds about right, I thought to myself, considering what we've been through recently. I turned to leave the area and saw litter on the ground. I picked up a clear plastic bag and put the litter in it as I walked toward the exit. I dropped the bag in a big trash barrel. There were bottles and cans in it, but I didn't see a recycling bin, so I didn't bother separating them. At the end of the sidewalk, there were several recycling bins, organized for the different items. I went back to the trash barrel to retrieve the recyclables. There were ants coming up from deep within the barrel. And then there were bees and wasps hovering around. Every time I looked away and back, the ants, bees and wasps had multiplied exponentially.

I tried to pick out the bottles and cans, but the flying insects were thwarting me. I saw a shovel on the ground, it was covered with the bugs as well. They were flying in my face, scaring me a little. Finally I put down whatever was in my hands, said to myself, "Better to just leave it alone," and walked away.

Better to just leave it alone.

It was one of those message dreams, pertaining no doubt to the stuff I've been going through with C. I was the one who instigated the separation, but it wasn't really what I wanted; it was what I felt like he wanted. I expected my email to sting a little - I was in Paris, feeling very alone, feeling like he was responding to everything I said from a very selfish place, not seeing what I was going through, not being the friend he had been the previous two months. I expected to get a response from him the likes of when I canceled out on a meditation retreat after our second falling out. That time he had written, "It makes me me very sad to hear that."

Apparently, this was exactly what he wanted to hear. His response to my "Letting Go" email was, "I think this is for the best." He went on to tell me that our relationship now "brings up confusion and an agitated heart" for him.

Maybe it was foolish of me to write that email saying "I feel like I need to let go of this relationship." (Be careful what you ask for, comes to mind.) But I was in a really sorry place in Paris, and I felt like the focus had been on him in our recent interactions - and come to think of it during the whole relationship, I decided in the moment before I wrote the email. I kept it on my phone a whole day, rereading it, editing it a very little, making sure it said what it needed to say, before I sent it.

He had never had a close gay friend before me. (Whenever I repeated that back to him, he was always quick to correct me, saying that he had never had a close gay male friend before; he had lots of gay women friends. Whatever.) Suffice it to say there are things in his past that make him a bit leery of male companionship at all, and particularly with a gay man.

But that was what this relationship seemed to be about in the beginning, about him working on getting over some of his issues. It was about that for me, too. It has long been my desire to be friends with a man in which sex is not a consideration. We discussed very openly (at first) all of the things that were coming up for us; it wasn't hard, but we were determined to press on, to figure things out. We even had a therapy session together!

And now I'm left with my own confusion, agitated heart, and a softball-sized pain in my belly. The only difference is I'm still willing to try to work it out.

I've outlived my father by six years so far. He seemed so old when he died at 39, so grown up. I know he had his problems, but he didn't deal with them in the big way that I feel like I am dealing with this loss. I cried all day long yesterday and the day before. Not constantly, but when I went outside to deal with the laundry or turned the corner into my bedroom, or somehow the wind changed, a great sadness would suddenly descend upon me and I was unable to move for a few moments, except for the movement of my insides, my pounding chest, my pounding head, my tears, my gasps, my anxiety. I don't feel like a 45-year-old man; I feel like that same boy in the eighth grade who cried in private and had no one to understand him or help him figure things out.

All of this is not C's fault. --Okay, is any of this his fault? We got a little too close to his edge; he got very scared; he ran. I understand that need sometimes.

But he said he wouldn't. Over and over again, I expressed my fears of being abandoned; again and again he said he would not do that. He said he was there for me. He said "I love you," he called me his "dear, dear beautiful friend"...

What do I do with all of this? Where do I put my sadness? C came strong into my life shortly after Timmy my cat died. And now for some reason, the sadness of Timmy is back. Day before yesterday I was drawn to his grave and just sobbed uncontrollably for 10 minutes. C was a nice substitute for the uncomplicated love I had for and from my cat. The love C and I shared was always complicated, but it was as deep as any love I have felt for a man, and special because it was not sex-based.

There were trust issues on C's part because of my sexuality. He seemed more sure and confident of my sexuality than even I am. He seems to have some stuckness around what that means, what it means to him, what it should mean to me. I've tried to work through these things, have tried to process all of my fears and anxiety through him. He said he was open to that, said "bring it on" in so many words. And so I did.

And then he pulled away. And now I feel abandoned. I've printed out our email and text correspondence - 43 pages of 10-point Arial typeface. I'm trying to figure it out. I wonder if one last therapy session with him would be possible or even a good idea?