baby gaga

My first night playing dad—or just being uncle, I guess—was a success. In non-baby fashion, we went to bed at 12:30. He woke up scared at 1:15. I got him back asleep within five minutes and then we didn’t wake up again until after nine! Wow! We will see how tonight goes. I’m too afraid to leave him on his own, as nothing wakes me up in my bedroom, so I’ve moved fulltime to the couch for a couple days—making Dunkyn very happy.
Gavin really is a perfect baby. Really. Almost always happy and laughing. Not hard to work with at all, but still, it’s been an experience. He just went down for a nap, which doesn’t last long, so I get my writing fix. I have no idea if I’d be able to write and have my own kids. Doubt it.
He doesn’t really appreciate my books on tape, so we play music in the car. I’ve never seen a kid who loves music so much in my life. As I don’t have too many kid cds, I bought a couple on iTunes today. He really likes to hear kids voices. It’s so funny how he knows. Anyway, I found this recording called Kidz Bop or something. It’s all the hits, but sung by kids. Telephone. Single Ladies. What Do You Want From Me. California Gurls. Totally cracks me up. I swear I didn’t know what half the songs actually said until today with the kids singing. The crazy thing? They sound almost as good as the people that sing them—complete with effects and everything. I figure it’s pretty perfect. Gavin gets his kid music and I get my gay music all at the same time. Although, it will be much for fun when we can listen to Harry Potter together.
I will tell you this—this boy is the best medicine. I don’t have any doubt in my faith when he is in my arms.

faith to have faith

Tonight I am keeping my nephew for the first overnight. (If anything should cure the baby ache within me, it should be this.) I am going to have him the majority of the time from tonight through Monday. It should be a good distraction, in one way. However, as I am a creature of habit and routine, it may throw me off a little. Either way, I love that I have the time off where I can help care for him and spend time with my favorite little man.
Being done with the novel (at least for the moment), has made it where I either need to continue on the short ghost story I started last year or start the second installment. I don’t know how retired people do it if they don’t travel and such. I spent all day yesterday working on photos, cleaning the fish tank in the massage room (which I’ve been putting off for nearly a year), and getting random stuff done. If it weren’t for a massage, a photo session with a friend, and Gavin later, I’d already be going crazy. I don’t do well without a purpose, an end goal or result.
The issue that I requested prayer for yesterday and will explain, one way or another when the time is right, is testing me already. Testing my faith. Actually not so much my faith, but my fear of having faith. There have been several times now (ie, Grandma, relationship, etc) where I had faith—perfect, unshakeable faith. It wasn’t even an effort, it was easy to simply believe and trust God.
As I pray about this issue, for guidance, for mercy, I realize that I am terrified to believe, to trust. As if the very act of believing and trusting is a death sentence. As if the quickest way to have God turn his back is to believe that he will do something, that he will intervene. I can trust that he is there, that he cares, but it scares to me trust that he will intercede.
However, I am choosing to. Once again, I am choosing to believe that he will. I’m not putting it in that my faith is strong, that I deserve it, that I am entitled. Indeed, I am one of those who let the life raft float by and now cry out for rescue. I am trusting in His undeserved mercy. That’s it. I am choosing to put my faith and trust in his mercy. His love. I am sure at times that faith and trust with tremble. Even that I am praying for strength in. Despite my fear, I look forward, when the time comes, to sharing with you a story of God’s mercy and intervention.

lessons that should have been learned long ago

It’s one of those days where it took everything in me to not stay at home on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching tv, and cuddling with the dogs. At some point, I may return to do just that. No, I’m not almost in tears or anything, just want to hibernate. Partly due to circumstances, partly due to my own choices that I now have to sit with and wait.
I’ve really been struggling with this learning-to-live thing. In so many ways, I feel like I am old, done, used up. In others, I feel like I’m trying to start all over and making mistakes that are stupid, reckless, and rather brainless. In trying to be open and not limiting myself to simply what I know and am comfortable with, I am coating my hands with gasoline and hoping not to get burnt. I’m not sure the results, consequences, or the end of the story. Right now, I’m not even clear on which step to take or how to feel. Intense fear, guilt, and anger have been the over-riding emotions of the past day and a half. Even if I don’t end up cuddling in blankets with the puppies for weeks on end, I think that is exactly what my mind may needs—if not literally, than at least figuratively.

Cliché

In attempt to live without Fear


To experience a Life


Full and True


I have become


a Fool
a Number
a Statistic
a DryRun
a ProphecyFulfillment
a

[{()}]

It’s over. The cakes were made yesterday. They were eaten, smashed by a now one-year old, or sent home with family and [what do you call the other side of the family when they’re not family and they aren’t married?] family. For the most part, I was very happy with how the cakes turned out {you can look at them on facebook}. Very much worth the eleven hours I spent on them yesterday. I am so in love with that little boy.
I am a little sad that I have a date tomorrow instead of last night. After a full day eating icing (a little for the cake, a little for me, a little for the cake, a lit. . . ) yesterday, and then more cake today, I am as big as the whale that just jumped on that ship [you MUST look that up on internet, crazy].
“Hello, extremely hot boy who I don’t understand why you looked at me twice; why of course you can use my fat roll as an armrest during the movie. Yeah, I do that sometime—just wipe up the sweat with some napkins or popcorn, it’s probably gonna taste like butter anyway…”
I had a horrible {HORRIBLE} dream last night. However, on one hand, it was better than what I normally dream about (need not be named). I woke up at seven or so and lay in bed. I wanted more sleep but couldn’t. I got up, went to the couch and snuggled with Dunkyn. Worked like a charm [I hate that I have to get OUT of bed to snuggle—wtf]. However, in that hour, I had a dream that seems to take all night {strange how that happens}.
You may have heard me talk about my older neighbor. The single woman who is a little too concerned with my dogs’ welfare. The one that made my brother and I scream and cry that night we were both sobbing in the car and we thought she was an ax murder. (Yeah, that one.) In this dream, we lived together. In the house I live in now. In my dream, it was her house [she owned it, instead of me], but had agreed to let me live in the main floor and she would take the basement. The house looked just like it does in reality. Soon, into the dream, she doesn’t approve of me going out with other people {by mid-dream, I realize she has a crush on me}. Each time I go out with someone and come home, she has taken over a room of my house and altered it to her liking. (And, let me tell ya, apparently she likes some crazy old-woman shit—it was awful.) However, I [being my typical self] felt guilty and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. By the time there were only two rooms left the way I have them now, I decided it was time to confront her. I did and she freaked out and ran into the bedroom. By the time I had gotten in there, she had completely redecorated {ruined} my bedroom. I stood there in sickening disgust. It was this helpless, depressing feeling that my home was being destroyed in front of my eyes and I was powerless to do anything about it. I left the bedroom to confront her once more. Before I could, as I stepped into the living room (the final room), she had altered my whole living room [it seems in dream world, old ladies are very speedy interior decorators {term used loosely}. I was completely devastated. My emotions in my dream were as if everything I loved had been ripped from me. As I turn to her (I have no idea if I was going to confront or beg), I find her on the couch, screaming at me. She is naked and is waving one huge, saggy, flat breast at me, the nipple gargantuan [even on guys, I like small nipples {you should know, just in case you are going to special order me one (Foreskin yes, big nipples no)}]. As she waved her horrid breast at me, emotions continuing to spiral downward, I woke up. I was depressed for a good two or three hours after. (If there was ever any chance I might turn straight, it is gone now forever.)

preparing for lions, alligators, and hippos

I had a gut feeling yesterday when I said not to count chickens. I really hate my gut feelings. They very seldom are wrong. Therefore. No date tonight. He texted yesterday mid-afternoon and said he’d forgotten about some commitments this evening. He did ask if I was still available Sunday. So, we are supposed to go out Sunday. I know it wasn’t a real ditching or whatnot, but still. I had been so excited for the date tonight, it just really sounded good. I’m less excited about Sunday, but hopefully, it will be fun. Then there is always next week’s date… goodness.
The plus is that I am going cake crazy without the stress of having to do as much as I can in such a short time. I can now go as late as I need to. By the looks of things it might go pretty late. Although I do have a free movie ticket. It would be nice to go on a date with myself to see Salt.
The large chocolate cake is cooling, and the first round of little poppy seed cakes are in the oven. It’s one of the things I missed most about myself last year, not being able to cook. It’s so nice to have that part of me back. Baking away, finishing up my book on tape and then dancing away to my music—I wish I looked as good and unselfconscious at the club dancing as I do the kitchen! Regardless how the cakes turn out, regardless that a one-year old can’t remember his first birthday, it means a lot to me to give as much as I can to this amazing boy. It baffles my mind, knowing what I’ve discovered about life, that I can have so much hope for him. I know the pain that has to come his way. The battles that he will face. Things we saw coming, things we didn’t. Still, I also know, if he chooses, he can see the beauty of life around him, feel the joy of love—even if it doesn’t stay. Know the unconditional love and support of his family. Freedom to be whoever he is supposed to be. You might think such things aren’t really in the recipe for jungle themed birthday cakes, you’d be wrong.

ode to flour and eggs

The countdown is on. Tomorrow begins the cake-making marathon. We will see what comes of it. I’m excited. Of course, I am taking off the evening to go on a date. I’m also excited about that. Of course, we have all learned you mustn’t count chickens. I could easily get blown off. Luckily, there will be lots of icing around the house to console myself with should that event transpire.
I’ve gone a little overboard on my nephew’s birthday. I’m not gonna say how much overboard, but there’s lot of bills that I’ll have to catch up on next month—when I say ‘catch up on,’ please be assured I really don’t mean caught up. And a massage appointment I was counting on to help me buy cake supplies canceled. He always cancels. In a moment of clamish panic, I thought and thought. What can I sell to get enough to get rest of the cake supplies? I’ve sold DVD’s before to get gas, but really, that’s just a waste. You get less than it would cost to rent them. Then it hit me. The laundry change bucket! I keep a container by the wash because I never, ever remember to empty my pockets. There’s always washed paper towels (I don’t use Klenex), ticket stubs, telephone numbers—all of which gets ruined. However, the change comes out very nicely once it enters the dryer. And then it’s clean to boot! Used to drive he-who-must-not-be-named crazy. I’d had the container there for years, and we were constantly dipping into it when we would go downtown and need parking money and such.
I took my little ‘bucket’ to the bank. They didn’t have a change counter. Seriously? I took my little ‘bucket’ to Safeway. They did. Seriously! I thought I had about twenty bucks, but I was crossing my fingers it might add up to forty. One hundred and two! That’s right, folks! We’re gonna have a cake! Woo-hoo!
I’m seriously considered staring my own fountain cleaning business so that I can get all the change. How fun!
And, no, I’ve never done well at those games where you have to guess how much of whatever is in the jar.

past, present, future

There are so many directions I want/need to go today, I don’t even know where to start, I’m also desperate to work on the book, but I have a hard time focusing without my ritual vomiting exercise.
Yesterday was another all-over-the-place emotional day. Good and bad. More good than bad.
Two of my dearest married friends moved back from Kentucky and I helped them with part of the moving process. One of their daughters I hadn’t seen for three years and the other I’d never met. That’s always fun. The oldest gave me a huge hug and kiss when I left. The mom said she never does that. Smart girl, right? The dad is one of my best straight male friends. I really only have three, all with two kids. Kinda strange, only one of them has a boy and girl, the others have all girls. This particular man has a special place in my heart. I helped train him when he starting working at the residential treatment center. I’d first met him at the marriage of P&CRL. Years later, we lived together as well. Later, while I was still in therapy, my therapist wanted me to find a man that could be my ‘male mentor.’ One I could do ‘guy’ things with. One that could show me how to be a straight man. I chose ZK. His wife didn’t really like the idea—she supported the entirety of who I am long before I did. ZK said he would do it because he loved me and wanted me to be happy, whatever form that took. My therapist didn’t really like that I chose him. We are pretty much the same age. I’m a little older, and he was more of a friend. I could see his point. However, there was no one else I’d feel safe with or trust that they would do it out of love, not out of obligation, pity, or ‘good-deeds.’ So, we’d go do things that we normally wouldn’t together. Frisbee golf and other such ‘manly’ things. We’d have lunch (not unusual), but we’d talk about what it was to be a man. To be a man of God. Talk about my goals and what I needed to work on. Talk about how he faces life. As silly as the exercise seems now, as will almost all my therapy, good came out of it. I did become more comfortable just being with men, and seeing myself as a viable man. And in a world where I don’t see examples relationships I want (besides P&CRL), everything I see and feel from Z&CK shows a family that I could feel wonderful about. Not perfect, but real. Real. Loving. Committed. All that to say, I am thrilled they are home. Plus, it’s always nice to not seem someone for three years and then fall back into your relationship right where you left off, no awkwardness needed.
In the evening I went to see ‘Inception.’ It was rather brilliant. And, as everything else, dealt a lot with love and loss. Of course, I could make ‘The Little Engine That Could’ into love and loss. The movie, as does everything, triggered my, well, my triggers. The end of the night was filled with angry and sad tears from both my friend and myself. On one hand, it’s hard to share this particular pain with someone who has the same pain. I want to believe I hurt more, loved him more. As if the pain validates the love and the loss. However, my friend knows exactly my pain (pretty much) because he lives in the same torment—and I’m not using that word lightly this time. As much as I want what I felt for him to be something only he and I could experience, I guess it isn’t, and it does help to know others go through the same thing. That well all are hanging on these so very fragile threads and need each other to continue to choose to cling to them.
Right before bed I got a call the shot my emotions soaring back upwards. A phone call the gave me so much more hope for the life and love of those who’s life isn’t mine, but who have chosen to walk along side. I pray this long journey for them has such a different ending than my own.

lessons from Leo

"We had our time together. I miss you more than I can stand. I have to let you go."
--Inception

a little bit of this and a little bit of that

I finished watering the lawn, and the skies opened.
As strange as it seems, I kinda love it when that happens. Much preferable than washing your car and then comes the rain, at any rate.
I’ve decided to wake up at eight everyday this week. Then seven next. Then probably six-thirty the next to get ready for school. I woke this morning, unable to believe I felt so rested. I then noticed it was past ten. I’d set my alarm but not turned it on. Welp, maybe tomorrow.
I worked on the novel for hours today. I feel good about it. I really like it. I don’t know if anyone else does or will, but I’m proud of it. My goal was to have the second installment mostly completed by the time school starts. Instead, I will have majority of the revisions finished of the first novel. Nothing like staying on schedule. Hopefully, it will be time well used.
I got asked to another date last night. In a week and a half. Talk about raining and pouring. I’ve always gotten asked out a lot it seems, but rarely by anyone I’d think twice about. Not that I would have even if they were. Now, three in two weeks. Pretty crazy. They say what you put out there is what you get. I don’t fully believe that—we all know I didn’t so much get what I was trying to put out there. Still… maybe somehow me choosing to attempt life again is putting out some sort of energy, calling these things to me. Now I sound like the batty lady I watched on Top Chef while doing cardio this morning. She was waiting to be lead by her spirit guides to tell her what to make. Sadly, she didn’t get cut this week. Luckily, she almost was. Don’t you hate lying spirit guides? Actually, now that I say that out loud (yes, typing counts as speaking) I don’t really wanna go there—a little too close to home.
I got a call from my doctor. She said she got everything she needed, before cancerous cells could begin. So, happy news! Putting it off for a year was stupid, but I just wasn’t able to face it before. I’m thankful God let me have a pass on that one.
Now, off to watch the Bachelorette with my family, and jealously watch as Alli gets the chance that I want.

birds of a feather

Ever since I woke up today, I’ve been desperate to get to the blog. To write. Do I have something important to say or something weighing on me? Not really, no. Just need to vomit.
I had a very nice, supportive, and humorous comment on yesterday’s blog from Avenjer. His pointed out how much he noticed that I cry. Yeah, I cry a lot, it seems, although much less than I was, so that’s helpful. He raised concern about dehydration. I’d never thought of that. It was a timely observation. As I was going through some of the novel yesterday, I was struck by how much my characters cry. I was like, ‘Seriously? Enough already, get it together.” See, dear reader, I can empathize with you somewhat. No one likes a crybaby. I guess I am unintentionally writing my own emotions, what I know. Ugh. I went through and adjusted quite a few of the instances. Sometimes changing the emotion somewhat, using words, or having their eyes sting or something less than crying. I, blindly, had not made the connection between how much my characters cry and how much I do, until his apt comment.
I helped MD write her profile and work on her pictures for her new Match subscription. After we’d been doing it for a couple hours, she was kinda bored. I loved it. I don’t why I love that stuff so much. It’s just fun doing that kind of thing for other people. It was really fun to see her be in such a different place. A place that really seems like she’s ready for it. It’s also fun to write a self-description about someone else while trying to use their voice, their humor, and their perspective. I hope something comes from it for her. With my relative disappointment over the lack of possibilities on my dating sights (not surprising), I thought I’d check out the possibilities for myself on Match.
Now, here’s my disclaimer. This next part is bitchy. It’s arrogant. It’s judgy. It’s devaluing. Its mean. The actuality that it’s true doesn’t change those facts.
For the most part, I felt like I was looking at the people of Wal-Mart website. The straight men MD had to choose from had a wide assortment. Cringe-worthy to a few that I plan on offering carrying their children for them. On the gay side of things, with one or two exceptions, both of us were either flinching away unintentionally, bursting out laughing, or saying things like, ‘Oh, sweetie, don’t make that face. Don’t take pictures of yourself in front of a urinal. Shirtless, really? Have you looked in the mirror?”
It was bad. Here is one more of my stupid dichotomies. The elevated and insecure view of my own looks and attractiveness. I am often surrounded by gorgeous people. Many of my friends are near physical perfection. As a result, my lack in that department is pretty blatantly obvious. At times, kinda crippling. That has kinda helped me know where I stand on the scale of things. Which is good to know. I don’t really know exactly on the scale I’d be. Probably a six. On a really, really good day, maybe a 7½. Few and far between. That being said, if I approach someone, they are typically around those same numbers, unless I’m really ballsy. Strange things do happen. Both of my dates (last week and this coming) are so far out of my league that it’s bizarre. Not really sure why they looked at me twice, but thought it a good idea to not point that out. It does seem however, that on these sites that people are a lot more confident than they should be. Men that could be my grandfather and men that look like characters off comedy movies (and not in a funny way) think they would be an appropriate option for me. Of course, there is always the distinct possibility that the number I have assigned to myself is much too lofty.
I still feel like a fraud joining these dating sites, going on date, talking about the possibility of a future with someone else. However, from what people are saying, from things that I hear randomly (like on Drop Dead Diva), everywhere, it seems like all signs are pointing to, “Do whatever you have to do to move on, to live, to keep going.” Of course, I know it’s easy to twist things to appear however you want them.
At the end of our night last night, after a few almost tears (shut up, Avenjer!), lots of chocolate, and many, many laughs, MD and I ended the night hovering over the roof of her car, marveling a the headless bird that lay with its legs sticking straight in the air as if in a cartoon. What do you do with that? Talk about an omen. Sadly, the bird was already dead. I think.

i didn't even go dancing

I am getting myself in quite a mess. And, I’m not even sure why. I spent almost all day yesterday out of the house. I thought that would help me get back on schedule. Not so much. I went to bed at two and was wide-awake. Got up a little while later, realized as I wiped my eyes that I’d been crying. Hadn’t even realized it. Went back to bed around 5:30 or so. Whatever time it was, the sun was already making my room light. Got up again two hours later and moved to the couch with Dunkyn and ‘slept’ till eleven. Today, I’ve been obsessive and depressive. Shocking. And mad. I am soooo mad at him. So mad.
Whatever is going on, I’ve got to get a hold of it. I don’t do well when I sleep in. I hate sleeping in and napping. I need the sun. I’m also a creature of habit, and I don’t function normally when I’m acting out of character. And these hours are for sure making me act out of character. Doing things I normally wouldn’t. Not to mention, school is getting ready to start. Oh, it must have been six this morning, because I remember looking at the clock thinking, in a couple weeks, I’ll be getting up for work right now. Goodness.
All this positivism and cheerfulness flows well into the next topic. My blog finally hit over 100 people today. Not all together, but 100 views in one day. I’ve been close before, but didn’t really think that would happen. It’s been like that all week. Most of the time, I’d say I average fifteen to twenty views a day. This week has been between sixty and ninety all week—until today. One hundred and eight so far. My guess? Someone logged on to the blog, and started reading a book using their keyboard to prop it up. The book is now resting on the refresh button, shooting my blog’s attendance record through the roof. Thank you, book. Thank you for validating my whining. You’re probably a self-help book, huh?
On an up note, I have another date on Friday. Someone new. Again, not someone I think is probably an option for a relationship, but still. It will be nice to go to a movie and hold hands. He just asked me about half an hour ago, and that helped lift the heaviness of the day for a bit. Also, getting to be with MD tonight, and she is like every anti-depressant pill ever made, minus the side effects.
The other thing I am looking forward to at the end of the week is my nephew’s first birthday. His daddy, ever since he was little, has had the same birthday cake every year. A dome shaped Teepee in the middle and then eight little dome shaped cakes decked out like cowboys and Indians. He’s had it about every year. I had it twice. Once, a Castle and princes and princesses (go figure) and once as the three little pigs story. To get the cakes done is over two-hundred dollars. We no longer have cake spending money, so. . . why have a gay man in the family if you can’t use him properly? We have decided my brother can forgo his cakes and pass the tradition on to his son. So, this year, Gavin’s theme will be a jungle cake in the middle (thinking a dome shaped forest looking thing with a river…) and eight dome shaped safari like animal cakes (he has lots of jungle animal thing—very big in baby stuff this year)—a snake, lion, parrot, alligator, monkey, giraffe, hippo, and an elephant. I am so excited to try to make these and terrified at the same time. I used to bake cakes all the time, but it’s been at least four years since I have, and I’ve never tried to decorate to look like things. I hope I can pull it off. I have all different kind of themes in mind for his other birthdays: Oceans (mermaid anyone?), space, monsters, barnyard, all the family members (what a hoot that would be), etc. My brother and I think it would also be fun to do a Desperate Housewives and a Buffy the Vampire one—but not for Gavin. At least not yet… I swear, I never knew I could love a kid so much. Even one of my own, I didn’t think I’d feel like this. I hate to think I’d be capable of more if I had my own.

the world re-entered

In sorta uncharacteristic fashion, I ignored the doctor’s orders today. I went and worked out. Moderately. Lighter weights and normal cardio. I feel better. It’s amazing how both my body and mind so are reliant on whatever those endorphins are. I am a little sorer today, but still so much better than I thought. I am also going to return to massage tomorrow, a week and a half ahead of schedule. Thank goodness I feel up to it; even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have much of a choice.
I am at the coffee shop right now, as well. While I love being with the dogs, I hate being in the house all day. Watching TV all day. Although, actually, I wrote for four or five hours yesterday and it went really well. One more reason I turned down the pain meds. I hate having my brain all foggy. You know, I need it clear for all the obsessing about things I shouldn’t think of at night. Sheesh!
I think being at home all day has really heightened that aspect. I do pretty well during the day (completely lost myself in the world of my book yesterday—which was a relief), but then at night, I can’t shut it off. The correct thing to do, I’m sure, would be to just go to bed. For some reason, I haven’t been able to make myself do it. I’ve been staying up till two or three. Just because the idea of walking into the bedroom alone after being in the house all day just seems so horrible. Picturing the things I am assuming are going on elsewhere and remembering how they used to go on with me. All that to say, I am so excited to have gone to the gym and be at the coffee shop. It may seem rather pathetic that we are talking since Tuesday and today is Friday. I had to make it three days. And I was with my family a ton. Oh well. Thank God I am healing quicker than expected. I don’t think I could have handled fourteen days bed rest. And, truly, I mean it. Thank God. I am truly grateful. The last time, the pain was unreal for months. I’m not sure the difference this time, but I will accept it as a personal miracle.
Tonight, the two surgery Witt boys are going to see Despicable Me. His first, my second. I had really wanted to see the Leonardo movie at the Imax. But, I need something funny and innocent.
I hadn’t been back to the dating sights for a few days. I now have two matches on the site I had the most hope for. Two! Oh, and I found out how to see who has looked at me yesterday. The answer? No one. Not one person has looked at me since I’ve been on there. I must say though, I much prefer this kinda of rejection (where they don’t know me) than later on when they ‘love me.’
Thank goodness for the White Russian Chai in my hands right now. A whole other kind of miracle!

fat gay people

I discovered a new show last night. Well, new to me. I hate not being able to do anything. I don’t like spending all day in the house or on the couch. However, when I do it, I do it well. I had been saving up all my shows on my DVR for a couple weeks, knowing I’d be needing things to help me not go crazy on the couch. Yeah, well, I used all those the first night. Apparently, I don’t watch as many shows as I think I do. Last night, knowing I’d go stir crazy just watching whatever was on TV, I went to Wal-Mart, hoping to find a TV on DVD series. Just as I was about to give up and leave with only The Princess and the Frog under my arm, I saw Drop Dead Diva hiding away all by itself. I’d thought about watching that show several times and never got around to it, so I thought I’d give it a try. Oh. My. Goodness. I love it! I was up till three watching it. It is cute, funny, and heartwarming. And, as is everything else in life, it can be twisted to be very apropos my life. (not really sure if I’m using that term correctly. nor do I care.) The main character dies and gets accidentally put in the body of this fat girl who also died. She now how has to work with her near-fiancé. He is dealing with her death and the loss of the love of his life. She is grieving for him, as he is within touching distance, but she can do nothing about it. Line after line, I felt was for me. About grief. About loss. About attempting to live and not spend life stuck in the past. I also relate to the constant struggle with food in the character’s life. My favorite funny line thus far? “I hate it when fat things happen to skinny people!” Classic!
Earlier in the day yesterday, I got an email asking me about some supposed comments I had made about my parents on facebook and asking me if such and such were true. What had been said wasn’t true, and I knew I’d never said anything of the sort. However, there is that moment when you go, what did I say—what could have made people think that? I went through every post I’d made since February. Couldn’t find a thing. I don’t know why I was surprised. I always blame my hometown in Missouri for being ripe with gossip, but really, it’s everywhere. I posted a comment about it on facebook and received quite a lash back on there—not against me, but against our town in Missouri—which was not my intention. I was very blessed to grow up where I did. However, it also prompted some people to share other gossip they had heard about me. Actually, I think this is the best gossip I’ve ever heard about me. It seems someone had gone up to the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known (well, one of two—BAM and TKM). They were trying to fill her in on the gossip about two of her friends and old classmates. “Did you hear the Brandon Witt and PC are gay lovers now?” She informed them that actually, Brandon Witt and PC are cousins and were not in a gay relationship with each other. Cracked me up. Like it wouldn’t have been enough for my grandmother to have learned I was gay, but also that my boyfriend was her sister’s grandson! Love it! Maybe I should have gone that way though, now that he is a recording artist. (Remember to get his album “Leaving California” on iTunes—I need my alimony!)

Somebody bring me the smorgasbord !

I’m trying not to count my chickens or knock on wood too few of times, but thus far, this surgery is night and day from the last. Last time, the weeks that followed were the most physically painful of any event of my life. This time, I almost feel normal. I think I may even start working again Friday or Saturday—as well as working out. Neither of which am I supposed to do for another two weeks, but this is crazy great. Maybe it just because I was so mentally prepared for physical agony, but whatever it is, I’ll take it.
The bad part? When I sit around and when I don’t work out, I eat. In that sense I am miserable. But I can’t stop. Such is the life of a compulsive. Emotionally, I’m doing pretty good. Got a little teary over the word “gnocchi” (the most perfect meal I’ve ever had was in San Fran) while playing scrabble with the family, but other than that, I’ve done a pretty good job of turning off my mind. MD called, we hadn’t talked in a bit, and she was asking about things the past few weeks. I told her briefly what had been going on. She knows the three vices I turn to when I’m depressed, sad, anxious (fill in emotion). I’ve been turning to two of them. Immediately, she asked, “have you been eating?”
‘nuff said…
Tomorrow? Hmmm, I’m thinking homemade tortilla from the Mexican supermarket just down the block.

slice and dice

Today has been easier that I thought it would be. I’m not going to go into specific detail, but I will more than I planned to. I had to have a surgery today. I had it three years ago when he and I were still together. I didn’t tell my folks, I didn’t tell most of my friends. I still wasn’t planning on telling my folks this time either. However… after my brother’s surgery yesterday, my folks couldn’t figure out why I was avoiding committing to joining on family stuff we would do for my brother (he knew). I knew mom was thinking I was upset and I knew they were both worried. In the long run, I decided it was being more selfish of me to not tell them than to just bite the bullet and get it over with. So, I called late last night and we had a little chat. Everything is fine, of course, and all the cards are on the table.
I had a really hard time sleeping last night and a really hard time keeping it together this morning. Partially worried about the surgery, but more thinking of where my life was when this happened last time. My folks, when they found out, really wanted to take me and wait in the hospital, etc. etc. I don’t like being waited on or feeling like I’m being taken care of (when it makes me feel incapable, at any rate). In addition, and more important, while I couldn’t have things be like last time, I needed to be with someone who doesn’t have to love me. Someone who was willing to take me and pick me, not out of familial love, obligation, or guilt. And even though, not in the same way as last time, someone that simply has chosen to live their life along side mine. TB fulfilled that role. As he always does. While I hated to ask, it meant so, so much for him to be willing and to follow through. I held it together, until he prayed for me in the car before I went in. (Thank you so very much, TB [said both sarcastically and genuinely]) I cried a little bit in the car and then a little more while I was in the waiting room for an hour and a half. Both from the ache and sorrow inside, but also from the insight in his prayer, and just his love.
I am so glad to have it over with. I’ve put it off for a year. I couldn’t face it last summer when I was supposed to have it. I guess that the fact that I was able to force myself to do it now means I’ve made some progress, huh? Hopefully, the recovery will be smoother this time. But, if not, whatever. That’s life.
Through it all, I have been so blessed with a family that is imperfectly phenomenal and friends that somehow remain patient, loving, and my family by choice through all my melodrama and struggle. I don’t overlook these constant miracles in my life.

right now

The date went very well last night. It was nice. Obviously, it can’t lead anywhere since New York isn’t actually that close to Denver (who knew?), but it was still sweet and nice. I’m glad I did it.
Today has been difficult. Haven’t been able to control my mind very well. There are three possibilities for this—not that you have to pick one. First, the date last night. Second, I forgot to take my half-a-pill this morning (I really have found it helps me not obsess to such a scary degree. Third, starting tomorrow and for the next bit, I am going through something unpleasant. I’ve only been through it once and that was with him, and he actually made it fun, as much as he could. This time, I am dependant completely on friends. Which I hate having to do. And, believe it or not, I am keeping this event private. You didn’t know I could keep a secret about myself did you? All those could be contributing factors to my already fragile grip on mental and emotional control.
My brother had surgery today for hernia. Everything is okay, but due to my stuff tomorrow, I won’t be there for my family as much as I normally am and as much as I should. Timing, timing, timing.
I figured up how many days left of summer I have. I thought I had double booked some things (doing so this week made me give a massage for only thirty bucks today—not enough for that amount of work!), so I panicked. Turned out, I didn’t double book, but the count down is on. When school rolled around last year, I was mostly ready to go back. Sure, I would have taken more time if they’d let me, but I didn’t mind. Maybe things will change, but right now, they will have to pull me back kicking and screaming. Not that I don’t miss the kids (sickeningly, I do), I just don’t feel like I’ve used my summer very well. That whole guilty thing for doing massages to afford food and movies (let’s be honest) and spending time with friends, instead of busting my ass for my writing. It seems that no matter what the issue, guilt has been bred in me enough that it ain’t going nowhere anytime soon. If ever.
Okay, something good. Something good. Or at least interesting…..
Oh, okay. Something disturbing. You may not actually want to read this. I’ve been wanting to blog about this since it happened. I can’t really give it that attention it deserves, but here it is now anyway. Not really sure what my goal is in sharing—maybe, like everything else, just to shove my shit away from me and onto you.
On the fourth of July, it was pouring rain and had a thunderstorm nearly worthy of Missouri (one of the few things I miss) as everyone gathered to watch the fireworks. As we were returning from one of our trips to sit in the van to avoid the torrent (plus, they kept making people go to their cars for safety), I saw a young man in this wheelchair contraption. It was designed so that it angled backwards to make a bedlike apparatus and rose in the air to about chest level, nearly five feet or so (not my chest level). His family was packing everyone into their van, choosing to leave instead of continuing to battle nature.
The entire things was in slow-motion, I swear. The father was packing some stuff in the back. I’m not sure if his hip hit it, if it was the weather, or just one of those things. Whatever it was, the top part of this contraption came off with the young man strapped into it. It tipped off its pedestal, flipped, and smashed into the concrete of the parking lot. The young man hit face first and the part he was strapped to came down on top of him. The father began cursing in terror, and in an act of superhuman strength (this wasn’t a little boy) picked the entire thing up and flipped his son over correctly without a second’s worth of effort. The boy seemed fine, I couldn’t see blood, but I can’t imagine there wasn’t. It was one of those things where everyone went running to them, to the point of nearly being a hindrance. I didn’t. I wasn’t needed. It was one of the worst things I have seen in a real time. Maybe in my whole life. As with everything lately, I only have two emotions left. Instantly tears sprang in my eyes (as they are right now) and I got angry (as I am now).
Actually, I’m angry enough that I’m not going to continue on at the moment. I’ll say things that might go too far. As I said, not sure why I shared that, but still.

dating the lottery

I’m going on a date in exactly two hours and twenty-six minutes. Which reminds me, I need to do a quick facial mask. I do them maybe three times a year. However, this boy is about a thousand times prettier than I am (nope, not trying to be humble or self-deprecating, I just have eyes) so I need every advantage I can get. I’m nervous, but not insanely so. Preposterous, you say? Well, you’re probably right. By the time eight rolls around, I will most likely be insane. Again.
Obviously, I’ve been on dates since, wow—it’s really hard not to type his name without meaning to. Since. But this one is different in the fact that this will be the first date since I’ve decided to do my best to push on with living. To hope that maybe just because I lost my ‘husband’ doesn’t mean I have to live and die alone. My first date since joining the dating sites. Let’s talk about how many offers I’ve gotten from those. Must need more facials.
The boy is from New York, so I suppose that lessens the pressure of ‘what if he doesn’t likes me?’ or, even worse, ‘What if he does?’ I am going on this date with the intention of replacing what I lost. The intention of finding a husband.





What’s scary, is that you probably just believed that. Sounds like me a bit, probably, I know. No, my intentions are to simply have fun and hopefully some romance. The little time I spent with this guy makes me think I could really like him. Not just his looks, but him. However, the New York thing takes that out of the equation doesn’t it. Either way, it’s a real date. Just one boy asking another boy out. Tale as old as time. Actually, we kinda asked each other out, but I was the one with the specific day in mind, so I’m taking credit.
So, time to push everything else out of my mind. Focus on remembering what it is like to try to be personable, charming, happy. Focus on the chance to get to know someone romantically who seems like a very interesting man. In short, time to live. At least to try, right?

Flipping modes. I have a request. I know, I know. With all the constant asking for favors, I’m soon gonna have to ask Jerry Lewis do a telethon for me. (Side note: I just found out there are two Jerry Lewises! I thought the comedian guy who does the marathons was the same guy who did Great Balls of Fire and married his underage cousin. I’ve always wondered why they’d let an incestuous pedophile do marathons for children. Come to find out, they don’t!) Anyway, I told you about the new site I joined (Authonomy) based on Artastic Advenjer’s recommendation. I thought it was only for feedback and such from like-minded writers. Low and behold, there is a chance, a slight chance at that, to have the publishes of Harper Collins read your work, and either simply give you advice or a book deal! They promise to read at least 10,000 pages before they make up their mind. Unlike the book I submitted last Fall, which is very slow, if this book doesn’t catch you in the first ten, it never will. Each month they take the top five books of the site and review them and make their decision. Now the chances of me being Top Five ever on such a huge sight is remote. Right now, I’m at 1,997th. But, I have come up over 5,000 spots since I joined (Probably the same number as the books that have been submitted after me). So, here is the request. This is only, ONLY, if you have actually read some, or all, of the book on the other site and like it. Don’t do this because we are friends or because you like me—only if you actually like what you read. If you do, I would love it if you would create an account on Authonmy (http://www.authonomy.com/) and put Submerging Inferno (http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=23480) on your bookshelf and leave it there. That will not make sense unless you sign up—then it will. If I can get on 140 people’s bookshelves, that should just about cover it! I’m so glad my blog’s extent is that broad. Bwhahahahaha! Well, I play the lotto. I won a dollar a couple weeks ago for the very first time. Might as well play this one too! As ever, no pressure, only if you feel the Spirit’s leading.
Now, off to do a mask.
Shut up about me being so gay. So, I do a mask on occasion. Pretty sure I if weren’t gay, I wouldn’t have a date with a hot man tonight. Do you have a date with a hot man? No, probably not since a wide assortment of you are straight, strangely. And those of you that aren’t. You’re hot enough. Two hot people together just isn’t fair to the rest of us. You know who I’m talking about! For shame!

The title was going to be: all on a Sunday night. Then I realized, it's Friday...

It’s been one of those days. In every way. Spent nearly six hours in the dark massage room, which always makes my mind go places it shouldn’t—too much thinking, too much music, not enough sun. It’s funny, I always feel guilty when I do too many massages during the day—the same sensation as when I watch too much TV during the day, like I am wasting time, being lazy. You know, ‘cuz doing massages is lazy. What’s nice though, is that I have a few clients that are like (or just are) friends now, so that helps make it a little more manageable, to chat here and there or just feel comfortable with someone. So, quite a bit of depression today.
However, there has been a bit of laughter too. KE and I went to a late showing (you’re old when 9:45 is late) of Despicable Me. I thought it would be okay. It was wonderful!!! Laughed so, so hard, and it was cute and innocent. Must see.
There was also hope today. Met a cute boy. Doesn’t live here, but got the courage to ask him out—he’ll be here for a few months, so we’ll see… Also, thanks to one of the comments on the book blog (one of? There has only been one, so not really helping me get the feedback I need, which is okay, still fun to put it out there) talked about a site called: Authonomy. It’s for people who hope to publish and are looking for feedback. I’ve already got a little feedback from that. Two really positive comments and it’s only been a couple of hours!!! We’ll see. Once I figure out more of this site, I may ask for another favor from you all. Shocking, I know.
It’s one of those nights where I really just wanna blog and blog and blog. Try to figure things out, trying unload all in my head and heart, but honestly, if I did, it would be a little too raw, a little TMI (didn’t know that existed with me, did ya?), a little too crazy (synonymous with Brandon, I know, I know). So, this is it for this evening.
Here is what I am thankful for: Innocent movies that help you forget the shattering of your own. Small things that probably shouldn’t, but still spark a bit of hope.

strange tearful gift

“...I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
In Letters to a Young Poet

This quote was shared with me last night over a dinner I made (four new Giada dishes—two wonderful, one good, one not-so-much) for PCSVLDSRL’s. Rilke is CRL’s favorite poet. She and PRL were discussing the death of their second child and this quote was something that continues to speak to them. I struggled to keep the tears in as she attempted to first quote it from memory and then proceeded to look it up on the internet to give it to me verbatim.
I have had so much support over the past year and a half—from family, from dear, dear friends, and (at times) from total strangers. The RL’s, however, have been the chief among them. They so easily could have quoted Bible verse after Bible verse. They could have said, ‘Can we please quit talking about this now, can you quit crying?’ Even more, they could have said, ‘We’ve lost a child! What the fuck are you bitching about? You have no idea what loss is!’ Instead, every step of the way, they have prayed for and with me, they have called to check in, they have held me when I couldn’t stop shaking from tears. And, in the midst of me trying to shove everything away or down deep so that I can begin to function once more, in the midst of me saying, ‘I can’t talk about this anymore with you, if I do, I’ll never stop,’ they offer me this passage. Typically, I hate being given a quote, verse, etc, etc. I find them cliché and rote (is that how you spell that?). Asinine, really. However, this one was different. She hadn’t even finished it and already, my chest clinched and I knew I was being given something of truth, something that I was supposed to hear at that moment—if I’d been given it sooner, I wouldn’t have been willing to take it. “Don’t search for answers…Live the question now.” Through everything, that has been the hardest part. I always want to know why. I want answers. I need reasons. Reasons that are deep and genuine. Reasons that are real and able to clear up hurt, pain, and doubt. I know those probably don’t exist. And, I don’t really know if I will ever be able to make sense of all the has happened and his choices. However, I am finally open to that possibility, that maybe, just maybe, I will “live my way into the answer.”

Dear Mr. President Beck

So, what they tell me about my car, is that the break lights aren’t working and that somehow makes my car think that I am not depressing the breaks in order to shift it from park. I’m not sure if this makes me more special ed or my car, but that makes no sense to my brain; however, if it works, it doesn’t need to make sense. To a tune of three hundred, it is much less than what I feared, more than I can afford, but much less than expected, so I am thankful.
I was listening to the news while at the gym and then while driving to the coffee shop (borrowing my mom’s car—no iPod hook up to listen to my book on tape [yes, I know it’s not really on tape anymore—thus, news—never a good option for Mr. Witt). I really can’t decided what to be most upset about. You can’t listen to the news and not either be upset, depresses, or suicidal. Well, maybe all three, but my own life make me feel like that—I don’t need the news to induce such lovely emotions. Do I pick Obama saving the Black Panthers from legal retribution for their blatant racism and un-American principals? Maybe Adams county here in Denver for not putting up flags and such outside their public libraries because they don’t wanna pick side? (Really? Are Russian or Istanbul taxes paying for their existent?) The ludicrousy that people believe we really don’t know how to turn off the oil in the ocean? That one of Obama’s higher up’s used to belong to the KKK ‘momentarily’ and this is somehow forgivable? Maybe that Iran is making certain haircuts for men illegal? That the Middle Eastern religions here in Denver force their women to dress in their long black garb, only their eyes showing in the heat of summer, while their men walk around in tank tops and shorts?
It is such an alienating thing—these politics—Such a powerlessness invocator. I listen to Glen Beck, and hate him so much on some levels for his pompous arrogance and hating me so much. I listen to Obama and hate him for his obvious lies, deceit, and quasi-veiled attempts to shatter our country, but want to like him as he pretends to like me.
However, I am grateful. They are such wonderful distractions from the constant turmoil of my own mind and heart. I should write a thank you card.
And now to be distracted by vampires, demons, and other fantasies.

If I had waited till tomorrow, I could have made this funny!

What a day it has been! Got up late, went to work out. Got the gym and realized I’d left my wallet at home. Drove back home, knowing I now would only have time for cardio. Spent an hour looking for my wallet. Finally found it in the back pocket of a pair of shorts I tried to make myself wear before I had left. I couldn’t even make it out the door. I hate shorts. Now that they are wallet stealers, I really hate shorts!

Finally found my wallet. Go back to the car. Can’t get the car out of park. Spend fifteen minutes trying to jam it out of park. Finally do. I start to drive, but then think better of it. I pull the car over to test it. Sure enough, stuck in park. I go back home and test it three more times. My right arm has ached for the past two hours due to how much strain you have to put on it to get it into drive. Made an appointment for the car this afternoon, which meant I had to cancel a massage appointment (love having to pay to repair my car while turning down money to pay for my car…). To top it off, who’s name do you think was the guy who answered the phone? Yep. You got it. At that point I looked up and groaned, ‘Really?” Anybody have a tire iron or an extra bottle of pills they can spare?

help for the whining

It’s been a strange day. Got up, kinda late, and fed the puppies. Normal. Went and worked out. Normal. Got ready to blog and make myself do a chapter in the novel at the coffee shop. Normal. Got a call from the friend I was supposed to see tonight asking where we were going to lunch. Huh. I rolled with it—which is why I am blogging after dinner. Yes, I had dinner at five. Shut the hell up, I’m old. We had lunch and then went to help him hang up pictures at a gallery showing his art (his an outstanding artist). While not overly exciting, I don’t normally get to see behind the scenes of art shows and such. I’m used to the gallery he used to own—used to be a host every one in a while, but this was different. We arrived at this second story warehouse type of place. We went to the back room to talk to the owner, where I expected a desk and such. Nope, a filthy bedroom with a very skinny couple in it. (I won’t even begin to tell you about the ‘kitchen’ I saw later.) Man and woman. They apologized, saying they had just gotten in from a huge party. We said we’d be quick. It was two in the afternoon. Two! Just got back from a party. There have been many times I’ve gotten home from a party or dancing at two in the morning. . . but two in the afternoon? Ugh. Then I went to Home Depot to buy a saw on a fourteen-foot stick. Got some trees I have trim that are blocking traffic. Not anything I’d ever have thought I would purchase. Through all the stupidity of the day, I have struggled to get my brain to turn off. It has proven nearly impossible, but I have fought my way through it. Only teary a couple times. Doing my best to focus on the life I have. The life. Life.

In that vein, I have decided to try a new endeavor. I am so petrified about the novel. Honestly, I have almost given up several times lately. Just be a teacher. Be normal. Quit trying and hoping for things that most people don’t get. You already know how that turns out. However, I honestly don’t know if I could keep going if I did that. I don’t even know if I’d be a good teacher anymore. I want this. I truly do. It feels like something in me that has to do it—probably something every unpaid writer/artist/singer would swear to. With the exception of him (who read the book after we broke up and sincerely loved it—I could tell he was sincere—plus a couple of his friends mentioned in passing how good they heard it was), nearly everyone I’ve let see it doesn’t finish it. This is a bad, bad sign. I sign that it is boring, un-relatable or something. So, as I have gotten used to doing lately (not that I enjoy it—in fact, I don’t really enjoy doing this either—I want to do it on my own), I am asking for help. I am starting a new blog. One solely devoted to my writing. And, at first anyway, namely the book I am working on now. I would really love, when you have extra time, for you to check out the other blog and read some of the novel. Please leave as many thoughts, comments, reactions (good or bad) that come to you. I’ve only posted the first chapter right now. I will post one new chapter every day or two. If you don’t have time, don’t worry about it, but if you do, it may really help me reach one of the two areas of love in my life.

The blog is: Dream Refiner. Hopefully this process with help refine my dream of being a writer to the point I can submit a transcript that is worthy of publication. As always, thank you so much for your help and love!

You can see the link on the left side of this blog, under my four (lol) followers.

Day of Reckoning

The 4^th of July. Independence Day. My thoughts, naturally go towards. . . Independence. Original, I know. However, being me (grrrr), they also go to past 4^th of Julys and then begin to wonder if they are remembered and missed by him as well. Then I want to shake myself and headbang a brick wall.

So, the goal for today: Truly experience some independence from the grief, from the thoughts, missing him, even from hoping good things for him. Have it not be. Focus just on the minute I am in, enjoying the people around me, pretend to have genuine hope and excitement for the future—pretend enough, you can fool yourself on anything, which would be a good thing.

In the vein, as the fireworks fill the sky tonight, I will force myself to give a brief moment of thanks for what I’ve had and what I’ve lost and then leave it there. Then sent a prayer and intention to rediscovering life again. Then sit back, take countless endless pictures of my nephew’s first 4^th of July, enjoy being in the presence of my ‘little sister,’ and smile

straight boys in a gay dating world

So, I’m sitting at my coffee shop, and a few minutes ago, this cute girl and cute guy come up and sit at the table close to mine. He’s got that suffer looking going on, and I don’t think twice about if he is straight or not. Most guys here I just assume are gay, but I don’t think about it really. They were discussing the new iPhone. So, I was eavesdropping. Not that I need an excuse to do that. After a few minutes, cute boy gets up to get some napkins or something. When he comes back, he sits and looks at the girl quizzically. “So, is this like a gay place or something?”

“Oh, yeah,” says girl, “we are in the gay neighborhood. That King Soopers over there is called Queen Soopers—it’s a gay grocery store.”

“Huh,” the boy shrugs. That’s cool. It’s not like I mind.”

They sip their drinks and their conversation lulls.

The girl looks at boy. “You wanna go back to my place and drink them there?”

He nods nonchalantly. “Yeah. Let’s do.”

Quickly, they exit stage left.

I absolutely died laughing. It was perfect. Then I took a look around the coffee shop. There’s not anyone overtly flaming or anything. No gay ass-pounding sex happening on the cappuccino machine. Just men everywhere, mostly at their own tables working on things, and a few split up in pairs chatting quietly. Two or three women here or there. It was like those moments on tv where the uber-masculine hero of the hour walks into a bar and orders a drink. As he sips the beer (of course it’s beer—what else would he drink?), he glances to his left. Huh, all men. To his right. Are those men dancing together? OMG! (or the straight version of that!) I’m in a gay bar. Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! He flees to the nearest female reproductive organ he can find to deposit his insurance into the I’m-a-straight-verile-hetrosexual-male-damnit receptacle. Sigh, straight boys! Always good for a laugh.

I am struggling with keeping my thoughts in-check today. Maybe that is my biggest hurdle. How many times in an hour can I make myself stop and force myself to think about something else? Exhausting, and today, totally ineffective.

So the two internet dating sights I joined are One Good Love and EHarmony’s Compatible Partners (which I didn’t want to join because they were forced to include gay people and 1. It’s their business, they should be able to run it however the fuck they want, and 2. They didn’t want my money to begin with, so fuck them). Against my own morals, I was most hopefully about Compatible Partners. Their screening really does seem the best and the exhaustive questioning is so thorough it makes me trust it. Of course, due to all of that, I had exactly one person in their entire database that was compatible with me. One Good Love had three! One and Three! How’s that for not much hope. However, the one on Compatible Partners seems pretty amazing, and we really do match up.

I still feel funny about joining sites like these given where I am and how I feel about things. However, if nothing else, it is an effort to force myself to change, force myself to live, force myself to think of me sans him and try to put out into the world my hope (forced or not). Same as my writing. I can’t simply wait for a magical miracle to happen. Even if nothing comes from it, at least I am trying to take some ownership in changing my depression, my heartbreak, and forming the life I hope I still have a chance for…

getting in touch

I got a comment today on my blog that made me see things in a little different light. In truth it is just a tiny slant on a way of thinking, but enough of one that it has kinda rocked my world. Artistic Avenjer (If you like superheroes and occasionally hot/sometimes artistically naked superhero men, check out his blog, fantastic—you can see it on the blogs I follow) said this: “I wanted it not so much for you to be angry at him, just from that anger to realize how much he hurt and devalued you. And pissed all over your relationship.” In combination with what he and I both talked about in regards to not choosing to do the work on our relationship—taking the easy way out, like every other gay boy out there and most of the straight ones—it actually did trigger my anger. He truly loved me, truly. Yet somehow, he didn’t find me worthy of putting in the work, making the sacrifice that all relationships take. Our years together deserved better. Our amazing years deserved better. I deserved better. He deserved better. That actually does make me angry for me and for him. For us. We were phenomenal together 90% of the time, if not more. That deserved more than what happened. I don’t need to write all that my mind and heart of done with that today, but I hope it lasts. The anger, if I can hold onto it, is a bit freeing. Thanks, AA.

The highlight of today—indeed the past many, many weeks—was walking the dogs in the middle of a lightening, thunder, rain, hail storm. We were completely drenched. While everyone scurried around us and people looked from their cars and porches, we walked slowly, I danced to some fitting songs from Glee. I let some of the anger be what it is. Some of the grief be what it is. I let the water flow over me, beautiful, cold, renewing. I dared the lightening to strike. I didn’t give a flying fuck what one person was thinking as they watched this short, redheaded fag do his thing in the rain.

cross-culture

I was able to tap into some anger yesterday. Forced, but still. It actually did help. Of course, the rational side of me fights against that, so that is not there enough today, sadly. And my natural ‘slow to wrath’ nature and my feelings for him as well don’t help.

An interesting thing in all of this, from the very beginning of him leaving are what people say. I’ve always had an issue with that—the shit people say. It’s what makes me a good listener, I think. I typically am also slow to give advice or say ‘comforting words.’ I typically just listen. The things people said when I lost my grandmother and cousin Gabe (and other people) in an attempt to be comforting and Christian were asinine, insulting, and were an attempt to take away the pain by unintentionally belittling the pain.

People keep saying similar things about my pain over the past year and a half. The crazy thing, though, is this. The most similar things people say are to what people in the church and the vast majority of Christians told me when I was in therapy to not be gay for all those years. You need to pray more. You’re not turning it over to God. Your faith isn’t strong enough. Ask God to take it away. Just make up your mind that you’re not gay. Make up your mind that it’s not who you are. All typical churchy answers, not surprising. The surprising thing is that I’ve been hearing those things about this situation, the entire time, but even more so lately. And, it’s not ‘Christians’ that are saying them. It’s gay people. Turn this over to God. You need to pray about this. Make up your mind that you’re over him. Pray for God to heal your pain.

A dear friend was saying such things to me (and this isn’t just one person say these things and it’s not just Christian gay people saying these things), and I just starting laughing in the middle of my tears. I told him he sounded just like what I was told during my sexual re-orientation years—which is the last thing this person would want. These aren’t things I expected to hear from non-churchy people. Just goes to show that people are people no matter where they are or how different they believe their perspective is. It also shows how much ‘trust’ we put in God still—in our ‘godless’ society.

Maybe if I didn’t have my past, I’d be able to hold onto these suggestions, but I just can’t. They fall on deaf ears. They are like confetti in a windstorm—pretty little ideas that affect nothing. While I still don’t know who God is. I know He isn’t a genie and that he either won’t (grrrr) or can’t take away my pain or my emotions and heart. And, I also know that either people are delusional or I have a much weaker constitution and mind than most. I wasn’t able to just stop being gay because I decided to. I also can’t stop loving or hurting just because I make up my mind. I think I am weaker in this area, because a lot of people I know seem to be able to do that.

Hearing these things doesn’t make me angry any more. Well, they do a bit, but nothing like they did before. I find it rather fascinating, and a little sad that there’s nothing new to offer me in either culture. Of course, that’s me still wishing for a magic wand that will either take all my pain away or change the situation.

reactionary

Last night was a big night for me, and a little bit of today. Last night, after seeing ‘Knight and Day’ with my brother (total cheese—total great cheese—actually had me laughing, which was not a little task last night), I took some leaps. Right or wrong. I deleted him as a friend on Facebook and Connexion. Not because I’m mad or want to hurt him, but simply because it hurts so much to see his face randomly when I’m not expecting it. Often I don’t scroll down on my homepages because of the chance I’ll see him. Time for that to stop. It was really hard to do. I don’t want him to be hurt or think I don’t love him or that I wouldn’t be there in an instant if he needed me, and I didn’t want to do something that looked weak and pathetic—like I couldn’t handle having him on my list, but I can’t so… Then this morning, I took down the pictures of us on the picture wall in the BBQ room and threw away all the meat his mom (who I love) had butchered for us. I know that seems retarded, frozen meat taking up a fourth of my freezer for over a year, but he didn’t want to take it from me and I couldn’t use it without him. I have one more thing to get rid of, or put away. And it will be the hard. Actually, I hadn’t decided until this very moment. It is this old-fashioned silver/pewter salt holder (not shaker) with mermaids that he got me for our last Christmas. I love it. Both because I simply love IT and because he had taken such care and effort to both pick it out and get it. I will put in the shoebox of the designer boots he got me for another Christmas.

I’ve had several people either wish anger for me (that I will get really mad) or be really mad at him. That’s not rational. The only thing he did wrong was not protecting his love for me, he didn’t do all the work he needed to make sure we would last. I have only seen a couple other couples that actually do that, so I can’t fault him for it. However, I do wish I could get truly angry. However, that’s not who I am, and it’s not what he deserves. The one thing I am doing better on this morning is shutting it off. I’d been doing it really, really well the past several weeks, but this new revelation shattered that. When my brain starts to go there, wondering what he now says about us, how he explains us, if I cross his mind at all, yada, yada, yada, I have to simply close my mind. LOL—simple my ass.

So, steps, right? I’ve got to quit worrying about his feelings. He loves someone else. I can’t hurt him anyway. I’ve got to quit hoping he’ll remember his love for me. I’m less clear on how to do that, but I know he never will.

The other thing I did last night, totally on a whim, a crazy, crazy whim, was going a gay relationship site, for people who are wanting marriage, kids, etc. I’m not expecting a boyfriend out of it, but I do want to see if there really are people out there searching for what I am and have the same outlook on life, love, drugs, family, etc. Lots say they are looking for that (been there) but in truth, they aren’t. So, I’m curious. And, while I’m not looking for a replacement, there can’t be one, but as a sweet reader pointed out this morning, I need to live. Live! Funny that I did this last night only to get his message this morning—this probably isn’t what he meant by live, but whatever. One of the things I want the very most out of life is a family of my own. Not just kids, but a husband and a father (for our kids, not for me). So, for me that is an attempt to live again, or at least a good faith effort to try. You have to swim for the life raft, not wait for the waves to bring it to your lazy drowning ass, right? Just like with always wanting to be a published writer. I kept dreaming it would happen and then realized it would never happen if I didn’t write, if I didn’t try. Well, this is the same thing. I want love and family. Since he will never return, I want to get over him. So, I have to try. And while I don’t truly believe I will love like that again, I never believed I could experience I what I had with him. So, maybe I’m wrong this time too. I hope so.

If nothing else, at least today I can say I’m making an attempt. I may not be hurting any less, and I may not be doing what everyone thinks I should in the way they think I should, but I am doing something. Causing some movement. Trying to throw a rock into the pond. Create ripples in the water. Change the course of momentum. Whether in the physical, actual world, or only in my own mind. At least it’s something.