600

I have decided—despite the nearly ten hours I have put into painting my classroom—to paint again! Besides the added work, the biggest conceding point is that I didn’t choose correctly from the beginning. I pride myself in the ability to choose daring, yet classic, color choices. Man, did I bomb. One color is great. The other has turned into this peach disaster. I hate the color peach. So, I now have a large part of my weekend planned.
In continuing with bad decisions. I have also decided to cancel my two gay relationship websites. I’ve been matched with a total of seven men (the sum of both sites) and with only one who I’d consider. And, of course, he won’t write me back. I guess I’m glad I took that step, it was an effort to move on. We all know how well that worked!
In other news, water is wet.

critique

I went to church again this morning. TB was teaching of course. This song service was particularly painful (in a ‘I can’t believe I have to listen to this garbage kind of way’)—and I was really, really wanting a wonderful worship time. By the third song, I would have paid someone to smash a brick through my skull, hoping to have actual intelligent thought return to my brain. Then, out of the blue, this song began. I’d never heard it before. It’s not the prettiest song ever, or the most eloquent. Maybe it was waste that came before it, but the words spoke to me. They meant something. They acknowledge some of the world we live in and has an action tied to it. This song, I could sing. This song I could mean. This song, I think God actually respects.

The Power of Your Name
Lincoln Brewster

“Surely children weren’t made for the streets
And fathers were not made to leave
Surely this isn’t how it should be
Let Your kingdom come

Surely nations were not made for war
Or the broken meant to be ignored
Surely this just can’t be what You saw
Let your kingdom come here in my heart

And I will live to carry Your compassion, to love a world that’s broken
To be Your hands and feet
And I will give with the life that I’ve been given
And go beyond religion to see the world be changed
(I LOVE these four lines.)

Surely life wasn’t made to regret
And the lost were not made to forget
Surely faith without action is dead
Let Your kingdom come, Lord, break this heart
(I used to pray that prayer constantly. I’ve learned my lesson—never again. It’s the only like I refused to sing).
Jesus, Your name is a shelter for the hurting
Your name is a refuge for the weak
Only Your name can redeem the undeserving
Jesus, Your name holds everything I need”
(These last four lines are a bit cliché and over simplified for my liking, but given the rest of the song, I can deal with them.)

perspective

I went with a friend to do some errands a couple days ago. On one of these errands, we stopped at one of her friend’s houses and he wanted to give us a tour. I’ve never seen so many fish tanks in one house. I think I counted twelve (maybe more). Most of them salt water. Most of them needing cleaned badly. The guy’s girlfriend was working on her new Apple computer. The one with the screen as big a small car. Not that I’m jealous or anything... Her screen shoot was this gorgeous photo of earth. It showed this swirling mass of white. It looked like a fantasy movie or something. When she saw me inspecting it, she said that it was the view of earth from space of a hurricane and casually commented on how something so destructive can be so beautiful. Being cynical, depressive me, my brain instantly made the connection to God. Maybe in some fashion, our pain (okay, let’s be honestly, MY pain—all about me) is this stunning cacophony of colors, swirls, and brilliance from God’s vantage. I don’t really think so, I certainly hope not, however, it would explain a lot.
In a different, yet connected topic, I was sort of accused of choosing to moon over hwmnbn and refusing to move on and live life. To a point, I can see this. For instance, for the past week or so, I have had to make a constant effort to not write him. Just to see how he is, just to ‘hear’ his voice. I miss my best friend. My lover. To have no contact for months is awful. However, I don’t want to hear from him either. I don’t want him to talk to me when he loves someone else. I can see how someone would say I’m choosing to moon over him. However, I actively try to not. Every effort I give is to not. What am I expected to do?

hues

In a true testament to my indulgent nature, I had a big piece of cheese pizza, followed by spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. With a huge diet Coke. The regular Coke was broken. Now I hate myself. Actually, not yet. I will tomorrow.
My logic? Well, I didn’t have time to work out.
That, and I spent four extra hours at work tonight painting my classroom. I’m halfway done. Therefore, I had to celebrate. See, food works as a filler for love and as a reward! So multi-functional.
I am really liking how my classroom is turning out. I’m disappointed in one thing. I forgot my promise to myself. I’ve told myself for a long time that the next time I design a room and pick out colors, I was going to have a chocolate brown wall. Somehow, I completely forgot until the paints were purchased and I had the first coat on the wall. Instead, I have two different shades of warm, more orangish, browns. So far, it looks pretty fantastic. I will have to wait for my chocolate brown wall. Which really, I guess is good, as I find it an extremely sexy color. I guess I should save it for my bedroom and not waste it on a classroom.
I also realized how bad many of the musical lyrics are that I listen to. You try having your headphones on, signing Lady GaGa and Christina Aguleria in an elementary school and not notice how much ‘penis’ is referenced in a wide variety of ways. No wonder I love that music. I’d be painting and dancing and signing along just as I realized the words that were about to come out of my mouth. I probably sounded like someone with Turrets. Or, the opposite of that—where you’re supposed to cuss but can’t…
Yep, you just read an entire blog about wall color. More enjoyable than what I’ve been making you read lately, huh?

a house is not a home

I watched a video this morning of a church group in Toronto (which I read as Tornado every time I see it, fyi…) that has been meeting in front of a gay couple’s home for the past seven years. They preach and pray (and I think sing, but I could be making that part up, probably am), and talk about how they don’t want the gays there—how they have freedom of speech. The video showed the rest of the neighbors finally having enough and confronting them. I was a little nervous starting the video. It always kills me to see people respond to these church groups with such hate and crudeness of their own. To me, it makes it look like the perpetrators are in the right. However, these neighbors were really cool and responded with much more class and common sense than I would have been able to manage. The spoke calmly and clearly about how this church group who was shouting and preaching about love and morals kept disturbing their neighborhood (which was very cute, btw). Only at the end did they talk about how they didn’t believe the group even knew what love was or knew how to show it. I was impressed. I can’t imagine having a group of people meeting outside my house for seven years, preaching and praying and such. Hmmm. Maybe I’m not gay enough. I should try harder.

morning

I woke up in the same mood that was upon me when I went to bed. I sat in the shower, praying (as every morning), the ache never wavering.
In a counterintuitive occurrence, as I left my house, the crickets were singing, the sky was dreary and overcast, the rain fell in a Seattle like mist. I drove west, the sky growing darker, the wipers squeaking, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo finally interesting, and my coffee warming my hands. I felt safe and content and protectively surrounded for several minutes.
I can get through the day. It was a very sweet, unexpected gift.

to be dreamless

The first day of school as come and gone. At least the first day with kids. I was nearly as nervous as the very first day of teaching I ever had. I get that way every year. I’ll stop being nervous by Wednesday. It was good to be with the kids again, they are such a great distraction. That’s probably horrible to say, but they are. They are so consuming, that I rarely have time to let my mind wander—and when it does, one of them quickly brings it back to them. I dreamed about him all last night, again. I hate that! I work so hard to keep him from me during the day and then screw it all up when I’m sleeping. The constant empty hole in my chest turns into this twisting, digging, cavern. The numb, apathetic normalcy I typically have is much preferable to this. I hope I dream about anything else tonight. Even girls would be preferable.

tired. whiny and tired.

Had one of my favorite people in the world in town this weekend—one of my cousins. She, her husband, and two boys were here from Friday to today. She used to visit me when I was a kid. She’d come down and spend two to three days with me. She always made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to her. Many of my favorite memories involve her. Every time she’d leave, I would cry and cry the rest of the day.
While I haven’t cried and cried since she left, I am bummed out. And so, so tired. I actually lay down and took a ‘nap’ late this afternoon. I always hate it when I let myself do that. This time was no different. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t fall into as deep of sleep or what it is, but I always, always regret it. The dreams are always there when I do. Every time, and they seem more real when I take naps. I guess because most of the time, they aren’t really dreams, more memories. As ever, from the minute I closed my eyes, he was there. I miss my life. I miss the life I had. I miss him so much. I miss our Sundays. I miss planning our lives together. I miss simply being content to be with him, no matter where we were or what we were doing.
I’m tired of people moving away. Tired of people changing. Tired of people killing themselves. Tired of people falling out of love with me. Tired of people breaking their promise. Tired of people leaving. Tired of being replaced.

dear jon

I found out today, from a friend who read my blog, that the friend I found out last week had died, actually committed suicide. I was prepared for people to die. I’m even getting used to people choosing to leave me. This, however, just not prepared for. I really don’t have a framework to even begin to comprehend it. In some ways, I do. In my line of work, I’ve dealt a lot with suicide—both with people wanting to and dealing with their family committing suicide. However, personally, I can’t wrap my brain around it. One second I am so sad that I wasn’t there for him in that finally decision making moment. So sad to think he could have stayed with me that night and maybe not have been so desperate. The next, I am so furious with him. Way to choose to leave me. And everyone else.
jon, I love you, I will miss you, and I am so, so, so mad and hurt by you.

special ed

Tonight is one of those nights when I’m not going to write about how I’m feeling. No reason too. Nothing new to say. Nothing insightful.
However, I did wanna share two things:
One.) I decided to begin posting the other novel on Refiner, the book blog. I’m not as confident in this book, and am not sure if there is even an audience for it. I’m also not really sure what the point of posting it on the blog is. I have gotten feedback from two people on the blog, which I appreciate. Even with the lack of response, however, people are still reading it every day, which is strange… This book, The Shattered Door, is very important to me as it is based from where I grew up and people I love have shadows in the characters—which I think weakened my ability to write freely, but whatever. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated on this endeavor as well.
Two.) Funny/Stupid story. We all have these moments. Even me. Or at least moments that are close to this, kinda. The special education team had a stupid district meeting today. One of my co-workers kept texting me because she couldn’t find her way. Even though I texted her the address and verbally gave her directions. Here’s the text path:
The first of the series arrived thirty-seven minutes into the meeting.
1:37 Co-worker: I’m so lost
1:44 Me: I’m sorry. (What did she want me to say? Stop the meeting and have every search for her?)
1:45 Co-worker: I’m here but you aren’t. (There were two meeting rooms. One dealing with our department, one not. Each room small enough to see everyone in it. And, there were three other people from our school that she knew in the room with me. You know, the room where I’d been for nearly an hour.)
1:46 Me: LOL. Yes. I am. (That LOL was a lie. I wasn’t laughing. I was ready to strangle. . . someone. Really? You’re gonna be so late and then tell me that you’re in the right place and I’m not?
1:46 Co-worker: Do u see me?
(Yes, the three other people you know and I all hid under the tables. We can see you, but you can see us.)
1:47 Me: She just said she was here but that she couldn’t see me……. (I was responding to another co-worker in the room who had texted to ask where this woman was. I accidentally sent this response back to the woman who was lost. Opps…)
1:48 Co-worker: Huh?
(I chose not to respond to that.)
1:50 Co-worker: Where are u?
(At this point, I was ready to smash the phone into my brain. Obviously, I had on my invisibility cloak.)
1:51 Me: In the class. You’re in the wrong room. Try another. It says the name of our program on it. (Don’t forget to breath, suck in, exhale out. Move your feet when you try to walk. Don’t chew on your tongue, it might fall off.)
1:51 Co-worker: Ha Ha

At this point I saw an iron rod sticking out of a desk and I impaled it through my jaw and out my skull. It was a relief.
Not a good sign for how things are gonna go in my classroom this year…

the companion that won't stay away

I texted a good friend of mine yesterday. The last time I’d heard from him was July 12th, when he asked if he could spend the night with me on the 14th. He’s a 40-something (looks 30) teacher friend from Longmont. He stays with me from time to time when he plans on going out with friends and doesn’t wanna risk driving home after drinking. For this instance, I told him I couldn’t have him that night. It was the night before my surgery if I recall correctly, maybe right after... He told me it wasn’t a big deal and he just wouldn’t drink much and he’d be calm. I didn’t hear from him again. Not a big deal. I am very flaky with communication with people. However, I realized yesterday I hadn’t heard from him in a while. So, I texted. I got a text back this morning. It was his mom, asking me to call her. I so did not wanna make that call. She told me he died on the 14th of July. The night he’d wanted to spend with me. She told me he died suddenly. She didn’t tell me how, and I didn’t feel like I could ask. She doesn’t know me, and it seemed like prying. I did ask after his dogs though. They took them.
I am so very used to death. So much of my family has died—either health or accidentally. This is my first friend to die. I haven’t cried, which makes me feel guilty, I cry at everything. However, unless you’re really, really, really close to me, I am kinda numb about death anymore. (Make it all about me—not that I would have preferred death—not at all—but someone dying is in some ways easier than them leaving me. I don’t think I could recover if the men I loved weren’t still on the planet with me, even if not with me. However, at least death means they didn’t choose to leave. Sick, huh. I know. I don’t like that part of me either. But, there it is. My ugly truth.)
I really do wish I knew how he died. I hope it was something quick and sudden—aneurism, heart attack, something. I’m afraid, and willing to bet, he drank too much and then tried to drive back home to Longmont. I know it’s not my fault or anything, but I can’t help but think if I’d had said yes to him staying (no matter the reason why I said no) that he would still be alive and part of my life. Part of his family’s life. Part of his students’ lives. I so wish I’d had said yes. He was such a sweet and gentle man. Full of life, full of humor, and full of God, actually. He was very adamant about his faith. (In this instance, I am so glad I don’t believe in the god I used to believe in.)
I don’t think this will go anywhere with me. Unless you’re immediate family or family-by-choice to me, death just seems like one more shitty part of life anymore. However, between financial drama, my constant struggle with depression the past year or so, thinking the boy was returning and then not, and now a dear friend’s passing, my mind has kinda just shut down. I kinda feel like a walking zombie.
Please say a prayer for my friend and his family. I don’t know them and can’t really be a comfort to them, but their pain must be unreal.

Pay, Love, Eat

I felt very grown up today. Not in the old, my life is done, kind of way as of late. I gutted my classroom. Things I either was too nervous to do the first two years I was there (how could I throw the old teacher’s stuff away—pretty easily as it turns out) or too depressed to do last year. I needed it clean, fresh, and mine. Felt pretty good. After, I did battle with the bank over $300 of charges, and won—for once. Also, confronted my student loan people, and then did battle with Credit Card debt. I don’t think there’s an outcome that qualifies for a win on that one. Either way, even though the money stuff was stressful, it always feels good to deal with life head on and not ignore because I’m scared.
I’ve done a pretty good job not obsessing about the romantic confusion over the weekend—good for me at any rate. Of course, I have ungrounded hope that he might reconsider, but I’m doing my best to smash that. Can’t say how grateful I am for him minding me how much I actually love him. You know, loving one man who runs away at a time just isn’t enough!
On a side note, I just finished a pecan, apple chicken salad from Wendy’s. Oh My Ghandi! So, so good. Go get one. Then get a Cookie Jar Blizzard with extra cookie dough from Dairy Queen. Life’s hard. Eat Happy. That’s right folks, food is love. The kind of love that will never leave you. Ever.

stars almost within reach

Last night, I had one of those very few perfect moments. The kind where you realize how wonderful the moment is when you’re in it—almost as if you are watching it happen from outside your body. It was perfect. Unexpected and perfect.
As some of you will remember, I started this blog when the first boy I loved (only loved two) left me and I needed a way to get out my feelings (love how life hasn’t changed in four years). As you may also remember, I truly loved him and was devastated when he left—swearing he would never return.
Last night, after much conversation of the past and present, the unthinkable happened. Nearly three in morning. Somehow the sky was a gleaming blue with dark grey clouds. The wind was nothing more than a calm, caressing breeze. The crickets and locus screaming their song to an almost MidWest volume. His porch light illuminating on one side of us, the street lamp lighting the other. He called me back to him as I left. He pulled me in and kissed me. We held each other in that perfect moment for probably half an hour. His familiar kisses which I missed for so long. His strong hands on my face. His eyes, finally open to me again.
It was a moment I used to dream of. One that I knew wouldn’t happen, as I don’t live in one of my fairy tales. A moment that was better than I imagined. A moment I knew I’d never, ever forget. In that moment, everything leading up made sense. I understood.
It was perfect. I drove home in tears of happiness. I fell asleep with a feeling of completion, as if the answers were finally coming. I had just as many questions and I could see hurdles to come, but they weren’t daunting. It felt so right and made so much sense. I couldn’t believe after all this time, it was really happening. To me!
Then I woke up this morning. Then we spoke this morning. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to be in a relationship. I don’t want to hurt you later.’ Nearly word for word what he-who-must-not-be-named said. Almost verbatim.
I guess I should feel lucky. The two men I’ve loved in my life are equally invested in not hurting me. And making sure that I know I’m not enough to spend a life with.
I always point out to my kids when they are mad at everyone, how everyone is always picking them, how everyone is out to get them—that they are the common denominator in these relationships. They need to look at themselves. Well, here, I’m the common denominator. The two loves of my life. Two very different men. The exact same response. Somehow, somewhere, for some reason, the problem is me.
Again, I’m hurting. I’m confused. I’m not enough.
I thankful for my perfect fairytale moment last night.
Unbelievably thankful. And I will hold it so dear.
If only I didn’t need to wake up to remember that isn’t how my life is written.

Hodgepodge

Julia only made me cry a little last night. Thankfully. Since we didn’t start the too-long movie until 10:30, I was dying by the time it was half over. I ended up loving the previews of upcoming movies more than the one we came for. Still love her, though.
It was so fun having yesterday be my Monday and my Friday. Makes this weekend sweeter. Every workweek should be like that—go to work, see everyone, rearrange and decorate my classroom, go home. Perfect workday.
This weekend is all about celebrating my bff’s bf’s bday. I’m a little nervous about the kickball extravaganza tomorrow. One, I’m worried my ex-bf (hate that) will be there—if so, I’ll leave. Two, kickball—sports. Ugh. Can’t we just decorate cupcakes or something together? Maybe have a Little Mermaid sing-a-long or something?
The woman wrote me back from the magazine that I submitted the article. She thanked me for my submission and let me know that they will keep it on file for one year to see if it would work in one of their issues. We’ll see. It’s not that big of deal, but it would be fun. Not that I couldn’t really use sixty bucks right now.
Speaking of sixty bucks, I need ideas. I have a prize box in my classroom. I fill it with crap (not really, but pretty much). Really cheap, stupid crap. The kids love it. Love it. I end up spending between three to six hundred a year on that thing. I simply can’t afford it this year. Not that I could before. Anyway, I’m thinking of filling it with coupons and such (like a grab bag). You know, with things like five minute of computer time or take five problems off your homework, that kind of things. I’m really having a creative drought at the moment, so any inspiration would be greatly appreciated. My kids will appreciate it too—I’m hoping I can come up with idea that will make with where they don’t miss the physical prizes but might even enjoy this more.

Ok, Julia, treat me nice!

First day back. On my way to work, I thought, ‘I’m not dreading this.’ To which I thought, ‘Huh! I’m not dreading this.” It’s true that given the option I would write fulltime. However, even though that isn’t an option, I have to say, I love my job. I love my kids. If I felt I was choosing this as a safe route and not attempting to chase what I want most, I probably wouldn’t love it as much, but it’s still a choice. I choose to be a teacher. I could get lots of jobs that pay a lot more (although not as much time off to write), but I don’t want to. I want this. That’s nice to know, and I’m thankful.
Returning to normal schedule land is a trigger, emotionally. I remember that first day back last year, I actually broke and contacted him on my way out of school, just like I always had. Leave work, call him to figure out dinner and see how his day was, go work out, pick him up from his job, live our life. When he left, I told him that I wasn’t going to stalk or drive him crazy. That day was one of the very few times I contacted him first. I still felt like I should today, well, not really ‘should’ I guess—just wanted to. This is the longest it’s been since I’ve heard from him. Which is how it should be I suppose. Why should he think of me when he loves someone else?
All of this has made me over-think telling the guy no about dating him last week. I don’t want endless hook-ups. I don’t want random cuddle nights. I don’t want to be alone. As much as I love them, I don’t wanna fall asleep with the dogs every night (Dolan has finally started to cuddle with Dunkyn and I—Dunkyn at my chest, Dolan at my feet—makes daddy very happy). I need to find a way to make my heart stop waiting for his return that will never happen. I almost called the guy tonight and told him that I acted too fast, that I’ll give it a try. However, that’s a horrible idea. When I make that move with someone, it needs to be all about them, not about me trying to replace what can’t be replaced.
I decided to be a good boy tonight and go with my neighbor (she and I have never seen a movie together, but we’re kinda identical, so it should be fun) and see the new Julia Roberts movie. In pre-hindsight, probably not such a good idea, since I get teary just at the trailers for this film.
On a completely different side note, I just started The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I am so worried about my drama book being to slow and dry at the beginning. This book is a huge, huge success and it one of the most boring things I’ve ever read so far—I hear it gets great later, but still. If all these people and sludge through this mess, surely my book couldn’t be so daunting!

the end

My final day of summer.
Now that it’s all said and done, I’m okay with it. It’s either time to go back to school or give me several more weeks. I can’t sit still and do nothing. It’s time to start a new writing project, but there is no time, so might as well go back to work.
While we are on the subject of writing, I just submitted a small 420 word essay to EnCompass Magazine. I don’t think it’s really what they are looking for (it was like when I give a writing prompt to my students and have no idea where they were going when they give my their final product), but still. It pays a whole sixty bucks! My friend I had read it last night thought I had to pay them sixty. I would if it would help. You know, anything to see my name in print. Well, as long as it’s in reference to things I’m writing, not things I’m doing…
I’ve also decided to resubmit the original book to another publisher. I’m still not confident in it’s marketability, but I want to try once more. This is prompted by the friend who is reading the fantasy book saying he like the other one more. That doesn’t bode well, considering the publisher didn’t like the first one. However, my friend doesn’t read fantasy, so who knows. I’m in this strange place where I have equal parts of discouragement with my writing and hopeful naivety.
On another note, I was talking to MD this morning and she mentioned she saw the pictures of my BBQ last weekend on facebook. She said it looked rather awkward. She was even able to point out who was nervous and such just through the pictures. She’s rather intuitive, that girl. She made me laugh. Awkward. That’s an understatement for a BBQ where the host is wanting to bash a beer bottle into a guest’s face or simply go hide in his car, and where so many people didn’t know each other that they sat in terror. I often feel like I have Monica Geller’s curse with throwing parties. Ugh. (If you understand that reference, it is no wonder I love you. If you don’t, I think our relationship is in question…)
Now, on my last day, I think I will go home, give a massage (working on my last free day…), walk the dogs, and paint. Oh, and eat. Lots of eating!

Cheers by any other name

There are many reasons I love my faggoty little coffee shop. I’m so, so comfortable here. And it’s a great place to get fat. There are people that are here every day. Every day. People that are here every time I come in, no matter what the time. I have no idea what else they do, or how they can be at a coffee shop all day, but wow. A few of the ones that are here every day are the ones that drive me crazy. Constantly on their phones, yelling, screaming, and carrying on like hyenas. (I’m not even talking about the twinks.) At first, I almost stopped coming to this place. If I had to hear the lady yelling about the latest person to piss her off one more time, I was going to kill her. Somewhere along the way, the sound of her screeching has become a security blanket for me (unless I am unlucky enough to get a table behind her when some unknowing shmuck has stolen my seat). The shop is not only home to all of us little geeky queers, but also the socially awkward (or just plain backward) straight community. While it has its challenges and annoyances, it’s pretty cool. Just now, for instance, one of the older ladies who comes in, just started screaming ‘Happy Birthday Ellen!’ She then told us that Ellen’s birthday is coming up in January. (I don’t know when Ellen’s birthday is, but I hope she sends me an invitation. However, I do know now that Prop 8 was overturned, Portia is taking her last name.) This lady is a bit (or quite a bit) on the retarded spectrum. (I know I’m not supposed to say that, however, I am. In grad school, for special education, they told us that it has been decided to go back to the term ‘retarded’ and ‘retardation’—that it’s less insulting than SLIC. It seems the rest of the world doesn’t know that yet…) Anyway, I digress. After this woman’s birthday announcement, everyone pauses, and looks at each other. Awkward. Then, most every one claps and cheers for Ellen’s birthday. The lady was thrilled, and, of course, encouraged to carry on to an even ‘cheerier’ degree. I love that! Most other places, this woman would be avoided, ignored, or shunned altogether. Granted, I doubt anyone here is taking her out to dinner or will send her a birthday card or anything, but still. She is welcome here. She is free to be who she is. So there it is, this place [full of strange fags (twinks, trolls, and geeks, a plenty—many hoping to hook-up), homeless and grungy smelly people, those whose brains don’t function in the same manner as the majority, those who are by all rights rather annoying and socially inept, is a place of safety] is a place of acceptance.
To think, one more day and then I choose to leave this all behind, just so I can go restrain some kids.

seeing the light

My last Monday of Summer. Monday, Monday. I set my alarm to wake up a little early, you know, still trying to gradually get up earlier, so I don’t get sick for the first few weeks of school like I always do. I set my alarm for PM instead of AM. Wonder of much of that was subconsciously intentional…
I ended things with one of the guys I’ve gone on dates with yesterday. The fact that I felt I had to end something was kinda the point of ending things. Unless it slaps me across the head, I don’t think I can move towards dating-dating someone. I felt kinda stupid doing it. He’s such a great guy. Nice, smart, motivated, kinda rich (compared to me), cute, funny, seems to wants a marriage and such. I should grab on and go for it. Yet, something in my gut was saying that I shouldn’t go down that road. You know, cause my gut has been so reliable: planning on marrying someone who left, shopping via credit for so many years, my Sonic diet plan…
On that note. I heard two stories this weekend of stupid men who left their boyfriends in past year or so returning to their ex and begging for them to let them come back.
This is why I never even win $2 at lotto.
On a happy note, I finally installed under cabinet lighting in my kitchen. I’ve only wanted to do it since I moved in six years ago, but was too afraid to. It has changed my world. I now live in a bright, glorious world of food. I had no idea how dirty my kitchen cabinets actually were. My kitchen Siamese Fighting Fish loves it too. I did it all for him, so he thinks.

becoming an issue

I think TB’s sermon last week was just fodder for the fire that I didn’t know was even there. Forgiveness. Grrrrr…..
I had my annual Gay Boy BBQ last night. As always, it stirred up lots of feelings. Shocking. This was not helped by the fact that two of the boys I’ve been going on dates with were both there. They both know that I’m just dating and that I’m nowhere near being datable right now. So, it wasn’t that big of deal. Still, that was a situation I’d never pictured myself in. I don’t think I’m cut out to be this person.
Even more fun, I almost committed murder. There is this person who went on a date with my best friend and was an absolute horrific ass. Before that, he made out with he-who-must-not-be-named. It wasn’t that big of deal, as he told me and felt horrible, and nothing of the such happened before or after. Still, I never wanted to see this person again, and after the breakup, this guy become a symbol of, well, evil, in my mind. I actually planned to confront him when I saw him out and about. By confront, I was planning on breaking my fist for the first time in my life. (See, who is this person typing this?) I was rather looking forward to it. Then I heard he moved away. So, wonder of wonders, he wanders into my home last night. My feelings of this. . . man (?) aren’t really common knowledge, so there was no reason my friend would have known there was only one other person that would have hurt me more to bring.
I went in another room by myself for awhile and paced, debating on leaving my own party or going back and either throwing him from my house or beating his ass. No matter my friend didn’t know the past, the guy did, and the fact that he had the audacity to enter my home, eat my food, visit with my friends was nearly more than I could handle. As always (wimp or not) I turned my anger to tears and fought back what I wanted, still want. After a bit, I returned to the BBQ, bitched to one of my best friends to that I wouldn’t be stupid—or brave.
It all comes back to I don’t know who this guy is that I am anymore. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone in my life, even in fantasy, let alone, being physically close to it. I never envisioned a function where there would be two men I was dating at the same time. Then again, my life has taken several turns that have been out of my control that I didn’t envision either.

the me from your eyes

The majority of yesterday was an emotional beat down, one that I wasn’t quite able to overcome until yesterday evening. The past was continuously smacking me in the face and taunting. Today is better. No tears today. For that I am very, very grateful.
I have spent a little time this morning reading reactions (not public comments—they tend to be too hate ridden for me to read and keep my head above water) from top governmental leaders across the country in response to Prop 8 being overturned for the time being—hopefully for good. The reactions are exactly what you’d think from exactly whom you’d think they’d be from. The only one that really surprised me was Gov. Schwarzenegger, who was less PC and more affirming of the decision than I thought he’d be. It is still strange to think of him as a governor. I love that he is in a new movie right now too. So funny. I wonder if they had to call me Governor. If so, I hope they did so in a British accent.
You’d think I’d be used to it (especially since I was one of those making such arguments), but I just can’t seem to get there. Even beyond right and wrong, it blows my mind to hear what these public officials are saying. About me. Sure, many would say that they aren’t really saying it about me—that it’s about the gay-agenda. Well, folks, that’s about me. I am the gay agenda. My gay friend and members of my family that are gay are the gay agenda. It amazes me that I am seen as such a danger. Such a disgusting, corruptive force. That men that have been married three or more times see me wanting to marry one man (whether that ever works out or not) as defying the ‘sanctity’ of marriage. I can promise you, if I have that privilege (both legally and romantically), there will not be one ounce of honor, respect, and commitment that I won’t pour into it.
No matter what your views on it, I really can’t see how it is even a question legally. I get morally, I do. As much as anyone could, even if I no longer believe it. It seems so black and white to me, so clear. Even if you don’t agree, how can you argue that there is a group of people who are not treated as equal, not given equal rights? I know you can. Some of my best gay friends aren’t in favor of gay marriage. I can’t discuss it with them for very long. I rarely feel the need to loudly defend my stance on issues, however, this one (along with several child issues) I struggle to stay calm when I discuss. For those that are straight and against it, it seems like it should be enough for me to stand in front of them and for it all to make sense to them. You know me. You love me. You know who I am and what I stand for. How is this a question for you? How can you see me, know me, love me, and say, ‘No, you can’t have what I have. You are less.’ Yes, yes, I know that by denying me that so-called right, you are giving me one more chance to turn from hell-fire. Maybe that answers my question. If I can stand in front of you, after how long you have known me, how much you have loved me and I have loved you. If you can look at my face, in my eyes, and see a human, a person, a man that God is sending to Hell, what else is there to say? I don’t see how you can believe such of God, of the God we love and don’t understand. If I looked in your eyes, loving you, and saw Hell in your future, I don’t see how I could believe or love the god that would send you there. Of course, as we both know, it’s not up to me. So, why am I surprised when government officials who I have no faith or trust in see me as vile, dangerous, and sick, when you, who have known and loved me, grimace and ache for me since we will one day be separated for eternity. Best to say goodbyes now, I suppose.

school infections

While it wasn’t wrapped in extravagant paper and lavish ribbons (which is always a plus), I was given a rather great gift yesterday. I got the annual start of school letter in the mail from my principal (this is her final year before she retires—I am so sad). It outlines the calendar for all the bs meeting we have to have before the students arrive (I mean all the meetings that are so vital for a school’s success). Actually, part of the reason I love principal so much (besides her fierce wardrobe and killer shoes) is her no bs approach. The things the district makes her present that are nothing more than PC garbage, she does so without faking the joyous tone she is supposed to have. Low and behold, I don’t have report to school until next Friday, not Thursday!!! At some point, I actually knew this, but somehow convinced myself that Thursday was the day. I have a whole other day of summer!!! Who knows what adventures lie in store for those extra twenty-four hours? Maybe a summer romance. A book publishing deal. Maybe casual (or not so casual) encounter with a merman. Or, maybe, just maybe, time at the coffee shop, working with massage, and cuddling with the puppies on the couch.
I am trying to think of something sweet and happy and cheerful to say, to talk about. I always blabber about my sadness or stress or some other such blech, so today should be different. Hmmmm…..
In-between the last paragraph and this one, I had a couple hour errand to run. I took a friend to and from the hospital to pick up prescriptions. While there, we went through/in the infectious disease section. As in all the sections, there were signs labeling each part of the unit. One of these signs pointed out how to get to the Infection Disease Group Practice. Now, I know it’s not a good thing to laugh in a place where people go to get help with their HIV infection and other such things. I also know it’s not appropriate to make jokes. Still… Infection Disease Group Practice? There are so many places to go with that! Where I come from, we just call that an orgy. You get in a group and ‘practice.’ Do it enough, or maybe just really good the first time, and you might win a lovely infectious disease. Honestly though, I find it sad that people have to practice for that. If it doesn’t come pretty natural, you’re kinda screwed…or not… Although, compared the hours of piano and guitar lessons I had to take (ask me how many songs I can play on either of those), that practice sounds pretty great. All irreverence aside, I have no idea what that means. The practice totally throws me off.
Later, on my way home, I checked my phone. I had a new text. I pulled the car over, put the car in park, and safely checked my texts (………). My heart stopped when I saw a text reading: Infection Disease Group Practice. I wasn’t expecting any test results today. I didn’t even remember having any outstanding test that I was awaiting results on! Then I saw that it was from myself. I’d forgotten I’d sent myself a text of the group name, because I didn’t wanna forget. No chance of that now.

vile

Not watching the news doesn’t seem to help very much. It is invasive.
On Connexion (my gay site), it had a link to a story about Pedro Jones, a twenty-year-old Long Island man. Pedro was taking care of Roy Jones, a seventeen-month-old little boy. On this day, Pedro began to notice little Roy acting more like a girl than boy. Now, one could take this that the new words he was beginning to speak had a valley girl lisp, or maybe he was attempting to coordinate his pacifier color with his diaper band. Who knows… Whatever the telltale sign, it was understandably grotesque for Pedro to witness. As a quality male role model, he did what any man would do. After hitting the boy several times with his closed fist throughout the boy’s body, he finished by grabbing him by the neck. In truly sissy fashion, the little boy died of cardiac arrest. Surely shocked and confused at his arrest, the well-meaning Pedro exclaimed, “I was trying to make him act like a boy instead of a little girl. I never struck that kid that hard before.” (Before!) I feel your pain, Pedro. It’s hard to be misunderstood, huh?
Just in case I wasn’t struggling with hate and forgiveness enough this week. It’s truly hard to believe a creature like this has a soul. Of course, I shouldn’t talk, should I? Gays are constantly lumped in with child molesters, murderers, and morally depraved. Who knew I was kin with Pedro?
In a contrastingly beautiful piece of news, a beautiful man just texted me, letting me know that Proposition 8 (the one banning gay marriage in California) was deemed unconstitutional by federal district judge, Vaughn Walker. (Sexy name. Just sayin’.) Of course, it will now go to the Court of Appeals, or whatnot. Either way, it’s a step in the right direction. I really would like the choice to marry (even if no one wants to marry me-lol!). I would also love to believe (disillusionally) that all my family and friends would support that right as well.
However, I would give that up if that little boy wouldn’t have had to go through the terror he felt before his death—girl or boy, gay or straight. I can’t help but see Gavin in my mind. Can’t wrap my head around it.

holding the shaddow

Sunday, I went to church. Tremble.
I’ve been meaning to blog about this since then, but was too busy playing dad.
TB was teaching, therefore, I was there. I have mixed feelings about hearing him. I love it, but I kinda dread it too. Part of the reason I quit going to church, is it has been years, YEARS, since I’ve heard a sermon/lesson that I couldn’t give in my sleep. I feel no emotion or connection to what is said at all. I know most of it is probably with me as I will look at some of the other parishioner as they cry or raise their hands. I either wonder what is wrong with them or remember when I was similar. It makes me wonder if I used to look similar to them. I feel like I should see them and wish that I could have whatever that was back. I don’t. I want to shake them and scream, “wake up!” Yes, I know that is horrible. The problem with hearing TB preach is the beautiful thing about hearing him. I feel things. I learn things. I get convicted.
Even when I am at services where I dread the preaching, I still look forward to the music. Music allows me to connect to God and be personal with him, where the sermons leave me questioning if God even exists—because if he did, surely he would change how his servants teach about him. I like many of the new choruses. Some of them, I love and can bring me to tears (good and bad) in moments. However, the hymns speak so much more truth to me. They seem more real. More honest about pain, about honor, about brokenness. Not all, but many. So many of the choruses are just blabbering of words that seem self-important and disingenuous. For instance, one of the lines this Sunday in one of the songs was: In your presence I hear angles sing (or angel’s wings—I don’t recall). I had to tell myself not to laugh. Seriously? Even if that was true for the composer, how true is that for the vast majority of people singing this song? People were raising their hands, some had tears. Some weren’t affected. For those who were, I couldn’t suppress my skepticisms. Did they even hear what they were saying? Where they really thinking about what they were singing, meaning it? Rainbows, puppy dogs, and fluff. (Call me Grinch, fine.) The other song that hit me was less arbitrary. The More I Seek You, The More I Find You. That is Biblical I suppose. Seek and Ye shall find and all. So, I can respect the lyrics. However, that line isn’t true for me and I couldn’t make myself sing it. The more I have sought him, the less I feel like I have found him. At least found who I was supposed to find. Maybe that means I really am finding him, maybe not. There was a song about needing him and relying on his strength and mercy and such. That I could sing, and sing with everything in me. With relish.
The sermon, or lesson as TB likes to call it, was on a topic that is as familiar to me as my own body. I guess it was timely, and how it was presented.
Forgiveness.
This historically hasn’t really been an issue for me. I’m pretty quick to let things go. (Although my anger with he-who-must-not-be named is flourishing nicely.) However, that was not my conviction. I have been struggling with hate over the past year or so. I’m not even being dramatic in saying hate. As much as I don’t want to admit it. I have caught myself desiring death (if nothing else, at least in reputation) for this person or financial ruin. At times such thoughts have caused me shame, at others, they feel justified. Now, I don’t feel like killing anyone or the man having a horrible death or anything, but still. As silly as this sounds, I realized this was a problem as TB spoke. Not because of those feelings (they are just feelings), but because I didn’t want to let them go. I didn’t/don’t want to forgive him. That’s a problem. This man has been so unbelievably evil to my family, to my parents. He has hurt them so greatly, emotionally and financially. Not because of any altercation; just because he enjoys it. He has done it to many in the past, and now it is my family’s turn—has been for awhile. The cruelness and internality of it makes it hard for me to want to forgive. Maybe that’s it. I hadn’t really thought of this until this moment as I write. It’s the intentional choice of the matter that makes it hard for me. He is choosing to hurt my family. Enjoying it. Feeling powerful and important in the acts he commits.
So, go to church. Be reminded of all I used to be and ‘guiltily’ experience peace that I am no longer that person. All the while actually feeling conviction of something. Thanks, TB. I am not yet able to forgive, but I am at least aware that I need to and can acknowledge. That’s a step, and I’m willing to work on it. To have the goal of forgiveness and release of ill-will.
It’s funny, I admit so much on here. So much weakness, fear, depression, brokenness, pathetic need, desperation, and angst filled sorrow. This one is harder to admit. At least those other things don’t correspond with evilness, necessarily. This does, and it’s something I don’t want to have in me, something that can corrupt the beauty I do have in me from time to time, and of those around me. Something I never want my nephew to hear in my voice or see in my life.
Through it all, I still seek him, find him or not. Still place my faith and trust in him, even it is because I have no other option besides simply not—which isn’t an option either.

perfection made flesh

It was such a strange sensation to get home late this evening to my empty house. The porch light on. Dogs insanely excited to see me. The house destroyed. Baby toys everywhere.
I immediately went to work picking up all the toys. They are now safely put away in the guest bedroom. I don’t know why I have a guest bedroom, but I do… I almost got teary putting them away. It is going to be strange to sleep in my bed again. After three nearly –consecutive nights of sleeping on the couch next to the pack-and-play where Gavin slept, I’m not sure how I’m going to feel. While I do have a whole new respect for mothers and fathers (both single and joined)—I felt dirty and sweaty the entire weekend and I’m so tired I think I’m getting sick—I discovered that I could do it. I could keep a baby safe and happy. I could make dinner for seven people with a one year old on one hip (only burnt my arm once—gonna be a good scar from the look of it). I could choose not to write, watch tv, go to the coffee shop, etc. etc. etc. so that he could have my attention. He started the weekend walking two or three steps and finished it walking twenty to thirty. Who’s a proud uncle? Granted, I know (I KNOW) that what I experienced this weekend wasn’t even an amuse bouche of parenting, but still. I truly expected I’d come away going, wow, so glad I’m and uncle instead of a father. Instead, I am leaving it feeling a touch like a father who just gave away his child. Who knew I could fall in love with that little boy even more. Shouldn’t even be possible.
I am excited to sleep, be clean, write, and just breathe tomorrow. However, I will miss him waking up so sad in the middle of the night and then sleeping on my chest as we both drift away. How his squeals of laughter washed away my self-consciousness at all the silly noises and actions I made. How his very presence turned off a part of my brain and heart that I never get solace from.