in and out

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violation

Last night, about an hour before I got home, M tells me, she was at her desk on the computer, little P was in the bedroom watching TV. M went toward the kitchen and noticed a middle-aged white man with shoulder-length hair standing on the back porch (the main entrance) looking into the bedroom window at P.

M opened the door, asked the man if he needed something. He asked if they rented trailers. She said no. He asked if they had horses. She said no. Bones was going crazy, he followed the man as he walked up the driveway to the street. Good thing. M watched him for a minute then called the police when he sat and lit a cigarette across the street (not directly across the street but at the T about 100 yards from the house).

Two policewomen showed up in a cruiser and questioned him, and, after M called and asked for an update, came by the house and told her he told them he was looking for a trailer or land to rent (the confusion mine). They couldn't arrest him because he wasn't on the property.

I asked M if P knew about the incident. She had told her, and she was a little scared, and, M said, it gave her a good opportunity to explain to P not to talk to strangers.

J arrived home shortly after I did. He was worried. I asked him how he was, he said, "All right." I said, "How are you really?" He said, "I wish I didn't have to be worried about my family." That's understandable, that fear. My fear extended to the fact that there's a closet full of guns in the house. It's usually locked, but I wondered if they weren't sleeping with a gun in their room, in the room they share with P.

I didn't think much about the peeping tom until I went out in the middle of the night to smoke a cigarette and write. All the lights in the house were on, including the front porch light (which was on when I arrived home and turned off; it was back on). I sat on the porch kind of spooked, unable to write.

Later, after I finished my transcribing work, I took a puff, then took a shower, and got more spooked as I thought about someone looking in at me, even though it's not very likely. While I was in the shower, I almost convinced myself I was going to see a shadow pass by the shower curtain

When I get spooked like that, I try to surrender to the idea that I might die, and that's not really such a bad thing. It's part of life, right? If it's my time to go, it's my time to go. But I did think it would be an unfortunate way to go, naked with the shower water running on me all night long, and maybe for days, since I don't see M&J every day and they don't bother me in my room.

We all woke up alive and okay, I'm happy to report.

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.

monkey mind

I meditated today. First time since Paris. What was that, March? Thoughts of C came up - the reason for quitting (or one of the reasons) - but it was a short sit, 15 minutes, and I think I need it.

Since I finished the novel, I've been wandering around feeling like a newly retired old man. And yesterday I felt kind of down. I don't know if that's the depression a couple of people have asked me if I've been experiencing because of the completion of the book.

I don't really feel complete. I guess I'm a little anxious about the next part. There's a lot of rejection to ready myself for. I had this idea yesterday that I should just self-publish the book and not worry about working so hard to get a publisher interested in the work. But I told S and he seemed to think it an odd choice. He said I would have to do the "business" side of it (the part I told him I wanted to avoid) if I self-published in order to get people to know about the book. My point was I didn't care. I spent four years writing the book, not thinking about publishing deals, not thinking about the what-ifs of fame and fortune. And I don't really feel like getting into that world now.

But I guess I really don't want to just put it in the closet and forget about it. I don't guess. Part of me does. Another part of me really just wants people to read it. That was the reason for the idea of self-publishing. Spend my own money, set my own price; give it to people to read, just to get them to read it. If something happens with it in some big way (the odds are against it), so be it, it'll be there anyway.

There's also the idea of some publisher coming along and saying they like it and then telling me I have to change this, that and everything else. I guess if it came with a big check (or even a medium one) and I didn't have to do my regular job for a while, and I could just go off to some cabin somewhere, or a studio apartment in a big city somewhere, it wouldn't be so bad. But I've opened myself up to S and M (no pun intended), two good friends who are the first readers with a critical eye. And no money involved. So here goes.

I've been uploading chapters onto my august chagrin blog, which feels good. And I've been putzing with the blog page (adding books that I read while writing the novel and/or books that are mentioned in the chapters; adding a section of links to songs, sort of a soundtrack to the story, if you will). That's what feels a lot like being retired, all this putzing.

I haven't been sleeping well. Or I should say I sleep okay, but I have a hard time getting to sleep nights. I've been staying up until 2:3o, 3:00, even later some nights. I'm exhausted, but then I lie down and all the thoughts kick in. It's only been a week. I guess I need some time to enjoy the achievement. S is in his last week of school, so I feel like I'm all alone waiting for him to have his achievement so we can celebrate together.

I rearranged my bedroom a little bit. That seemed like a good thing to do. I moved the desk from right beside the bed to the opposite wall, and pulled the meditation cushion out of the closet and put it there so I could stumble to it first thing in the morning and/or perhaps last thing of the day. I did that Tuesday morning, and this morning, I finally sat on the cushion and did a little meditation.

oh, good lord!

oh, shit! I wrote a book! I've been stumbling around all day in a stupor. I was up until 3:00 AM and got up around 11. I went to the blue star for the best pancakes in town and to do a second draft of the epilogue.

I also had "cheese grits." they used to be really good, really cheesy, kind of down home cheesy, and today they tasted like garlic and salt. not altogether bad, but it's 8:00 PM and I'm still thirsty.

I didn't work on the epilogue. I read through the versions I have (so I guess that's considered work), but the people around me were more interesting, and I was too interesting to them, sitting there looking the way I do (somewhat shabby compared to the others), so I ate and listened, and looked.

maybe I'm just being paranoid, maybe they weren't looking at me at all. I guess I feel like they should be looking at me, 'cause I wrote a fucking novel!

I threfted {sic}, found a cool cap and another pair of khakis which were supposed to be short-makin's for S, but they didn't fit him, so I traded him for a pair of cutoffs I've been meaning to sew the inseam on, but he didn't seem to mind them the way they are. In fact, his words: "They're perfect."

After that I picked up the produce, and I'm now stuck on remembering if I went anywhere directly after that or if I came home after that. --well, more recently, I got high and masturbated, so I'm in a special way with myself right now. that and the fact that I printed out my 113,363 words today, then copied them four times. It cost me $100. It felt like money well-spent.

I smoked a cigarette in the truck with the windows open. the air was dry but the 100°+ sun was beaming down strong on me. my b.o. smells different, rare, strong; skunky. I like it. I think it's the chemistry with the pheromones in it that makes it smell that way and/or makes me react that way to it. sexy...

oh, I smell different in different situations, don't you? (And aren't I a witty writer!)

I also went to the grocery store to return some antifungal lotion I inadvertently bought. I picked up a video of a popular standup who I won't name because it would date this entry (and I haven't watched it so I don't know if it's good yet), stopped for half a dozen plain glazed donuts from the nice Indian man at Mrs. Johnson's (who was Mrs. Johnson?). He told me the plain glazed weren't hot, suggested a variety of cake donuts they have - which were hot - and I hemmed and hawed and said okay, and he gave me four plain glazed in the box with the half dozen cake, "for the microwave."

S made breakfast tacos for dinner, I had a beer with mine. He had schoolwork so I got high, got inspired to write down "Holy Shit! I wrote a book!" or something like that (before the shower and video), and I'm sure it all sounded a lot better in my head.

And here I am.

ghostest with the mostest

I should be working, transcribing, paying the bills. But I'm too excited. I couldn't sleep last night, and I think I was visited by a ghost. That's not the reason for the excitement - just another of the "side effects" of it, I guess, so I'll write about it first.

Just as I was falling asleep, I was dreaming of two necklaces, beads - like prayer beads - hanging from under a staircase. I was reaching and at the same time a woman was coming up from the other side of the stairs reaching for the necklaces. Our hands reached them at the same time; they fell to the ground. I was awakened by the distinct sound of something falling in the far corner of my room, maybe my earbuds, I thought. I had been trying to go to sleep for awhile, but had lots of thoughts in my head, thoughts about my performance earlier that evening, thoughts about chapter 29, which I'm slowly but surely piecing together; I turned on the bedside lamp several times to write things down; I thought perhaps the earbuds plugged into my laptop might have been bumped.

I'm not often spooked (although that picture gave me a chill when I first found it!). I didn't turn on the light to check or anything. I just continued my journey toward sleep. It wasn't coming easy, but the time before when I had fallen asleep (before the falling beads woke me), I was going through the six sections of chapter 29 in my head:

1. The Black Man rises from the ashes.
2. August & Lorax on a plane to Houston.
3. Paul meets the Black Man.
4. August & Lorax decide to drive directly to his boyhood home.
5. Dar arrives home late from work; dinner is burned; Paul says the Black Man is upstairs with the children; she ignores him because he is drunk as always.
6. August & Lorax arrive at the smoldering remains of the house.

And then there was the tapping of the cat door in the window on the other side of my bed. I'm gonna fix that right now... (Done.) The cat door is unused now, since Timmy's passing. I have a curtain pulled in front of it, but it has a little tab to keep unwanted guests from entering. When the wind blows, it taps. I didn't think it was a ghost, actually, but it woke me up. But now it's fixed, I think - I stuck an eraser between the door and the tab - if it taps when I go to bed tonight, I will think it's a ghost!

I started working on going back to sleep again, then there was a distinct, single knock on my bedroom door. That's when I decided a ghost was in the house. I didn't feel afraid. I was just a tad annoyed that I was being kept awake, as much by the ghost as by the pot I'd smoked when I got home from the performance, and by chapter 29, which seemed to be unfolding because of the pot.

But anyway, I was excited and unable to sleep mostly because of the improv performance I did. C+T are out of town on tour, as are several of the students who were invited to perform, and it ended up being just me, L and K. It was at the Hideout, the scene of the crime, as it were, the place where I did my first, dismal improv show, that 2 a.m. embarrassment a month or so ago.

Well, I don't have words to describe the show without a boring play-by-play (as best as I can recall) description of it. But we were well connected. It was impressive. S and P1 were there, and they loved it. It was really great fun. And I keep thinking back on the few moments when P1, S and I were leaving, walking down the sidewalk toward her car behind a foursome, one of whom (a cute young man who was obviously in the audience) kept looking back at me and grinning real big. I guess that's what it's really all about!

The other bit of excitement is that, except for chapter 29 and a little bit of tidying up, I am done with august chagrin! I have begun posting the chapters on the august chagrin blog in order. I had previously been posting them in chronological order, but took everything off and put chapter one up. Chapter two will appear on Friday, and chapter three the following Monday. That's the plan. I've already got several of them scheduled to appear on the upcoming Mondays and Fridays. There's a link to the novel blog on the upper righthand corner of this blog.

Okay, I really should do some work now.

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.

news flash

There is movement outside my window. A couple of days ago, a teal Pontiac pulled up the driveway. The driver was H, a Mexican guy who's been working at the bar that J built. He cleans the entire bar every morning, and used to be the barback, but the bartender/manager said he really needs somebody who speaks English, so they found somebody and J put H to work on the container house - our house! Yay. He met with J that first day, and then yesterday he was back, trimming trees and moving a beam from near the current house (M&J's house where S and I currently reside) to the top of the two containers - essentially S's room and mine - that have been sitting over there since early this year, when the work was halted shortly after beginning because of a drying up of resources. S and I weren't too upset about it because we've had some financial woes of our own of late and aren't paying rent as long as we're in the house.

That's the big thing. After a while of waiting, and being able to see that nothing was happening outside my window on that side of the yard, I wasn't sure it was ever gonna happen. Well, that's not true, I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn't know when "eventually" would be, months or years...

Another thing is that I've been really doing a lot of writing on august chagrin. I feel really focused, and haven't been socializing much at all (which has its disadvantages and disappointments), but the more I spend focused time on the book, the more it comes, and that seems like the right thing to be doing. I've got a lot more chapters completed than are on the august chagrin blog, but I'm trying to put up a chapter a week at least.

But that's been a little more difficult lately because work has been picking up. Because of the financial crisis on Wall Street, I'm not allowed to work more than 40 hours a week (used to be we could work as much as we could), but there hadn't been enough work to do 40 hours until a couple of months ago, and now it's pretty steadily coming. I also got an email from the boss yesterday telling me where the company stands financially and that he can't give us back the 25% cut we got when the crisis hit hard, but I feel confident that he will do it as soon as possible - it's pretty impressive to me that he has become so open about the finances of the company; that feels honest. I figured out early on that I would have to work 40 hours to make the same amount of money as I was making in 30 hours a week - which had become my comfort zone. I'm hoping now that I've figured out a way to get to 40 on a regular basis, I'll be able to continue it after our 25% is reinstated, and therefore get out of debt sooner than later.

That's going well, the debt thing. It has a lot to do with having no social life, just spending my time working and writing. I've let down a couple of friends, but after what happened while I was Paris long distance with C here in Austin - the friendship that crumbled - I took stock of my friendships and of Friendship in general, and there just isn't enough of me to go around right now. That sounds harsh, but I feel like my primary friendships have to offer me something, not just take from me. And not to say that the friends who've recently gone by the wayside were taking from me physically - a little bit but not so much the actual physical time required to maintain the relationship - but I mean more on the emotional plane.

Besides work and writing, there is improv. Which is more like therapy than a social life. And it's been difficult of late. Last Friday night, I was in my first group show, but was on a strange stage with quite a number of people I had never met, we hadn't had one rehearsal as a group, there wasn't a strong leader in our group, and the performance was at TWO A.M.!!! I freaked out. It was something like stage fright, I guess. I spent the hour onstage standing and sitting on the sidelines hoping nobody would call me out onstage with them, and when they did (they did!) I felt like I had nothing to offer. It was awful. I felt like shit on my way home (at 3:15 a.m.); I didn't say anything to anybody, just left. The next day I cried a little. I think my biggest fear is that I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not able to be onstage in front of people again, and since I really want that, it would be something I would have to let go of.

It's like aging.

But there were so many problem factors in that show so I'm cutting myself a lot of slack and gearing up for the next group show, which will be this coming Tuesday. We have one, maybe two rehearsals planned, T&C will be part of the show, and all the other people will be folks I've been taking classes with for quite a while.

the good kind

P1 says I'm crazy. She means it in a good way. I've been cranking out a couple of chapters a week for the past few weeks. It's not like I'm writing them from scratch, not most of them, but the work is real and it feels good.

Whenever I have a new chapter done, I read it to P1. It is important to me to hear what I've written, to make sure it sounds the way I want it to sound. P1 says she loves hearing it. It works out for both of us.

Other than writing, working, and improv, I haven't been doing much of anything. I spend a little bit of time with S around the house - having a meal, watching 30Rock (we're obsessed - it's very good; we're about halfway through the first season) or a Netflix offering - but he's busy with school and studying most of the time, so we don't really spend all that much time together.

A emails me occasionally, trying to get me to make plans with her; LR texts me once in a while telling me it's been too long, that she needs to see me. I feel like I should respond to them - and have, but my excuses sound pretty lame anymore. There are people in my life who are good about ignoring people. I wish I could be more like them, less guilt-ridden over my desire to keep doing what I'm doing right now and not get caught up in the other stuff. It's working for me, I don't want to change it.

I'm being very productive; it seems more and more likely that I will be able to finish this novel by my birthday this year. I'm usually so easily distracted because of my gregarious nature; I want to be around people, want to hang. But if I go off and do this and do that, I'm not writing. I like hanging out with the people in improv because they are from wildly diverse backgrounds and because they and the improv work itself is helping to keep the creative juices in me flowing.

It's also therapeutic. I've said that before; I'll say it again. Improv is therapeutic.

I'm anxious to start work on chapter 16 (having just read chapters 2 & 9 to P1 last night). I looked over 16 the other day, and as with others that came before it, I see a clear path; I recognize what needs to happen in the chapter, what can go away. It's thrilling.

But I also don't want to start up on it and get interrupted with work - which, until I hit the 40-hour mark in the week, is priority - so I'm adding entries from my 2004 diary, scheduled to appear every three days (so that I can get caught up in writing and not feel bad about not updating my blog for a while), as well as adding chapters to the august chagrin blog.

The good new is, I'm at the 33.5 mark with work this week (which runs Thursday-Wednesday), so it's likely I'll be able to take most of Wednesday off, like I did last week, and will possibly have another chapter to read to P1 by the end of the weekend. Crazy!

tuesday, october 26th, part three (2004)

----------

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.

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.)

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.

natural excitement

I had a brand new experience this morning. I went to check the mail, then noticed quite a bit of garbage on the 3.5 acres on which I live, more visible because the property was mowed yesterday. P1 returned my call from earlier - she's coming over tonight for dinner and to have a beer on the porch with S and me - and so I had the phone to an ear, the other hand full of bits of paper, plastic, foil, etc., and the mail tucked under an arm. The dog and pig were following me along the inside of the fence; I noticed lots of baby figs on the tree by the road, and then a sprinkling of bugs flying in the air. As I trained my eyes on them, I realized it was more than a sprinkling, it was a cloud - a swarm! - a swarm of bees. I came out of my shoes as I ran backwards toward the more open area of the yard, my head hit a low branch of a tree. I cut P1 off in the middle of a sentence to tell her what was going on.

After we hung up, I discovered a moving lump on the branch of a pecan tree hanging over the fence into the front yard. I called P1 back to tell her of my discvovery She asked if I could take a picture, which I tried to do after we hung up again, but iPhones are not made for close-up pictures of bees in the shaded limbs of a tree.

It was exciting, but my second thought was one of regret. Other than P1, there was no one who would likely share my excitement about the bees. S is afraid of them. Little p would love to see them, probably, but then her dad would likely go after them with pesticide; the thought of it bummed me out.

Just yesterday I said to S that when we move into the containers I would like to get a beehive. He didn't show much excitement - I guess because of his fear - and said, "That'll be nice for you."

I didn't know how this cluster of bees in the front yard was going to act, if it was going to grow and grow until we were overrun with bees and even I was ready to see them gone. I came inside and got online. Apparently, when a hive gets overcrowded, the queen lays eggs that will become new queens - I guess those stay behind for the existing hive, but didn't read much about that - and then the worker bees engorge themselves with honey and leave with the queen to find another suitable home, sometimes resting on a branch for a few hours or a few days (with the queen in the middle) while scouts go out looking for their new residence.

I was relieved, and intrigued. I started looking online for beekeeping supplies, thinking that I could keep these bees as my own personal honey-makers. But there are no beekeeper shops nearby, and I'm strapped for cash currently, and I would "definitely" need a bee suit. The whole process started sounding daunting, especially as I'm sitting at the computer waiting for work to come in.

I found one of little p's cameras (I thought it had a video feature, but couldn't figure it out) and went outside and got pretty close to the cluster (the websites all said that the bees weren't likely to be dangerous - unless they were the aggressive African bees, which are in the Southern half of the country from California to Florida, which is where I am, but I felt at one with the critters for some reason). When I first discovered them, they were stretched along two or three feet of the limb, thicker in the middle; when I returned half an hour later, they were confined to the size of a ball smaller than a volleyball.

I took some pictures, which didn't come out very good, and I don't know how to transfer the pictures from the camera to the computer, so I cheated and grabbed a random one off of the web. The tree limb in this picture is smaller than the actual one, and the bees in this picture look larger than the ones on our tree, which Wikipedia says describes the African "killer" bees - but it also describes harmless Egyptian bees.

Well, anyway, I'm still alive, and I just went out to look at them again for an update, and they seem to have reduced even more, to about the size of a toupee. Or maybe my memory of them was enhanced earlier by the excitement.

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