Skip this one. Really. Pathetically juvenile.

I didn’t really want to use this blog space as a place to vent, unless that venting has a higher purpose of some sort. However, that is all I am going to do right now, vent. I’ll start out by bitching at myself. I am fully aware of why I am in the mood and place that I am in. I know what the causes are, I know when the causes will be eliminated, and I know that I will soon feel better. I would hope after all the years of therapy, the amount of writing and introspection I participate in, and my years of maturity would allow the afore mentioned to matter to me. It doesn’t. All the matters is right now. And right now, I feel pissed, frustrated, depressed, on edge, and ready to rip anyone’s fucking head off at a moment’s notice. All of this comes from me feeling belittled and weak. I have knowingly let powers outside of myself determine how I feel, how I see myself, and take control of my emotions.
One aspect is being sick, not such a huge deal in and of itself, except for the working out factor. I have been physically too weak and exhausted to work out (lift weights or do any cardio). I typically do this between and hour and an hour and a half everyday. It has been a week since I have worked out. I not only workout to look better and be stronger, but to regulate my mood. When I work out, I am happier, less depressed, have more energy, work harder, and simply feel more masculine, healthy, and in control. So, it is a given that I am in an emotionally weaker place.
Another aspect (again delving into an area I did not want to go [I feel it is unwise to make current occupational issues public knowledge]) is my cooperating teacher at my internship school. Throughout my life, I have been overtly blessed by the majority of adults and power leaders in my life. I have always been told I can do anything I want because I’m smart and talented (neither of these come naturally, but hard work has made them mostly true), and these people have reinforced areas of my personality that I am most proud of in regards to work and profession: I am dependable, trustworthy, hard-working, professional, and typically one of the more desired worker/employees/team-members/etc. Given that these words have been fostered in me to such a great degree, I guess it makes sense that I am rather thin-skinned when it comes to this area. Anyway, two weeks ago, due to a poor choice of calling off work on my part (however one that my teacher said at the beginning of the year would be completely fine), my cooperating teacher went off on me, telling me how I am undependable, unprofessional, immature, and generally not up to snuff (a complete 180 from her normal bragging about me). In one sense I knew she was reacting to me because of other things going on in the school at the moment—a very stressful time right now, and I also knew that I needed to be ready for her to lash out at some point, as she does this with a vengeance to the students and is never willing to forgive or forget. I apologized for the part my decisions played but was not willing to continue to grovel. We have gone from relatively easy working relationship to one that is tension filled. Today, she very clearly (without saying it) set up a situation in order for me to fail and be ‘punished.’ Kinda felt like Anne Hathaway in Devil Wears Prada when Meryl sets up a situation where Anne will fail and she could then have a justified attack. Well, I didn’t fail, but it wasn’t the point.
I have learned how to manage being called names for my appearance, sexual orientation, and even for my lack of affection for alcohol. I am not used to dealing with attacks on my character or work ethic.
On one hand, she could have done nothing that would make me more determined to succeed (or more sickly sweet and helpful, for that matter). I have no delusions that she will acknowledge any such achievement on my part or wrongful accusations on her part, but I will know and she will know, and that is enough.
In the mean time, I need to figure a way to get my head out of my ass, out of this funk that is making me irritable and reclusive. I really am acting like a baby! I hate that I am weak enough to allow one person’s tirade effect me to such a degree, even after the supervisor took me aside and said none of it was warranted or true and that it was not even about me. Must I have accolades from every person who draws breath in order to keep my fragile self-worth intact?
My deepest apologies for this blog. I will begin working out again tomorrow, eating better, and getting back in shape, and my humor will swiftly follow suit. I will be back to mumbling nonsense and ranting about my various political and religious causes. Who knows, maybe I will even write an erotic exposé from the view point of an SOS pad. Now if that ain’t a reason to switch over to Rush’s commentary/blog, then I don’t know what is…

Speaking of...

I’m a-settin’ just a-jivin’ to Joss Stone’s new CD. Never really liked this kind of music before, but I have not be able to stop listening to her today. Doesn’t hurt that she is nearly as beautiful as a girl I had a crush on in high school. One might think that such a girl would have to be fairly masculine to capture the attention of such a die hard faggot, but no, she was (still is) one of the most femininely beautiful women on the planet. Of course she married a complete fucking ass-hole, but I guess that is better than marrying a gay guy. Of course, I would rather marry a gay boy than an asshole, but, whatever—to each his own. Lauryn Hill sings (raps) on one of the songs with Joss. I love her. I wish she would quit rapping and sing, since she has one of the best voices ever. Have you not seen Sister Act: Back in the Habit? If not, you’re probably not gay. If you have every song and dance move memorizes, you probably are gay. No equal rights for you. Better go off to your corner and sing about the theme to the Love Boat. Yep, it is going to be one of those blogs. The kind where you have no clue what I am talking about. You a get a pretty good look into how my brain functions. Lucky you. And, don’t even try; I’m able to burst out of those straight jackets.
Speaking of bursting, I am down to two pairs of jeans that I can fit into. Sure glad I ate an entire pizza by myself tonight. Just in time for my trip to Vegas in a few days. Don’t matter anyway, nothin’ in Vegas besides female strippers and midgets. Really, the one time I went to Vegas, there was a little midget (not that there are big midgets) dancing on a box in this club. The things they do in straight clubs… And they call gaydom an alternative lifestyle. I believe the correct term is ‘small person,’ for all you midgets out there who faithfully read my blogings, I apologize for my un-PC-ness. Feel free to call me a god-damned-faggot (Jerry Farwell does, as well as that Ann Coulter chick).
Speaking of faggots, there seems to something caught in my throat. (Even I can’t claim I don’t deserve Hell for that one.) I finally broke down and went to doctor today after five days of coughing, fever, chills, and body aches. It shows my progressive development that I was not convinced that I was going in to receive the word that I have AIDs and that I will die next week. Used to, it wouldn’t have mattered that I haven’t had sex in nine months and my last HIV test was more recent than that. Cheers (with green beer, of which I had none) to personal growth! The doctor said I had the flu and it is morphing into Bronchitis. I was relieved; after all, I was running out of things to be dramatic about. Let’s cross our fingers and hope for further progression to pneumonia or scurvy.
Speaking of scurvy, I have grown more solid in my assertion that humanity is a plague upon civilization. I first became disheartened of this state in the workings of the Church. Later, I came to see the same thing in the world of counseling. I most recently have been swamped by the sickness in graduate school. Now, I am facing the facts that it is everywhere in the teaching population as well. I must cancel my support of the “Save the Human” campaign, and transfer those funds to “Save the Ferrets in Botswana” movement. In all these places, I came to face the bitter facts that the majority of the humanoids are full of deceit, speaking kindly to one-another, smiling, and acting of sweetest intentions and not even waiting for the scent of the other person to evaporate before slitting their throat through their words, slander, and gossip (in all fairness, I guess I will admit if your odor is so saturating that it lingers much time after your presence, your throat is better off slit). People seem to simply want to hear the sounds of their own gurgling and piss over any small grains of purity or wisdom that may accidentally make an appearance from time to time. I don’t feel like I am above these things (there mere act of writing them is proof that I am not), but I can not grasp why we as educated, ‘sophisticated,’ cultured adults have less gentility than a gaggle of hyenas. I think this, more than any altruistic motivation, is the cause of my desire to work with children, and those that are deemed socially unacceptable and hostile. They are simply who they appear to be (most of the time) and when they are being manipulative little bitches, it is obvious they are being nothing other than what they are. In their blatant, self-centered, arrogance there is a measure of pure, undiluted honesty and even compassion, that is rare to come by in ‘polite’ society.
Speaking of the serine beauty of God’s children, through my sickness, I have had many heartfelt gestures from loved ones who embrace their bitchiness. Many offering to come by, some watching movies with me, calling to check in, even one offer to supply a dildo. Still waiting on that one… Well, I guess no one can be perfect… Through it all, those who have chosen to walk their lives along side me continue to show me the splendor of the light of who God is through their consistent passion, love, and genuine tenderness. Maybe I won’t give the ferrets all my money. Maybe…

Curious, Curiouser, and Curiousest

I’m in one of my moods at the moment. No, not the kind where I write soft porn from the vantage point of a squirrel. I wish. Those moods are fun. I am in a semi-depressed/melancholy state. As surprising as that is… The wonderful thing is that I am on my front porch swing with Dunkyn and Dolan. The first of the year. Makes me happy! Winter will soon be dead. Dolan will jump down from the swing any second in deceleration of his independence. Dunkyn, my soul in a dog, will remain ever enmeshed by my side, occasionally nudging my hand impatiently for attention. I could ramble on about my mood, how I am more confused by the quasi-romance happening, how it is making me very happy in one sense and lonely in another, or how I have to spend the rest of the semester getting up at 5:45 AM to teach in a classroom where they teacher wants to be on her own and resents my presence and is making it known more all the time, or how I seem to be stuck in the state of binge eating, and my jeans and self-worth are paying the price. I could tell you about those things, but I won’t. Glad I didn’t bring it up.
I think, instead, I will focus on three strange happenings in my life, ending with the most recent. None particularly interesting or valuable, so it makes perfect sense that I would spend precious time documenting their existence.
Over the past two weeks, I have been struggling to see: eyes burning, hardly able to have my eyes open in daylight, the surrounding word haphazardly fading in and out of focus. After nearly fourteen days and a variety of eyes drops, I decided to go into the eye doctor, convinced that they would tell me that I was being a dramatic and that I simply needed to bathe or some such nonsense. Well, upon sitting in the chair, and the first optometrist aid calling in another optometrist aid to see if they noticed anything strange in my left eye, the real doctor was called in. His first comment was, “You must be tough as nails, most people wouldn’t last five minutes with this in their eyes.” I smiled and nodded, and opted to not mention the six months of the previous year spent in tears. He took a pair of tweezers (after applying numbing drops) and pulled out a piece of plastic that he said was working its way into my eyeball, resulting in a delightful infection. Who else would have plastic stuck in their eyeball, have no recollection of its origin, and walk around ignorantly for two weeks with it protruding out of its new sheath? There is reason I don’t do drugs or drink to excess. This is me sober!
The second thing is not strange, it just is what it is. I love my neighborhood. Love, love, love it. Now that the weather is nice, the boys and I have been going on two hour walks (one hour at a time because their little feet and legs get tired). We roam all around the area, enjoying the sun, older houses, and the spring flowers beginning to bloom. The boys are so different, Dunkyn being petrified of every person in existence and nothing else, and Dolan being terrified of everything but any person who ever existed. Whenever we come across someone, Dunkyn tears off behind me to get away from the evil monstrosity that is humanity, and Dolan charges forward to embrace (by leaping upon) each mortal flaw and virtue. It is amazing both of my arms have not been permanently removed from their sockets. We made the mistake of taking a walk around six in the evening, not thinking about the rest of the world just arriving home from work. Throughout the entire walk there were never fewer than four other dogs and their owners in sight (not exaggerating), accompanied with a host of wives, husbands, same-sex lovers, friends, children, strollers, cigarettes, walkmans, poop-bags, tricycles, and cell-phones. Most of the time I consider myself to be one of the most of loving of humanity kind-of-person I know. I have now decided that human-kind is a plague akin to the mosquito population and should promptly be exterminated.
Finally, today, ending my bi-annual beard growing extravaganza, I decided to shave. There are two good things about beard growing, during that time, my blue eyes look gorgeous (not sure why, but they only look like that when the rest of me is covered in hair), and when I shave I look fifteen years old for about thirty minutes. Very fun. Today, I decided to splurge (again, complete shock, I know…) and got a hair cut and a shave from Floyds Barber. This is always where I get my hair cut, every two weeks, but have never got a shave. It was an hour and a half process. Thirty minutes for the hair, and an hour for my face (it takes me about three minutes to shave it myself). For those of you that know me, you are most likely aware that I have a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me (lucky you, if you are dating me, or just happen to catch a show). However, having my face shaved by someone else and in public was near scandalous. I felt more than naked. It felt very pampering and S&M all at the same time. I have never had a blade held to my throat before. In different circumstances, it might be a good thing; nevertheless, I will here on out be shaving myself, where people can’t see me. On a good note, with the exception of a few missed hairs (how there is skin left, let alone hair, after an hour of shaving, I have no idea) my face was as smooth as it has ever been—for about two hours. Kinda like trying menudo, glad I can say I did it—might puke in my lap if I had to repeat the process. And now that I have turned the conversation over to involuntary regurgitation, it is time to go iron and watch Lost…

Erotica?

He looked through the window as he had so many times before. The first time he dared to take such a risk, he promised himself it would be a solitary experience. One peak would surely quench his curiosity. Instead, what he saw had inspired fascination. His enthrallment quickly gave way to obsession. There were promises that must be kept, things that must be done. He had responsibility. Others’ lives depended on him. There should be nothing that would cause him pause in his duties. There should be nothing so alluring that he would be willing to risk the survival of his wife, of his children. If he were capable of guilt, he was sure he would be filled to overflowing. As it was, the probability of the starvation of his offspring gave him only the minutest pause; he turned his eyes back to the warm glow through the pane.
He took in the sparks flickering in clustered groupings around the room. Each spark represented potential death, potential torment. It seemed, in this place they were tamed, controlled. At least for the moment. The thrill of danger, of complete consummation by flame whirled in his stomach and sent shots of pleasure through his groin. His breath shortened to a pant. The glass hazed briefly as his nose made contact. He pulled away and shook himself. He wanted the moment to last. It must last. At times, he could witness this display many times between the rising and the setting of the sun. However, it had been so long that he had nearly forgotten some of the sensations that this observation would ensue within him. He thought he had seen these same sparks the previous evening as he glanced out his home and into this bewitching universe. His wife, sensing something unfamiliar in her mate, blocked his way and offered her the distraction only she could provide. He thrust with thoughts of flame, steam, and heat filling his head.
More than hearing, he sensed the vibrations making their way to the window sill. It was if all the birds in the trees were singing at the same time, the breeze blowing an accompanying harmony, and locust chanting deafeningly overhead. His eyelids widened as the creatures inside began to move with the rhythm of the vibrations. He had seen others of these beings many times, but none in the way the two in front of him displayed themselves habitually. The movements reminded of the disappointing distraction of the night previous, only instead of inspiring visions of escape they drew him in, bringing with them sensations he was incapable of expressing.
The tan skins of the bodies glistened in the presence of the captivating fires. As they moved to the rhythms, the lights shimmered across their naked bodies, bringing to his mind the sun playing over the ripples across the pond. The pond. He should be there now. He should be ensuring the survival of his family, not watching these bodies entering each other.
Bodies. His attention captured yet again by the swaying, twisting, and plunging in front of him. This time, vibrations were accompanied by sound. It sounded like pain, like desperation, like trying to stay alive. Indeed the mouths making the sounds looked as if death were upon them. His eyes traced the faint red lines left behind as they clawed each others’ backs, arms, and chests.
Lust reached his nostrils. It was a scent he knew, but this was distorted somehow. Its tang more musk and spice than those of his experience.
As they cried out and fell against each other trembling, he felt his body tighten. Release. Nearly causing him to loose his balance at the window.
The mouths only moments before calling out in agony now found each other and explored depths unseen.
He shook himself off and tore his gaze away from the scene. Maybe he could relive the moment the following day. He rubbed his face into his grey tail, trying to clear his mind. He plunged down from the window ledge, scampered across the lawn and picked up an acorn in his teeth before he reached his tree. He slowly made his way up the bark, trying to return his breathing to normal. Outside the hole’s entrance, he glance back at the amber glow still beckoning him. With one final shrug he entered, hoping the singular acorn would be enough to tide over the incessant chattering of his wife. If only he could experience the subdued fire, the glistening making its way down smoothness, the near death that brought pain and trembling. If only. . .

Through the Dirt

Matted black and Grey
Death pulled and stripped Away
Sticks and thorns pierce my Skin
Sacrifice made to reveal life Within

Tender shoots of vibrant Green
Tiniest buds form under fuzzy Velveteen
Colors proclaim winter’s Death
Suggestion of renewal for all the Rest

Four seasons ago, kneeling at this Bed
You, standing at my side, stroking my Head
Our love, new as the Spring
Hosts of questions of what our futures may Bring

You spoke words that shot my heart with Fear
Ushered in our first fight, the first Tear
Clarification made in Haste
In your arms, I found assurance’s Taste

Though our love would not see summer’s Sun
Conception you planted in my heart only Begun
Buds into blooms, shoots in to Leaves
Months passed weighing me to my Knees

The same flora I bend to Reveal
Only a year added to this life I Steal
You in my heart though not by my Side
A new me begins to bloom, eyes open Wide

Tale of Two Testicles

Yesterday was an emotional day for the Witt family. At least for the gay portion of the Witt family. Dolan, my youngest, having reached the ripe old age of six months, entered the realm of manhood, and was quickly removed from it. That’s right, he got neutered. I know this is very un-masculine for me to say, but I am glad. It completely grosses me out to see ball’s (de perro) flopping around. I know, go figure. When I was a kid, we had a dog die while under anesthesia, so I was a little nervous. Even got a little teary while dropping him off at the veterinary office. I then went off to get even more teary, but that is in the next paragraph. Well, my little guy pulled through and I went to pick him up eight hours later. They told me that he would most likely be sore and lethargic most of the evening, so not to be concerned with such behavior. They went back to get him and he trotted right out to me (I am not so sure I would be as welcoming to the one who paid to have my balls removed—nearly $400, btw, crazy!), rolled on his back and waited for me to scratch his tummy. As I obliged this request, Dolan glanced over his left shoulder and saw the huge, 150 lb. Great Dane waiting quietly for her turn into the office. Dolan began to growl and bark a challenge immediately. Apparently, he now has something to prove. When, we arrived home, I told Dunkyn to give Dolan his space. Dolan flew through the front doors, leapt skyward, and landed on Dunkyn’s head, his teeth sinking into Dunkyn’s fur for a better grip. Though we now have one less pair of balls, it seems things are caring on as per normal in the Witt household.
As previously mentioned in the afore paragraph, in the midst of Dolan’s doggy drama (I love alliteration), I went off to create some drama of my own. I have been dating a boy for the past couple weeks. Not dating as in relationship, marriage, or even sex, but dating. However, the dates have been getting more and more frequent and the kissing better by the second. Cuddling ain’t bad either. However, Brandon likes to freak out if everything is not exactly spelled out and in order. While I already deeply care about this person (it has been a long time since someone has made me laugh so much), I am not ready for a relationship, nor do I want to be in one. Date around, fine. Stay single, fine. Date steady and feel like I am entering into a relationship, not fine. Thus, I went to have this conversation with the boy. He handled it well. I got teary. We decided to walk away with things as they are, before either gets hurt as it seems it most surely will lead in this case (due to my choices, not his). After this decision, he spent the night at my place yet again. So much for clarity.
I am staying fairly vague intentionally, and not giving much detail (although it seems I have to clarify the word vague for some reason), as this is not 100% mine to share. Even so, I wish I could simply turn off my mind, let things happen, enjoy them—even when I know they are only for the moment—and continue loving life. This, it seems is something I may have to return to the halls of ‘higher education’ for after I complete this masters degree. Won’t that be fun?