the truth of now

So, honestly, I ask myself, ‘What has changed in the past day?’
Nothing. Absolutely nothing, outside of perception.
Yesterday I woke up as a man still in love with the man he planned on marrying. Today I woke up as a man in love with someone else’s boyfriend.
Yesterday I woke up feeling more normal than usual, but still void. Today I wake up in physical pain with no physical aliments.
Somehow, and I didn’t know this was even possible, but today, I feel weaker, more pathetic, and deserving of what happened. Why did I ever think he’d want to return to the mess I’ve become if I wasn’t even good enough for him the first time around?

Tomorrow, I’m gonna TRY to not talk about him. Blog about something else—probably something not real, at least not genuinely about where I am. I don’t feel I have the right to talk about him anymore. And, I’m only showing the patheticness more and more outwardly. I need to keep it in. At least as much as possible.

I pray he is happy and stays safe. I am still delusional and hope he remembers the love he thought he had for me, though I know that isn’t reality. I’m still thankful for every moment I was given. Beyond measure. I wouldn’t trade it, even to avoid the life I have now.

Though he slay me, I will trust him. And again, what other choice do I have?

before its too late

I don’t understand how emotional pain takes on such physical symptoms. The pain in my chest, in my gut, quite literally woke me up early this morning and refused to let me go to back to sleep. It’s not enough that my ‘heart’ hurts? My actual heart has to hurt as well? I’ve got to shut this off somehow. I can’t go through this again.
To top it off I feel guilty about yesterday’s blog. I think I need to go back to no longer using his name. He is someone else’s now and he loves him. If I was with him, I wouldn’t want some pathetic ex to still be blabbering on about him. I need to at least give that modicum of respect. Maybe this boy can make him happy like I couldn’t. I don’t want anything I say to unintentionally ruin that for him. I love him. How could I want anything else?
I get to baby-sit my nephew for a few hours today. I can’t wait. He seems to be the only thing I have found that make the pain leave, at least for awhile.

more. somehow there's still more

Today I actually, thought, wow, I’m kinda happy. Not like bouncing off the walls happy, but still. Not miserable. Not simply surviving. It was the first time I’d thought that.

Right before a massage client (stupid timing), I was on facebook and Chad’s picture came up, which I hate when it happens. I logged off. I never look at his profile, even seeing his picture hurts too much. Something came over me and I logged back on, knowing what I’d see. His profile said he is in a relationship. Even knowing what I’d see, I had to look twice. The guy’s very cute. Very cute. Embarrassingly cute. His profile talked about how much he loves Chad.

I know I’m a fool, but part of me really thought this day wouldn’t come. It was one thing that Chad likes his life better without me when he is on his own. But, that’s not true. He likes his life better with someone else. He says, “I love you” to someone else. The man I thought I’d marry, the man I still fucking love, loves someone else.

So much for the whole, “I need time to grow up. I need to find myself. If I could love anyone it would be you.” Well, obviously not. And I’m even more of a fool for even thinking that could be possible. Now, I’m just someone he can pass off as someone he dated for a couple years who was really sweet, but didn’t make him happy.

I hadn’t even figured out how to move on or live ‘normal’ when the man I planned to marry wasn’t with me any more. How do I do it now that he’s with someone else.

I am so tired of crying over him and hurting over him. It’s enough already. It’s fucking enough. Somebody please just turn it off. Turn me off.

ecstasy-ied bleach blond fortune cookies

There are those people on facebook that seem like they never have anything nice to say. (They drive me crazy—even though I’m one of them.) However, worse, much worse by far (and I know what this says about me) are those who are always positive. Stuff that sounds like it came straight out of a self-help book or one of those stupid ‘hang in there’ posters, or a really horrid fortune cookie. You know, “Success isn’t having things, it’s having love.” “Happiness comes from helping others.” “It’s better to accept others than try to change them.” Typically these come from the same few people day after day, post after post. Then there are those who post, “Bible Verse.” “Bible Verse.” “Bible Verse.” Seriously, aren’t they getting sick of making me vomit every single morning? It’s nice when it comes from someone who isn’t constantly putting shit like that on their pages—you know they had a moment, some insight, some joy that they want to share. The rest is just cramming down our throats and is as fake as Bush and Obama pretending to be decent human beings! I’d rather read how big of dump you took when you woke up, and bonus points if you include pictures.

Then there are these women who are obsessed with their idea of perfection, and end up as fake as a chronically cheerful facebook posters. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with fake eyelashes, makeup, hair extensions, plastic surgery—as long as you do it well! I understand, we aren’t all pretty, and we do what we have to to be as pretty as we can be. However, if you’re gonna do it, do it well! (Same goes for tattoos. If you’re gonna do a two inch flower or star and leave it at that, go home.) On my way to the coffee shop, there was this delightful African-America (is that still the correct term?) woman walking along the road. She had short black hair, but then on the back of her head—not centered—was this cockeyed, faded purple clip-in ponytail. Really? Can’t you at least attempt to blend? Just like Asians and blond hair. It doesn’t match your skin tone and it makes you look ill. (Yes, I’m aware that is the most racist thing I could ever say, but it’s true.) There is this very attractive Asian guy in my coffee shop everyday. He always has this neon yellow hair (not meant to be neon—you know how you can tell what they are going for and if they got it or not)—completely ruins his good looks, because all you can see is this fake mop of straw on top of his head—which is sad, because good looking Asian men are typically really good looking, and buff.

Solved two of the huge issues facing our world today. Whew! Good deed done for the day!

candyland

Since so many of my posts are about my struggles with forgetting the past, depression, etc., I decided to tackle a happy topic today.

Child Molestation!!!

Pretty, great, right? Keep coming back, folks, I’ll make your day brighter.

This is a subject that I spend a great deal of my existence thinking about, talking about, and focused on. When I worked in residential, a huge portion of my teenage boys had a history of molesting other children, and with the exception of one, all of them had been abused as well. Now, as an elementary school teacher, it is still such an issue. So many of my kids have documented sexual abuse and so many more have some that have yet to be documented. It sounds strange, but after working with these clientele for over a decade now, I can typically tell when a child has been a victim of sexual abuse, documented or not. Most of the time, you can just feel it, it seeps off of them, or they display certain things that are tale, tale signs. It’s horrible when you know it is either going on at the time or has happened in the past, but there is nothing you can do, nothing you can report, it’s just a gut knowledge that you can’t do anything with. However, it seems that it doesn’t do that much good to report it anyway, they almost always send them back. Time after time, I’ve seen it. I had one girl (years ago) who tried to kill herself, blood all over the bathroom—she almost succeeded—because she didn’t want to go back home to her sexually abusive father. The State still sent her. A dollar’s a dollar, folks.

As a gay man, it has always been an issue for me. So hyper awake of my boundaries—people making comments that they wouldn’t trust their kids to a male youth pastor or teacher, let alone a gay one! Time after time, on news or the radio, gay men are paired with child molesters and abortion (drives me nuts!!!). It is only in the past year when I have finally let myself relax a bit and hug my students. All the other teachers do, and so many children—especially the boys, are so hungry for positive and healthy touch that they never get.

At Disney World (Hollywood Studios, actually), I was riding the Rockin’ Rollercoaster. A mother had two young daughters, and one was scared and wanted to ride with her mom. Her other daughter rode behind her in the cart with me. We were fine, getting along splendidly. As I do with all little girls—how could I not, I am one most of the time. The attendant came up and started insisting that the mom and daughter switch carts with this daughter and me so that I would be in front of her and she could see us. The mom kept saying that everything was fine. The attendant kept insisting, but finally let it go. I wasn’t offended at all, and offered to move with mom willingly. I tend to err on that side of things myself—I am always on the lookout for a situation that could be made safer or a situation that I think I need to watch over carefully. To me, the attendant was right, and I also felt like it would protect me as well. No one is going to believe a man over a little girl. This also wasn’t a case of gay ‘stereotyping’ either. I couldn’t have looked straighter if I had tried, and not in a good, attractive way. Shorts (shudder) and a wal-mart t-shirt. It was just a man-child-stereotype.

Yesterday, I read an article about British Airways’ policy disallowing any men to sit beside children riding alone. The article was getting quite a bit of dialogue. Many people very upset about the sexism of it and how it implies that women don’t molest children but all men do. It is well documented the number of male perpetrators greatly outnumbers female perpetrators. However, I have worked with many female child-molesters—both children and adult [the latter, only have met and dealt with—not worked with]. Again, this wasn’t a case of ‘gay’ or not. It was simply male. Men molest children.

I don’t really know the correct response to this. On a core level, it is offensive—hugely—as a man and as gay man. I think it also makes men (of both orientations) very leery of children and hold them at arms’ length (figuratively and literally) which is the last thing children need. It makes all men look like sexual deviants. On the other hand, (even though most molestation is home based—not some random demented psychopath—which makes it even scarier and sicker) something has to be done to protect the overwhelming number of child molested continuously.

So, no answers, just ramblings—as ever.

ex-bestnightoftheweek

I kinda feel like tomorrow is the first day of summer again—nearly a month into it. I’m gonna wake up early and work out, mow the lawn, and then attempt to finally make more progress on the novel. By this time last year, I had written nearly sixty pages since school ended. This year? Seven. This year has been so busy, and every time I sit down, my brain goes to a million other places, things I need to do. I am really scared about it all. I’ve been turned down on the other novel, and I want it too badly. I’ve got to shake that off. The fear is taking over the joy of writing and the simple need of it.

I’ve been really glad to be home, which was sort of surprising. I know that I’m a creature of habit and such, but home has been so painful, it’s been nice to have some relief by being in the house, with the puppies…

I went out with the bff tonight and saw Toy Story 3 for the second time. Cried less than last time, but still cried. I really love that movie.

On a positive note, trying not to count chickens, it really looks like my friends are going to work things out. I really need them to. Surely someone can make this work, and commit to loving each other and giving of their lives—through the pain, the work, the anguish. Surely. I don’t want it to be a myth, but I’m not really seeing much that makes me think it isn’t—for sure nothing in my own life. I’ll take it vicariously if I have to.

ex-bestnightoftheweek

I kinda feel like tomorrow is the first day of summer again—nearly a month into it. I’m gonna wake up early and work out, mow the lawn, and then attempt to finally make more progress on the novel. By this time last year, I had written nearly sixty pages since school ended. This year? Seven. This year has been so busy, and every time I sit down, my brain goes to a million other places, things I need to do. I am really scared about it all. I’ve been turned down on the other novel, and I want it too badly. I’ve got to shake that off. The fear is taking over the joy of writing and the simple need of it.

I’ve been really glad to be home, which was sort of surprising. I know that I’m a creature of habit and such, but home has been so painful, it’s been nice to have some relief by being in the house, with the puppies…

I went out with the bff tonight and saw Toy Story 3 for the second time. Cried less than last time, but still cried. I really love that movie.

On a positive note, trying not to count chickens, it really looks like my friends are going to work things out. I really need them to. Surely someone can make this work, and commit to loving each other and giving of their lives—through the pain, the work, the anguish. Surely. I don’t want it to be a myth, but I’m not really seeing much that makes me think it isn’t—for sure nothing in my own life. I’ll take it vicariously if I have to.

Remembrance of a Wedding and Symbol of a Funeral

Today was my folk’s 40^th wedding anniversary. I felt like I needed to do something big. It’s forty years for crying out loud, and we have all been through so much. Instead, we watched the Bachelorette, ate at a Mexican place in Boulder, played with Gavin at the park, and ate homemade ice cream. Fitting for us. I hope there will be a way to do something huge for their fiftieth.

In following through with the theme of one of my ‘revelations’ while I was at Disney World. I packed up a pig and a penguin tonight. We had gotten them out of a quarter machine at Taco Bell on our first vacation together to Estes Park. We kept them on our dresser beside our bed (on a pewter castle). One was him, one was me. I’d told myself I’d never taken them down or put them away, even if I got with someone else someday. They are now tucked safe into the Deathly Hallows collector box that Dunkyn and Dolan bought us for our last Christmas together.

just a glimpse

There were many things that hit me during my last evening at Disney World that I really wanted to blog about. Many things about Disney and the people here, many more things about myself and the thoughts and ponderences that went through my heart and mind most of the day.

All of it went away as I stood at the front desk of our hotel, helping my folks make plans to get picked up at five in the morning (three, Colorado time…).

All week long my family has talked and dreamed of being able to bring Gavin here one day. All week long, we have seen babies screaming and crying, parents yelling, a child left unattended in a stroller while its family went on a ride (!), parents yanking their child by the arm rushing this way and that, lots of threatening and frustration.

In that last few minutes, I look over from the counter, and over in the corner, in a little area the resort had set up with tiny antique chairs and an old fashioned tv, sat a rather adorable (youngish—mid-thirties, early-forties) father and his seven (or so) year old daughter. She was snuggled up close to him, his arm drapped around her shoulders as she rested her head on his chest—occasionally laughing at an old Mickey, Donald, and Goofy cartoon as they tried to put out a fire. They sat that way for nearly ten minutes. Lost in their own world, just the two of them. None of it for show. None of it uncomfortable. Just a father and his daughter. Just a daughter with the man she so clearly adores and sees as her hero.

My eyes filled with tears then. They do now.

For the life this girl has. For the life the man has. For the honor of getting to witness it.

For the hope my arm will be draped around my daughter/son one day, doing all I can do to be their hero.

movement

Two days after riding Carousel of Progress, and my brother and I having a conversation that nothing really surprises or astonishes our generation, our statements have been proven faulty. The family we came to Disney World with treated our family to nearly front row tickets to LaNouba.

I was left speechless. It was like seeing Avatar in real life. The Beauty. The hauntingness. I never realized the bizarre connection between the darkly morbid and the sensual in my mind. I guess I should have with vampires and such. There were moments of ‘spiritual’ movement during the show and a heightened sexual awareness of myself. Not really a feeling you want with your family and when you don’t have your husband. However. It was rather great. Actually, it was one of the few times something has finished and all I could say was, ‘perfect.’ ‘perfect.’

I think I may have had the beginning of an epiphany during the first listening to my new Miley Cyrus album today on my first trip to the gym. Partly brought on by the music and words, partly brought on by my friends’ situation, partly brought on by being on a vacation where it is constantly thrown in my face how much I want a husband and children.

:

I may want Chad and to spend my life with him. He may very well be the love of my life. However, he doesn’t want to spend his life with me and it is clear I am not the love of his life. While I’m not sure I can, it is time. I need to close the door. Actually close it. Take the memories, wrap them carefully in sacred material, and lovingly put them away—not to be touched, sifted through, pondered over, or gazed at. I can love someone, and after a time, surely they would become the love of my life. The love of my life would want to stay, right? The man I raise children with should be the love of my life, right?

Well, then, on with it.

Easy to say. Well, actually, no it’s not, but it seems like it should be. Hard to do.

I need to do my best to get comfortable and real with whoever it is that I am now and then I need to open myself up to the whoever might be the one who will choose me that I can choose too—not that it’s a guarantee, but it sure ain’t gonna happen if I continue to morn over someone who no longer loves me or wants to share his life with me. Otherwise, I end up old, alone, bitter and longing for someone who doesn’t even remember anything he saw in me to begin with.

display

We were watching the phenomenal firework display on the water (involving a floating magical Earth) at Epcot when my brother commented on how Disney sure makes our world look better than it is.

I think that may sum up why I am so infatuated with all things Disney and its ilk. I spend a majority of my time on things that are either ‘other-worldly’ or that paint our world in a better light than it really is.

Many would probably call this a weakness, and in truth, I would have to agree. However, I don’t want to spend my life in a world where so many people I love die of disease as I watch them decay in front of my eyes, a world where the one who said forever, left without a look over his shoulder, a world where children face things that my kids face. Who would pay for a Disney World that showed that picture of things?

You see the beautiful world filled with dazzling lights, colors, adorable children, and then turn from the display and see the sickeningly obese woman who is cascading over the motorized wheelchair she is in due to being too fat to walk, ashes from the fireworks waft in your eyes, burning away the dreams of lost love you had while drifting off during the Presidential exhibition earlier in the day.

Give me Ariel, Donald, and Poo any day.

on this, the longest day of the year, the fist day of summer

One of the challenges that I didn’t expect (should have) about being an uncle and being at Disney World is wanting to buy everything I see to bring back to Gavin. From toys to clothes—such cute clothes. So far, I haven’t bought anything, luckily (I suppose) I only brought $60 with me and have no money on my debit card, so that makes it easy. However, coming here with him when he is older is going to be Heaven! Also, making sure he is amply armed with all things Disney before we get here will also be Heaven.

I’ve been relieved knowing that Denver’s Pride was over—that helped my mind somewhat today, but it was taken up with a meeting between my two friends that I hope will get back together. I knew there were going to see each other, and I can’t help but project my own issues onto them. I got the call late tonight, and stood on the railing over the water, tears streaming as he told me a few of the details of their talk. Right now it seems hopeful. Right now it seems like things MIGHT work out. I was/am so very happy. I want them to be back together. Need them to be. However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t immensely jealous. And confused. While I want them to be together, at least there is a reason that I can comprehend to why they wouldn’t. Whatever. I hope and I pray that they can have a true relationship. One based on CHOOSING the other, not simply because its easy or fun.

And by the way, guess what I saw tonight at Downtown Disney. A huge table in the middle of a toy store with several My Little Ponies and countless accessories. Wow!

hem line raised

I broke down and bought a pair of shorts today. I don’t wear shorts. I hate shorts. I’m too white. Too short and stubby. It’s too white trash. However, after the rash I now have from wearing wet jeans yesterday. . . I’m wearing shorts.

It’s a strange feeling. Especially in front of my family. I feel exposed and kinda naked or indecent. I know that is issues up the wazzoo, but hey, that’s me. I can be naked in front of total strangers and not blink an eye—in fact, kinda like it, but shirtless or in shorts in front of family. . . I’d almost rather not be able to walk—which was nearly the case today. It must have been seeing Ariel and Donald Duck do a 3D movie together today that made me in such a great mood that I willingly bought and wore shorts. Shudder.

Fun note?

There was a lady videotaping the Ariel and Donald movie in secret on her little video camera. At first I was rather irritated, but then realized what she is going to see when she gets home and watches her pirated 3D movie! Love it, love it, love it!

oh. and, happy pride.

emotions, plagiarized

Our first full day of Disney has come and gone. I forgot how much work vacation is, and how tiring. However, even with all the sweat, I love every moment of Disney. Yes, I know the mass consumption and capitalism is staggering. Does it come with icing? Yes? I’ll take it!

The bonus of it all, is this: I am missing Pride!!! Yay! I don’t have to sit in my house determined not to think about going to Pride and seeing him drunk (everyone will be, this is not meant as a judgment-kind of statement) and enjoying his single life; even better, I don’t have go and see it and try to put on a mask. I had an actual, honest-to-goodness reason to be away that wasn’t even adjusted to help me avoid things. Two years running! Let’s see if we can go for three . . .

I did have a hard moment last night as I lay in bed in our hotel. Thoughts of San Fran. Silent tears were running down my face without me realizing it. It was pitch dark and I didn’t make a sound, but my brother asked, “You’re thinking about San Francisco, huh?”
Yep.

Because four books aren’t enough to bring on a Disney vacation where I will never sit, I bought another book at the airport: A Reliable Wife, by Robert Goolrick. (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2010) It sounds totally different than what the title suggests. Its sounds awesome, but we will see. It starts off rather depressing though. Two thoughts really resonated with me. Painfully so. Thoughts I hate to admit I have often, but thoughts that in some ways are nice (yet not) to know aren’t original to me. One from the husband’s perspective and one from the wife’s.

Husband (page 8):

“You can live with hopelessness for only so long before you are, in fact, hopeless. He was fifty-four years old, and despair had come to Ralph as an infection, without his even knowing it. He could no pinpoint the moment at which hope had left his heart.”

Wife (page 17):

“She was determined, cold as steel. She would not live without at least some portion of the two things she knew were necessary as a minimum to sustain life. She had spent her years believing that they would come down fro heaven and bless her with riches as she had been blessed with beauty. She believed in the miraculous. Or she had, until she reached an age when, all of a sudden, she realized that the life she was living was, in fact, her life. The clay of her being, so long infinitely malleable, had been formed, hardened into what now seemed a palpable, unchanging object, a shell she inhabited. It shocked her then. It shocked her now, like a slap in the face.”

a long journey to see a duck

I’ve decided I don’t care about personal freedom any longer. You sit on a plane in-between your brother whose shoulders are equally as wide as yours are and a huge fat man whose side-fat and arm-flab drape over the side of his the armrest and on to you (not onto your side, but onto YOU)!

Before today, I thought the whole idea of charging a larger person for two seats on an airplane seemed degrading and a cheap way for the airlines to make extra money. Not any longer. He should have paid for half my seat, since he used it.

In an effort to make more room, this fat man, who was wearing a sleeveless shirt (why????) decided it would be helpful to raise his arm above his head, exposing his flabby, sweaty, hairy pit (which was also on my side) to my face.

Then ensued the snoring that puts walruses to shame since his lungs didn’t have room to draw in breath.

Fun three and a half hours.

playbyplay

I woke up early this morning. Actually, I woke up at seven, which is when I am supposed to get up everyday (it’s an hour later than I have to when I work)—most days, I don’t actually get up till eight. So, I woke up early this morning.

I went to the gym, all ready to do a great arm workout and forty-five minutes of cardio (accompanied by Gossip Girl, of course). Only to discover, I’d left my shirt at home. Perfect. (I do that waaaay too much!) Shouldda slept in. I planned on getting all that out of the way early and then trying to write for a few hours before going to give a massage at three—I wasn’t able to get any writing done yesterday as I ended up babysitting, which made me very, very happy. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to write today as the list of things to get done is rather overwhelming, and I have a hard time writing when I feel like I am not being responsible. My family and I are going to Disney World tomorrow for a week, and there is a ton to do to prepare. (Family friends got free hotel rooms, so we don’t have pay for that—which is how we can ‘afford’ to go.) While we all know Disney World is my favorite place in the world, I can’t tell you how much I am dreading the sweating increase (I know, I know, that shouldn’t even be possible). . . anything to spend time with Ariel and Donald Duck, I suppose.

Speaking of sweating, a massage client (as much as I complain about giving massages, I have several clients that don’t really feel like clients anymore, they feel like friends) brought me a birthday gift last weekend. He is always late for our appointments, and typically, it is because he is bringing me a drink from Starbucks (he comes early in the morning, and since he is typically the first in a five or six hour shift, I am more than happy with his lateness since his gift gives me a little liquid endurance). Anyway, he brought me a big bag of Starbucks coffee beans (because he knows I like coffee), a Starbucks bottled water (because I always tell him to drink lots of water after the massage), and a Starbucks cup of fresh fruit (because he knows I like to eat healthy). The gesture was very sweet, but still. . . who has been spreading such horrible rumors about me? LIKE to eat healthy? Yes, my cheese, tortilla, cheeseburger, ice cream obsession is very healthy. It always cracks me up when people assume I’m a health fanatic (I had a lady freak out on me at school when she saw me eating a candy bar [which that is really rare—I don’t really care for that kind of candy…marzipan, please…] she couldn’t believe I would do that to the obvious work I have put into my body—I’m sorry, you’re right, I do, but really? you’re so bored in your own life that you have to watch other people’s diets?). I’m constantly feeling guilty that I don’t eat healthier—hence the past six days wearing the same jeans, yes, yes, they are my fat jeans. I do wish I had a better body, but the idea of not having bread and pasta is simply not going to happen. I was reading an interview with Bradley Cooper where he talked about getting in shape for the A-Team (and, boy, did he ever!). He said he had a personal trainer who kept him on a 2,000 calorie a day diet (ummm, I’ve had double that in my White Russian Chai this morning) and worked him out for hours a day. Let’s think? Yes, I could probably have a body SIMILAR to Bradley Cooper, but then I’d have to kill myself. Most days are harder-than-not emotionally, you really don’t wanna take away my carbs and refined sugar if you want to keep me on the face of the earth.

Speaking off, Disney World has the best beneits in the world—including France, Italy, or New Orleans, whichever foreign country they are from…

(now didn’t that blog just make you feel so much more informed about the world around you?)

insertar el título aquí

My water broke yesterday evening. (more commonly known as writer’s block)

After spending about four or five hours and only getting a couple pages ripped out of me, I returned to the coffee shop after a dinner of chili-con-queso at Benny’s Mexican while I read the third Percy Jackson, and the pages flowed out of me like sweat from a hairy fat man, or me for that matter. It was the first time I’d been able to let go of my own shit and get lost in my other world. Nice a nice vacation from my own head. Hopefully that trend will continue.

In the exact opposite vein, I had breakfast (smoothie at coffee shop) with the other party of my friends’ breakup. We hadn’t gotten to see each other face to face since the beginning. It was really good to see him, but very hard at the same time. Going to bed last night, and getting ready this morning, it felt like I was getting ready to see Chad. I was shaky, didn’t know what to say, blah, blah, blah. After five or ten minutes with him, I was able to shake that off and just be with my friend who was hurting. The pain of life is constant, and every single decision we make affects us and/or those around us so greatly. A breakup shouldn’t cause so much pain for friends of the couple, yet I know it does. Once in awhile MD (not Desperate MD) tells me that she was thinking of Chad and I and starts to cry. Still. I know that’s not really all that typical, but nonetheless. The things we choose reaches further than could ever really be fathomed. Luckily, I cried enough this morning, that I don’t feel like it now! Yay!!!!!

Gross story for the day:

I drank my huge unsweetened iced-t from McDonalds (which the gay elite has called a boycott on, btw) on my way home late last night. Then, as always, I began eating my way through the ice. I was about half way done with the ice when I got home. In the light of my living room, I thought I saw something—some type of fleck—moving around below all the ice. With a sinking feeling, I jostled my ice around. The fleck made its way to the top. Somewhere from the bottom to the top of the ice, the fleck transformed into a long dark bug with pincers on its ass. Guess I should have followed my leader’s proclamations and joined the boycott. Serves me right.

sly moments

It’s another one of those days where Mr. Witt is struggling to not talk about what he wants to talk about it. Argh!!!!

It’s so funny. I hate being called Mr. Witt by my kids, but it has turned into almost a pet name for myself—almost like a caricature.

In the effort to focus on the good, I have been. . . well, attempting to focus on the good. The overwhelming and constant anger I have been feeling this past week has gotten in the way of that a lot, but still…

Here’s one of my sources of good: I opened my bedroom window this morning to the sight of a red fox cavorting in the middle of my street in front of my house. I have seen him (maybe her) quite frequently for the past several months. I’ve seen him on rare occasions for quite awhile, but the frequency has greatly increased. Just before school ended, I had just pulled out of my drive and headed towards the main road, and glancing over, the fox was running even to my car—the driver’s window—probably about three feet away. [I may have talked about this before, but whatever.] It ran along ‘side me for about three blocks. Not long after, I watched it pouncing around in what I thought was playing, then saw as it happily trotted off with a freshly killed squirrel. I love living where I do—such an artsy, stylish, dog neighborhood, feels like a little bohemian refuge in the midst of the city. For the past year, it has been a constant push and pull with my relationship with my house/neighborhood. My little safe haven is often a source of pain and ghosts. Just like this morning, we’d often pull open the blinds of our bedroom window and gaze at the world around us as we’d lie there cuddling, talking, watching the rain, snow, flowers. It was a sweet gift to be in a spot that holds so much of my heart and also is a constant reminder and see my beautiful fox, a symbol of the genuine beauty and wonder of the world and of God. That no matter what my life may be like, no matter my emotions—joy/pain, there if life abundant and beautiful around me, around us—like moments of freedom and solace offered to whoever is willing to partake.

'where the rainbow ends'

MD and I watched seven or eight episodes of Desperate Housewives last night. I won’t tell you how much we ate, but I will tell you I took the normal soup I make (a KE recipe) and went nuts on it. It was unreal. Just smelling it, you gain weight, but holy hannah!

This morning, after I woke up, I went out into the kitchen, where she was reading her book all ready. The conversation went like this:

MD: Do you have brush I could borrow, or a comb, anything?

Me: No, I haven’t used anything but my fingers in my hair in years.
Pause as I try to think—keep in mind I’ve on just gotten up and I am now used (mostly) to only having the dogs to answer to in the morning.

Me: Actually, I think I have some little brushes in my My Little Pony box.

Another pause.

MD: [after stopping laughing] You know, you’re the only friend I’ve ever had that could actually say that in a serious tone.

Sure enough we found some lovely little star shaped combs in the My Little Pony box.

Who says that gay men aren’t handy to have around the house! (And I know how to change a tire! Grrrrr!)

downward spiral

The agenda today was to go throw myself out of a plane, but due to the weather, that was canceled. My friend, MD, and her husband gave me a skydive for my birthday. It will be my third skydive. I am very much looking forward to it, but honestly, I was a little relieved when it got canceled today. Not sure why, but I had a bad feeling about it—more than likely, simply due to me having to stress over absolutely everything. Although, I suppose that it makes more sense to stress about falling 1,300 feet than most of the things I typically worry over. So, I guess it will have to wait until a nice, sunny, happy day to plummet towards Earth.

Instead, she and I are writing for a bit at my coffee shop (love having equally geeky friends as myself) and then we will go home and walk the dogs and make a pasta dinner, and since she is spending the night, we will watch countless hours of Desperate Housewives. Pretty good thing to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

liar liar pants on fiar

I had dinner with my dear, dear friend who is going through the break-up. His family was in town and there were also three others of our friends present.

Once more, he blew me away by how much stronger he is than I. I know how much he is hurting—not because I am projecting, but because we’ve talked. It’s only been a week, yet even though we all knew he was hurting, he was funny, charming, a perfect host. Honestly, he carries himself better in one week than I do in a year an two months. I wish I had whatever that is within me.

However, here is the thing I noticed with him—the same thing I noticed when I was dumped—two of the things nearly everyone says, and I truly believe that they believe them. I’ve heard several people say this to him and in reference to him. “If it is meant to be, [your boyfriend] will come back.” And. “If [your boyfriend] doesn’t come back, you’ll get over him and move on.”

Who came up with these? Especially the ‘if it’s meant to be crap?’

Where does it say that what happens is what is meant to be or that everything that is meant to be is what happens? That completely disregards people’s freewill and their tendencies to do stupid shit that fucks up their lives. And as far as getting over him, from what I have seen there are two type of people, ones that SEEM to move on very quickly and those that never get over ‘that one person.’

I can kinda handle people saying that you will move on and get over it. It’s audacious and undercutting, but at least there is a once of hopeful, wishful thinking. However the ‘meant to be crap’ both negates the emotions and genuineness of the relationship and the breakup and is nothing but a lie.

Cheers!

kink

I’d finished paying for the gas. I’d checked the lotto ticket I’d bought on my birthday (still broke). I bought a new lotto ticket in hopes I won’t be broke later. I’d walked to my car, muttering something derogatory about the fat person that couldn’t seem to figure out how get through the door and get out of my way. I’d turned the key, put the car in drive and got on my way. I heard a loud ‘Thunk!’ I had that horrible feeling (the same one I’d had when I ran into the McDonald’s building when I was sixteen). I turned around, sure I had somehow hit car beside me. There was no car beside me. I pulled over to the closest parking spot to look at the side of my car—certain I had figured out a way to hit he side of the gas tank fillers (just realized I have no idea what those are called…). There was no dent. However, my gas cap was off and still flopped open. I’d driven off with the gas nozzle (?) still inserted in my car (kinky). All the millions I’d envisioned winning flashed through my mind as I saw them going to pay for a new gas filler-upper-thingy, or worse for a new gas station as it exploded from all the gas that was spewing over the area. As I rushed over to the station I had occupied, my heart began to slow. There was no gas gushing, no ripped out hose, even the little spigot (did you know that is the right word for spicket—it seems spicket isn’t even a word, who knew?) was in its original shape. I picket the gas SPIGOT off the ground and inserted it back into it’s little home (kinky). Not glancing around, in case someone had seen, I rushed back to my car and took off, muttering how life just sucks and how I was as stupid as the fat person that couldn’t get through the door.

Actually, I believe this was the same day that I dropped the remote on my nose.

Today, I actually think it is all pretty funny.

perfection

Okay, this made me laugh. I just hopped on facebook and notices a few friends ‘liked’ the: Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.’

I thought that was pretty clever, so I hit it’s link, thinking it would have it’s on facebook page—I was curious to see what it would say. Instead it took me to a link that said if I liked the above saying, the may like the following: (OMG! I love it!)

“Going to church doesn't make you a christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.

⇓ Click Like to publish to your facebook profile.

94,710 people like this. Be the first of your friends.

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Seriously! Seriously! I wonder if the people that ‘liked’ that even bothered to see what they were liking. Sigh… the things that make me happy!

on the nose

Unimportant information: You need to go see Splice. It was really, really good. Kinda fucked up, but that actually made it better. There you go, there is you free tip for the day.

I need a positive post today, don’t I? It’s time. Even a silly one. Try as I might, I can’t seem to stop blogging about what I always blog about. I’ve been sitting here, my fingers needing the keys, but not able to make them do anything productive.

……………. . . . . . . . .

Today was the day I was supposed to go up to Glenwood Springs for a couple nights. I’d been working out, trying to get in better shape. I got a new book to listen to on my iPod (another Christine Feehan novel, I am about to finish the latest of her vampire series, so I am moving on to ghosts) for the three-hour drive. I’d canceled massages appointments to spend a few days with the boy. I was going to find a coffee shop up there to write at all day tomorrow while he was working (you know how I’d hate that). I was all prepared try to forget past and current pain, maybe feel some hope for what could be.

Instead, I will be spending the day at the coffee shop here and with the puppies and in the backyard. Later, my family is coming over to watch the Bachelorette. It’s ridiculous how much I love that show, and how much I love Alli. I wanted Jake to pick her last season. I seriously want to spend a few weeks just coming her hair. She would be a perfect, perfect mermaid. I know, I have problems.

I really would like them to do a gay Bachelor show—and not the stupid Boy Meets Boy shit, where they mixed in straight boys and it was just about getting a boyfriend. I want one like the Bachelor, where there really is an emphasis on getting married and finding a lifemate—even though it doesn’t often turn out that way, it has for a few. If that happened, I would 100% apply. I totally would. Granted, I’d need six months notice to get in shape. I swear even the ugly guys on that show have amazing bodies. Maybe it seems silly to even say such things when I am where I am. However, it continues to get more and more obvious he is never going to return or even remember I exist at times—if I had the chance to find a man that I could love and would love me and we could build a life and family together, I’d take it. Maybe that’s progress…

On a different note, I managed to hit myself in the nose with my TV remote the other night (don’t ask, you know me). It hurt so bad I almost cried—I’ve broken my nose at least four times and have had nose surgery twice, so even a small tap hurts like hell. I thought it was going to be okay. I moved it back and forth and it didn’t snap or act broken. However, today, it is swollen and throbbing and bruising. Only me. If there were ever a day to send in an audition tape for the Gay Bachelor, today would be the day!

considering drinking a gallon of black shoe polish

It’s a dangerous day to be around Brandon. His nerves are on edge and little things seem be trying to make me murderous. I’ve have several people tell me lately that they are physically intimidated by me, which I think is rather preposterous. I’m about as threatening as over-ripe squash. It seems the people of my coffee shop seem to think the same as me—unfortunately. I don’t handle slow and incompetent people very well—unless I am being slow and incompetent, then it is not only okay, but the preferable state of being.

Most of my Negative Nelly attitude probably comes from all the relationship shit. Not only has dealing with my dear friend’s break-up brought all the Chad stuff to the surface, but last night, I was rejected—again. There had been several red flags, but there were so many good things that I choose to continue pursuing things. We had plans for a couple romantic days in the mountains in the next couple days. Guess not so much. Why is it that the people that tell me that it’s inconceivable that someone wouldn’t want me are never the same people I have feelings for? And if they are, they realize I’m not nearly as fun as they thought I might be—even if it takes them a couple years to figure it out. Last night, I was pretty sad and depressed. Today, I’m just pissed. Not at anyone in particular, just am…

Thank God I have my two gorgeous dogs at home to cuddle with!

On a different note, well, not a different one, still and angry one, but nevertheless, let’s talk about shoe polishers. (Yep, that was five poorly placed commas in one egregious sentence.) There is this one African-American ‘gentleman’ who is always outside of my gym. He yells out to all the men about how their shoes are in disrepair, often making jokes and belittling comments. Most of the time, I remember and avoid him. Several times this week, I have not been focused enough and have been subjected to his taunts. It seems my girlfriend won’t give me any due to the state of my shoes. If it was that easy to avoid straight sex, maybe I should have gotten married. Now, I know he is just kidding, that he has his whole (and limited) repertoire and gives the same spiel to everyone that is in infecting range. Still. I don’t even know what to call this behavior, but it is one of the few things that piss me off to a silly level. It’s akin to someone telling me what I should do. I wouldn’t say that I have vision of picking such people up by their neck and slamming them through a brick wall or anything... I definitely wouldn’t say that. And further more, if I really were going to pay to get my Payless shoes shined, why the hell would he think I would actually pay a man who likes to belittle me? If that was the case, I own a lot of money to several assholes in high school.

Oh, one more thing that pisses me off? Cupcakes where they have scrimped on the icing! What the hell!

who knows

So far, I am lost in a world of writer’s block. Very frustrating when I finally have time to do what I want to do. Typical, I suppose.

I’d like to have something deep and meaningful to discuss today, and I do—as the days go along and something strikes my fancy or gets me angry or makes me laugh, I tuck it away to write about later. However, I don’t really wanna write about anything like that. In fact, I don’t even want to write about what we both know I wanna write about. What’s the point?

The music plays

At times it makes me dance in my chair as the beat matches the rhythm of my fingers on the key

Other times, it’s like a knife—reminding of all that was and all that could have been, should have been

The ghosts surround

Materialize from nowhere, replaying scenes in front of my eyes, making me a voyeur on my past

Haunting my house, my town, my everyday life

Maybe I’m the ghost

Words ebb and flow

Of my own volition and out of my control

Pouring out of my soul, windows to turmoil—disarray

They build and rush, attempt to heal, disappear

Well, there ya go. Closed my eyes and let my fingers start to move and that came forth. Just rushed out. Whatever, I feel better.

Almost as good a cheeseburger. Almost.

returning

Today is officially the first day of summer (even though it’s technically the fifth). How do I know? Well, I am at my coffee shop, I didn’t have to wait for my favorite seat, and I am absolutely petrified to begin working on the novel again (which is part of the reason I am blogging when I am already behind schedule). The trip to Missouri went smoothly. Although I am always nervous around people, it was so great to see the two people I love most from my childhood, that I trust with all of me. It was hard to see my mom’s sister and know what a hard life she has, but glad we got the chance to see her. I always forget how much I hate the drive across Kansas (and how the people make me feel like I’ve entered a very. . . um. . . tacky version of the twilight zone—tacky was the nice word choice—let’s just say, it’s one of the few times I feel skinny) however, my brother can make anything funny, so we had a good time and watched a ton of movies.

I got home yesterday to the call I was afraid I’d receive, the breakup of my friends happened and one of them called me. Even at the first syllable, my heart dropped. I knew that sound so well. Not really sure if I had ever heard it come from anyone else but me. And I knew how I’d find him when I walked into his home. When I made that sound I was always on the floor, always in the fetal position, and always praying for death.

On one hand, I am glad I can give of myself in away that can genuinely say, I know how you feel. I know what you’re going through, and I know what awaits you if the man you thought you’d marry decides not to come back.

On the other, I kept going back and forth between an almost cold, removed demeanor, and being plunged into the dark ocean of my memories of the day/s Chad left me, and the emotions that I am still trying to bury. I couldn’t figure out how to balance how to be there for my friend without submering myself into my own agony. In that sense, I don’t think I was able to help him very much. And, part of me is jealous that he has a reason that he can understand why the boyfriend left. I still can’t wrap my head around a reason for myself—except that I wasn’t enough. However, I bet he’s jealous of me, he’d probably rather not have a reason.

I pray that their situation turns out differently. That they both choose to love and to work through things, not simply take the easy way—like everyone seems to do.

All of it is a choice. The choice to love. The choice to stay. The choice to forgive. The choice to fall out of love. It’s a choice. It’s a commitment. It’s the only thing can last, the choice. It seems that most humans aren’t able to choose and then continue to choose.

I’m glad I waited to blog about this last night. If I had done it in the middle of all we were going through last night, this would have been ten pages.

Wish me luck on loosing myself in the pages of the novel. And luck in the upcoming steps. Thanks!

cut the wire

I got a call from someone I love very much this afternoon, and I have been in tears on and off the rest of the day. A call that was about their life—not mine.

It has plunged me back into (like I ever left) the moments before, the days before, the weeks before Chad left. Plunged me into the hopelessness I now see in love, in being able to trust anyone, ever. Every single person (nearly) that I know has been devastated by love or is being so currently. And the ones that haven’t (or that I don’t know of), I still wouldn’t want the relationship they have.

Honestly, and I truly do believe this, if I could find the switch to turn it off, I would. Even if the cost was becoming cold and hard, incapable of even the possibility of loving again. Even as I say that, thoughts turn to him, and the impossible chance of his return, knowing I would risk it again. Even that, though, is proof that I need t flip that fucking switch. I just need to find it.

rainbow puppydogs on cotton candy clouds

Much to everyone’s surprise, on the first day of summer, I am at my favorite seat at the coffee shop—after swooping in after a mother and child so rudely were occupying it. If I ever do get blessed enough to be a published author and have bit of recognition, the only diva aspect I want to adopt is having my seat in the my coffee shop roped off as a monument to my published drivel, allowing me to be the only one to sit here. Sigh, that would be nice. Today, I am not writing on the novel, as I won’t have another day until next week, and I hate beginning when I don’t have a wide berth to loose myself in. Today, I am playing catch up on Gavin’s baby book that I am making for his first birthday in July! Very fun.

I forgot to upload my next episode of Top Chef on my iPod this morning, so I had nothing to watch while I did my forty-five minutes of cardio (so great to be able to work out in the morning again). Therefore, I listened to my vampire romance novel (best one yet) and watched the TV’s over the cardio equipment. News was on every single TV. Even muted, it disturbed me—and highlighted my neurosis. When they started showing a local death by shooting, before I knew it, I was tearing up and terrified that Chad was the victim. Forcing myself to breathe, I welded my eyes closed and made myself get lost in the bloody world of vampires. Probably brought on by how I woke up this morning. I don’t understand what brings it on, but about half the days I wake up, even before I open my eyes, his absence is slaughtering—even when I hadn’t been dreaming of him. I have no idea how to control that, or how to gain sanity.

Either way, the news is so horrible. Pictures kept flashing over the screen—disasters in other countries, other murders, Jonbenet Ramsey [because we don’t have enough current tragedy and drama, we gotta keep dredging through stuff that happened when I was freshman in college]. The way our society operates makes me look sane!

Tomorrow we are heading to Missouri for a very, very quick trip. We are going to go see my Aunt (my mom’s mentally handicapped sister who lives in a group home). We are going directly there and then coming back. I will get to see my ‘little-sister’ and my lifetime bff (who I haven’t seen in nearly four years). While I am excited to see them, I always get so nervous seeing people, even those I love so much. I wish I were thinner, happier, had some accomplishments—not that either of them care a lick about any of that, but still. Plus, I HATE going back to Missouri. Only love for my mom could make me undertake this trip (another reason I didn’t wanna start writing today).

Positive notes? Next week, I am going to spend a couple nights in Glennwood Springs with the adorable boy I’ve spoken of before and then upon returning, I am heading to Longmont next Sunday (not this one) to go skydiving. I haven’t been in several years. MS and her husband gave it to me for my birthday—her husband is going to be my tandem master. I’m not sure how that will go since I am twice the size of him, but I you don’t turn down leaping from a plane! Yay! So, see, I can be positive!

count down that never ends

Summer will begin in a few hours.
A summer so full of things (good and bad) that I’m not sure how I am going to write enough to meet my goals of having a publishable manuscript completed and still do enough massage to pay bills over the summer while ideally saving a bit to help during the first few months of school.
A summer where I won’t spend a third of each day in tears—like I did last year, if only by force of will.
My thirty –second summer.
When my dad was thirty-two, he had me. He and mom had been married eight years already.
I feel behind, nearly a decade behind. I still want children. I still want marriage (though not entirely when I’ve lost who I’ve lost). I want to have a writing career. I want. I want. I want. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.
When I hear someone else is thirty-two, it seems like they still have so much life left—that they are really just starting. I don’t feel that, although I’d like to. I feel old and kinda used up.
Ok, happy. Choose happy.
Today, my sixth graders are graduating. Some that I’ve had since fourth grade. One that came to me without being able to read and write. Without being able to spend time in a regular education classroom.
While still far from where he needs to be, he can read now (thanks to a team effort). He can function more normally in relationships, and he has skills that he CAN choose to use to manage his anger. And, without pride, he wouldn’t have had these without me. I’m immensely proud of his accomplishments and his effort and how he has worked to begin to change his life.
I have a nephew. A gorgeous nephew. His only drawback is that he will forever tie me to Colorado. Every day I am desperate to flee from here. I’d stay for my friends, but even many of them talk about a day when they will live somewhere else. I won’t leave my family, and won’t leave my nephew. He is the biggest gift I have been ‘given’ in my adult life. Days where I don’t think I can continue or go on, I spend with him. Life is no longer about me, it’s about him. It doesn’t matter what is broken or hurting inside, when he is in the room, those things are gone and enveloping him with love is all there is. What could be better?

winner, winner, chicken dinner

Today, on the second to last day of school, I am nearly in a state of elation. Summer, summer, summer!!!
Honestly, I will get little of what I want/need to do this summer accomplished. I already have every weekend but one filled up and there are many things that are taking up the rest of the time, some fun—many not so much. Either way, summer! My original thoughts were to get the second installment of the Men of Myth series written. Those plans have now changed to finish the first installment and trying to find and agent. As busy as this summer is looking, I will be lucky if I even get those done.
On a more global (or national) level, there have been a few things going on with the GLBT community. Both seemingly steps in a forward direction. The repeal of DADT and a Gay month (?). The Republican side of me cringes just a bit at how the DADT was repealed. I have a problem with a president or government making a decision of such magnitude without the public’s overwhelming support. However, the bigger part of me is thrilled (mostly). It shouldn’t be public opinion that determines if our nation is discriminatory, racists, sexist, or inequitable to any group of people—so, in this case, the government did its job. Of course, that’s easy for me to say since I am in the group on the receiving end. However, the government is only doing part of its job. It is telling me that I can now die for my country, but still have to remain a second class citizen. Yes, you can get shot for us, but don’t tell us you wanna get married to the man you love. (Don’t worry, country, you can go ahead and give me that right—he don’t wanna marry me nohow. ) The selfish and more newly unpatriotic part of me was saddened by the DADT policy. I already had my big gay show planned if I ever got drafted! LOL! Damnit!
The other newsy thing I read about was Obama issuing a gay history month sort of deal. I read the article about it, and honestly wasn’t so sure if it was a joke or for real—however the responses from people sure seemed like they were taking it as fact. Personally, and I am sure this is counter what most of my demi-species would argue, I think it is counter-effective to have a gay month. Yes, there are good things that can come from it. It can highlight important gay figures of our society (our being American—not gay) that most would never learn about—much as the African-American month has highlighted the contributors of their race/society. It would mean a greater focus on us, showing the struggle and hopefully encouraging people to want to change things. However, it is the last thing I want. I don’t think all these stupid months are productive to a group of people. Black history month hasn’t made Blacks equal—just highlighted how they aren’t equal, that they can’t stand on their own and have to have their own special day just to be remembered and not overlooked. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be equal. And, maybe I haven’t thought all the way through this and one day I will fully back this notion of a gay history month—but I will have to be thoroughly convinced. To be equal, you have to be treated the same as the majority, not less or special. Most special treatment is due to a person being lesser—not actually special. I really see this as a bone thrown to the LGBT community. Give them some acknowledgement without giving them the equality they really want—throw enough scraps on the floor and the dog will never realize he’s not getting the steak everyone else is eating above him.
I don’t want to have special status. I simply want to be the same and equal with you and have the same rights and freedoms. Nothing less, and nothing more (which simply equals less).