Ramblings

between the dust and dust

2012-01-26T14:33:00.001-07:00

I went to a funeral of the father of a co-worker. It’s been awhile since I was at a funeral. It brought up many issues, as funerals do. Most of those brought on tears, many in good/hopeful ways. Some in sadness with my own issues of familial loss and God complex questions.
What hit me the most was the slide show of his life. A small child in the 30’s. A very handsome man in the Navy for WWII. 50’s-like photos with his wife. Photos of their family as their children grew up. Their grandchildren. Their great-grandchildren.
His wife died a year ago, almost to the day. He slept with his wife’s pajamas every night this past year. He is now buried with them. They were married for over sixty years. Built a life together. Raised a family. Survived old age together. Basically, died together. (And, with my beliefs/hopes, are together now.)
I was filled with hope, filled with love for the family, filled with a nice sort of jealousy. (Yes, reader who anonymously left the ever so helpful narcissistic link, it is all about me!) I want that! I want a life like that. I want a life like that with Smokey. I believe that we are meant to have that life. I don’t believe that is how it has to be, I/he/we could sadly choose or do differently. I want to see faces grow old together over the years. See photos of the life we build together. The other lives we touch. It’s more than wealth. It’s more than writing or getting published. It’s more than the house. More than anything. This family didn’t have much money or means, but they did have each other, and devotion to each other.
What more could you ask for? What more could you want?
Beautiful.

skinning the pig

2012-01-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

Granted, I have never been a football fan. This year has made that fact a thousand times more true. Reason? One word: Tebow. You would think a handsome man like Tebow would at the very least make my mind wander to images of him in the locker room.
Not so much.
A little of my distain is for Tebow, but in actuality, the vast majority of it is directed at all his disciples. Today, on the car in front of me, was a bumper sticker of the purplish blue Rocky Mountains in front of an orange sky. In big white letters splashed over the mountain-scape: HOLY TEBOW.
Vomit.
I respect that Tebow has the right to his religion and his beliefs. Of course, I’m talking about his views on homosexuality and his reported support of Focus on the Family. However, to make it such a public proclamation, and be made into a near Messiah-like figure disgusts me.
Even at the rodeo (maybe especially at the rodeo) we went to last week (that will be another blog…), there were these huge posters of him with John 3:16 painted like war-paint under his eyes. It’s not the Bible verse that irritates me, it’s that once again, the ‘hero’ of the Christian world is someone that actively works to deny my rights and equality, and sees me as damned.
It also disgusts me that once again a sports figure it turned into a hero. No, he’s not. He plays a damn game and gets a shit-load of money for it. Not the definition of a hero. (However, I’ll admit, I’d be saying something different if he were a gay man willing to stand in the face of the world while at the top of his football career and speak his truth—so I can see my own bigotry).
Maybe my strong reaction is also brought on by my family who has never given a moment’s thought to football or any sport. We were never that family. Ever. What did I see in my folk’s house last week? Tebow’s book. Really? Really… They are even talking about how excited they are to have such a role model Christian be in the spotlight and being such an example. They shouldn’t even really know who Tebow is. They’ve always been oblivious to sports before. My brother’s reaction to this made me laugh though. After all the talk, he simply said, ‘Yeah, till they find out he’s molesting children.’ Now, I know he isn’t (well, I don’t know, but I’d bet more money than I have that he isn’t), however, the point being, those skeletons always come out of the Christian heroes (not that they don’t of very human).
Poor Tebow, I’m sure he is a very nice man, very kind and blah, blah, blah. I wish him health and love with his family. However, as long as he keeps supporting those who hate my gay and lesbian family, I won’t be able to help smiling every time I hear of a football fumble.
(Nice to rant about something besides my own insanity)

again and again and again and again

2012-01-23T14:34:00.001-07:00

Honestly, I received enough negative feedback from the last blog that I’ve been hesitant to write again. Then, I remembered, which I really do forget sometimes, I do this blog for me. Not for affirmation. Not for attention. Simply to get out some of my crazy. Just putting it out there makes things a bit better, a bit more manageable. Like letting steam out of a pressure cooker. Ideally, blogging helps me figure something out, but most often, it simply is to get some relief from the crazy inside my head and chest. So, yes, I am fully aware that the last blog highlighted my neediness, clinginess, emotional vampirism, and showed me being someone pathetically gross.
Whelp… truth hurts.
Be glad you’re not in my head. It’s exhausting.
Hence, the blog.
Mentally, it’s been an emotionally up and down weak. Ninety-nine percent not at all due to Smokey (one percent yes), but all due to my own sickness. If I cut out that sickness, things are really, really great between us. He expends so much time/effort to make sure I know how much he loves me and that he is fighting for us. We have so much fun together. I really don’t know how I could love him any more. Even as I say that, fear spikes through me for all I could loose. (See? Exhausting! Ridiculous!)
I am starting to realize my own insanity more and more in that area. I’m hoping that awareness will come with actualized change. For my sanity and for his. He is a patient, patient man at times with me.
What? Another entire blog about being needy and letting fear overtake the joy in your life? Yep. Looks like it!

insanity lines

2012-01-12T13:58:00.001-07:00

Turns out, I like to torture myself. I know, we already knew that, but it is frustrating and exhausting, nevertheless. Things between Smokey and I have been nearly perfect for about a week, which is saying something considering how the past several weeks before them had been. He’d been really affectionate, going out of his way to show me how proud he is of the work I’ve done in order to get published, making sure I know how much he loves me and wants me. I’ve been working on suppressing my neediness and using logic and breathing and praying and eating and working out and whatever it takes to work through it. We have an awesome, long weekend at Valley View this weekend, and I couldn’t be more excited. So, what do I do last night when I go to dinner with two of my best friends? When one of them says he’s been studying palmistry, both of us stick out our hands. Even as I did so, part of me said, ‘Don’t do it! You don’t even believe in it, but you’ll believe it enough to fuck you up.” It sucks to be so smart that I could see the future and so stupid that I didn’t stop the moment in order to change it. My friends hand was read: long life, something jobbish, a short but deep romance and then the love of his life, and he could never cheat. The problem? He already has cheated, something was off with that reading.
Then it was my turn. Looking at the mid line across my hand. Gonna have health problems around forty, then again around fifty, then die around sixty. “Wait a minute? Wasn’t that line the career line on [other friend’s] hand?”
“Oh, yeah. Opps.” Looks like you’re gonna have a couple career changes and retire early.”
Yay!
Life line (the right one this time): Gonna live somewhere between mid-eighties and one hundred. I guess that’s good. And wrinkly.
Love/relationship line: I love extremely deep. Impossible for me to cheat. Gonna have a few different loves, all who I love deeply, all who are brief and leave, continuing late into my life. There it was, worst fear spelled out in the palm of my left hand.
My heart sank, I nearly started to cry. It’s been a heavy weight ever since.
When it took longer for Smokey to contact me after his overnight (even after he texted last night to let me know his phone died), I nearly hyperventilated until I heard from him. Ridiculous!!! Exhausting!!! Pathetic!!! All because of a palm reading by a friend who says he really doesn’t know what he’s doing, who messed up on our friend’s past cheating, who mistook my career line for my life line and killed me a couple decades early. True, I come by this worry naturally, but things that seem to confirm it, well…..
I drive myself crazy. I just want to rest in what is so very wonderful. Want to do the work when I have to or need to. Then rest in it once more.
Say some prayers for Smokey: he needs to have strength, patience, and a lotta love to deal with this nutcase.
On a side note, I have an email to a preferred therapist that may be out of my insurances’ district. Please hurry up, better mental health!

need to make an appointment!

2012-01-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

Today’s installment will probably sound like complaining, and it really isn’t. It’s just free therapy time.
I really find anyway to drive myself crazy. Number one culprit? My needy, co-dependent, clingy disposition.
Smokey is out with his friends tonight, and probably will end up staying with them or at his house. This is a good thing for him. He needs space, and it’s healthy to have a little time apart, I know it’s all good. However, I sit here and feel rejected, worried he won’t return, wondering why I wasn’t good enough to be with this evening. Fucking ridiculous. Truly. It’s none of those things. I know he loves me. He shows me so very much, all the time, I also know he’ll return—whether it’s tonight or tomorrow. I also know my weaknesses and how I tend to think and feel about things. Even so, knowing all I know, having done so much therapy, it still is all I can do not let it overwhelming me. I think its fear that begins to consume. Just expecting things to either be ripped away or run away on their own. It’s my tendency to hold on tight enough to asphyxiate a python. It’s so frustrating to feel like I’m a pretty smart guy, especially around relational issues and such and still allow myself to play this mind fuck game. So frustrating that I allow it into the relationship that means that most to me! I do know this, I’ve got to start getting this under control. For both Smokey and myself. No pressure! But really. I have all I’ve been dreaming of right now, why can’t I just let my spirit rest in that? Argh!

Thankful

2012-01-08T20:42:00.000-07:00

Good lord, where to start, where to start!?!
Two wonderful updates…

January 5, 2012, I signed a contract with Dreamspinner Press to publish Submerging Inferno, AND the following two installments! I never dreamed someone would buy all three, especially with two yet unwritten! None of them will be published until all three are written, so it is still a couple years away, but still! They are now looking at The Shattered Door. Since it is a stand alone, if they like it, it could be published ASAP. I have my hopes up, but we will see. I am thrilled, THRILLED, with the contract with them I have. I have lots, lots, lots to do. However, what a different experience it will be to sit down and write when not only has someone said they will publish what I’ve already written, but what I’m writing now! Wow! Totally thrilling! Such a long, long road, so many years. I can’t believe how amazing it really is now that it’s here!

The other news is that Smokey and I doing great, this past week really made a difference. Those three weeks were really rough, really scary, really hard. We both know there will be plenty more of those, but it’s amazing to be by his side and walk this journey together. The wonderfully fun parts, and hard, painful parts. So in love with him.

My folk’s response to my publishing deal wasn’t the best—tears and pain, nothing bad said, just they feel I’m not using my talent in a good way writing these kinds of books. Even when you know it’s coming, it’s hard to hear. Smokey, however, made the great situation even better. He’s nearly as excited as I am, and beyond proud and supportive. I’ve been dreaming of coming home and telling him, ‘Guess what?....’ Well, it was even better than I dreamed.

I’m doing my best to simply be happy. I scares me to feel like I have it all right now, finally what I’ve always dreamed about—the two things that mean more to me than anything. The man I love more than my own life, and a publishing deal! Really? Talk about amazing.

Father, thank you so much. The love you are lavishing is overwhelming. After so many years in darkness of soul and spirit, after so much hurt and doubt, to now be enveloped in love of the man I hope and plan to spend my life with, and in validation of my writing, well, it feels miraculous. Thank you. Please give me the strength to trust in it, to be able to rest in it, to have faith that you won’t rip the rug out from underneath. To trust that, like my favorite scenes from Job, you are blessing what was once withered and dark. I’ve given you so much anger and wrath in those years, along with the trust I could muster, I now give you thanks and praise and all glory for what you have given! I rest and trust in you, help me make that ever more true.

worth fighting for

2011-12-16T18:29:00.000-07:00

Maybe I can’t blog when I’m immensely happy and not stressed. Maybe I only can blabber when I’m hurting or scared. Maybe so. Seems like it. Oh well.
Smokey and I are going through are hardest time right now. Nothing truly huge, just some things here and there. No cheating. No lying. No fights. However, for Smokey, it is become more and more apparent what it looks like to be in a relationship and all the work it takes and how much sacrifice is required. For me, my fear is through the roof, which causes me to become even more clingy and needy (an inclination that I’m doing my best to fight with everything in me, as I know it has the opposite of desired effect).
I stand by what I have said before. If anyone, Smokey is the man that is supposed to be my husband. However, that doesn’t mean he will be. Destiny is fucked up all the time by our fallible human natures.
He’s proving himself to be strong. Everyday assuring me that he is here. That he is still in it with me, even when the thought of leaving and running away is also a constant temptation. As strange as it may sound, and as much as it hurts and scares me, I am very thankful that he is so honest with me. I like to know where we stand and where the truth is really at.
We are both raw and hurting right now, and still holding on and fighting the best we can for what we believe is worth fighting for, I just pray he continues to fight for us, persevere through the exhaustion of it. I’ve talked to enough married (for years) couples that I know in some ways this dance continues and ebbs and flows forever—to varying degrees. Terrifying thought. Again, I pray he continues to fight for us, continues to be here in this hard moment so that we can have beautiful ones soon. Moments that will make us stronger for the next time we face our shit.
I wish all it took was one person to fight the battles for the couple. I would face it. I could face it. I hate that I have to trust another person to fight for us as well. HWMNBN chose things over me that I don’t think were as valuable as I am. And while, again, I think we could have built a great life together, Smokey is here and fighting by my side, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. I just prays he chooses me. I choose him.

Learning to love with an open hand

2011-11-20T19:22:00.000-07:00

While lonely, single life was easy. I had nothing to loose.
Now, the gravity of what can slip through my fingers weighs heavy, a constant hooked net over my heart.
“What’s the measure of a man. . . is it loving someone even when you know there’s a risk they could walk away from you forever?” Lover Enshrined, JR Ward
I’d like to blame all the things that have happened to me, like to blame HWMNBN, like to blame any and everyone else. And, honestly, some blame can go there. Moreover, the blame is mine, or my genetics to be more specific. Be it nature or nurture, I am the kind that holds too tightly. The kind who often looses the moment for fear of the future. The kind that can’t feel safe until each item has been crossed off.
We’ve past our six-month mark, Smokey and I. The further we go, the more in love I am, and the more terrified I become. I have to get a grip. It sucks the joy from the most joy-filled time of my life. This narrows it down too much, but I think it’s rather accurate; I think part of me believes that I’m not safe until I have ring on my finger and our names co-mingled on a mortgage. Is that the definition of safe to me? I think, yeah, kinda. However, how much you wanna bet that I’ll be blogging some equally equivalent fear half way through the honeymoon? Rings slip off. Houses burn down.
The ridiculous part? And, probably both side of this logic are equally ridiculous, I truly cling to and believe that moment on May 15th when he was walking down the sidewalk and the realization hit of, “Oh, You’re the one.” As clear and strong as anything I’ve ever felt. Possibly ridiculous that I give the credence, and ridiculous that I can’t let myself simply rest in that.
I think I have the timeline in my head, and if things aren’t checked out at the scheduled time, then the world will crumble. Smokey is thinking that he will probably buy a house in the next sixth months or so. Normal, good, healthy thing to do. He hasn’t had his own house that was solely his in probably close to ten years, and he feels like he needs to do that for a bit for his own process. Writing it out, even I can see the logic in it. However, where do I go? Supporting his need for this experience? Nope. I hear years, Years, before we get married and start building a home and family together. I hear that I’m bugging him and he doesn’t really love me. I hear that he’s going to leave me and I have to try to function sans/Smoke.
I have to get a shot of reality, to be able to see through and hear truth (and love) through my fear. I have to. I have to enjoy the moment we are in, whatever that moment it. I have to, for both of us—so that I’m not driving him crazy, and so I’m not driving myself crazy. Need to breathe, deeply, and bask in the love that is better than I ever dreamed possible. Need to turn over the worry and pseudo control that I convincement that I have.
Father, I thank you so much for the life you have given. Specifically, I thank you for man you have given me. Thank you for his kindness, gentleness, patience, and goodness. Please help me attain greater wisdom, both mentally and emotionally. Help me to rest in the moment, to trust in you and what you have provided. Help me to love that lifts wings to the sky, not suffocates under a down blanket.

our prologue

2011-11-12T10:31:00.001-07:00

long have I known fairy tales rely on
witches
ogres
thorns

refused to ever open the book
the words upon my heart never to be
written by another

fallacious princes clamored sonnets
promised wings to fly
to the sun

sealed still
the pages
secure between solid bindings

enter the man
claiming no royalty
vowed no magic

dismissed upon first glance
then cover wrenched wide
leaves laid bare

the man lavished red upon each sheet through
actions
words
touch

ramparts crumbled
moats traversed
dragons slain

fantasy proven dull and flat
beside
reality with the man

eternity
both in hope and
authenticity

plot of witch
bellow of ogre
pierce of thorn

no shining armor
lacking white steed
and yet a fall

try as they may the covers shall not
close
bind
slam

lowly dirt embraces the tumble
cover and coat
humble and choke

through trepidation
pain and gash
hands extended and grasped

heroes of a quest
unrequested
stand on trembling limbs

villains encircle
waiting to seize
devour

magic not from fairy or wand
emanating from hearts and hands
our epic has begun

filled by destiny’s scarlet scrawl
strength
wings
love

knitting wounds

2011-11-01T16:27:00.001-06:00

Home sick again today. Actually, I went to work then came back. Just utterly exhausted and achy. I decided to teach myself to knit. After four hours, I have the ugliest little rat of scrap cloth you’ve ever seen. Wow! It’s hard! Nice to simply sit on the couch and listen to a book on tape and forget everything else.
It has been a horribly hard three-four days. Smokey and I have hit our first obstacle, and it has left both of us aching, afraid, and in pain. It’s amazing the more you love someone, the more they can hurt you.
It has been a challenge to simply breathe. Every bit of me is in panic mode. Will he run away? Will he throw in the towel? Will he say it’s easier to simply be on his own? Will I be too much?
I don’t believe he will. I truly believe he is the man I’m going to marry. With everything in me, I believe that. It’s just, at these weak moments, where your wounds and insecurities are ripped open (just as you were starting to get a handle on them), it’s like an all-consuming monster! I believe that we will get through this time, stronger than ever, and more able to withstand future obstacles. I know what my life is like without him, and I don’t want to experience that ever again.
We prayed together yesterday. Pretty cool. Pretty amazing, actually. To pray with my BOYFRIEND, about our RELATIONSHIP! And to believe that God is honored by us turning to Him. How my views of God have changed!
That said, keep us in your own prayers, if you think of it. That we would lift each other up, that we would put the other first, and continue on this most wonderful journey of my life.

sick reading

2011-10-26T16:23:00.001-06:00

I took a sick day today. And, yes, I actually was sick. I slept for over ten hours and then have sat on the couch the rest of the day, playing games on my phone and reading. I just finished Woke up in a Strange Place, by Eric Arvin. It was a gay fantasy novel. Think gay Pilgrim’s Progress or Gulliver’s Travels. All about what happens after death.
It was beautiful. Beautiful and sad. Beautiful and sad and lovingly full of hope.
One of my favorite parts was about Hell. Of course it was… In this version of the afterlife, there is no Heaven or Hell. It is all our own creating, mostly. However, in this section, there were scores and scores of people who were in Hell, in the fiery pit, burning eternally. The main character, Joe, asks how this could be since there is no Hell. For these people, the believed it so much they couldn’t let go of their belief in Hell. If they chose, they could have walked away anytime. This was the response Joe received:
“Well, human beings have always done one thing very well, and that is create their own hells and bask in their own misery. They complain about what they create for themselves; they relish the pain. What they don’t do so well most of the time is find a way out of it.
Arvin, Eric (2011). Woke Up in a Strange Place (Kindle Locations 2004-2006). Dreamspinner Press. Kindle Edition.
Those lines hit me as such truth. We all do that, and I am the King. Whether convincing ourselves we will never be happy again. Whether we believe we are damned due to being gay. Whether, whatever…. So many of us live, and/or have lived within our own Hells for most of our lives.
Another quote I loved was decribing what the gay main character experienced in regard to acceptance of family and other gay men. I’ve often tried to understand this concept myself, but was never able to put it into words. I think this nailed it for me:
It wasn’t the same kind of acceptance he had felt with Grandpa Joe. This was tribal, not kindred.
Arvin, Eric (2011). Woke Up in a Strange Place (Kindle Location 3459). Dreamspinner Press. Kindle Edition.

BookTalkSigning

2011-10-24T07:50:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was the big day. I wasn’t overly nervous until Smokey and I were sitting in church. Then the heart started racing and the wanting to hide in a corner began.
Then, before I knew it, we were in Boulder and then it was over. It took about five or six hours for my heart rate to slow back down and for the headache to dissipate.
The book talk/signing went well. People said they couldn’t tell I was nervous. People say a lot of things. I got the crowd to laugh several times, which is good. Maybe strange too since my books aren’t funny. Overall, though, it was really cool. I kinda feel like what brides say on their wedding day. They look back and just see a big blur, the details clear here and there, but mostly lost in an unreality. I think part of me just went on autopilot.
While I wish it had been a book talk/signing that I’d been sought out for—instead of the other way around, I was aware that I was in one of those moments. One I’ve dreamed about for so long. One that so many people never get to experience. I’m so grateful for that!
I had about ten dear friends show up, which was wonderful, and for which I am so extremely grateful. To the point that one of the other authors commented about my turnout compared to the rest of them. My friends are amazing, it’s true. However, considering I contacted several hundred people multiple times. . . Well, it obvious who my friends are—and what wonderful, beautiful friends they are! For those of you who contacted me because of sickness, cars, life, etc., thank you so much for your continued support and love. You humble me and honor me so greatly, and are a huge reason while I am able to continue fighting.
One of the coolest parts, to me, was a teacher who had brought his high school student. They came up after to talk. (Hi, Grey! Gonna have to steal your name for a character sometime—I love it!) The student was so nervous that he was trembling. To him, I was an actual author. He wants to write fantasy and was asking my advice and experience. I wished I had more to offer him, but was touched that he cared about anything I would have to say. (If you ever come across this writing, thank you for being there, taking a part, and honoring me with your questions. Fight for what you dream of, for what you want. I will do the same. I hope we have a book signing together one day!)

perfection

2011-10-18T07:36:00.001-06:00

The lights were off. Only the antique lamps cast soft glows around the room. The puppies were beside the couch. Dunkyn resting and licking the floor (such gross sounds); Dolan going from each of us, constantly trying to receive more pets and get a lick in here and there. We each sat at opposite end of the couch, legs intertwined over pillows in the middle, one free hand rubbing each other’s feet. Him going through his songbook, committing to memory as he sang quietly the music for the upcoming Gay Men’s Chorus Christmas concert. Me, reading Lost Voices until I began to doze off. Recognizing the moment for what it was. One of the perfect instances in life where you truly have all you’ve ever needed and all you’ve really ever longed for. Life in its perfection.

dice the slice

2011-10-17T19:36:00.001-06:00

I went to rather scary places today after the unflattering book review. Despite all my self-talk, despite knowing that it was just another person’s opinion, despite all my educated/rational/enlightened bullshit, I let it whittle away and ruin my day. Making it very hard to teach, making me very edgy with the kids (which, I was award of and may have overcompensated by being more patient/indulgent than I actually should have), and even left me questioning my reality with Smokey. All those old feelings of worthlessness, craziness, delusions, and doomsday rhetoric came flying back and left me defeated. And, this with all kinds of support rolling in just from a blog and a facebook post. I had myself mostly back together when I met Smokey at home, but it wasn’t until he took me in his arms and spoke calm wisdom that I began to really breathe again. I was going to blog a ton about this, about all the inner turmoil today, but I don’t want to. No more power to that negativity. And, as another writer also reminded me, I’m writing the books I want to write, the way I want to write them. That will end when I get an agent/publisher (at least to a certain degree). I should enjoy that while I have it!

--Oh, and a correction: the reviewer didn’t say it made her skin crawl; she said I set her teeth on edge. Poor girl needs to get braces!

slice

2011-10-17T07:47:00.001-06:00

Just got my first scathing review of Submerging Inferno. Scathing. The lady hated it. HATED it. Hated my writing style, my writing ability, hated the characters, hate the setting, said it was juvenile and rather pathetic. My book ‘made her skin crawl’ because she hated it so much. And—she’s a big gay fantasy reader.
I knew I’d get reviews like that. And, if it’s been a fluke that people have liked it so far, then I’ll get tons more reviews like that. It was a little bit like an out of body experience. She tore every bit of it apart. And, in so doing, every bit of me. Every bit of the past several years I’ve toiled over it, worked so hard over it, and every bit of myself I’ve poured into it. Felt like every word was slashing into me.
That said, I knew that’s part of the gig. Best writer in the world, or the worst. Both get scathing reviews, both get positive reviews. I knew it when I decided to go for this, there will be many times when I get torn apart. I was hoping those would be later, but whatever.
So, ouch. Major. Time to lick the wounds and stride ahead.

booktalking

2011-10-16T21:51:00.001-06:00

I’m ready for a nap! What a week it has been. Parent-teacher conferences, redoing PBS programs at school, preparing for the book signing, submitting to publishers, getting rejected by publishers, tutoring. However, the end is in sight. I get to sleep in till nine or nine-thirty next Sunday. Sure, that’s a week away, but I’m glad for it. Although, I’ll probably be nervous enough that I won’t really be able to sleep in. That’s the day of the book-talk/signing.
We went up to drop more books off in Boulder yesterday. My book, Submerging Inferno, was on three different shelves: Local author, new fiction, and featured! What a crazy feeling that was. I’ve always dreamed of seeing my books in a bookstore. Even though it was me that pulled the strings and got them there, not a publisher, it was still a thrill. I can’t wait until it’s not just locally. Maybe walk into any major bookstore in the country one day and see Brandon Witt’s books. Lord, I hope.
We saw the line up for next Sunday as well. It looks like I’m going third. First is a poetry book, then a Christian book, then my gay urban fantasy and gay contemporary fiction novels, then another Christian book. Talk about art imitating life imitating art. Goodness! They seem like they are progressive Christian books, so maybe it won’t bee TOO weird. We’ll have to see. Either way, I’m so excited about it, and so ready to get it over with. I’ve tired to find video of other author talks at the Boulder book store and can’t really find any, so I’m not really sure how one goes, what they talk about, or what to expect. Just gonna wing it. I really pray this will be a step forward to publication.

Sweat, Hopes, and Praise

2011-10-10T07:28:00.001-06:00

Smokey ran the Rock and Roll marathon. Twenty-six point two miles! Insane. I went from place to place to see him and cheer him on (and provide energy chews and kisses) at random locations. Let’s just say I made it through several hours (nearly six) of my Blackdagger Brotherhood, book four. I love seeing all the risks and accomplishments he is making. So very proud of him, and so very happy that I get to be a part of it. I could go on and on about where things are with the two of us right now, but I’ll spare you the details. I’ll just say that it blows me away what a difference mutual and equal investment in a relationship makes. He knows that he can’t simply love me—that he has to intentionally care and choose to nourish our relationship. Thank you for providing a man who has integrity and strength! He helps me flourish, and I pray I do the same for him.
I received another rejection letter this weekend. This one from one of my ‘safety net’ agencies. Those hurt the worst. It’s not fun when your dream publisher tells you no, but it’s quite a slap in the face when an agency you don’t really respect tells you that your work isn’t good enough. I’m sure the correct response is relief since you’re not with the agency you really want—however, I’m at the point where I don’t really care… On that note, I submitted to another agency last night (a process that took a couple hours to meet all their formatting regulations). It’s only for on-line books and doesn’t seem to have that high-reaching of audiences (although it would target my main audience for sure). I’m nervous about it, as it seems much different than what I’d hoped for, and I’m not sure how long I’d have to sign over the rights of my novel, but I also have my hopes up. I haven’t gotten to write anything fresh in two years; every time I sit down to write, I feel like I should be contacting agents or working on promotions. So, even if it is a minor jumping off point, at least it would give me the freedom to begin creating again. Let’s hope they like my work…
Filled with such a thankfulness of where my life is and where I hope it is headed. Thank you, Father!

800

2011-10-07T07:29:00.001-06:00

I’m discovering a whole new world with the GoodReads website (the FaceBook for book lovers I told you about earlier). I will have to see if it remains as good and helpful over time, but at the moment, I’m rather enamored. There are a couple of drawings to win a free copy of Submerging on that website, so feel free to sign up and give it a shot. I’m also getting some unsolicited publishing advice, which is great! Even outside of my own writing, I’ve already been exposed to books I’d never heard of that sound awesome. If you’re looking for something fun to read, check it out!
I don’t think I mentioned it before, but I finally got an iPhone last week. My contract was up for renewal, so I went for it (plus it was the same price as most of the other phones, so why not). It’s change my life. Really. My brother has an iPhone as well. Last night, I got to have FaceTime (where you can see each other’s faces over your phone while you’re talking) with Gavin as he had dinner. It was soooooo much fun. He loved it! He was waving and talking to me as he ate, almost like being with me. That alone was worth the price of ten iPhones.
I remember being on the Wheel of Time ride at Disney World as a kid. Part of it showed what the future would be like, and the thing I loved the most was the big screens that showed people talking to their family back on Earth (because, of course, by that time, people would be living on different planets and such). And, look, here we are. What a wonderful world we live in. The gorgeousness of the earth that God gave us and the inventions of man that are so inspired.

love over pumpkin spice

2011-10-06T07:08:00.000-06:00

I have a training that starts at 8:30 today, so I have a ton more of my morning than normal. Now that Smokey (who has been sans cigarettes for nearly a month now!) is nursing again, I get up at 5:30 with him. At least until he starts working overnights for a while. As a result, I thought I’d take the time to spend an hour or so at a coffee shop. I have several things I need to get done attempting to self-promote the novel. Plus, I wanted to blog. Shockingly, I had to drive around and around to find a Starbucks open around where the training will be held. I’ve discovered I don’t like ‘working’ in a Starbucks. It’s only good as a drive-through. Then again, I am a bit of a coffee shop snob. However, I can see the brilliantly pink sky outside that huge glass wall, and that is pretty perfect. So easy to let the magic and wonder of our world pass us by.
Things are going wonderfully. Knock on wood. Of course every relationship goes through those phases where you are more and then less in love. We are in the more in love stage right now, and it is awesome. We went to a relationship class at church the other night, lead by an independent psychologist—not a member of the church. She, while a scattered presenter, spoke about how our culture has fostered depression, alimentation, and damaged relationships with our constant focus on individuality and seeing those who need love as weak. We are supposed to make sure we don’t loose ourselves to others. That we keep our own personal identity upmost and forefront. In so doing, we never really experience love. She told research study after research study showing the effects of being truly given in to love and the results of the living with the absence of that deep and all encompassing love. They were all experiments and psychologists that I’d heard of many times and had even studies in grad school, I’d simply forgotten.
Besides being there with Smokey and loving that, it was also a moment of clarity for me. I spend so much time beating myself up about how clingy I can be and how concerned about our love and our life together I tend to be. I forget that so many studies have shown that in most ways the need to be loved and to love is as vital as food in regards of having a life that is healthy.
Give yourself to love.
Open yourself up to the risk of loss.
Check and check.

Bibles, Instruction Manuals, and Book Burnings

2011-09-29T07:32:00.001-06:00

I spent a few hours going through old books last night, finally separating all my old college books and novels that I have carried around with me for the past eleven years. Always on shelves, then in boxes, then on shelves again. Never opened. Never used. By the time it was all done, there were nearly twelve boxes and one large trash can full of books. I’d forgotten just how many I had. Tons of teaching books. Tons of Youth Ministry books. What I’d forgotten was how many different Bible source books I had—lexicons, translations in Greek, commentary after commentary from a plethora of theologians. The crazy part was how much I actually remembered from those books. All the hours going through them rushing back. I often think of my youth ministry degree as a fluff degree. I forgot that it’s a theology degree. An actual theology degree. I remembered all the courses about how to engage kids. I’d forgotten about the equal number of Bible theory, philosophy, on and on and on. Also surprisingly, these were the hardest for me to give away. In fact, I kept three of them that I remembered the most—the rest taking up several boxes. Even just aesthetically, they are beautiful. So large, all bound in leathers, so masculine and scholarly looking. (I didn’t even mean for that to sound sexy, but it does—guess I know where my taste in men comes from…) If nothing else, it’s hard to cast away things you spent so many hours and hours and hours toiling over.
I would love to hear the people at the ARC going through all I donated. The catty (hopefully clever) diatribe that surely will ensue. Teaching text books, massage and anatomy textbooks, countless Bible resource books, and select gay books (even stuck a couple of my own novels in for good measure—never know where you might pick up a new reader/fan). Seriously? Who is this guy will all these ‘conflicting’ aspects of life?
As ever, I’d like to feel special and more complicated than most. But, really, we’re all like that—at least most of us. One aspect of ourselves in extreme juxtaposition to another aspect. Pretty great really. (So, if you’re looking for lots of Bible resource books or want to learn how to teach (in theory) in your spare time, stop off at the ARC by Casa Bonita—you’ll be in for a good time!)
I do have to say, I am looking forward to burning the ex-gay shit that filled my life for so long. There was a bit of power in the refusal to pass those on. Refusing to let them rip away at the soul of some other gay man or lesbian woman—telling them they aren’t the person God made them to be.
Look at me banning and burning books. Guess you can’t take the fundamentalist out of a boy no matter how hard you try!

the twists and turns

2011-09-26T07:36:00.001-06:00

The water heater broke once more last week, water everywhere, much drama. I was able to fix it myself, thank goodness. As a result, the basement has been torn up for a several days. I’ve got it about half way put back. Through the process, I decided to use the opportunity to purge. One of the things I’m getting rid of is shelf after shelf after shelf of old college/grad school text books. Most of them look brand new. I’ve almost gotten rid of them before, but I hate to get rid of books, and they represent thousands and thousands of dollars that I had to pay. Some of the books were nearly two-hundred dollars a piece. Such a racket. However, I’m using a fifth of my storage space in the house to keep these books I barely read when I was in school. Why hold on to them now? The ARC will soon have its own college campus library—full of youth ministry instruction and special education theory.
In addition to college text books, I also came across all the books I had to read during my five years of sexual-orientation reassignment therapy. Most books were published by Focus on the Family and their ilk. There were also a couple workbooks that I had to process through. Those brought back the most memories. I hated doing those. I’ve always hated homework. However, I took them seriously, those and the instruction books. Reading my own words about my acting out behaviors (which were rather funny, all the things small, nearly innocent things) I was so, so guilty about, other parts about all the guilt, so much pain and self-loathing. All from a genuine place. All those wasted years, all that wasted money. It’s like reading about a white man trying to therapy himself into a different race. Not that all the years and money were wasted. I worked through lots of other issues besides trying to be straight. I’m truly thankful to God for not answering that prayer, although the damage done by his ‘followers’ spouting his ‘teachings’ is a different story. I did learn how to look and think critically, how to begin to grow a backbone, how to become a man. Funny, all the things that were supposed to happen when I was straight, brought me to being stronger in my identity and pride as a gay man, giving me a strength I wouldn’t have had before. Talk about learning and grown despite ourselves.
Those books, the ones who were teaching me that I was less than God made me to be, the ones that wanted to destroy God’s child and morph him into their own ‘god’s child,’ will not be given away. Those will be looked at once more, a reminder of where I have been, battles that have been fought, prayers that have been prayed, countless tears that have been shed, a moment of respect for the journey I have been through and the costs that have been paid, and then they will be destroyed—an act of vengeance upon words that cut at my soul, lies that were spoken into my heart, an act of cleansing out deceit and hate. One less copy of each in existence that could poison another as they search for God in this world.
Father, thank you for showing me your love for me, despite my own intent to believe the hate others showed and spoke in your name.

Why didn't they teach me this in grad school?

2011-09-23T07:37:00.000-06:00

I’m trying, I really am. In some ways, I think I’m already making progress. (Why does progress always have to come with some type of pain, sacrifice?) I am doing my best to live in the moment, have faith/hope in the future but not live there already. I must say, however, that if I was more certain and guaranteed about the future, I could much more readily enjoy the moment. I know, I know. I’m sure I’m missing the point of the journey, not the destination, blah, blah, blah. I get that. Mostly.
The main thing I think I need to do is to starting having realistic expectations. Not low expectations or ones that cause me to compromise who I am and what we can and should be, but realistic. A part of me, a rather large part of me, has unrealistic expectations about everything. When you’re in a relationship, the other person calls/texts about every two hours. When you’re in a relationship, you don’t really enjoy anything unless the other person is there. When you’re in a relationship, you wait with baited breath until the next time you’re together. (Dear lord, I wish I was exaggerating.) Apparently, that’s not really how relationships go. At least, that’s what every single person tells me. Stupid, know-it-all everybody else! It seems healthy relationships don’t call and text every ten seconds (or two hours, or even every day during work). Rumor has it, people are able to fully enjoy other parts of their lives even when their other half isn’t there. Turns out, people are able to breath (and think clearly) even between times of being with their love. The legend goes that these things even make your relationship stronger! That’s what I’m discovering as I talk to people. Sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus to me. But, that makes sense that it would—the test results have come in and they show irrefutable evidence that I tend to fall on the overly needy, enmeshed, clingy, suffocating spectrum of things. One of those cases where if the rest of the world is saying one thing, even if it goes against everything in my gut, I must be the one who isn’t normal. Lucky Smokey (who is now over two weeks sans smoking), send prayers for strength and patience his way.
There are lots of prayers, lots of tears (that I’m doing my best to keep to myself, really), and lots of pain as I attempt to shift my thinking and actions to a ‘healthier’ reality. Both of us have stated many times that we want ‘this’ to work out, that we want to be together. Figuring this out is my part of nourishing and loving our relationship. It may be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but the pay off is beyond anything I’ve ever worked for before! As much as I know I need to focus on the moment. I know where I desire the end result to be, and where I believe it can and should be. However, for that to take place, the moment is where I need to stay.

my shit

2011-09-21T07:33:00.001-06:00

I keep waiting to figure life out, for it to reach some kind of point where I can exhale and then simply be. I’m not sure why I even have the slightest hope for that to happen. I have yet to meet one person, of any age, that has that experience for long.
Even with my folks, now that the house is cleared and sold, when we should be able to finally say, ‘thank God, that’s over,’ we now face bankruptcy anyway, due to the legal bills uncured while fighting the evil bitch woman. You’d hope that you can relax now that there is a lull in the custody battle, since they reached an agreement that is supposed to last a few years. No such luck. You think when you type that last word of the novel that its over, you can move on to what’s next—but it is only the beginning of fighting for the life you birthed over a period of years. You think when you’ve found the man you believe you are meant to spend your life with, the man you want to spend you life with, your heart will stop hurting. So far from the truth. My heart is alive again, and therefore, remembers how to hurt. And love.
Smokey and I will be fine, at least I’m holding onto that. I’m so tired of my shit getting in the way. My neediness, clinginess, and emeshable traits are wearing him down. I’d like to blame it on my personality (which it is a part of my personality) and leave it at that. However, then I become my first boyfriend, who was so abusive, in every way but physically, and then would blame me for not understanding his hot-Latino nature because I’m white. I have to figure out how to love with all of me without suffocating the very essence of the one I love. The process hurts so much, but there’s not a choice. I have to figure it out or lose him. Have to figure it out or return to when I lived behind stone and ice.
When you think of it, say a prayer for us (sometimes, I get angry when I still ask for prayer, but what else can I do, what else do I believe in?). That I will deal with my issues and learn to love without suffocation, and that he will be patient and find me worth the wait and effort as I figure my shit out.

4

2011-09-15T07:44:00.001-06:00

It’s one of those free therapy blogs. How exciting. Ugh.
I’ve spoken quite often of my dogs, Dunkyn and Dolan. Both as opposite as you could get. Each perfectly embodying both sides of my personality. Personalities, maybe… Sadly, my more unstable one, Dolan, is the one who most often holds up a mirror for his daddy. Typically around areas that drive me crazy about him. Dolan often can not enjoy the moment he is in due to his unending focus on what is next. Are we going to keep walking longer? Are we ready to run yet? Will you keep petting me? Never enjoying simply being on the walk to the point he’s not focused on the last minute run. Never truly sinking into being petting or cuddled with because he’s too focused on you not stopping. Quite literally begging to be petted as you are petting him. Whereas Dunkyn lets himself sink into every situation at hand.
I am Dolan.
Smokey is Dunkyn.
Each moment is a moment to be savored for Smokey, seemingly existing all on its own. Making what comes better, but the moment itself being the point. Not the next.
I drive myself crazy. My feelings get hurt. I start obsessing. It weighs me down and is a constant source of stress and oppression. Even through countless deep breaths, prayers, and reality focused self-talk/reality checks.
Smokey could spend every moment focused on me, telling me all the affirming words I want to hear constantly, assuring me of his love and commitment until the world ends. Like Dolan, I can’t sink into the moment and let it nourish me they way it ought—I am worried about when it will stop, maybe forever, maybe for five minutes. It’s exhausting on me, and I’m sure it’s exhausting on him. At times, I think, this is a normal relationship, I should be able to handle this. However, then I realize it’s not normal. Smokey is a MILLION times more attentive, romantic, and assuring than any other man I’ve ever met—more than any other person in a relationship I’ve ever seen. The very fact that he deals with his Dolan-like boyfriend is astounding. And still, I can’t put down the worry, fear, and compulsion that I’m going to drive him crazy, annoy him, cause him to fall out of love with me. (If anything would make him do that, it is this very character trait.)
I, truly (not even said through rose-colored glasses), have the best boyfriend I could ever imagine. He blows my mind with the love he shows me, and the grace he gives. I hope, wish, pray that I could give him the gift of a boyfriend who can rest in the moment, let it feed him instead of only focused on the next ‘meal,’ support his man with grounding arms that hold him close while raising him up to help him fly and soar to his dreams.
On our four month anniversary (which feels like years, in a good way), babe—even though you don’t read this—this is my gift to you: My commitment to strive to be more whole. Rest in who you are, who I am, and who we are together—so that you will be better, I will be better, and we will be better. I love you.

concerns of a distant planet

2011-09-13T07:32:00.000-06:00

The past couple mornings have been out of this world beautiful. Especially Monday morning. As I drove to work, headed West on I70, I felt like I was traveling in a distant planet. A full, glowing, iridescent moon, so big and clear that you could see the craters with the naked eye hung inches above the jagged mountains that boasted a vibrant purple, sparkling with the pinkish orange reflecting from the sun rising in the East. It honestly was the most beautiful sunrise/moonset I had ever seen in my life, kinda felt like a once in a lifetime experience. I was so angry that I didn’t have my camera, but loved the moment, the brevity of the beauty, the magic of our own world.
It’s an emotional time right now. Work absolutely sucks and is so stressful, not because of the kids—who are doing the best they’ve ever done. (And, as worried as I was about the new principal… she’s amazing! I was prepared for this to be my last year at my school since often new principals ruin a special education experience, but she is phenomenal. It’s nice to know I’m still ‘home.’)
Smokey is quitting smoking (guess I’ll have to come up with a new alias) and is on a ten day cleanse, which means no food for ten days, plus. While he’s emotional, he’s handling it a lot better than I would. No food for ten days! Good lord! I’ve done five when I was fasting for my best friend in Missouri, but ten! I’m so proud of Smokey—his resolve, making good changes, his strength and hopefulness. I, as ever, am working on my neediness/smothering tendencies. I’m so thankful how patient and understanding he is, and how strong he is.
The closing on the short-sale is supposed to happen on Wednesday, which is great, but there are details with the bitch that MAY not be over for a long time, we are discovering. Fun stuff.
I have created new covers for the novels. I’m much happier with them, as they were simply templates before. I finally figured out how to work my computer to make my own the way I want them. I hope it will help attract more attention and get them ready for the book signing.
Maybe someday I’ll get back to using this blog as a more creative, venting tool, instead of just a diary, but still needing to just get things out of my systems sometimes….

New York Publishing House : Boulder Book Store (Tomato : Tomauto)

2011-09-08T20:50:00.001-06:00

Well, it’s on! To the cost of a little over $400, I am taking parting in a book talk/signing at the Boulder Book Store in Boulder, Co. Originally, I thought it was just a book signing. Found out today that I have twenty minutes (up to twenty minutes) to talk about my book. Uhmmmm…. Terrifying. It seems the other two authors participating have written a poetry book and a Christianity book. Slide a gay urban fantasy novel to the panel and you’ve got yourself a jolly good time!
As nervous as I am, I can’t help be excited. It may come to naught, but at least I feel like I’m moving a step forward, demonstrating that I’m willing to fight for this dream.
It will be on a Sunday in October. I’m not sure which one yet, but I should know soon. One of the qualifiers is that I have to submit at least fifty address of people that they can send my book signing announcement to. If you have any interest in helping with this, please post a comment on here with your mailing address—I won’t post it or make it public. I’ll even erase it after I write it down. Thank you for your willingness to help with this.
Fighting for my dreams: Round 8878…

lessons in thankfulness

2011-09-08T07:41:00.001-06:00

Completely rushing around already, but I had to take a moment for thankfulness.
Things went our way in court yesterday. While there is still a week for the evil bitch to pull something to mess it up and cost my family more money, she is supposed to be evicted within the week. As long as that happens, the closing can happen and we can deal with a short-sale and avoid bankruptcy awhile longer. Hopefully the other families she is doing this too fair as well.
Things have also been agreed upon with my nephew for the time being—hopefully until first grade, which would be a relief. The past year and a half preparing for this stupid legal drama was exhausting (and expensive) on my family (and Gavin’s only two!)! Time will continue to increase every couple months until we have him half time, just like we did in the beginning before other’s showed their true colors.
I’m very grateful for both of these things, so much. I’m struggling with doing my best to simply be thankful instead of resentful of things lost and the unfairness around settling in both of these cases. However, they were looking soooo much worse. I can be thankful for tragedy avoided. I am thankful for tragedy avoided!

fall of gluttony

2011-09-07T07:32:00.000-06:00

It’s that time of year again. The time that is either my favorite or my least favorite time of the year. The weather beginning to grow colder, where you can almost wear a jacket but really don’t need one. The leaves are just hinting at morphing hues. The streets wet with early morning mist. The pumpkin chai or pumpkin white chocolate mocha warm in my hands as I drive, listening to my latest vampire romance (JR Ward, at the moment). Wrapped in cozy warmth. The days are still long enough to keep me sane (relatively), while hinting that I’ll soon be decorating for Christmas. When things are rough, this time of year is the hardest, knowing the long dark evenings and nights ahead alone, facing a forced Merry Christmas, the glaring of all that I’ve lost in my life nearly impossible to ignore. What a change this season in when surrounded by love, when happy and content, when living a gift. I’m so very thankful.
Today, in addition to being wonderful outside, is a key day in the drama of the evil house stealing lady in Estes. Eviction court is today. If it goes well, the short sale should go through. If not, my parents have no more money to fight her and will have to declare bankruptcy. I’ve never battled hatred as much as I feel for this woman. After years of sucker punches my family has endured over and over and over, fought and fought and fought. For this evil bitch to come in and rape away the rest of our dignity and resources. I never knew I could feel this way toward another supposed human being. We will see what the day holds. I need to stop this conversation, show some restraint, though I would at least love to use words to destroy her. In all my lack of faith, ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord’ continues to ring in my head.
Throughout the continual rejection letters of agents, I have decided to move forward in a more proactive, less cost-effective, manner. I am in talks with the Boulder Book Company (an amazing book store on Pearl Street in Boulder) to do an Author signing and have them display my books for three weeks. It’s expensive and risky, and kinda fun. It could blow up in my face and cost a lot of money for nothing, but you never know. Someone might be there. An agent, the wife of an agent, the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of an agent/publisher. Who knows? I’ve got to keep trying.
Selfish, I know. To have found love and still reach for my other biggest dream? I guess I want it all. Call me glutton.

breathe in smoke

2011-09-06T07:27:00.001-06:00

One of those perfect weekends. Truly. Perfect, especially due the three days. Smokey and I had tons (Tons) of friend time, family time, and boyfriend time. While I’d love to take an hour to go on and on and on and on about how happy I am this morning and wallow in the joy of breathing again, I will do that on my own. Plus, I’m already overwhelmed with things I need to get done. But, yay!!!!!!

is the penis inside out or upside down?

2011-08-31T07:41:00.001-06:00

Date night tonight!!! It’s a little ridiculous how excited I am. Even more excited than when we first started dating! Love that boy!
I’ve gotten a few inquiries about the photography business, so that is encouraging, but slow. Knowing how to advertise is confusing, and expensive, and word of mouth take a long time to begin to build up.
Submerging Inferno is now available for the Kindle. I’ve contacted sooooooo many agents, a few more last night even. Surely, surely one will show some interest soon. I really think I’m getting close to spending as many hours searching for someone to accept me as I did writing it. If you haven’t already, please take a moment to ‘Like’ the submerging Inferno page on facebook, and, of course buy a copy and write a review please! It doesn’t matter to me where or how you get a copy. I get next to nothing (sometimes, depending on where the book is purchased, actually nothing) for each copy. I just want some sales reflected and an increase in reviews. I found a copy listed for over $500!!!! Not sure how that came about, must be a scam. Even though I’d get no money from it, it would be really cool to say that someone bought one of my books for $500! (Whiny bitch moment, and this isn’t a comment about anyone who reads the blog—most of my friends don’t read the blog. I’ve been rather shocked, still, at the number of friends who haven’t purchased a book, attempted to read it, or write a review. I’ve purchased many books because of knowing someone who knows someone who wrote a book—it feels good to be supportive. I’ve done my best to not take it personally, but its rather hard not to when they all know how long I’ve worked on this and how much effort I’m putting into trying to make this dream come true. Strange.)
In other news, my plans to become a woman may be temporarily placed on hold. It seems Dancing With the Stars’ decision to place Chaz Bono (formerly Chasity Bono) is drudging up quite the drama. Many families are refusing to watch the show out of corrupting their children, supporting the gay agenda, and because he is only famous because of his parents (kinda agree with that one). I figure I should see how it goes for him before I commit fully to living life as Bernice Witt, authoress, photographeress, teacheress, unlcess, tutoress extraordinaire. Lord, I’d better start dieting if I plan on being a pretty little mermaid—in addition to the sex change, I’ll also be having a legs-to-tale transplant. I wonder if Bachman will still allow me to swim in America waters. Probably not. She’d probably see me as a terrorist threat.

Enriched corn, vegetable, salt, maltodextrin, sugar, monosodium glutamate, autolyzed yeast extract, citric acid, artificial color, corn syrup solids,

2011-08-30T07:40:00.001-06:00

I am at risk of losing my children---maybe taken by authorities or to an early grave.
As you know, my children are Dunkyn and Dolan. Smokey and I were debating this morning whether having twelve children or twelve Corgis would be more conducive to a good and happy life. He decided that if it were four, we should choose children. If it were twelve we should choose Corgis. I decided that either way, there would be a lot of poop. But seriously, can you imagine waking up, opening your bathroom door to the rush of twelve Corgis scampering about, their fox ears trembling in anticipation of the first morning petting, their nubbin tails ferociously waddling back and forth in their compulsive love of you? How wonderful!
I may never have that joy as I am becoming an increasingly bad parent. While I never buy the topmost quality of dog food, as it is about sixty bucks a bag, I do buy good dog food—with meat being the top most ingredient, typically lamb. I read the labels of dog food with more attentiveness than I do my own. Last night, due to money and to location, I bought a bag that is ten dollars cheaper for the same amount of what I usually get. The main ingredients? Wheat and animal fat. The boys, of course, LOVE it! It’s doggy fast food after all. I’m sure the amount of diarrhea on our walk this afternoon will be staggering.
I felt the smallest bit hypocritical after judging one of my student’s parents all day. The kid always brings a huge bag of chips to school. A new one ever day. Really? When the mother dropped off the lunch yesterday, I thought I take a look and see what my student was going to partake. A bag of fried chips and a bag of beef jerky. I nearly went back and confronted her on how she takes care of her kid, then remembered the rest of the situation. For her, this is good parenting. At least she’s not abandoning her family at the moment, like she does from time to time. No wonder the kid is miserable all the time!
I hate all the stupid food laws and restrictions and warnings the government is trying to enforce upon the populace. However, at that moment, I was tempted to call up Michele Obama and become her campaign manager. Disgusting! In this case, as in so many, it’s not a money issue. Adding up the cost of the chips and jerky proved it to be more expensive than a school lunch. Insane!
Am I judging based on my own morals? As a hypocrite (as someone who LOVES Sonic)? Am I saying she loves her son less than she should since she is detrimentally affecting her child’s health? Am I a rich old white guy looking down at every one else (I wish! I would love rich to be one of my modifiers!)? You bet! Yes to all of them!
Absolutely disgusting!
And, in a way, heart breaking. If food is love (and the buttons flying off my pants on a regular basis attest that food indeed is equivalent is love), there is no love there.

clarity of love and weakness and love

2011-08-29T07:32:00.001-06:00

The second week of school already. Now to fast forward to Christmas, then Spring, then Summer break. Not really. But kinda.
It has been the hardest transition back to work that I’ve had so far. Partly due to such an amazing summer and partly due to Smokey and I adjusting to a new rhythm of life.
It seems that my emotional work is never done. Trying to figure out how to love without suffocating him with my co-dependent and all consuming nature. I could be with him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and never get tired of it. That type of intensity isn’t normal (or healthy) and it wears the other person down. He’s been so supportive of who I am, strengths and weaknesses, but this has be draining and consuming for him. The adjustment period has been a struggle and is nowhere close to being over. Many would simply run away or not say anything until they couldn’t take it anymore. Luckily, he is strong and caring enough to put his (and actual) reality out there and work through it with me. Not easy and very scary, but building trust the entire time. That I can trust him to mean what he says and not walk away the instant things get difficult. I know there are no guarantees, but the tighter I hold on, the more risk of losing him.
It’s difficult to know that I still have work to do, tears to shed, areas to grow. After all the therapy, after all the angst previous, after all the self-reflection and work, I want to be done and simply be where I am. However, where I am isn’t healthy, for anyone.
I was helping one of my new fourth graders last week. He is very impacted. He had picked one other boy that he relates to, and, after two days, considered him his best friend. When the other boy is the slightest bit busy doing anything else, my little one looses it. Sobbing, trying to run away, heart-felt wracking sobs of how the other boy hates him, etc. He couldn’t put into words his feelings. I gave an example of how I feel in similar situations. My heart tightening and constricting. The feeling of terror and panic and pain at the thought of the other person not loving you as intensely as you love them, the difficultly breathing, the heavy dark weight that seems to crush down upon you, . . . . He looked at me, tears streaming, his breathing starting to return to a human pace, as he just nodded, his eyes wide. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I knew how much pain he is in. How scary and wildly uncontrollable for a nine year old when its so consumingly agonizing for a thirty-three year old. In this little boy, I saw a mirror and my own reflection was crystal clear. I spoke of healthy relationships, how being equals in the relationship/friendship is vital, how they both need to be friends with other people, how doing things on there own would actually benefit both of them and their relationship. Things I know to be True, things I don’t really want to be true. He gave some nods of understanding and said, he didn’t want it to be like that. With a sad laugh, I agreed with him and told him I how much I understood and wished things like he did, and we came up with the beginnings of a plan to help him begin to try to have his first healthy friendship.
It’s a difficult, humbling thing to see the most insecure, most imbalanced, most unattractive characteristics of yourself modeled in someone so broken and hurting. It’s the last place you want to see your likeness. However, the clarity it brings can be life-altering. At least, I hope so.

reality

2011-08-19T07:27:00.001-06:00

Back to reality. Summer is over. Sleeping past 5:45 is over. Working out in the morning is over. Being with Smokey 24/7 is over. This was the hardest year that I’ve had to come back to work.
Now that it’s arrived, I’m actually okay to be back in the grind of things. It will be fun to see how Smokey and I adjust to every day life.
It was the best, most romantic summer—a summer that I hope is the beginning of the rest of my life.
I didn’t get any writing done, which I have a little guilt about, but I really just needed to focus on being alive again for a bit. I did start the photography business (BrandonWittPhotography.com), which is off to a very slow start. Tutored a ton. And submitted to lots of agents. Received a few rejection letters.
There is tons of drama within with my family. A lady is attempting to steal our house, and is seemingly succeeding. Bitch! My nephew’s court date is the beginning of next month. Please keep that in your prayers.
Anyway, let’s see what’s next!

Us

2011-07-04T03:50:00.001-06:00

Leap
I leap
I leapt

My wings were clipped
Gravity was too strong
Until I heard wind on snow

Leap
You leap
You leapt

Am I the wings or are you?
Am I the feathers or are you?
Maybe you’re the wind

Leap
We leap
We leapt

Hand in hand
Fall and crumble
Rise and soar

Leap
Still Leaping
Will always leap

Ride the currents with me
Reach the stars with me
Fold our wings around each other

prepare for liftoff

2011-07-01T13:53:00.000-06:00

What a whirlwind. Insane! I’ve pretty much come to terms that I’m not even going to begin to write the next book this summer. After a little remorse, I’ve come to terms with that. So much is happening and everything (mostly) is wonderful. In the mostly category, please keep my family’s financial and baby issues in your prayers please.
In the wonderful category, my photography business is now up and running. Still have to get some minor details ironed out, but it’s all good thus far. Please check out the website: BrandonWittPhotography.com, and like it on facebook if you’d like. There’s a lot of steps in starting a business, many I haven’t even realized yet. And, pray that it will take off by mid-August to the point I don’t have return to massage. I don’t think I can face that again. It’s like part of my soul had died and is slowly coming back to life—or quickly (of course, we all know that not doing massage isn’t the only [or main] reason for returning to life).
It really seems that fear is a must for greatness and wonderful things happening in life. Starting my own business built on one of my dreams and talents is terrifying. Terrifying. Trying to get my books published is even scarier—gotten more rejection since the last time we ‘spoke.’
Opening my heart has been the scariest of all, which only makes sense. Less than when we first started, but still too often to enjoy, fear over-takes me around Smokey changing his mind and just walking away. I know those fears are normal for everyone, and especially for me since I’ve already been on the receiving end of a turn and bolt maneuver.
That being said, things (somehow) get better every day. More confirmation that I’m not psychotic and really did know that this is the man I’ll marry. More enjoyment and peace being in his arms and presence. Simply falling more in love with him every day. Gives me the courage to pursue even more of my dreams, not give up on the ones I’d already started, and start to be Brandon again. All the while finding enough love in myself to desperately want to do the same for him. It feels like everything that came before was practice to get me ready, to break me so that I could give of myself fully, to strip away all I was, all the weight that held me down so that I could fly. So that we can fly.

over dinner

2011-06-16T07:46:00.001-06:00

I’m making progress on setting up the photography business. Smokey and I spent quite awhile going over names to finally settle upon Brandon Witt Photography. I know, quite revolutionary. However, all the others I liked sounded rather ostentatious and like I was trying too hard. So, go for the simple and obvious. I am now working on setting up and LLC and creating a website before I can do anything else. It’s scary, but I’m rather excited. I have some guilt around postponing writing, but this needs to take precedence right now if I have hope to have things in place by the time school begins again.
Smokey and I had dinner with my oldest friends in Colorado last night, P,C,SV,&SDR-L. Not too far into the meal, I announced to them that I was going to marry Smokey. It wasn’t a thought through declaration. Nor was it something that Smokey knew I was going to say. You know me… Their reaction was so swift, so heart-felt, so genuine that it completely threw me off guard. They both gasped and cheered, CR-L instantly got teary, and then she and PR-L got up and hugged my head where I was sitting at the table. It probably sounds weird that they hugged my head, but it made sense at the time. Of course, you’re probably thinking that the part of the story that doesn’t make sense is me proclaiming my intentions of marriage when yesterday marked our one-month anniversary. And you’re probably right. Completely. However, it’s the fact that it makes no sense that makes me trust it. I knew instantly, I still do, the feeling has done nothing but grow. And… CR-L said that she knew it from the time I started talking about him the night they took me to see Billy Elliot. So there!
I’ve had many (MANY) freak-outs and lost ‘sanity’ moments, even for me. However, not one of them has been due to worry that he isn’t the one, that I’m unsure if we are meant to spend our lives together, or fear out of me being caught up in some irrational whirl-wind. (Even if those are things I am supposed to be freaked out by.) Instead, the only fear I have is that I won’t be enough for him, or that I’ll be TOO much for him to handle or deal with, and that he will simply turn his head and walk away. We all know why those would be my issues, even if you feel they are the wrong ones or contradictory to my faith in our meant-to-be-ness (me? a contradiction? never!). I’m ready for those fears to subside. They’re terrifying and exhausting. And yes, I’m sure there’s a logical probability that I’ll look back on these posts and see my own sickness and delusion. Logical probability. Sure. Nevertheless, I am placing 100% of my surety, pride, faith, and being into the belief that I’ll look back and these and go, “Yep, no surprise. I KNEW it. Simply knew it.”

love as a faggot

2011-06-13T20:01:00.001-06:00

It seems that being miserable is definitely better for art. I have a hard time sitting down to write or work on photos or anything, really… I do more than most people, but according to what I should be doing, not so much. However, this may be the only time in years that Smokey and I will have off at the same time and building our foundation is my priority—while still writing, photographing, and planning for the new business. It’s amazing how life has done a completely 180. Blows my mind. I’m so thankful. Terrified beyond measure, but so very, very thankful. It scares me because I’ve never really been an ‘it all works out the way it’s supposed to’ kindof person, especially the past few years. The last twelve years or so, actually. However, that is exactly how it feels. Like everything finally is beginning to make sense. Sound delusional? It’s a definite possibility. If this is delusion, please let me stay in this psychotic state for the rest of eternity.

In reality, not that the above isn’t reality—no matter what you may say—Smokey and I went shopping at the grocery store a couple days ago. We made a perfect and healthy dinner (he’s a health nut—no one’s perfect). While at the store, I had my arms around him while we were checking out an aisle trying to find Quinoa (I know... I know…). This man walked by the end of the aisle. He shouted out ‘Freakin’ Queers!’ You know me, I’ve never quite learned to turn the other cheek, so I yelled back, offering to let him join if he wanted. (I’m a polite Bible-Belt boy, it’s rude not to share.) He responded to my heart-felt invitation with a, ‘Faggot!’ He could have just sent an RSVP. Some people!
Granted, Smokey and I know we’re a little touchy-feeling. We’re that couple. We even make ourselves gag. However, we weren’t making-out or anything close, much the same as I’ve seen many straight couples act in public, much less than some.
It took a couple hours before I felt ‘normal’ again. I kept apologizing to Smokey, but he was supportive and related it to being harassed, intimidated, and threatened. Which, is exactly what it is, and my body recognized it for what it was before my mind did. The event made us realize that we need to be a little more intentional, so that we don’t get killed (and I’m not trying to be dramatic to make a point) or choose to do so both to simply live a normal life while making a political statement at the same time.
Smokey pointed out that the man could have at least given some reason or lesson for his hatred. Told us we were going to Hell or some such nonsense. It’s a piss poor argument when all you can do is call names.
Welcome to 2011.

almost jealous of myself

2011-06-10T15:23:00.001-06:00

Going to my first gay wedding this Sunday and my first bachelor party tonight. I’m pretty excited actually. The wedding is at the Denver Clock Tower (which I’ve always wanted to go into), and I simply want to see a gay wedding. I should see one before I have one, right? I think it will be a blast and in inspiration.
I’ve spent so much time with Stephen and tons of friends I haven’t have time to blog or even begin planning book two of the series, plus I’m working like crazy to get all the photos caught up and scheming about the photography business. I’m rather excited. The thought of never having to do massage again? Wow! The thought of being able to teach, photograph, and write for a living? Wow times a trillion!
I love life right now!

this moment and the ones before

2011-06-08T07:21:00.002-06:00

It has been longer than ever since the last post. In all actuality, I’ve needed to blog. Had so much to say. Finally have good things to say, and I’m not even blogging. Though most people wouldn’t even take seriously what I have to say or think I’m crazy (which we all know I am)—good thing I don’t care, huh?
Casual updates (you know I have to go from least to most important). I am starting my tutoring job today, which will enable me to stop massage, at least for the summer. Hopefully, by the time fall arrives, I’ll have a different plan in place and won’t have to ever do massage again (unlikely, but a girl can dream). I hope to start writing by the end of next week. I’m also going to start a photography business. I have no idea how to go about it, but I think, given the chance, I can pull it off. The people I’ve done photo shoots for have loved the end product, so maybe I can do the same and charge for it. Can you imagine? I get to do all the things I love? Write (with luck), photography, and teach? I really am grasping for the starts, for more than my share of happiness. So, if you or anyone you know needs photos……
May 30th was my 33rd birthday, which everyone calls the Jesus birthday. I knew that was the age he was crucified, but I didn’t know people referred to it as that. However, several people have said that from different, unconnected circles, so it must be pretty prevalent. The birthday was wonderful, rather surreal considering how my life has been flipped around, but I managed to realize that panic I felt that day was more do to my own fear of loss and the natural hysteria that my birthday conjures up—I didn’t freak out or fuck up anything.
HWMNBN contacted me a few days ago via email. Smokey was with me when I received it—there are no secrets, and he knows HWMNBN’s role in my life and that I will always love him, regardless of the degree. The email threw me for a tailspin for a bit. Tears, of course. He was so sweet about my book. It seemed he’d read my blog, which blew my mind. He was incredibly sweet about Smokey (how happy he was for me, how I deserve someone like this, etc.). At first, I was rather thrown off by his communication, but then, I realized it was perfect timing. While it confirmed my love for HWMNBN, it solidified that I choose Smokey. It also made me realize that I am able to change my interactions with HWMNBN—while I can’t be buddy-buddy, I can see him out and about and say hello. No matter what, regardless of the pain of the past two years, he gave me the best two years of my life that I’d know thus far and has changed me irrevocably. And, he did nothing wrong outside of changing his mind and what he wanted with me.
For my birthday, Smokey took me on a three-day road trip with Mesa Verde as the end result, with a couple stops in the middle. (If you’re a facebooker, you should check you the photos.) It was perfect. Truly, perfect. Tonight will be our first night apart since May 15th. My brother is taking me to a bed and breakfast, it was his birthday present to me, which will be wonderful to have some brother time. We are considering this the end of our first date, tomorrow starting the second date. Yeah, we’re both crazy. Insane. Boundary-less. Perfection. Every day with him confirms what I felt that first moment as we started our double-feature date: He’s the one. I’m going to spend my life with him. I am head-over-heals and every other cliché you can think of in love with him. Crazy? Absolutely. Believe in our fairy tale? With every ounce of my being. I love him fully. Period.

The one you can point back to and say, "He finally broke with reality, " or, "Wow, he really did know."

2011-05-27T07:54:00.001-06:00

Gonna call it like I see it—even if it’s ridiculous.
From the night we went to the double feature movies (Priest and Bridesmaids), thirteen days ago, I knew Smokey would be the man I married.
Crazy, huh?
Yeah.
And granted, any number of things could happen and things end in a moment. I could be delusional. I could be simply needy and clingy and enmeshed. I could be acting out of hurt and fear. I could be pathetic and desperate. Or, I could be right. I suppose I could even be all those things and still be right.
I’m not saying this to get a rise out of people, or to celebrate something that hasn’t happened. I’m saying it because I’m thinking it. Feeling it. And have been for thirteen days.
Months ago, I preemptively called bull-shit on me being in a future relationship and being happy again—that I would be deceiving myself. Well, that may be true. Or maybe, life has shown me that it’s a little more magical than I believed. With HWMNBN, we did everything right. I didn’t choose to spend my life him for over a year, and it was a decision made out of love and logic (not the parenting/teaching handbook Love and Logic). And, I still stand by that decision. I loved him. I still love him. And I could have spent my life with him, always loving him, and being happy. We would’ve been, if he’d allowed it. However, with Smokey, there’s no logic. There’s no months of getting to know each other, no debating the pros and cons, no being convinced over months that we’re right for each other. There’s just this instant sensation and relief (despite the fear) of, ‘There you are. Finally.’ Delusion or magic or destiny? After the ‘smart’ way and its fallout, why not choose magic? Choose the impossible. In many ways, I’ve always lived my life that. Go for the impossible (get published –two more rejection letters this week).
My life has brought me to the point where I’m both insane and brave enough to bet on magic.

liftoff

2011-05-26T10:31:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was rather torturous. All due to my issues. I couldn’t relax, utterly convinced he was going to leave, that he’d change his mind in the middle of the day and realize he doesn’t love me. (Wonder where those issues came from…) I was near tears all day and just sick to the stomach.
On the way home, I realized that I was sucking all the joy out of everything and going to end up shoving him away quicker than lightening. I had to get a grip. I’m sure I’ll have to have that conversation a millions time over. Gotta love baggage.
After work, Smokey called and said he was going to happy hour with a couple of friends and wanted me to come and then for us to go to dinner. It turned out to be one of the most perfect nights of my life.
Happy hour was fun, very.
Then, he took me to Beatrice and Woodsly. It was the most gorgeous restaurant I’ve ever been in. It was like an enchanted forest, amber light pouring through the trees. Unreal. I ate crawfish beignets and rabbit over carrot puree. Who am I? We touched constantly through the two hour plus meal, made friends with the people around us. At the end of the night, he took me to the wine cellar basement, which was gorgeous. No one was there, music playing softly. He proceeded to take me in his arms and dance with me, kiss me, and whisper his love, tears glistening as he spoke. The waiter that passed by us just smiled and kept going.
It was one of those perfect extended moments, one that will stay with me forever.
We lay in bed and talked and laughed and kissed until nearly three, when he made some ‘boyfriend’ reference. I paused and asked if he really meant to say that. He did, and at the risk of sound like at twelve-year old girl, we’re official.
Leap.

from the ashes

2011-05-25T07:56:00.001-06:00

It’s gonna take some time to deal with the fear of losing again. I hope I can figure it out at some point, and it guess it’s okay to not be great, or even good, at it yet. I’ve spent the past two plus years grieving and dealing with loss. I guess it only makes sense that’s where my psyche would go now. In the midst of everything wonderful going on, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop (wonder what that meant originally…). However, on one hand, there’s this core/gut feeling that this is It that contradicts with the fear. I know it’s stupid to say after a week and a half, but there it is. I just don’t want my fear and my loss issues to get in the way of all the positive that’s happening and turn our ‘Honeymoon’ stage into stress and mini-therapy sessions.
At dinner last night, we were talking about going out to bars and such to see friends, and a crazy realization hit me. I thought, IF I ever started dating again, that I wouldn’t be able to go Out with whoever the man would be for fear of seeing HWMNBN. I wouldn’t want him to see me with someone else. Wouldn’t want him to think I don’t love him or taking back my promises to him. (I know, he left, not me. I know, I know.) While [hmmm… almost typed his name and I haven’t asked permission to use his name, and I’m not sure if I will. Please hold while I think of an appropriate moniker… Got it! One of his vices that I thought would be a deal breaker… and I mean this in a loving, pet name kind of way, not judgy… Smokey. {Smokey, if you ever read this, I’m smiling right now at my cute name for you—not thinking about lung cancer. Well, now I am, but I wasn’t at the time. }] Anyway, while Smokey and I were talking (I like that name, sounds kind sexy—even if I am more of a ‘bear’ than he is) I realized that I simply wanted to be out in public with him. I don’t care if HWMNBN sees (I do still love him, always will, but I love Smokey in his own right, not because I don’t have HWMNBN). I don’t care if people think I’m being stupid because it’s too soon or we’re moving too fast. I don’t care if it’s only been a month since I started to really live again. I don’t care that there’s a chance that I’ll end up looking like a fool. It was such a surprising feeling, such a liberating moment. I felt free. Free to breath easier. Free to take ownership of my city again. Free to revel in the love that has found me—whether my gut is right or wrong.
Hmmm… maybe Smokey works on multiple levels. As, it seems, he is sending my old fears up in smoke (while creating new ones).

airborne

2011-05-24T07:39:00.000-06:00

So, I’m eloping this weekend.
Well, not really. But, I would. Crazy stupid, I know. I think one of the things that makes me trust this, besides the gut feeling, is that his ‘flaws’ are very obvious to me. Nearly half of my ‘must haves’ aren’t there, or are a different perspective than what I would choose if I were custom designing a man. However, after my own experiences and observing countless others, I know there is no realistic expectation for perfection or even close to it. He isn’t perfect. Neither was HWMNBN. Neither am I. Neither are the people in the few relationships that I admire and want to emulate. He does have my top three, however: 1. (Call me shallow) kissing ability. I don’t’ want to spend my life with, or even date, someone who can’t make me lose reality within his kiss. 2. Innate, gregarious, nearly compulsive, kindness/sweetness—not just to me, but to everyone. 3. Humor. The ability to make me laugh constantly—make it where I don’t want to be anywhere but by his side (which is a rare quality since I require so much me time and people can get under my skin so quickly). These three are my top, the things I can’t live without in a partner. Everything else is compromisingly gravy.
This whirlwind romance, this rocket launched, this flip of the switch, has the potential to blow up in my face, leaving me more wounded and bleeding than I was before. However, it also has the potential to be my own fantasy romance novel come to life. I just hope the author has a less gothic/tragedy flair than I do in my own writing.
Regardless of whether or not it’s smart, mature, realistic… I’m in love. Blows my mind—I truly thought this part of me had died. And, I for sure thought I didn’t deserve another chance at real love when so many never even get a taste. Damn the consequences. Screw figuring out every detail. Fuck that I’m at risk of devastation. I’m also at risk of having it all. I have leapt off the cliff. There is no going back. It’s either fly or fall.
I’m in love.

Rapturous Love

2011-05-23T07:58:00.000-06:00

I went to an engagement party with the boy this weekend (Friday). We were the only gay people there, so it wasn’t a gay party. Outside of the couple, one of the main topics was the upcoming rapture the following day. Most people said they were for sure they would not be among the ones taken. The thing that struck me, in the midst of all the joking that was occurring, was the seriousness of the party guests as they talked about how they hoped it would happen (they didn’t believe it would, but were daydreaming about ‘what if…’). They spoke of a world without Christians and how nice it would be—not in a kill Christians kind of way, just in a ‘they’re gone’ scenario. How their hate over so many groups of people would disappear with them. How gays could marry. How they would no longer try to tell everyone how they should think and live their lives. Their accusations weren’t groundless or over the top. From an outside perspective (and, on a personal inside perspective), I could agree with every accusation they made. And it really struck me how the world perceives us. Even as I write Us, I realize that I can’t really count myself among that group. Well, maybe I could, but they sure wouldn’t count me among them. It’s interesting, if the rapture had happened Saturday, I knew I wouldn’t be one of the ones going. Mainly due to the fact that the group that was declaring this event held beliefs so opposite to whom I am that if they were right, their God was most definitely not my God. I did a little more research about them after the fact. I’d originally said that these posters and such didn’t seem to be in an attempt to raise money—that they seemed to simply be trying to reach people before it was too late. An act I can respect, even if it was laughable and completely unbiblical. However, I found out, due to these predictions, and previous endeavors, they have over $104 Million in assets! What also disturbs me is how many people who claimed to be long-standing Christians bought into this. I can understand people new the faith or those who never had any to begin with, but for those who have been Christians and have claimed to read the Bible, there should have been no question of the invalidity of these claims. If you’re going to hold so staunchly to the Bible and it’s teaching that you believe I’m damned to Hell, then at least know it enough that you’re not duped by things that are predicted to be falsehoods within its very pages.
On a personal note, man, am I in deep. I know it’s too soon, I know all the stupidity of it all. However, I’m in love. I’ve had crushes since HWMNBN, but I’m in love. Completely. And, it scares the shit out of me. I have something to loose again. I’m doing my best to simply enjoy it all and let it happen as it does, but that’s never been a natural state of being for me, and it’s a thousand times worse after the past few years. Despite the pain, there was as safety in the place I was in. Nothing could really affect me, outside of family. My walls were up so high, I was so solitary and confined, safe within the pain and seclusion. I don’t think I even realized it—I do now. The walls have crumbled, even as I tried to keep them up. I feel exposed, unprotected, and terrified. Of course I also am excited, happy, and anxious (good and bad). And stressed the fuck out! I so don’t want to be hurt again. Life is messy. Wonderful, but messy. [insert big sigh of stress and twiterpation here…]

closing my eyes and. . .

2011-05-20T07:43:00.000-06:00

We leapt yesterday. Full force. No holds barred. (No idea what that really means.) Breaking every single rule there is.
Part of me is scared shitless. Most of me is screaming that I’m being stupid and I should know better. However, there’s just this core feeling that it’s gonna be alright. Of course, we know how accurate my gut feelings are.
Whatever.
I’m going for it!

in mid-leap

2011-05-19T08:13:00.001-06:00

It has been a crazy four days. Crazy is probably the correct word choice.
The date lasted from Sunday to Thursday. It would have been our second date, but maybe it should count as our second, third, fourth, and fifth.
For one of the first times, I’m not going to write about all the details yet. One, it’s too close. Two, I don’t want people’s input effecting my perspective—negative or positive. Three, I need to sit in it longer to even put it into words.
On one hand, I’m being absolutely foolish—way, way too fast, way, way too enmeshed, way, way too everything.
On the other. HWMNBN and I did everything perfectly. Just how you’re supposed to. We took our time, and boy did we. And, till he left, things were wonderful. But, he still left, even though we’d done it by the book. Not that the end results negates the process, but it does show there are no guarantees. So, maybe the reverse is true. Just because you break every rule in the book, maybe it doesn’t mean the end result can’t be good.
This could go one of two ways.
More than likely, I’ll have to look back on this and lament about my stupidity and allowing myself to have more hurt, take another long look at my codependent tendencies, and own to setting myself up.
However, it could be exactly what it feels like. Right. Comfortable. Passionate. Genuine. That’s really what it feels like—almost instantly. One of those times you look at the other person and go, “Oh. There you are.” Almost a relief. An aching relief, but relief nonetheless. I feels like it’s going to be one of those stories you hear that the people just knew. Both of us. Both just knew.
Gonna be one hell of a story. Either way. But, I really think he showed up. Not ready for it. Wasn’t quite done doing my own thing and not having to answer to anyone. Wasn’t published. But, he’s shown up…

a lot can happen in two and half days

2011-05-16T07:41:00.000-06:00

Pretty great weekend. Went out twice. Two nights in a row of dancing. Saw three movies (well, two, but saw Bridesmaids twice). A whole day with Gavin and the family. Finally got the backyard all raked picked up. Spent an evening with the bff. Went on two dates. Got three hours of sleep Sunday night. Right now, I don’t have words to describe what may or may not be going on. If I did, you’d think I’m crazy and pathetic and a twelve year old who should know better. However, if things go as they could, it will be a really romantic story in several months…
I’ll leave it at that.

why it is you're holding onto me like it's the end of the world

2011-05-13T10:44:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago I brought up about the end of the world billboard signs in Denver (at least I meant to… I think I did). Anyway, they are announcing that Jesus is returning in eight more days or so. I visited their website. They are for real, not seeming to be trying to get money, just letting people know. Well, it seems I’m not the only one who noticed (not that I expected I would be, they’re billboards), but I didn’t expect them to draw as much attention as they are getting. They were on my conservative talk radio station this morning. Well, they weren’t, but their topic was and the date they are providing. This show’s host is the most politically like me of any person in the media that I’ve come across. Very American-freedom oriented, fiscally conservative, but also a stanch advocate for gay-rights and gay-marriage. Which is odd for a sixty-year old biker-dude who’s straight. The callers range from the no-thing-as-Hell people to the ones that are convinced by the information presented by this group and are preparing for the world to end in a little over a week.
It’s funny. I don’t believe it at all. Been through the end of the world stuff way too many times as a child. Plus, Biblically, there is no foundation for it, just the opposite in fact—that anyone that says they know the day. . . don’t. At least how I’ve interpreted it (and was taught). However, I still get that same or similar feeing (san terror that I used to have). It makes me sad still. I know if the world ended, perfection would ensue. But… I still want to live my life. I want to see if I can have true love more than once (though I’m more okay with the end than I used to be, having experienced love I never dreamed I’d have). I want to see my books published. I want to see my children. And, honestly, more than anything, I want to see Gavin grow—live every phase of his life with him, even though there’s gonna be so many hard times for him. That date, even though I don’t believe, has this little grain of anxiety in my chest, that will be relieved when that time comes and goes.
Some things die hard.

tutoring with the gods

2011-05-12T07:40:00.000-06:00

These rainy days when I have to work are difficult. Not in a depressing way, but it takes everything in me to not call off, go to the coffee shop, and write for hours on end. Talk about perfect! Soon, though, soon (sans rain, more than likely).
I took the night off massage (fiscally stupid, but emotionally necessary) and saw Thor in IMAX 3D with a dear friend. It was fun. Not one I’d see over and over again, but good nonetheless. However, it was a little painful. Most of the time, when there is a gorgeous guy in a movie, after a few minutes I become numb to him and just loose myself in the movie. It was impossible with Thor. And, it wasn’t even due to his one (only one!!!! WTF?) shirtless scene. Every moment he was on screen I was lost to him, not the movie. Holy crap! If he ever walked into a room, I would turn and run the other way, right after I recovered from fainting.
I am CONSIDERING adding tutoring to the job list this summer. It would be nice to have a job that doesn’t require me to stand in a darkened room for hours, and one that would allow me to be with kids (even if they are kids that don’t want to be in school in summer). I think it would probably be a good choice; however, I won’t do it if I can’t make a similar amount to massage, as I simply can’t sacrifice more of my writing time. That really (after family) has to be my priority this summer—both in terms of working for my dreams and also giving my psyche a rest from everything and loosing reality to the pages. I almost instantly said no and turned it down, but I’m starting to lean towards yes… We will have to see how it goes.
Turns out, I’m going out TWICE this weekend! Twice! Talk about playing with fire. I’m not sure what the trigger is, but I was in tears twice yesterday over HWMNBN. That’s not been typical lately, so I am worried about a set-back. Gonna get out there and force myself to live again, trying to get out of my own head and continued grief. Maybe this will be the weekend we run into each other. I doubt it, but you never know. I hope not.
In case you didn’t know, folks, it’s almost Friday. Almost the weekend!

$K

2011-05-11T07:59:00.001-06:00

At first I felt kinda bad for Andrew Bynum, the Laker’s player who got a penalty for $25K for taking his shirt of on the court and has to sit out five games next year for a foul —consequently making him loose $700K. (Take note: I’m talking about sports—you know that thing will dumb, incomprehensible rules and balls, and not the fun kind.) That’s a lot to loose, especially for simply for giving some sex appeal to stupid sports and elbowing someone in the ribs. Poor guy. Then, after my brain realized this was sort of a math problem, I figured out, if you (700,000 - 25,000)/5=X (before the staggering amount of taxes he must be paying) you see how much he makes per game. Don’t feel sorry for that chiseled-chest elbow shover. Baffling.
Of course, it’s equaling as baffling that my student’s bill (the boy that was hospitalized for two weeks [the one they made worse, not better upon discharge]) was $40K. Holy crap! Our medical system is so fucked up. So is ObamaCare, but OMG!
Speaking of Obama, he is saving me $160 a month, or should be if the pre-approval is correct. I got a call from my bank that said I qualified for some program Obama is doing that ends in a couple weeks. My folks who are going through short-sales and forecloses don’t (makes sense), but I do (thankfully). I had to pay $400. Which means the energy bill is probably not getting paid this month, but whatever. So, spend money to save money. I had this fantasy after I got the call that my $1400 a month mortgage would go down to 500 or 600. I could quit my second job, just teach and write. Mom told me I was dreaming (sweetly). She was right. However, it pointed out my childish delusions that I hold on to. Some miracle that will come along and make everything better—Obama gifts, the lotto, getting discovered singing at the pump, picked up by a plus-sized modeling agency, a stellar book deal. The money saved doesn’t help with my second job or writing or anything of the sort, but I can soon quit putting my student loans into forbearance and being paying them (so I’m grateful for that). At this rate, my $17K loans will dissipate in mere moments. So, while I still don’t like you all the much, Obama, I do have to think you for three things: helping end DADT, not supporting DOMA, and for $160 a month. Oh, make that four—if reports are to be believed, thanks for also giving the okay to kill a demon.

ownership

2011-05-10T08:10:00.001-06:00

I get so frustrated with my kids (even more so with their families) that are always upset at everyone. Who always feel they are the victim. That time after time, the same complaint is made about them or they get in the same fight, or whatever. They always feel it’s the other person. Being blunt, I always point out that if the same thing, or same complaint, keeps happening to them through unconnected people, then the problem is them, not the rest of the world.
Having preached the message over and over and over, it is time to take my own medicine. After my last post on this subject, I’ve had two more unconnected people either complain or hint at my unavailability. Asking what’s wrong, why I don’t want to be friends with them or wondering if even contacting me is okay—even though I never said anything about being upset or tired of their friendships. It’s amazingly frustrating and makes me both feel pressured and a little manipulated. However, looking at it from outside my own psyche, I have to admit that since this keeps happening, the problem is obviously mine.
So, I will own it. I’ve turned into a sucky friend the majority of the time. Regardless of my excuses or reasons (time, exhaustion, depression, finances, family, blah, blah, blah), obviously the issue is with me.
So, the options are these:
1. Make the time to meet with all these people and spend a larger portion of every day returning emails, facebook posts, take time from massages, trying to find and agent, or (you know, I was gonna add personal time to that list, but I don’t even see where that happens except before right before bed).
2. Cut the list of friends down to a select few, who have been in my life the longest, who I can’t loose, and accept that I don’t have what is required to be in a relationships with so many people, while still working the second job and working on the books.
3. Continue as I am, letting people down and constantly frustrated with the complaints about my correspondence and friendship abilities (this topic baffles me still, being a good friend was always the top thing I thought I was good at—although, the changes in my life and personality are massive when you compare who and where I was then with who and where I am now I don’t even think HWMNBN would recognize me anymore if he returned. Probably left just at the right time. Okay, now I’m slipping into poor me, which is totally unattractive).
I realize that even in the midst of processing through this, I’m complaining or venting. Not wanting sympathy around it or anything like that—there are several other areas in my life that may require that—this is not one of them. My frustration level is through the roof on this, even if the fault lies in me. The old me would have chosen option one. It’s not even an option anymore. Not really. I simply don’t have that in me any longer. The thought of it makes me feel trapped and even more used up than I already feel. Neither two nor three feel perfectly right (although, two sounds like the healthier option), so I think I’ll probably slip into a combination of two and three. Not sure how that will look or even what that entails…
When is that winning lotto ticket coming so I can move into the coffee shop, shove in my earphones, and get lost in my novels (even if I’m the only one lost in them?)… I think it’s time…

soon

2011-05-09T07:50:00.001-06:00

A little over three weeks left. Three! Crazy. As normal, I am sooooo excited. Nervous too, as normal, as it means beginning installment number two on the series. I never wanted to do a series, at least not really. It’s intimidating enough to begin a novel and wonder how your characters are going to fill the pages. How much more so to think of filling several books. Anxious to see how it goes.
Despite this being the best teaching year I’ve had so far—more successes, less drama, finally feeling like I have an idea of what it means to be a teacher, not running to the bathroom to cry over HWMNBN—I don’t remember every being quite so exhausted before. The first few days I really think I’m going to just sleep and try to heal. We all know that won’t happen, but it’s nice to think about, kinda. Either way, with the exception of having to do massage, I get to pretend to live my dream life for a couple months. At least professionally and creatively. How great is that?
Ya know, there were several things I struggled with this weekend, and actually ended in tears on more than one occasion (we all know why), but I’m feeling pretty good today. Hopeful about the summer, about the books, and someday getting my waist back. I should probably just stop while I’m ahead, huh?

2011-05-07T12:59:00.003-06:00

A friend showed me the video to this song a couple weeks ago. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. I was near tears and I could feel it move me. I thought it was just the beauty and romance of the video (go watch it, amazing), but then I bought the album today, and read the lyrics, and I knew why it touched and hurt so.
It's like it was written for HWMNBN and my last night. When he told me he was leaving me, and we held each other all night, crying and loving.

End Of The World
Matt Alber

I don’t want to ride this roller coaster
I think I want to get off
But they buckled me down
Like it’s the end of the world
If you don’t want to have this conversation
Then you better get out
Cause we’re climbing to our death
At least that’s what they want you to think
Just in case we jump the track
I have a confession to make
It’s something like a cork screw

I don’t wanna fall, I don’t wanna fly
I don’t wanna be dangled over
The edge of a dying romance
But I don’t wanna stop
I don’t wanna lie
I don’t wanna believe it’s over
I just wanna stay with you tonight

I didn’t mean to scream out quite so loudly
When we screeched to a halt
I’m just never prepared
For the end of the ride
Maybe we should get on something simpler
Like a giant balloon
But I’ve got two tickets left, and so do you
Instead of giving them away to some stranger
Let’s make them count, come on
Let’s get back in line again and ride the big one

Don’t you want to fall, don’t you want to fly
Don’t you want to be dangled over
The edge of this aching romance
If it’s gonna end, then I wanna know
That we squeezed out every moment
But if there’s nothing left can you tell me why
That it is you’re holding onto me
Like it’s the end of the world

the could be worse reasons

2011-05-04T18:34:00.001-06:00

Salazar (the salamander, keep up) has grown to such a level that the ten gallon terrarium was no longer sufficient. He couldn’t turn around on the land part or the water part; therefore, I had to purchase a new aquarium last night. I promise, you could actually see the joy on Salazar and the toad’s (Pansy, Narcissa, Delores, and Petunia) faces as they entered their new domain. Really.
I spent my morning before school setting up the new habitat and doing a couple other things as well: ripping my pants, again, breaking a pair of scissors, breaking the old fish tank, and dumping the container of seventy or eighty crickets on my classroom floor. And that was all before eight in the morning. I was ready to run full speed into the wall in hopes of gaining unconsciousness.
One of my co-workers asked me if my. . . gayhood. . . was just to large to fit in normal pants. I, of course, simply said yes.
The conversations teachers have. Never would have dreamed.
Speaking of, the fifth graders are going through the sex ed curriculum right now. Six weeks long and VERY intensive. I wish I would have had it. I learned several things going through it last year. One little girl came up to the teacher after the first day, and returned the book to her. In a very reprimanding and shocked voice she asked, “Ms. H, did you know what was in this book when you gave it to us?!?!?”
There is a box in the class that you can put anonymous question about anything you want the teacher to ask. She reads the question aloud and then gives an answer. The question was this: Will your penis continue to grow as the rest of you grows, or will it stay the same? The answer was this: Yes, your penis will continue to grow in relation to your whole body. The response: A dark haired boy in the middle of the room doing an arm pump and trying to say ‘YES!’ under his breath and failing utterly. So much for anonymity.

Politically Correct Lefties and Politically Correct Christians and Me

2011-05-03T07:38:00.000-06:00

On a night where I actually could get more than five hours sleep, I woke up with a little more than an hour before my alarm was supposed to begin to screech. I considered getting up and beginning the day. Then, I realized that would be stupid, so I went back to sleep. Big mistake. The entire time, I dreamed about HWMNBN, all mixed in with horrible situations with one of my favorite female students I’ve ever had, that the wall separating my classroom from the younger SIED classroom (which operates very differently than mine [loudly]) was taken down, and of Dunkyn stuck in the middle of the street while dogs all around him were getting hit by cars and I was unable to get to him, knowing it was just a matter of time. The entire time this dream played out, I knew it was a dream. It almost made it worse, I couldn’t figure out to get it to stop or how to wake up, and I was disgusted with myself for dreaming up such scenarios. Horrible.
Then, I woke up to find a countless number of updates on Facebook expressing disgust with the American people for rejoicing in the death of bin Laden—likening it to being the same as he was—reveling in death. And/Or posts asking God to help them be gracious in their feelings toward this demon dressed as human [my words, not theirs]. I’m sure it’s the Godly thing, or is at least supposed to me, but it sickens me. Are we really going to waste time and energy with guilt over our joy of his death (of which I’m still not convinced—really, really hope I’m wrong) and feel the need to ask forgiveness of God for our feelings toward him and ask for a compassionate spirit for him? Really? While I know none of us are perfect and all sin is equal (however, I don’t believe that at all. Feel free to covet something of mine, have lustful thoughts, steal my money—don’t kill my family), I, for one, would have no trouble pushing the down button on the elevator for that atrocity of flesh.
Maybe my evil and vindictive spirit is what brought on the bad dreams. Maybe, I prove myself to be no better than bin Laden. Well, if you feel like that—add me to your list so you can feel guilty about judging me and ask for an injection of compassion for my soul.

two deaths

2011-05-02T07:53:00.001-06:00

Conquered another step this weekend. A big one. In truth, I think it conquered me.
Went dancing. In Denver. Took all day Sunday to recover. Didn’t get out of bed till three in the afternoon. Not typical Brandon behavior. However, I don’t feel bad about it all. I’ve been so afraid of it for so long. With good reason. It wasn’t easy. I had to stop before getting on the dance for, tears were coming. Just one of those stupid moments where you’re about to take a step into a picture of your old life, and as soon as you cross that threshold, the pieces shatter and your left with the reality of what is now. Wiped the tears and danced harder than I think I’ve ever danced before. At some point, I’ll have to face these places with him actually there, and me staying. However, can’t control that. If it gave any indication of how that night went, I have a inch and a half cut on ass. No idea how or why. Like I said, danced like I’ve never danced before. Typically, I would begrudged a day like Sunday that was not begun until late afternoon. However, between the emotional and physical drain of the night before, it was well warranted. And, dear Colorado Springs friend, thanks so much for joining me on this step—and for taking care of such a hot mess. 

In other news, bin Laden is dead. In pure ‘Show Me State’ fashion, I have a hard time believing it. The timing seems too convenient. But, I come by conspiracy theories all too naturally, so hopefully, I’m wrong. (And yes, I do believe people landed on the moon.) Either way, all the people concerned about him being buried within twenty-four hours due to his religion… [well, even I had to erase what I just wrote.]

skip this one, just bitching

2011-04-29T07:36:00.000-06:00

I dreamed I was in a long, white, low-cut wedding gown. Marrying a prince—how he looked five years ago, not the Charles he’s turned into. Sigh…
Actually, I didn’t dream anything of the sort. Very un-gay of me, I know, but I couldn’t have cared less about the Royal Wedding. Well, that’s not true; I did wanna see pictures of the dress. What red-blooded American male doesn’t want to see the latest wedding dress trends? I loved Kate’s dress (hated Diana’s, poor girl). Actually, haven’t seen pictures of the train and such, so I think I like it, the top was very pretty. Instead of staying up to watch the wedding, I stayed up way too late (so tired) to watch three episodes of The Walking Dead. My real fear of zombies has become somewhat of a strange fascination. One I feel a little guilty about actually. I guess my conscience isn’t totally dead yet (for all those who are taking bets). I feel like I’m sinning watching zombie things. Kinda strange, huh? The show is actually really, really good. And, as in all good horror movies/shows, is much less about zombies and more about human relationships. However, the dreams I had were less about relationships and more about zombies. And HWMNBN (really?), although somehow not intertwined with zombies, thankfully. Nothing like waking up to religious guilt, queasy zombie feelings, and missing the man I’m not supposed to love about anymore. Fun stuff.
In addition to zombie stress, I’m trying to work out how to deal with people again. Despite my hermit tendencies, I know more people now than I ever have before. However, between work (kids), work (massage), and work (books), and family, I quite literally have no time, and even the rare moments I take for myself to simply not do anything but be with me leave me feeling guilty. Not helped by so many texts, emails, etc. either complaining about my short responses, insinuations of my selfishness (yeah, I’m selfish, I know), or endless pleading to get together makes me want to crawl even further in my shell. I haven’t even seen my best friend in weeks! And not because we haven’t tried, it’s just life. Granted, I’ve gone from extreme people-pleaser to complete hermit and am trying to find the balance. It’s rather confusing, and I’m tried of not getting to see so many people that I love so much while being made to feel guilty for not being enough for everyone else.
I know, poor me. Boo, hoo, hoo.
In an act of selfishness, and fiscal irresponsibility, I set aside three days this week to not do any massages. I also didn’t allow myself to go to movies (there are so many I really, really want to see right now) or anything like that. The days weren’t to be a hermit either; they were set aside to really work on finding an agent. I feel guilty about this too, since people see it as me not being available or a good friend or whatever. But, to me, not only is it a dream, but it is a job—at least a job I’m trying to get. I have to work at it! So, with these three days, I made a ton of progress, I hope to do this again in the next week or so, after I make a little more money so that I can. The more I contact, the more rejections I’ll get, but the more likely I am to find the one fool that will say yes!

gleefully stressed-out rejection

2011-04-27T18:31:00.000-06:00

It’s been early twenty-four hours since its airing, and I still haven’t watched the ninety-minute episode of Glee. I know! I can’t believe it either. The fires of Hell are creeping up at an alarming rate. Not only is life difficult from lack of Glee, but it is nearly impossible to check facebook. I never noticed how many updates on Tuesdays and Wednesdays are in direct correlation to the most recent Glee episode. So far, I’ve avoided any major spoilers, although I have gotten a couple Britney one-liners that are going to now be regurgitated.
Yes, this is my hard life. Cry for me, Argentina.
Actually, yesterday was pretty stressful. I spent around four to five hours working on paperwork for the custody battle for my nephew. No pressure there! (After hand-writing eight pages, my hands actually swell. Both of them! I didn’t even write with my left hand!) I remember when it was nothing to go to sleep at one. Today, I feel like I’ve been smashed by a hammer. I’m not even sure I can make it through my recording of Glee waiting patiently at home for me. Yeah, it’s that bad.
Please keep the nephew issue in your thoughts and prayers. If I can only have one miracle, I’ll choose him over publishing any day of the week.
However, in that vein, I paid for a week subscription to an online literary marketplace. It’s supposed to help you find an agent. When I put in gay or gay fantasy in the search engine, tons of agents come up. When I read their bio, they always say NO gay fantasy or simply No gay fiction period. Very helpful. Money well spent. I submitted to two that actually said they were interested in gay literature. I heard back from one the very next day! At least her No was prompt.
Bitch.
Such a gracious loser, aren’t I?
The past couple of days, my blog counter has shown over one hundred people a day reading the blog. (Yeah, I don’t get it either.) If each of you would buy a book, that’d be great, or at least read it for free on the Refiner blog then write a stunning review on Amazon. That’d be really helpful. Thanks! If you don’t feel up to it, don’t stress. I completely understand, no hard feelings.

Bitch.

Red, Yellow, and Green

2011-04-26T07:41:00.000-06:00

Leaving my parents’ house the other day, I had to stop at a red light less than a block away. Groaning, I looked over at the car next to mine. A gorgeous twenty-something man looked back at me. I didn’t even attempt not to start. He was beautiful. A picture in a magazine come to life. He stared back for several moments, unflinching. Did he find me attractive too? Was this a moment of fate? Does he just know how gorgeous he is and enjoys the attention? Still gazing at me, he lifts the bong from his lap and inhales deeply. After a moment of startled confusion, I died laughing. I’d heard of voyeuristic exhibition. However, hadn’t ever thought of it in terms of drug usage. Clearly, this man was enjoying being watched while he [insert your own drug usage verb here, I’d use the wrong one, I’m sure] and drove. Happily, I no longer felt hideous and disgusting by comparison. I felt damned superior, truth be told. After all, he might be prettier than I can ever be, but, at least I know how to do voyeuristic exhibition correctly! Or something like that…
As I waited at the second to last stop light before work, listening to my Thomas Michael Ford novel, Jane Bites Back (Jane Austin as a vampire—truly funny and entertaining), I wished I could drive back home and back again, I wasn’t ready to go to work, or quit listening to Jane trying to get published in her after-life. I glanced at the car next to me as the light turned green and we moved like cattle through the light. The man had a crossword puzzle spread out over his steering wheel, left hand holding the paper firmly against the handle as he maneuvered his car to the left while his right hand jotted in letters. I’ve always thought crossword puzzles were akin to golf (as in shoot-me-in-the-head boring), but maybe doing them at sixty miles an hour would be more exciting.
If you happen to see me driving around town inhaling deeply, misspelling words, sans pants, please be polite and wave.

knowingly blasphemous

2011-04-25T08:16:00.001-06:00

It’s been a rainy couple of days. While I couldn’t live in such weather for long, I love it at times like these. It ushers in the same cozy feeling that it did back in Missouri (sans lightening storms, sadly). Just wanna curl up with a book and drift away. Then again, when don’t I want to do that?
Easter weekend was wonderful. I spent a ton of time with my family and got some of my favorite pictures of Gavin. And, you know me, getting a good picture qualifies as a successfully great time, regardless of the actual events preceding.
A few weeks ago, a new friend inquired if Easter was a struggle for me—due to church, God, ect. Mostly brought on by the conversation around “The Shack.” I said no. Turns out, I was wrong. Church was rather miserable yesterday. On one hand, it took everything in me to sit through the service. On the other, I was appalled at my own rudeness. I kept it in check, but it was very hard to keep my thoughts and reactions to myself. I didn’t have any new thoughts, and there was nothing I haven’t already spoken of here, but it was nearly impossible to not scoff audibly.
While I hate to actually say some of the things I’m about to say, while I’m going to sugar-coat some of the things I’m going to say, while my thoughts aren’t fully formed, these are some of the scariest thoughts for me. There is much I don’t mind questioning about God, religion, faith, etc. This area (the resurrection) is rather terrifying and crushing to be cynical over. I have no problem with dying and coming back to life. For some reason, that makes total sense to me. We’re talking about God here, why would that be a struggle?
For a couple years now, I keep coming back to: He made the rules. He knew exactly what would happen. He set it up.
He knew Adam and Eve would do what they did. He set up the rules to be separated from Him, and in turn made the plan of salvation. He’s the one that required a blood sacrifice; no one else came up with that rule. He’s the one that put the tree in the garden with a No-No sign. He’s the one that created man, who, it seems is faulty according to Him (which, if you question that aspect, you’re blind. Look around. We’re pretty faulty.). On and on and on. I don’t like the thought of Jesus’ crucifixion. I don’t like that my actions/choices/sins put him there. However, He made the rules and then plays the martyr (even as I type that, I cringe and feel damnable). However, to me, it’s true, it’s where I am with things—call a spade a spade, be honest with where I am. And again, there isn’t one person I love that I can’t see myself dying for. If it would save Gavin, then nail me to a cross, do whatever you want to me. Truly. And even beyond that, I can’t see myself choosing life if it were even some kid I don’t know that they were telling me they were going to throw in a fiery pit if I didn’t sacrifice myself. If I think I would do it, how much more would I expect God to do it. And I didn’t even make the damned rules! If there were some being or power that were here before God, or there were some limitations to God, then I could accept it, be thankful for it, understand that He is operating out of a system that is beyond His control and he did everything he could do within that system to redeem those he love. But if my dad would have said if you break this rule, that will cause me to stand in front of a careening semi, that’s his bad for being smashed, not mine. As horrible as that is, that’s kinda how I see all of this anymore. And, to be honest, I hate that I see it that way (which, by the way, it so far from any issues with gay, not gay, yada, yada—they don’t connect at all—except maybe for the fact of where the questioning began and where it has come to now).
Of course, we all know I hate sermons too. 98% of them I could do better in my sleep or have heard a billion times and each time am expected to act as if it is a revelation that shatters the world. Even yesterday, the reasons the pastor presented were three fold. I don’t think I remember all of them. 1. Someone told him. 2. It’s documented (not exactly right, but that was the gist). 3. He’s experienced it. Well, all those are great, but are true about every religion. Someone told him—he spoke that that’s how we learn everything, someone told us. We didn’t arrive at the knowledge of gravity on our own. We were told. Documented. Proof that Columbus sailed to America in 1492. Documented. He’s experienced God. Self-explanatory.
Seriously? That’s the best he could come up with for an Easter service? Really? Someone has told him? That’s hardly the proof for anything. Who cares what someone tells you? Trust me, by now, my palms should be hairy and I should be blind. Maybe I really am in the huge of state of denial. Maybe I can’t see at all, except to French braid the hair on my hands. And, documented? It was also documented that the Earth was flat. By the church even! And he’s experienced God? Well, me too! However, I am willing to bet that damned al-qaeda fucker believed in his own experiences with god as he flew his plane into the towers.
I have respect for intelligent arguments and proof. I have equal respect (truly, maybe even more) for simply saying, ‘I believe this with everything in me and nothing can convince me that it’s otherwise’—delusional or not. However, brainless reasoning that a three year old would question makes me nauseous! Again, I know these are my own issues, and each one was triggered during that excruciatingly torturous hour (if I’d been allowed to laugh without hurting my family, it would have been rather fun—in a painful way). Again, I am left with this fact. I don’t know who God is or what all is true about Him. I feel I know more (feel more) about what isn’t true than what is. That, once again, I am left with this: I’ve gone too far with Him to go back. That I trust him, even thought I don’t understand him, even though he slay me. However, I must admit, that my him, apparently, is not the same him that others talk/preach about.

teacher joy

2011-04-21T07:44:00.001-06:00

The past couple weeks have been very full and very up and down at work.
Last week, the day before I left for Seattle, one of my favorite kids freaked-out, which happens from time to time. During the restraint (during which he tried to bite [gotten pretty good at avoiding bites] and managed to dig his fingernails in my arms [just a little blood, not much]) he was able to slam me back into a cabinet. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing typically, except this is one of those open concept cabinets, without any doors, so I hit the edge of one of the shelves with both of our full weight on my tailbone. It’s bruised and hurts to sit. I can restrain just about anyone, so this tells you how strong my little fifth grader is. Flash forward, outside, a block away from the school, (no, he didn’t get out the restraint, the decision was made to end it) on the ground, knees bloody from the side-walk, arms in handcuff’s behind his back, as he fought with the police. The entire thing went on for about an hour. He’s still in the hospital (not the physical injury kind). Let me tell you, Seattle came at the right time for many, many reasons.
Yesterday, my all-time-favorite kid (one of two [losing both to seventh grade next year… gonna be rough]) made my year. He came to me in fourth grade, not able to say the alphabet consistently, not even knowing all his sounds. After three years of fights, arguments, and so much hard work, so much (on my part and his!) he tested out on grade-level! At sixth grade! From kindergarten level in fourth to sixth grade in sixth! Pretty unheard of! None of it is due to my teaching ability, although a lot it due to my behavior (old-fashioned strictness) ability. And, he’s worked his ass off, in this year alone, he made three year’s progress! If I never accomplish anything else in teaching, this alone was worth everything. Outside of managing behavior and anger and emotions in away that allow you to function in everyday life and build genuine relationships, the most important thing you can learn in school is to read. You can do nothing in life (at least easily) without the ability to read. Even if he never progresses past sixth grade level (which he will), you can function pretty easily in the world at that level. Most things aren’t written higher than that anyway. I can not express how proud I am of my little man (who’s bigger than me now, crazy), and even how proud I am of myself. He came to me with every teacher saying that he couldn’t be controlled, that he wasn’t capable of reading. It was so clear to me that it wasn’t about his ability to read (he’s very smart, and no academic disabilities directly related to his capacity to learn), but about his stubbornness and the fact that every other teacher had allowed him to intimidate/charm them into not forcing him to work or learn. Though there were many days both of us were in tears, and days when both of us were so angry at the other we could hardly see straight, we made it through. He was instantly one of those kids, even in fourth grade, that you could see past the bully, see past the refusal to do anything, see past the mean, snake-sly charm and see a beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate human just below the surface. The only thing wrong with him was the laziness and fear of others. Not sure how I’m going to manage without him next year, or his female counter-part, who has the exact opposite demeanor and who truly maybe the most angelic person I’ve ever met—an angel with learning disabilities, she’s a prettier version of Daryl Hannah). So excited for them to go out into this world and discover the joys (and, sadly, the pain) that it offers. So thankful that I’ve had the supreme blessing of having a small part in preparing them for what they have to face.

one more return

2011-04-18T19:18:00.001-06:00

And….. I’m back!

Already at my coffee shop.

Already my new outlook has been tested. And, so far, I’ve passed the test (you know, for the whole three seconds I’ve been back). Whatever, I’m glad I went. I think I’m finally on a path that might go somewhere.

I got turned down by another agent. Whatever. (see above)

I noticed something that kinda surprised me. I’ve always loved riding planes. However, the takeoff has always kinda scared me. Thrilled me, but scared me too. Just the realization that I truly have no control over my life and death. Even as a kid I realized that. I would pray and pray during take off. Pray that God would save my soul. That he would allow me in Heaven with him should I die.
I still pray at takeoff. I prayed what I’ve prayed for the past few years. It’s not a written prayer or anything, just the only one that makes sense. “God, my life is in your hands. Do your will.” What struck me this time was that this prayer is a lot scarier than the other. I’m not begging for forgiveness or making deals. Just the acknowledgment that I know that he knows that I know that I have no more delusions of being in control of such things. No longer do I struggle to do so. Strangely, it’s a lot less scary.

Un Choose

2011-04-17T15:46:00.001-06:00

It’s time to give him his thirty minutes. I definitely didn’t yesterday. I hit the ground running and never stopped until after three this morning. I was going to go for two nights in a row, but I don’t think I have it in me. Especially with an early flight tomorrow. We’ll see.
I did have one thought yesterday. Not especially deep or new by anyone’s standards, but one that I hadn’t been able to really grasp until yesterday. Honestly, I’m not really sure how much I believe it—one of those things that could just be bullshit or one of the lies we tell ourselves.
I remember very clearly the day I decided he would be the one I’d spend my life with. Granted, I didn’t choose to love him, but I did decide, CHOOSE, that I would accept him fully, every aspect of him. I talked about it before. We’d been together about a year. Long enough that I was figuring out what our everyday life together would be like. The things that were wonderful, the things that weren’t. You know, nothing huge, just some small things—things that you simply have to deal with when you’re with someone who’s not identical to you. I asked myself if any of those things were deal-breakers. Which life would be better, with him and with those small negative things or without him and those things. In every case, it was a resounding, With Him. I wanted him. I chose him. I chose that I would share my life with him, accept those imperfections, as he would accept mine. From that day on, those things, mostly, lost their importance. They quit driving me crazy and just became aspects of the man I loved and that was that. The point is: I Chose. Chose him forever.
Obviously, he chose something else.
What hit me was this: If I could choose him, not only feel love for him but choose to truly love him, then it might be possible to choose not to love him anymore. Or at least choose to not spend my life with him. I know that sounds stupid. It’s not like it’s an option to spend my life with him. However, once I made that choice, it was made. It wasn’t based on any condition or if’s or then’s. Even when he left, even now, two years later, that choice stays. Just because he’s gone doesn’t change that I chose him. My soul/heart/whatever is married to an absent person. Married to someone who isn’t. I haven’t been able to alter that emotion/fact/aspect within myself. I didn’t know how it would go away, and so far, it hasn’t. So, in the theme of choosing to live life, it hit me that maybe I can choose to not give him my life (it’s not like he was asking for it anymore, but once I gave it, I wasn’t sure how to get it back—maybe I’m a really bad STD, once you got me, you got me, want me or not…), choose to not choose him.
Maybe there’s not an action that needs to go along with that, as far as steps to take. Maybe it’s simply being aware of it and choosing it intentionally. In essence, though not in name, nor in the planning, maybe that’s the symbolism of this entire trip. Not only what I choose (life, laughter, living) but also what I will no longer choose.
Okay. Thirty minutes are done. Time to live.

unpause

2011-04-16T16:41:00.000-06:00

Maybe the actual two-year anniversary of him leaving is Monday, since it’s the 18th, but, to me, it’s today. He left on a Saturday. In the aftermath of a torrential snow storm. I knew he was leaving the night before, and we had one last night together. Then we woke up, packed, cried, and at 3:13, he walked out the door.
Around this exact same time, including the time change, is the time I land in Seattle. The place that has been a refuge for the last two years. The place I’ve escaped to, the place, I’ve eaten, danced, shopped, cried, written, mourned his loss, left myself behind, have been someone else for two or three days at a time. And, here I go once more. With dreams of him from last night (constantly trying to text him, but never able to get the message to send to his phone---hmmmm, wonder what that means), I leave him behind and take him with me. The plan, at least symbolically, this time, is to leave him there. Leave him in Seattle. Leave us in Seattle. Not return. At least for a long, long time. Not going to sit and cry all weekend. Probably won’t shed a tear. I will give him half an hour of my time at a coffee shop, today or tomorrow; give him a moment as I fly back home on Monday, and then be done. Symbolically, and hopefully, soon, literally. To end the grieving, the hoping, the constant hurting. Time to live.

cold cream

2011-04-13T22:37:00.001-06:00

Made another small step forward today. I bought ice cream. The new Blue Bell kind. I was afraid to give into the hype. Mainly because of the name, but also because of the hype. Blue Bell reminds me of Blue Bunny. And, while you might think that a product with the mascot of an adorable bunny couldn’t lead you astray, you’d be wrong. It’s some of the worst ice cream I’ve ever tried. Blue Bell, on the other hand, lived up to they hype (unlike The Shack). I think I may have gotten off-topic…… the small step was not the ice cream. I’ve been an ice cream whore my whole life, nothing new there. However, I was driving past HWMNBN’s and my grocery store and thought, “I’m gonna get ice cream.” Then kept driving so I could go to another grocery store. Then I realized I was being stupid. It’s been two years since I’ve stepped into that grocery store. Time to get that over with. We’d do our grocery shopping on Sundays and listen to ‘Sandcastle Disco’ in the car, and I loved every minute of it. Simply living our life together. Simple, pure, honest. Then, not so much. However, it was time. I turned the car around, parked, and bought the ice cream. I didn’t make a big production or meaningful symbolic gesture. Neither did I rush or advert my eyes from our favorite aisles (which would have been impossible, since ice cream was one of our favorite aisles}. I just bought the fucking ice cream. I think there are now only a few more things I have to face and then I will be done. Earl’s restaurant, which I’m not sure how I will face, as it was my first birthday dinner with him, followed by an amazing night; San Diego, which I plan to face in 2012; San Francisco, which I honestly don’t think I will ever face; and Rio Grande, which is his favorite restaurant, and they have my favorite homemade tortillas (outside of Old Town in San Diego). I gotta get that on out of the way soon. I think those might be the only places left that I have yet to force myself to go. Only four. Not too long ago the list would have been well over a page long. Four’s not too bad. However, I’m sure I’m forgetting something or somewhere, but whatever.
Who else could make buying ice cream a completely self-absorbed and over-analyzed experience that they had to write nearly a page about? I drive myself crazy.

zombie LESS

2011-04-13T12:59:00.001-06:00

I feel like a million bucks right now. I was completely prepared to have to fight with the surgeon this morning. And while I was truly gonna raise a ruckus, I was also prepared to loose the fight.
After taking a look, she said that it looked like I was right. That it would heal, but probably never connect back together, so I’d have a permanent zombie rip in my throat. (Uhm, who tried to tell the surgeon’s head nurse that two weeks ago?) She said that she could simply cut it off, but she didn’t really see the need to do that, as no body would be seeing it. (Uhm, sorry, gay boys can’t have a rip in their throat, that would not be fun tear on impact…) I told her I’d like it removed. She said that I could come back in a couple months when I stopped hurting and she would do it then. After a pause, I said I’d rather just get it over-with, that I’m not in that much pain. After another pause, she said that she’d do it right then and there. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s what I hoped for, but never thoughts she’d go for it. So, after a few needles, scissors, and some stop-bleeding stuff, zombie rip is gone and I can begin healing in earnest.
It is such a load-off to have a doctor listen to me (I know my body, I knew the damned thing wasn’t right) and actually follow through with what I want done to my body and when. I really hate fighting to have to get those thing accomplished. I want this surgeon to take out my tonsils every time! She’s great!
She also bragged on me quite a bit, so I’m gonna brag on myself a bit as well. She said she did the same procedure on a man right after me, but had to remove less on him than she did on me, and that he woke up cussing at her after surgery and has called and emailed and complained about how much pain he in every day since. Still is. I knew my mom had always told me that she worried about stuff because I never complained about pain that should really be hurting me. Maybe I have disease where you can feel pain. However, as I do feel pain, probably not. (That was brilliant.) Who’s a tough little gay, boy? Who is? Me! That’s who!

1, 2, and 3

2011-04-12T07:41:00.001-06:00

Update: Returning to the surgeon tomorrow. They are now finally letting me see the surgeon instead of her head nurse. Chances are, she will say the same thing—that I’m going to heal and I’m over-reacting to the rip in the back of my throat. We will see. One more day off work, which is really bad timing, but whatever.
Helpful Tid-bit: If you ever get the chance to have Ed Westwick (Gossip Girl) read you a bedtime story, you should jump at the chance. He is the narrator for my most recent book on tape, and it’s the sexiest and soothing thing I’ve ever listened to (and it’s not even a sexy book). He reads the chapters about the male lead, while some girl reads the chapters with the female lead. They really should have chosen a more suitable, sultry female. It goes from sexy and soothing, to loud and high and harsh. The story’s great, but Ed is even better. So, put that on your bucket list—be read to at bed time by Ed. And maybe a few other things. Just trying to help you out. However, if you get to check that off your list, you’d best be giving him my address so I can check it off mine as well.
Advice-Seeking: On a different note, I have a question for those of you with children. I’d really love your feedback. I’ve done some research on the internet, but have found more people with the same questions but not so many answers. Have any of your children (toddler age) gone through the stage of slapping or hitting themselves when angry or told no? If so, could you describe the incidents and your approach to handling it. Or if you know the developmental processes around it, that would be great as well! Thanks!

reviews of the bitter

2011-04-11T07:38:00.001-06:00

I gave up. Twice.
(Semi-Spoiler ahead)
The Shack. I made it about half-way through. I kept saying that I’d finish it. Just so I could give it a full picture at the end. I couldn’t do it. I must say, the murdered daughter (at least I’m assuming she’s still murdered by the end of the book) was the lucky one. She didn’t have to be much of a part of the story, she escaped it a lot sooner than I did. Granted, I’m sure I had a bad attitude, but it was earned. I really was hopeful. I thought the book might give a new perspective as claimed by so many readers. Maybe it did. I wasn’t nauseous before I read it. I can see where the religious morons were offended by the book. God’s a big, black woman for one. Oh, shudder! God, a girl! A black girl! Maybe there’s more that offends them later on, I don’t know. I didn’t mind that part. It talked about God being neither male nor female, but simply other than us. That’s pretty Biblical. The part that got to me was the dialogue between the main character and the three characters of the trinity. Just so sappily saccharin. And every stupid religious cliché that exists. More and more of I’m God, so other, there’s no way to understand me. Love, love, love. Pain, pain, pain. God, God, God. Granted, I only got halfway through, but seriously. Unless the book did a one-eighty later, it seemed written for people who didn’t have two functioning synapses to communicate. Moving on, before I started to blame God for the creation of that novel. Goodness!
I switched to The Road. A movie that I thought was brilliant, poignant, and shattering. One of those movies that made me excited to write. To create. To move people with words. I was a little intimidated to start the book. To read an author who I would never be able to compare my own writing skills, who would be so far above me. Then, the unthinkable happened. The movie turned out to eclipse the book three times over. Very rare. The only other book I recall having such an experience with was Practical Magic—but at least I finished that one.
I hate not finishing books. It’s kinda like pulling someone’s life-support. Those characters died in my mind before their time. However, I can’t say I wasn’t grateful to see their light extinguished.
Moving on.

pro-life

2011-04-10T14:05:00.000-06:00

I almost started off with: Thursday nigh was the scariest thing I’ve done in months. Then I remembered Monday, coffee with HWMNBN. That was scarier. Obviously. However, Thursday was fairly terrifying. Before we went to the bars, we ate at Hamburger Marry’s. It was scarier than the bars, because at dinner, you’re stuck at a table, nowhere to run away. It was bizarre, and for a few minutes, I almost had to leave. The last time I was there was over two years ago, and before that, for years, the only time I’d been there (or at the bars) had been with him. Memories accosted me. With sheer act of will, I shoved them away.
All in all, it was a fairly amazing night. Maybe it was the five and half beers, but I think it was more the act itself, but it was a manically happy experience, with an undercurrent of loss and sadness. More than anything, I focused on being proud and excited that I was facing these fears. That I was choosing life.
While I’m not a bar person, it was good to be there and see a few people I don’t get to see very much.
I was rewarded with the best date I’ve had in two years on Friday. Then a gorgeous day with my nephew yesterday. Now, six day till I go to Seattle. Yep, next Monday is the two-year mark and I am going to Seattle one last time. After that, time to move on from that city to new places to expand living once more.

the evening

2011-04-07T07:37:00.001-06:00

Timing is everything. A long time ago, a friend of mine asked me to save last night for him. He wouldn’t tell me what we were going to do. This, being who I am, made me very nervous. I like to know what is coming, what to expect, and how to prepare. I had several possibilities in mind—some fun, some scary. None of them were correct.
Both due to his reasoning (why he said he was doing this for me) and things that have gone on recently with personal decisions and such, it all seemed very timely. A launching into attempting to live again, if you will.
In all, or even in part, it was ridiculously lavish. Lavish enough that if I let myself dwell on it, I’d probably be uncomfortable or feel guilty. However, one of the things I’m trying to work on is not over-thinking every breath. So, I went with it.
He took me to this ridiculously upscale restaurant on Larimer Street. For the life of me I can’t think of the name of it right now, but wow! it was great! He got us the two seats in the chef’s section, where you are basically in the kitchen—watching everything, talking to the chef, asking questions, etc. I loved it. It was like food network except interactive—and you get to eat it!!! Perfect!
After, he took me to. . . wait for it. . . a Janet Jackson concert! You know, leaving the restaurant at eight on a school night and walking downtown, no idea where I’m headed, and ending up at a Janet Jackson concert! What an experience. Part of what he said he wanted to do was to do things I would probably never do myself. And he was right. And, within reason, I love it when something like that happens. Takes me totally out of my element and opens up a whole new aspect of life/culture that I’m not in touch with at all. And, if you get the chance, even if you hate Janet or hate music or hate concerts (none of which are true for me), you need to go to a Janet Jackson concert. The people watching was some of the best I’ve ever seen. At times, I even struggled to attend to the moment due to all the people around me. It was awesome! All the different races, ages, and walks of life represented there. And the gays. OMG! The gays! Cracked me up! Over the top. Loved it!
It was an amazing, one-of-a-kind extravagant evening that I will never forgot. It was very humbling and sweet to be given such a unique experience!

following the crowd

2011-04-06T07:42:00.003-06:00

I’ve been sick of the book “The Shack” almost from the first moment I heard of it. There will be spoilers in this blog. If you have yet to read this book and want to, stop reading now… The fact that fifteen billion people have told me, “Oh, you just have to read it. It’s wonderful. It would really help you.” hasn’t helped my desire to read it. The only thing that made it a tad bit appealing was that so many people in the religious community called it sacrilegious. However, since everything, including Olive Oil Mayonnaise has been sacrilegious at one point or another, that didn’t hold that much allure. (I do agree about the O.O. Mayo. Sinful.) I can’t stand books that the whole world says are life changing and a must-read to help you have a better understanding of God or help you be a better person. Partly because I haven’t seen anyone actually changed by such a book, and partly just because I’m an arrogant asshole who doesn’t like to be told what to do and thinks he’s better everyone else that needs to be bossed around by the book-of-the-moment. However, when I saw it on the list of sale books on my Audible website (where I get a lot of my audio books) for five bucks, I hit BUY.
I started it the day HWMNBN and I had coffee (actually neither one of us had coffee), I figured if there was ever a day I’d be willing to listen to self-help drivel, that would be it. I’m about a fourth of the way through it. For the first hour, I about turned it off twenty or thirty times. The guy reading sounds like a Sunday School teacher, and, especially with the tonsils, gagging just isn’t much fun. However, I pushed through (aren’t I tough?), and I’m rather sucked in. I can’t say I love it yet, but it is about a family (father, mainly) trying to deal with the murder of his eight year old daughter. That, more than the God factor, has kept me going. That aspect lets me forgive certain passages that would typically induce the gagging around how they speak about God, as I’m sure I would cling to tons of stupid things if I were in those shoes. Having a child in the family makes the book relevant for me. This morning, the man made his way to the actual shack, finally, where they found the bloody dress of his little girl (they never found the body) three years previous. The father broke, screaming, crying, ranting, and raving at God. Full of questions, full of hate, full of despair. I, of course, was crying right along with him. Partly due to imagining Gavin being lost to me, partly due to my own God issues. While I’m still confident that Monday was the right decision, it has definitely increased the crying. Oh, so fun. I’m going to see the book through. I want to see what happens, and I’m extremely curious how in the world people have complained about this book being sacrilegious. So far, it’s been Sunday School sickenly sweet. My rage, hurt, disillusion, questions, and such about God are too similar to what is brought up in the book. It really would be nice to have something said in a new light, a way that I haven’t thought of, something that could give me a little different insight into God. I don’t have much hope of that. Even if it didn’t answer any questions, I would be okay with that as well. However, I’m fearful of the same pat answers, cliché, and excuses that everything else offers. We will see…

return

2011-04-05T07:36:00.001-06:00

Back to work today. I always get nervous. Kinda silly with how long I’ve been doing this. I’m excited to see the kids though. We will see how I hold up physically. Just doing little things around the house has worn me out. I’m anxious to see how today goes—I may have to take a nap under the desk halfway through!
Yesterday was a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. Going to bed was nice. I noticed the relief most at that time. I didn’t have to worry about running into him and not being prepared, I didn’t have to think about what I would say to him, I didn’t have to worry about getting pretty in order to talk him. It’s over. I can move on to whatever the next step is. However… as I knew seeing him would (which is partly why I wanted/needed to do it on my own terms), it brought everything back. Our Sunday night routines (last night felt like a Sunday with work starting today). His face and voice had grown a little fuzzy in my mind. Of course, those are crystal clear right now. I’ve wanted to text him so many times since yesterday. Just to share some little thought or joke or anything. I just miss him. I miss my husband and best friend. I won’t ever be able to understand how he doesn’t feel the same, but I do believe I’ll learn to live with the fact of it all nonetheless. I’m glad it’s over, and now I need to focus on building some of those walls back up again that crumbled yesterday.

over and done

2011-04-04T12:05:00.001-06:00

Our time together was quite literally five minutes or less. Which was what I’d planned. I didn’t want a bunch of idle chit-chat.
He sat down and gave me a mermaid matchbox that he bought me in Mexico last week. He said he’d planned on sending it to me when he got back, but then he had the email from me. He’s still [….]—accidentally just typed his name.
I told him that I was going to start going out to places in the next little bit, and that I wanted to see him before I did that. I told him that I was in the same spot I was two years ago and that I could see him coming up and being all friendly when he saw me out and that it would just hurt me. He said that he would just smile and wave and if I wanted to come talk to him that he would let me make that choice. I said that would be perfect.
I gave him the book (Submerging, I never even would have started it if it hadn’t been for him). He told me how proud he was of me. We hugged. Said we loved each other. I left.
I got to the car, tears starting, but not too badly. I’d almost cried when we were together, I’m sure he could tell, but I didn’t. I had a seventy-five dollar ticket when I got to my car. I completely lost it. Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
It’s been a little over an hour and I’m functioning. I’m glad I did it. I think there was a part of me deluded—I honestly didn’t think I’d cry. I really didn’t. Part of me hoped I’d see him and feel nothing or at least feel less. Once again, it was walking away from my husband who doesn’t want me or love me anymore.
Again, I’m glad it did it. I’m glad it’s over. It needed to happen, and it was the right decision. For me. Hopefully for both of us, actually probably is a non-issue for him. But it definitely was for me.
Time to begin living again. To whatever extent. Or at least time to make myself face more fears in the attempt to live. I also had a text waiting for me in the car from a friend who has been begging me to go out with him for a couple years. I texted him back and told him to take me out Thursday or Friday. So, here we go.
So glad it’s over. I’m so thankfully for the time I had with him, and am so ready for the feeling for him to be gone—or at least non-consuming.

sucking up the waiting game

2011-04-02T23:37:00.001-06:00

I’m nauseous. After four days of not hearing from HWMNBN, I’d nearly decided that he wasn’t going to respond after all. That either his feelings shifted from lack of love to loathing or that he wasn’t as genuine and kind as I believed (which isn’t true). I heard from him tonight. He’d just returned from Mexico. We are going to meet. Not sure when yet, I gave him options of tomorrow or Monday.
Now, more waiting. The thought of seeing him is terrifying, and, sickly, like a fucking-moronic-school-girl, wonderful to simply be in his presence again for a moment. Sublime torture. I know, I know. I can’t stand me either.
Despite the conflicting emotions and the raging nerves, there’s also a sweet anticipation of knowing it will soon be over soon. Sure, the next step is scary too—actually going places where he might be and starting to be around friends again, but I think it is the step I have to take to begin living once more. Even if life can’t be like it was, surely it can be more like life than it is now. I’m fighting desperately for my books. I need to fight a little harder for me. It’s time. Ready to get the first step over and done.

the true definition of rambling

2011-03-31T21:54:00.000-06:00

Feeling a bit better today. However, the zombie flesh is getting worse, not better. Not really believing that it will heal like they say. Gonna give it a couple weeks, then raising some ruckus.
I had a great conversation for a few hours at my coffee shop with a new friend (hi, new friend, I know you’re reading this) [for the rest of you, don’t be getting’ any ideas—most coffee house time is either books/blog/agents/photo time—so… back off, love ya!] discussing life, religion, my whorish ways, my disbelief in the God I knew while clinging to God at large with all I have, and boyfriends and other stupid things. It was very nice. I love God talks, when you’re not talking to a prick (who either shoves god down your throat or can’t comprehend His existence—both are stupid). Speaking of… I keep having to block people on facebook for posting pictures of HWMNBN with themselves and him on their profile picture (I know he’s great, but does everyone have to think he’s their best friend?), but I’ve also had to block a several people who keep posting Bible verse after Bible verse or keep saying shit like, ‘This is the day God has made…rejoice.” Once in awhile, it’s refreshing that you’re reveling in your relationship with God, otherwise, it a little vomitous. You’re not only annoying me, I’m pretty sure God keeps having to throw up in his mouth a little bit when he looks at all his tags on his facebook page. Show him some consideration. (Actually, just discovered that Jesus really does have a facebook page (maybe it was Jesus Christ, or God or something)—It’s pretty funny and horrible at the same time. It seems when someone uses his name in their posts it automatically [for some] becomes a live link and also posts on Jesus’s page. Let’s just say, not every post with his name is talking nice about him… lots of it is written with Oh My F…ing …. It didn’t seem that people even knew their posts were going there. Very strange. And, rather, not good.
A large part of my day was with Gavin’s other side of the family. I did a little photo shoot so that they can be part of his second installment of his yearly photo book. {Let’s just say, I took some pictures that were not good—people did not seem to know how to be subjects of photography, and Gavin was having none if it—I worked with the end results until they are rather unbelievable, pretty artistic and rather beautiful. I fucking rock!} Without getting into detail, it was surreal and a little trippy to see more of his other life. Nothing back or anything like that was happening—not at all. Just kinda like when you’re gay friends, church friends, hippy/stoner [no, I don’t that—wow! Something I don’t do] friends all show up at the same party and your brain blows a fuse until they all leave so that your world perception can go back to normal.

And if you perchance you think I’m rambling incessantly because I’m a nervous wreck and nauseous about the potential plans tomorrow and trying not to think about it, you’re completely right. Why’d you have to be a complete jackass and bring it up? Thanks a lot. Bitch!

closing the gap

2011-03-30T12:47:00.001-06:00

Had my doctor’s appointment. Good news. No more surgery! However, she did say the reason my throat looks like it does is due to them having to cut out twice as much they do for normal people. I knew my tonsils were ridiculous, apparently, it wasn’t all my imagination. Because of their size, they had wrapped around and gone some places they normally wouldn’t/shouldn’t. Therefore, there’s about double amount of surgery/healing area than there typically would be. Over time, the gaps in the meat should rejoin. Until then the list of things I can’t do is extensive—of all varieties…….. ugh. Hope that doesn’t take as long as it seems. They say the flesh should slowly start to grow back together. No matter how long it takes, I’m just glad I won’t have zombie-mummy mouth, even if I don’t show that part of my anatomy off to the public too often. Imagine a picture of that in the tabloids one day! Goodness.
You know? As much as I love to write and need to, between some thoughts about what I hope will happen Friday and simply being exhausted, I don’t have it in me. So, off to read a book. Reading the Underland Chronicles, by Suzanne Collins. Same author that wrote the Hunger Games trilogy. They are for young readers, so not as dark or intense, but still really fun reads. I hope to be half as good of an author as Collins on day…

all in a day's work

2011-03-29T13:27:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was quite a day (challenging and long [couldn’t sleep till five due to ear pain] and successful, sorta).
I noticed that the floor of my laundry room/storage room was wet. In pure Brandon fashion, I decided that it was too much to deal with on top of everything else and decided it would dry up on its own. (We also found out that someone has stolen my brother’s SS number and has filed for his taxes and such this year.) I went and watched tv. I went back downstairs, found the source. A tube from the top of the water heater that connected to the water source of the house had sprung a leak and was spraying onto my drywall, which was soaking it up like it was cookie dough malt. Having found the leak, even with water shut off valve, I couldn’t get the water to stop. I tied a rag around it and called the number on the machine. Applewood Plumbing. (Please take note: Applewood Plumbing. You spell that A.P.P.L.E.W.O.O.D.) The lady told me that they would send some one out, and asked if I’d like them to come out that day or the next. Let’s see… water is going over my basement. Let’s do the next day. I’ll go watch more TV. The guy showed up about and hour and a half later, at the early part of the waiting segment they told me, so that was nice. He was kinda hot. Also nice. I took him to the water heater. He stepped to the water heater and then looked at me. Then back to the water heater. Back to me. “Well, I’ll quote you a price on a new water heater.” I felt my tonsils grow back. It took me too long to respond, I thought he wasn’t serious. He hadn’t even touched the damn thing. He was still three feet away from it. “Seriously? It’s spraying from that tube up there? Can’t we look at that?” He looks back at the water heater. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. I’ll get you a quote on that.” He shows me where the water valve of my house is, and turns it off for me. Nice. No more water spraying. Again, nice. We go up stairs. He looks through he big quote book. Bigger than the Bible. “To replace just that pipe will be fourfifty.” Wow, $4.50. That was cheaper than I expected. “Wait, Four Hundred and Fifty?” “Yeah.” “Oh… just for a tube?” “Well, I’d use copper tubing and solder it in.” “What if we just replace the tube thing with another one?” “I don’t have those in the van.” I asked the lady if this guy would come with everything he’d need… “What if I just replaced that tube myself?” “You might be able to get them at Home Depot, but we wouldn’t guarantee it.” “I think I’ll try that.” “Ok, sign the waiver that you got my quote and are refusing service.”
After returning from Home Depot, with my sixteen-dollar-and-something-cents tube thing, I attached it to where I yanked the other tube off. Onto the water valve. It was inside the wall and I couldn’t see it. I don’t stick my hand into dark spaces unless I know there is something male on the other side. If there’s something in the garbage disposal that won’t grind up, it stays there, because I know that my hand can be ground up. I got my camera, stuck it in the hole and began snapping pictures, knocking my lens cap into the abyss. Finally, I got a picture of the valve. I reached in and turned the water back on. To this point, the house has yet to flood and I was able to shower this morning. So… it’s looking successful. I must say, I was/am really proud of that. The old me would have not argued about the price, much less said no to the guy—not wanting to be rude and never assuming that I could figure it out on my own. Small achievements.
Whether brought on by the manliness of the day or my ears screaming in pain until five in the morning, around three I jumped out of bed went to the computer. I emailed HWMNBN and asked him to meet me for five minutes today, that I had favor. (To discuss what I’ve mentioned in here before, about that I’m going to start going places again, and want to see him on my own terms first, etc.) I felt such a sense of peace after, and excitement to get it over with. Time to stop living in fear. A few minutes later I got a message saying he is out of the office till Friday. Perfect. So now, I wait. Again. Either way, this ends by the time Spring Break is over. I’m ready to get it done.
It seems that they are now concerned about my description of the zombie flesh on the right side of my throat. They want me to come in tomorrow morning for an inspection. Wish they would have just listened to me yesterday.
I hate having to face these challenges that force me to take action on such emotional matters (heart and money), but by having a spine, I save myself four-hundred dollars—hopefully by having a spine with HWMNBN, I can begin to live again. Maybe even close the door on him.
On a happy note, as I sat here in my favorite seat at my coffee shop (it’s been waiting for me for the past two days!), a cute guy paying at the counter waived my book advertisement in my direction. “Is this you?” I nod yes. He proceeds to tell me that’s he’s really excited about the fantasy one and that he had already decided to order. He asked enough questions that I could tell he’s actually read the descriptor. Made my day!

you're welcome for all the answers to the world's problems

2011-03-28T11:51:00.001-06:00

Turns out the nurses think I don’t need to go in to the doctor’s office. They think that the parts that aren’t connected will simply fall off over time. Delicious. I guess this actually makes sense, especially since other pieces have started falling off today. Never felt sexier in my life. Haven’t worked out in weeks, eaten like crazy, belly still swollen from surgery, can’t speak, breath is horrible from the decomposing scabs, and occasionally hacking up chunks of my own flesh into the sink. Come on boys, come and get it while it’s hot!
I’m very thankful that they don’t think I need to come in and stitch me up or knock me out. I really didn’t want to start the whole healing process over once more.
Yesterday, we took Gavin to the new kid’s area at the Cherry Creek Mall (For non-Denver natives—this is the ritzy part of town, snobby—I remember when I barely felt good enough to go to that mall, and when I did, I’d dress up and make sure I look good—now the clientele is something out of the Wal-Mart books—if not in looks, for sure in action). It was quite an experience. By the time we left, I was thankful my voice isn’t working very well. I’m not sure I really would have been able to keep my mouth shut. I let my distain show the way it was. There were probably one hundred kids in that small area. The parents seemed to think that this was an opportunity to sit on the benches, drinking their Starbucks, playing on their smart phones, and not think about being a parent for an hour or so. In theory, I can understand that thinking. It’s a kid’s area, turn them loose, let them be kids. However, I would argue the opposite is true. There is a lot of relationships that you learn from trial and error, that is true, however, manners, etiquette, and respect are not learned that way and are a basic foundation of how figure out relationships on your own as you grow up. Teach them not to crawl up the slides, causing other kids not to be able use the slides and causing injuries (which there were several from our short time there). Teach them not to run into other children and knock them over, intentionally and unintentionally. Teach them it is rather unmannerly to roll on the ground with each other, tugging on hair and biting. There was twice were I broke up fights between four year olds. Not little kids fights, but punching. Shoving to the ground, kicking in the face. Truly, not exaggerating in the slightest. It was like adults fighting, not kids. It was obviously learned, rather from TV or their parent’s lives, I’m not sure. However, it was not in play. It was brutal and violent. I broke the fights up, with the parents sitting less than five feet away—parents that were aware of what their child was doing. There was thing after thing, and I was completely disgusted—a lot with the children, but so, so much more with parents. To think there are those who say my kind shouldn’t be allowed to have children but these wastes of spaces are given such treasures to waste. I can’t fathom not loving that part of parenting. Gavin is spoiled rotten, and we all know it. However, even my gorgeously perfect spoiled nephew, at less than two years of age was able to comprehend some genteel mentality. He tried to crawl up the slides with the rest of the monsters, however, after taking him by the hand and showing him the process of crawling up the steps, walking across the platform, figuring out how to sit without falling, and then sliding, he was doing it all by himself after a two demonstrations. Squealing with delight at his new ability and pride at what a big boy he was! Gotta say, my chest was rather puffed out with his new ability as well!

would you like to put that back correctly or just wrap it in tinfoil?

2011-03-27T20:35:00.000-06:00

I’ve just spent the past hour watching Chopped with both puppies in my lap. That’s one hundred pounds of dog. Thank goodness they had a bath before the surgery. It has been really nice to spend so much more time with them. While I have been with my family A LOT, once again, it is so apparent how dependant I am on the dogs. Of course, thoughts of HWMNBN have come up quite a bit, but loneliness has yet to be an issue due to family and dogs. However, with many friends, some of the effect of me pulling away and keeping to myself so much has most definitely become evident this week. At first, I was actually a little hurt, then I got over myself. I’ve not been a good friend in a long, long time. My friends have been better to me than I have been to them. I hope to change that in the next couple months.
It has been an interesting recovery so far. Much less painful than I was expecting. Of course, from what people said, I was anticipating extreme agony. It hurts—I have trouble sleeping due to pain in my ears from swelling, I can barely talk, and it takes forever to eat, but it’s not near as bad as what people said. However, mom has always said I handle being sick and hurting better than most people. I would chose physical pain over emotional pain any day of the week—that I don’t handle as well as most people, as evident by my life.
I am going to call the doctor tomorrow. I’m pretty sure they are going to have to go back in and stitch some things up. I can feel a flap of skin resting on my tongue a lot of the time. When I look in, it seems to be part of what was stitched that connect my jaw to the flesh moving up to the form the roof of my mouth. I can see where the stitch used to be that held that flap in place and it now looks like cut meat, so I’m willing to bet that ain’t right. On the right side, there is a slab that resembles those mummy or zombie movies, when their cheeks are shredded and you can see through their gapping holes… Yeah, there’s one of those back there. I’m less sure of the incorrectness of this one, however—I’m mean, they did chop out parts of my throat, there’s gonna be holes. If you’re bored, look up tonsillectomy on youtube. It’s pretty awesome. Made me glad they put me out! Although, if they go back in to do more work, I really hope they don’t have to put me out again. Just such a hassle.
I was hoping to make a lot of progress on the planning of Submerging’s sequel, but that isn’t going to happen. While the pain isn’t killing me, it’s enough that I can’t think clearly and it seems to be taking me forever to process anything. Also won’t being doing massages like I thought I would, at least not by tomorrow or anything. Which is going to make this next week tight. T.I.G.H.T. That spells tigger. Oh, wait. If I don’t have to be put under, I will force myself to accept some by Wednesday so I can make it though the week. I will just schedule a few hours on the couch after. It has amazed me how everything wears me out. Makes me feel really old and weak. I was also hoping to start working out this week. Yeah, not even a slight chance!
My computer was out of commission the past little bit, but is back now, finally time (yay!), so I am very grateful—that will help recovery. Getting to spent three(ish) days with Gavin is worth any amount of surgery as well!

day three

2011-03-24T10:14:00.001-06:00

My parents have moved in with me since Tuesday. I think they might return home tonight. I typically hate being taken care of, but I must admit, it has very nice this time. I don’t think I could have managed staying at home as much as I have if they weren’t there. My brother has come down the past two nights too. My folks just dropped me off at the coffee shop for a couple hours while they go home to shower and such. It feels really good to be out and about. However, I’d been saying that the pain medicine wasn’t affecting me, but I can tell it is. I feel like everyone else is moving ten million miles a minute compared to me. That, and I sound fully retarded when I try to talk to people when they ask me a question. Of course, that is probably due more the cut up throat than the meds. Today is supposed to be the ‘most painful’ day, so they say. I am so very thankful for how well I am doing. Due to all the horror stories, I really was getting scared. However, by grace of God or my inability to sit still and not eat what I want, I am doing better than what anyone thought I would, so Yay!!!! However, even this has taken me forever to write, so I’m going to take it easy and just listen to music, work on some pictures on the computer and simply enjoy being at the coffee shop and out of my house!

slice and dice

2011-03-22T21:28:00.000-06:00

Well, one day down. I am so glad to have the surgery done. So, so glad to have it over. They said tomorrow or the next day will be the worst, but today has been great, I’m starting to get a little more sore now, but not too bad. As soon as we left the hospital, we went to Sonic, where I got my double cheeseburger. However, they left off the mayo and added mustard. Dummies. I asked the surgeon when I could eat real food and she said she’d like me to as soon as possible, as along as it isn’t hard or pokey (hee, hee). I may not be quite as successful tomorrow, but so far, I’m pleased. You should see inside my throat, though. Holy crap, it is a butcher market. They said that they typically don’t use stitches, but they couldn’t get me to stop bleeding, so I have tons of stitches. One of them is rubbing on my tongue and driving me crazy. I always bleed like a river—tattoos, shaving, paper cuts. When they put in the IV, blood went everywhere—completely over my hand over the chair they had me in, all over the floor. Between the stitches, the white scabs that have already formed, the swelling, and serrated flesh, isn’t not very sexy in my mouth right now. Add to that the horrible smell they tell me will be coming from my breath for the next two weeks and you’ve got yourself one hot Romeo.
Thanks for your thoughts and care; I received many messages and calls today. That means a lot.

twas the night before...

2011-03-21T23:43:00.001-06:00

In exactly twelve hours, I should be waking up from surgery. Despite all the horror stories (three more today—THREE!), I cannot wait to just have it over. Whatever will come, at least it will come, be here, then be over. Probably not that simple, I know, but still. I hate waiting for things. Even things that suck. Even when HWMNBN said he was leaving, he offered to stay with me for as long as I needed. Days, weeks, months. Whatever I needed. I said if he knew he was leaving, he should leave. I hate waiting for the axe to fall. Of course, I hate waiting for wings to sprout too (ie, publishing, etc.).
I will say this, it has been a fun, fun week or two, giving in to every single food craving I’ve had. Really, it’s been a blast. I finished a huge second dinner tonight of awesome burgers and I just returned from McDonalds were I had a huge iced tea, fries, and a McFlurry (Dairy Queen wasn’t open). I have twenty more minutes until I have to stop drinking water. While it’s been fun, I’m looking forward to finally getting back in shape and feeling somewhat sexy again—been a long, long time.
Alright, off to cuddle with the puppies and fall asleep, then get this thing over with!
Now, I lay me down to sleep (that prayer always goes through my mind when they put me under)…

free

2011-03-20T13:00:00.001-06:00

After ninety-some dollars, and making exactly four dollars off my ads on Facebook, I decided to cancel my advertising. Rather disappointing. Not a huge deal, just trying things out. However, I do wish I knew if it was the ads I designed, not targeting the right audience, or if there truly is no market for my books….. I guess, either way, that was some exposure. For better or worse.
I kinda feel like today is my last day of freedom. I work tomorrow, then have surgery on Tuesday. I’m definitely nervous about the amount of pain people say I will have. However, I’m most nervous about having to stay on the couch for so long. I don’t sit still very well. Hopefully, the pain will be such that I can ignore that directive and at least get to the coffee shop and such. If I could do massage and work out, even better! While I’ve thoroughly enjoyed not working out and eating enough to feed a few third-world countries, I feel disgusting. When it’s time, it will be good to get back into the swing of things. Maybe enough swing enough that I can fit in my good jeans by my birthday. That would rock.
There actually is a lot more to say, more I’d like to blabber on about, but I think I’m going to go enjoy freedom.

pride and prejudice

2011-03-18T07:58:00.000-06:00

I watched a new video of Japan this morning. I honestly haven’t watched that much or listened to most of the details. I’ve gotten the major picture, but really, I don’t want or need to see or hear too much. I can’t do much about it, and I’m already a little hardened against a lot of that. Even as I watched the video this morning, I couldn’t help but think of the movie Titanic as the water rushed up a stairwell in an apartment building. Even so, watching the people help save each other, from trees, from the tops of lower roofs that were soon going to be covered, etc, etc, it was amazing to see humanity at its best in the worst of times.
The thing that sticks out most to me is the reports I’ve heard about the Japanese peoples’ reactions since the devastation. Whether based on fact or ignorance, I have had (and still do I suppose) some ‘moral qualms’ with Japan—the Japanese government, more specifically. Just several larger human rights issues that have baffled my mind that still exist in 2011. (Not that these things brought on the tragedy in any way, just some personal core beliefs that have made Japan at large seem rather evil… there are several similar things I could/and do say about America as well.) Despite that, the reports I’ve heard of the Japanese peoples’ actions since have been very inspiring and redeeming, not that they need Brandon’s redemption by any stretch, nor that they would want it.
Reports of how no one is looting. How grocery stores are giving away their produce. People are giving water away. Thing after thing that live up to the Japanese stereotype of putting the nation first, honor, living to never shame your family—again with honor, I suppose. Things I try to have in my own life, things I preach constantly to my boys (It never ceases to amaze me that it’s a gay teacher who drones on and on about being a man, what it mean to be a man to students who have poor male role models in their lives). At any provocation, the American people loot, steal, kill, hike-up prices when people are most in-need, and are constantly out for only themselves. Sadly, that has been demonstrated over and over and over again in every tragedy we’ve had here (all the while having demonstrations of love and heroism and selflessness as well, no doubt). I’m sure there have been cases of selfishness and cruelty in Japan too, they are still people, just as we are, but from the reports, what I hear sounds so amazing. A quality that I wish we had in more abundance, both as a country and on a personal level.

Mexican fish

2011-03-17T21:48:00.001-06:00

It’s late. Finished two massages tonight, then went and pigged out. PIGGED out! Let me rewind. Last night, I was craving one of my favorite Mexican places, Patzcuaro’s. OH. MY. GANDHI. So freaking good. Anyway, by the time I had a moment for dinner, it was after nine. I pulled up, all excited, had my iPod ready to watch the latest episode of Top Chef ([spoiler alert] Carla left, damn it! I wanted her to win!), ready to chow down on slow roasted pork that you tear apart yourself and eat with homemade corn tortillas, and finish with two of biggest sopapillas you could ever imagine—and the best you’ve ever had. Their door was locked. I screamed and cursed and pounded on the window, tears flowing down my cheeks. Okay, not really, but I felt like it. Instead I went to another Mexican place that’s two blocks from my house. I pigged out there thinking it would curb my craving (but knowing it wouldn’t). It didn’t. So, I was able to arrive at Patzcuaro’s tonight by 8:15. When I left a little after nine, the waiter said, “Wow! You can eat. That was a lot of food!” I took back my tip. Not really, but I should have. You don’t judge the people who are paying you. Unless you’re a massage therapist. Or therapist of any kind, actually. But, really. I gave up on the whole working out and loosing weight thing three weeks ago. I’m having surgery and won’t be able to work out for weeks. Might as well enjoy it while I can eat food without hurting. I know, I know. I should have upped my workouts and diet so that I’d be in better shape after it was all over. I suck. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. Now, I am lying on my heated massage table, the puppies playing below, the new fish tank gorgeous beside me, completely and satisfyingly stuffed. And when I say lying, I actually mean high centered on the tale. Just in time for a date tomorrow. What a lucky guy he is!
Speaking of the fish tank, all the rocks and driftwood have been boiled (it was a horrible process) and it is now a live plant/live-bearer fish fish-tank. And, once again, it is GORGEOUS! More than ever before. Really. I’m completely in love with it. I come down and turn on the heaters (table and space) and simply watch the fish in the dark with the puppies for about half an hour every night. Several are pregnant. Babies soon. Yay!!!!! It’s exactly how I wanted it to be. However… the last traumatic experience has changed me. (Seriously, how many more traumatic experiences are going to change me—let’s not find out!) Yesterday I noticed two fish that looked a little iffy. Without much thought, I placed my hand in the tank and scooped them up (yes, with my hands, watching the stupid fish people at the store battle around trying to catch the fish I want for hours at a time drives me crazy, but they have some rule that customers can’t catch their own—makes much more sense to have incompetent people get paid and waste my time), said a very brief, ‘I’m sorry,’ and flushed them down the toilet. Horrible, I know. Absolutely heartless. However… maybe my heartlessness will save the lives of all the others in the tank. I can’t go through another black plague. Once I am certain that the tank is disease free, I will be shrinking myself down, turning into a merman and living in the tank. Truly, I wanna move in—it’s like a perfect little world in there. It’s pretty, magical looking, and no one breaks your heart. Hell, even if they do, what are they gonna do? Move out? Well, have fun floppin’ on the floor! It’s pretty perfect. Except for that big human hand that scoops you out and flushes your ass if you don’t appear to be a perfectly healthy specimen. Well, every space has it’s challenges.

Yeah..... that's it...... Stick me!

2011-03-17T07:42:00.000-06:00

It’s already been a morning and a half. I was forcing myself to drive past Starbucks, then quickly gave into temptation. Just ahead of me in line, four women, all dressed in green for St. Patrick’s Day, who were not a group, all (seemingly) chose to bathe in perfume that morning. Even on their own, the smell was grotesque. Together, it was plainly offensive. Naturally (inherited from my mom), I can’t smell very well. However, I’m particularly sensitive to perfume and cologne scents. There are a few that are rather pleasing; many are disgusting. Some of the men’s cologne I actually like, but not much. There is even fewer of the womens’. However, no one, NO ONE, would have been able to take these. As ever, ‘thank God I’m gay,’ kept going through my mind as my stomach cramped. Once in the car, I dumped the entire large chai into my backseat. Yeah, that was a well-spent five bucks. I really need a Redo button for today.
It shouldn’t, but it’s blown my mind to discover how many of my co-workers have second jobs like me. Nearly half, I would say. One of them is a hair-dresser. She came to work telling about one of her clients she had earlier in the week.
This girl, early twenties I believe, came in to the beauty shop. The lower part of her face, mouth, jaw, etc., was swollen and blotchy-red. Apparently, she had her first true sexual encounter a day or so before. Guess what she discovered? She’s allergic to semen! (Wonder what she was doing…) Upon further testing, they also discovered she couldn’t even use normal condoms because she is also allergic to spermicide. In addition, obviously, she won’t be able to get pregnant—I don’t think they’re sure if in vitro is an option later or not. Honestly, it is a very sad story. However, I was rolling on the floor with laughter at the way my friend was describing it. The kicker? The girl has to carry around an EpiPen—like if you allergic to bees! You know, just in case you’re walking down the street and men start shooting their semen all over you! EpiPen, really? Where would you ever be where that would happen? I sure don’t know, and I’ve been a lot of places… However, I’d sure like the address. My co-worker and I decided that we’d both become lesbians if we were allergic to semen. I guess that I’d be straight then, not a lesbian. Semen allergies would have been a lot more effective than the five plus years of learn to be straight therapy I was in. Actually, let’s be real—we all know I’d simply become addicted to whatever is in EpiPens and walk around bleeding from having to stab myself all the time!

Who Knew?

2011-03-16T07:38:00.001-06:00

I got my computer back yesterday. Have to one more adjustment in a week or two that’s pretty intensive, but I’m so glad to have it back. In addition, when my friend was working on it, he kept asking me what was wrong with my internet. I kept saying, “Nothing. This is how it always is…” Turns out, for the past six or so years, I’ve had a faulty modem or whatnot from Comcast. It has been moving slower than dialup and I’ve been paying for whatever the fast connection is called (to say I’m computer illiterate is the understatement of the millennium).
It has changed my world. It used to take over a day to upload a book on tape. It took five minutes. FIVE minutes!!!! Thing after thing after thing. Youtube and its ilk… It would often take me about twenty minutes for each video to load. Now, instantly! It seems everyone else is used to this, as my friend was laughing at my overjoyed reactions. I had no idea. None! Our computers at work are as slow as mine was, so I had no comparison. Man, if I thought I was a computer addict before, there’s gonna be no stoppin’ me now! I feel like I jumped in a time-machine and traveled two-hundred years into the future! It’s awesome! Craziness!
Now I can get rejected by agents even faster! Bwahahahahahahaha!

FiNiTo

2011-03-15T07:54:00.000-06:00

I should have the computer tonight. Thank goodness. Although it won’t have the new hard drive that I’d purchased. The old one will be back in. It seems the new fancy one didn’t want to work. Perfect, I’m so sure they’ll be willing to refund that money… Either way, at least I will have a computer again (and a new modem from yucky Comcast—apparently, I’ve been paying for whatever the high-speed internet is and receiving dial-up speed—for years… perfect).
My fundamental upbringing has been triggered to an insane degree, even more than normal, due to the heartbreaking turmoil in Japan. I remember, as a kid, hearing what the end days would be like. Well, these are pretty much exactly what I heard about. Then again, I also remember the 88 reasons Jesus was coming back in ’88, and on and on and on. You really do get numb to it all—sadly, even pretty numb to all the wars and natural disasters too. There is always some new catastrophe that I can do nothing about. Some new end of the world disaster or epidemic. The world never ends. I guess it only takes one to change that though, huh… Plus, then you hear about statistics that this is the worst quake…tsunami…hurricane… tornado… bizarre weather since……. Then they give you a date that forever ago had some worse effects. Of course, maybe that they are all at once and so close together is the sign. So, what if the world is ending? What if Jesus is on his way back right now? Would I change? Honestly, yeah, I would change a few things. However, not that much. That, in itself, is either a scary or a liberating thought. Either I’m truly confident in my life or truly deluded. I must say, it’s interesting and beyond frustrating to hear peoples’ reactions to all of this. Preaching to high-heaven about ‘narrow the way,’ how many people will go to hell, repent, repent, repent. All the time sounding like a jackass. A jackass that will be prophet if Jesus really does show up ‘on schedule.’ The people with crazy religious theories that I’ve never heard of before, crazy, crazy shit. People that say it is all happening because of people’s sin. (Old story, really tired of that one. I’m sure there were gay people in Japan somewhere—hope the waves got them so god didn’t waste his time… fucking morons.) Even through my numbness to it all, my irritation with peoples’ stupidity, I can’t shake the notion that these really are the last days. And if they are, they are. However, I really hope not. While I can’t say I’ve loved my life the past couple years, I’m not done living it, and actually hope there are things to look forward to. Even more than that, I don’t want to be robbed of the time watching Gavin grow up, simply living life with him. Yes, I know, if the world ends, if Jesus comes back (for those of you who believe I’ll be in Heaven, it will be a moot point, because things will be perfected—for those of you who believe I’ll be in Hell, we’ll, I guess that be even more reason to hope He gets postponed—for those of you who believe I’ll [we all] be nothing, just rot in the ground, I find your outlook most depressing of all, strange that Hell wouldn’t be the most depressing; however, the thought that you, I, we are nothing more than we are now… No thank you), none of this will matter anyway.

poor, poor, pitiful me

2011-03-14T07:38:00.000-06:00

At the moment, for all intensive purposes, I am sans computer. Made it a very difficult weekend. Okay, difficult is probably not the word. I wasn’t in an earthquake or tsunami or in a hostage situation. I know. . . poor, poor me.
I almost had to blog on paper!!!!!
I don’t know if I could even do that anymore. In addition, I’d also planned to have the entire Sunday to contact more agents. No progress on the books. Although, maybe not sending any queries and not getting any rejections is progress…
The evidence of how addicted I am to other aspects of my computer (iTunes, facebook, blogs) was cripplingly evident. And, I’d left my Suzanne Collins’ book at school, so I couldn’t even read! Again, poor, poor me.
Can’t tell you the relief of having a key board under my fingers again. Hopefully, the computer situation will be resolved this week. Goodness, please!

Only eight more days until my surgery. It seems everyone, and I do mean everyone, has a tonsillectomy story they feel the need to share—each one worse than the next. How they had never been in so much pain, how they didn’t recover for over two months, how I won’t be able to do anything at all for weeks. They’re not trying to talk me out of it (most say that it really helped them not get sick as much), they just wanna tell me their horror stories. What is that? Besides mean and cruel. I honestly have been looking forward to it so much that I haven’t been nervous at all. I’ve wanted my tonsils out for so long (even though there is no guarantee it will help). However, after all these nonstop stories, I must admit there have been a couple nights where I truly have struggled with falling asleep, almost convincing myself to cancel the surgery (I’m not going to, obviously). Maybe it’s the misery loves company condition of our psyches. Maybe people are just assholes. Maybe, after I have it, I’ll learn they actually were telling the me good parts of it—Lord, I hope not. Either way, it sounds like I have a Spring Break to be jealous of! (yep—ending the blog on a preposition—publish that!)

fins

2011-03-11T07:38:00.001-07:00

I contacted three more agents yesterday. One of them in Denver, which is less appealing than all the ones in New York, but would be handier. However, since so many of the publishing houses are in New York, and everything I read stresses how important it is for the agents to have a true relationship with the publishing companies (duh!), I’m not sure how good of choice choosing local would be. However, they don’t have gay lit as one of their topics. However, they do represent contemporary fiction and fantasy—which is what I write, only about fags. While I was at the coffee shop for a few hours last night, groveling to agents, there was a very cute three or four year old boy and his mother sitting beside me. In the small dose, the boy was adorable, but you could tell he’s the kind that after an hour or so together, you’d want to duct tape him to the wall. His mother was very over-indulgent and adoring. Everything he said was like a treasured gem to her. Which often leads to spoiled children; however, it’s exactly how I am with Gavin, so I couldn’t help but feel a kinship with her. For most of their time beside him, the boy played with his fish. His fish was the gutted trout I assume they were going to have for dinner. He unwrapped it from the butcher paper (is that what they wrap fish in? it wasn’t newsprint) and played with it forever. Talking to it. Making it ‘swim.’ Letting it rest on the table. Not sure what my deal was, as typically I would have a problem with a parent letting a child do something so socially unacceptable. Dead fish all over the table, next to people who are eating and drinking—come on! For some strange reason, I found myself enjoying the spectacle and preparing to defend her against some sensitive queen who wanted to pass on their child-rearing expertise (as I so often do). Despite the thinly-veiled looks and glares, no one admonished her or her son or the fish. Despite that I was charmed by their little world, I was also content to see them leave. (No one cleaned the table. I know I should have, but I got a sick joy out of knowing someone was going to be sitting in dead fish slim and never know it…) I vaguely remember being a nice, contentious, good person—Hmmm, maybe that was a dream…

what a pile

2011-03-10T07:28:00.001-07:00

You know it’s a good start to the day when your horror novel (in two non-related, non-sexual passages) used the words penetration and erect within a couple chapters of each other! Yay for Thursday, apparently. Whatever that is in reference to, bring it on!
However, things didn’t look so promising during the night. I had very long dream about receiving a massage from a girl. Naked massage. I was naked, not her, thank goodness! It also wasn’t sexual, but still…nakedness and girls…shudder. The whole point of the dream however, was that she was blown away that my socks didn’t match. She wouldn’t let it go. For some reason, it greatly offended her.
I have no idea what this dream meant, outside of the fact that my socks rarely match. I just grab two from a pile of clean clothes (I vaguely remember my life when I used to iron everything, put everything neatly away—now I’m lucky if I take the time to make sure I’m getting clothes out of the clean pile instead of the dirty pile). Maybe that’s why I’m gay—so I can get naked with someone who won’t give a shit about my socks.
If only I’d figured that out before spending so much money on five years of learn-to-be-straight therapy.

personal

2011-03-08T07:54:00.001-07:00

It quite literally took everything in me to turn off of I70 this morning, turn away from the mountains. (I so want another weekend with the boys in the mountains.) The car was freezing, but I had my coffee, heater blaring on me, had a horror novel playing over the speakers, and fog surrounded me on all sides. Honestly, if I hadn’t known that the fog would soon leave, the day would truly soon begin, and the moment would be lost at any rate, I probably wouldn’t have been able to ignore the impulse. Not sure what I love so much about that specific recipe of environmental factors, but it always has a soothing effect on me, has the ability to anesthetize my brain.
I heard back from Daniel Lazar last night, much sooner than anticipated. He was the agent that I had such a great gut feeling about. He is ‘afraid [my] project does not seem right for [their] list.’ For some reason, this one hit me harder than any of the others, even more than the rejection from Kensington. It really messes with me when my gut feelings are so off base. I truly didn’t think I was forcing whatever emotion that was. It was actually surprising to me—how at peace I felt after I sent it to him, like I had just made the bridge that would take me to the other side. Apparently not, it seems. If not for that feeling, it just would have been one more rejection, not a big deal at this point—they’re kinda second nature—in love and writing. However, I let my emotions, unintentionally, get involved on this one. You’d think I’d learn that lesson by now. Turn it off, keep it removed. (On a similar, yet different note, I was having a conversation with a very new friend on Sunday. At his urging, not because I wanted to talk about it, I spoke in very generic terms of the break-up. He and his partner of seventeen years had split up about five years ago, mutual decision. One of his main points what that it wasn’t personal. It was just not meant to be. I laughed so derisively that it prompted him to flinch and say that I was jaded and jagged enough to cut someone if they got to close (duh). Right, not personal, not personal at all. If that’s not personal, then nothing is. And I’m so fucking sick of ‘not meant to be.’ Especially in my relationship with HWMNBN, but also across the board. People make their decisions, we have free will—to make beauty and to destroy. Not meant to be is the excuse of the weak, of those who don’t want to take ownership or responsibility. It’s personal. Whether it’s rejection of love or of my writing—It’s personal.)

wordsmith

2011-03-07T07:23:00.001-07:00

There have been many times in my life where I have been a Grade-A pratt. Seemingly more so all the time. I’m hoping my latest will not affect potential publication (also, I know with at least one agent, it cut me out of the running before she would have made it to the second paragraph of my query.
The Men of Myth series’ concept was inspired by Kelley Armstrong’s Women of the Otherworld series. They are my favorite books (besides Harry Potter). I’ve been following her for at least eight years and have devoured every book she has written (save two—a realistic crime detective series I just can’t get interested in). I mention this in my query (from what I’ve read, it is important to draw some comparison to other works that have already been successful. My dear friend CRL was over Friday with her family and saw the first book, “Bitten,” on my counter. She read the title and the series’ name. As she read it, I thought, ‘Otherworld. Huh… that sounds odd for some reason.’ I didn’t give it another thought besides pushing the novel onto her and telling her she just had to read it.
A few hours after I submitted my final query for the weekend, to the third or forth agent for this round, it hit me out of the blue. Rushing to check what I feared, my heart sank. The series is indeed ‘Women of the Otherworld.’ However, in my queries, I’ve have referred to Armstrong’s books as ‘Women of the Underworld.’ Seriously! What kind of writer do I appear when I can even get the name of my inspiration correct? I’ve referred to that series as Underworld for years. I’ve recommended it over and over. To me, Otherworld sounds incorrect.
I’m sure Kelley Armstrong’s agent, who was my second choice, got a kick out of that—both at how dumb I am and how incompetently I did my research as I picked a series that I pretended to read (let alone love). No wonder she never even responded. Sadly, I wasn’t even that irritated with myself. It’s classic Brandon. Makes perfect sense that I would pull a stunt like this.
You just have to laugh.
Sigh… Onward we go……

tiny hands; big hopes

2011-03-06T12:10:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was a really good day. The kind I haven’t had for a while. For one simple reason. My family. In this instance, Gavin. He’s not even two yet, and while he is an affectionate child and very sweet, his independence has grown so much. It’s fun to see, fun to see him discover the world and grow in his confidence. However, it isn’t as frequent that he falls asleep in your arms. Before I left my folks’ house yesterday, I held him as he had his nightly bottle, humming Disney songs (Cinderella, Dumbo, and Lady & the Tramp have three of the best lullabies). He fell asleep, his head pressed against my chest, one tiny hand holding the ear of his stuffed monkey he got at the zoo earlier in the day, his other laying on top of mine. Truly, those moments are singular in their ability to make everything else evaporate. There is nothing more important in that moment, no pain that can take away the peace, no worry that can steal the serenity. I know more of God’s love in that instant than in any other area of life.
I pray I have the blessing of having my own children one day. I can’t believe I’d be able to love than any more than I do Gavin. Even though he isn’t, he feels like mine. Love and life are anguish, but they are also never-ending.

It may just have been a sentimental moment or wishful thinking—or maybe it was a true moment of clarity and providence (I hope)—but, yesterday, as I submitted a query for Submerging to Daniel Lazar, agent, I have this overwhelming sense of peace. It was as if, when I hit send, I was finished. That I’d just contacted the person that is going to say yes. It was strange. In fact, in respect to that feeling, I stopped for the day. I didn’t do more research or try to find others to submit my manuscripts. Don’t get me wrong. I’m going back to the search today, as I’ve learned all to well that it takes two, but I do have my hopes up.

and they call it puppy love

2011-03-05T11:41:00.000-07:00

Dolan has a waist again! Sadly, I think losing some weight may have given him more energy. I’m not sure how that is even possible. In addition, I’m fairly certain there is a correlation between intelligence and weight. I swear, the more weight Dolan has lost, the greater his retardation has become. I love that dumb dog, but there is hardly an hour that goes by that I don’t look at him in bafflement and ask, ‘Really?’ He is also so much more hyper and moving even faster than usual (again, shouldn’t be possible), that his feet can’t keep up with his body. About seventy percent of the time, he now falls up the stairs or gets stuck on one step, his front legs gripping a step, his hind legs flailing about on their own volition. While he always has been rough and tumble, he is constantly knocking me off balance as he tears down the steps. If you don’t see any updates on the blog for an unusual amount of time, just assume I’ve been knocked down the stairs, broke my neck, and the adoring kisses of my dogs changed to ravenous as they chow down—completely ruining their diet.

kicked

2011-03-03T07:44:00.001-07:00

After a day or so of not being in the worst of moods, it makes sense that it would all crash down. Make me pay. However, maybe (maybe), it’s a step in the direction I need or am supposed to take. Even though there is nothing I’d rather do less.
I was reading Ricky Martin’s biography, ‘Me.’ (By the way, I know which things are supposed to be underlined and such, but I can’t the blog to publish it for some reason—computer illiterance [new word], not grammatical.) It’s taking me forever to get through. I don’t like reading biographies. By their very nature, they are self-absorbed, which gets on my nerves. I’m the only one in the world that’s allowed to be self-absorbed, remember? If other people are thinking about themselves, then they aren’t thinking about me, and that’s really not okay. This follow passage from page 82, triggered having to admit to myself something that I’ve been shoving, intentionally, from my consciousness for months and months:
“I learned that it is very easy to lose yourself in the pain. Pain comes, it seduces you, it plays with you, and you identify with it to the point that you start to believe this is how life is. When you feel that heaviness in your heart, most of the time the parameters of pain and relief become blurry, and it is very east to stay stuck in what you already know, pain. We lose our memory and forget the peaceful moments when everything was light and gravity was an ally. It’s okay to feel hurt—it’s human. It’s important to feel, but you cannot cling to sadness, distress, or bitterness for too long, because they will inevitably destroy you.”
How long have I been saying I feel destroy (though not in that exact word)? Sadly, he doesn’t say how he coped with that or give advice beyond that you have to fight. I love you, Ricky, but I really need a little more advice than that. I’ve been fighting. I’m exhausted from fighting. I ready to stop fighting.
Somehow, this triggered what I’ve been dreading saying out loud. I’ve never even said it to myself out loud, just pushed it from my mind when it comes up. I have to meet with HWMNBN and have a conversation. Not fully sure what all needs to be said, but I need to face him before I run into him somewhere else. I need to face him so that the terror I have of seeing him elsewhere doesn’t continue to suffocate me. At some point, I have to go places where he might be. And I don’t want to do that randomly and have it happen by surprise before I’ve clarified a couple things first.
There, I admit that I have to do this. While I hate knowing things I have to do and not simply doing them that instant (I want to get it done with, don’t want to dread it any longer), I also know I’m not ready yet. I need to be a little more stable to so, I don’t want to meet with him and be a blabbering, sobbing idiot. I need to see him when I feel stronger, when I can have my walls up against him somewhat, and where I don’t feel like a pile of shit in his presence. If it’s impossible to get there before seeing him, so be it, but I need to try before I bring that on myself. Maybe knowing it is probably coming will help me get ready to face it.
A couple hours after admitting this to myself, I got a text from the first man I loved (not the fucking asshole who was my first boyfriend, but the first man I loved, the second boyfriend)—the one who kissed me this summer, that rather magical night on his sidewalk with crickets singing, blah, blah, blah—the one who told me it was a mistake the next day and that he can’t be in a relationship. Yeah, that one. He texted me to ask if I knew a certain guy (which turned out to be this gorgeous guy who stood me up about a month ago), and if I had any thoughts on if he was ok or not, that they’d been flirting, blah, blah, blah. He’s asked me about guys in the past, and it wasn’t a big deal, but that was when HWMNBN and I were together, and before our last interaction this summer. Typically, I would have just answered and been nice. He picked the wrong day. I let him know that I knew that he wasn’t trying to be mean, but that it hurts me now when he asks me about other men—that I’m rather tired of being reminded that I’m not good enough for the two men I’ve loved. While, my love for him is nothing compared to HWMNBN, part of me will always love him. He responded very nicely, apologized and said he would never ask me such things again. That he wasn’t thinking. Great, glad our kiss, that night, and that my feelings are so forgettable. However, while I was glad I said what I did, it was one more twist of the already throbbing wound with the knife imbedded.
The final cut came on the way home as I listened to the radio. They were talking about the court case that was ended yesterday, where the father of marine was suing the Westbro Baptist Chruch, or something to that effect. It was determined that their actions as his son’s funeral (he died in service) are protected under our constitutional rights. While I actually agree that they are (although, if their words were racists in effect, I would bet the court would have decided differently). They played a clip of the woman signing at the funeral. “Brokeback Mountain made God angry; soldiers died and when to Hell.” (Not one ounce of that is God, and I know that.) It crushed what was left of my spirit that was actually functioning at that moment.

Veins

2011-03-02T07:59:00.001-07:00

Tuesday night brought two small successes, both of which were unexpected and surprisingly positive. I had a dinner with a dear friend of mine who has been MIA for the past seven months. He was on a heroin binge. However, back in outpatient rehab and doing much better at the moment. He wanted to play pool. I suck at pool (it’s a sport), but said sure. What I didn’t think about was that pool tables are at bars. I don’t go to bars due to the likelihood of HWMNBN’s presence. At first I said absolutely not, but then remembered that the chances, while not non-existent were not huge on a Tuesday. We went to the bar that would be the 2nd most likely one he would go to; much to my delight, they had the pools tables inaccessible for the night, so we ended up going to another one. After staring around for several minutes, making sure he was nowhere to be seen, I began to relax. I lost every game we played, but I had a lot of fun. It was nice to feel mostly normal for a moment. The second thing that happened, during one of the pool games, was Solange’s ‘Sand Castles’ coming on the speakers. I was singing along, enjoying it, when I suddenly I realized what I was doing. This was HWMNBN’s and my grocery shopping song (yes, we had a grocery shopping song—shut the fuck up). The fact that not only had I not realized what I was singing, but that I didn’t break down in tears when I finally did realize felt like huge progress to me. Celebrate where I can, right?
Before pool, my friend and I were catching up over dinner (my addictive personality has been focused on food the past couple weeks—dangerous, can’t fit in my pants, but oh…so good…). We’ve spoken of his drug addictions many, many times. He often has said that he can’t comprehend how I seem to understand his struggle for someone who has never tried drugs at all—that most people who aren’t users just get impatient and tell him to quit, expect it to be that simple, then get fed up with him and give up on the friendship. Part of me wishes I felt that way. Sadly, the things he says he feels, from his uncontrollable urges, moods, pain to going through periods of hiding from others and being lost to his own mind/darkness, I completely understand. While he’s talking about things that are completely foreign to me (thank God!), it is often like he’s describing what goes on inside myself.
In that sense, and that sense alone, I can understand the sadness, frustration, and sense of wastefulness that some friends feel towards me. My friend is a handsome man. He is the best artist I have ever met—hand’s down—if he got the right breaks he would be one of the most famous artists of our time, and I’m not exaggerating in the slightest. He is one of the most gentle, sweet, and caring men you could expect to find. We both know that if control is not soon found, he will no longer be here. Everything that is wonderful about him, everything that he has to give and offer the world will be lost and gone. Even while he is here, the state he is in keeps him from living, keeps him from shinning like the sun from every pore of his body. It’s hard to watch.

words

2011-03-01T07:56:00.001-07:00

Monday, Monday. Ten hours at school, followed by four hours of massage. Followed by dinner to Being Human—surprisingly good and getting better all the time.

My mind is struggling turning off. With the ability to turn off. However, I am noticing a huge difference since going back on the one pill of the anti-depressant. While I hate obviously still needing that, I suppose I’m thankful that I need them and can have them instead of needing them and not being able to have them. The intensity of the past month has slackened greatly, and I am much relieved to have some peace. I guess peace isn’t the right word really, there really isn’t a moment of peace, the turmoil has lessened so it seems like peace. The way a quiet, deepening flood would feel after being in the midst of a hurricane. Peace.
Actually, there are only three times when I’m able to turn my brain off, well four actually. One is Gavin, he is the best medicine ever—everything flees in his presence, nothing is about me, everything is about him. Love it. Two, TV. I really don’t watch that much TV, but the few shows I do watch allow me to loose most of my own reality, most—for which I am thankful. Third, my books on tape. I am re-listening to The Taken, by Dean Koontz. For the first few minutes I have to tell myself to listen, listen, quit thinking. When I finally am able to pull that off, I get lost more entirely than anywhere else. So much, I often wonder how I’m able to drive. The power of books and the power of the written/spoken word is so massive, transcendent. I am grateful for its impact on my life and my functioning. I am also thankful that I get to be a part of that process for others, no matter to what degree.
I am also thankful for cheese. Really. I am.

flounder for president

2011-02-28T07:53:00.001-07:00

For the briefest of moments this morning, I was Ariel as I stepped out the door. Not with the long, flowing red hair I always wanted. Sadly, not with the tail. But, still. I’m not sure if it is a squirrel with an identity crisis or a bird with multiple personality disorder, but either way, one of them has the call of a dolphin down perfectly. As I stepped outside, the dolphin’s chatter greeted me, causing the salt-water breeze to flow, the sunrise glisten from the top of the waves, the seals lounging in La Jolla. Then it all crashed down into a normal Monday. . . but just for a second, it was something special. Although bird or squirrel with that talent or delusion is pretty special all on its own.
Even more off his rocker than my oceanic rodent-avian friend, Alan Keys, writer for World Net Daily, has taken stupidity to a whole new level. Alan is a very dark skinned African-American. From the picture I saw, a rather handsome man, actually. Probably was a very handsome man ten years ago. He was talking about Obama’s new stance on DOMA (this shows how ignorant I am—I always thought DOMA was something to do with finance—Never been good with acronyms. Finally put Defense Of Marriage Act together with its corresponding letters). Mr. Keys, amidst lots of other brilliant diatribes said that letting gays marry ‘is like granting plantation owners the right to own slaves.’ First and foremost, hasn’t this moron ever watched Will & Grace? It’s not the gays who have servants, it’s the Karen Walker’s of the world, and even then, it’s Rosario, who didn’t even have a cameo in Haley’s Roots. Second, if you’re going to be bigoted enough to deny other minorities the same rights as yourself, Alan, at least pick an analogy that doesn’t require six entire atlases to enable the reader to make a tenuous connection. (The sad thing, as I did the smallest amount of research on Mr. Keys, I discovered, that once again, in all other political endeavors, I am nearly 100% on board with this jackass. That gets really old.) And speaking of politicians I can’t stand, I have to say, I am very, very grateful for his stance on DOMA. While he still isn’t for gay-marriage (whatever), the very existence of DOMA is so blatantly discriminatory (regardless of your religious or personal beliefs) it’s impossible for me to see how anyone with an ounce of common sense and belief in American freedom can support it, and I respect him for not kowtowing to what could be an easier position to take on an issue that could have won him points with his adversaries.

melt

2011-02-26T13:04:00.000-07:00

My age shows through more all the time. I canceled all my plans last night so I could lie on the couch, eat a crazy amount of food, and fall asleep early. Slept over ten hours. I still hate that I have to sleep, but I feel sooooo much better.
I have now sold twenty-one books. Not very many, really, but still enough to make me feel that someone will actually read them, which is a nice feeling. Most of the ones that have been purchased, I know who bought them. However, there are a couple that I have no idea who got them. I wish there was some way to know who they are—to know which advertising that I’m doing worked, if any. I haven’t heard anymore from any publishers/agents lately. That’s rather discouraging. While I don’t enjoy the rejection letters, at least they are acknowledging my books’ existence, even if they’d rather them not, exist that is.
I have a new obsession. It’s not that new, actually, but it is growing.
Asaigo Cheese.
Oh. My. Goodness. It’s pungent, tangy, and kinda waxy. Fantastic. It made up a huge portion of my dinner last night. It is in the homemade chicken tortellini soup (base recipe provided by KE, altered drastically by me and partly by HWMNBN). One of the alterations is an entire brick of Parmesan and a brick of Asaigo. In addition, I purchased one of those loaves of hot bread that are sitting at the front of King Soopers. They sit there, steaming, glaring seductively, their sent wafting over, their pheromones causing unsettling stirrings. How is a red-blooded, non-castrated American male supposed to resist? By the time I arrived home, there was only a small portion of the loaf remaining, still tantalizing, requesting role-play. I obliged. Sliced, doused with olive oil, dusted with oregano and thyme, enveloped in thick slabs of Asiago, lustfully toasted till the cheese oozed golden with climax.
It was good night.