not the final

Ok, so I must say, some of you are actually praying for me—or at least I think I can feel the effect—even if it is a placebo, and you really aren’t praying for me. However I choose to believe the former. The past two days have been decent. Of course, the kids have been nightmares at work (not a bit of an exaggeration), and that helps me not have time to get all weepy, and I have been looking forward to getting to see Chad tonight, too, so that helps. Tonight was the finale of Top Model, so I assumed that we wouldn’t see each other again for a bit. However, he brought up getting together next week to watch Grey’s or something. I was floored, and he is taking me to dinner and a movie for my birthday on the day before my birthday in two weeks. (Not a date, just dinner and movie.) So that is all great too. True, it is a painful reminder of how much has changed in a year since my last birthday, but still. I have to be grateful for what I do have. Although I hate how absolutely okay he is when he sees me, how excited he is about everyday life (like concerts and such), and how it is obvious that he is not tempted at all to kiss me when we are together [all of which is a torment, and all of which I simply can not, for the life of me, understand], I am still thankful that he loves me and actually wants to spend time with me. Which means, at some level, he likes his life better with me in it, even if it is not how I want to be in it. Several people have mentioned that they find it strange and a bit inviting of pain that we still see each other and talk. Chad has not had people say that to him, but plenty have to me. It’s like I told him tonight, it hurts if I do see him. It hurts if I don’t see him. To me, the math is pretty simple to add up. Both hurt. Only one lets me see my best friend and the man I love. Duh! Plus, he’s worth the pain. Others have told me I need to cut him off, not only for my sanity but so that he will have a chance to miss me and create a desire to come back. Well, I guess if I was guaranteed for that to work, I would do it. However, I don’t want to play games with him and I don’t want to be anything but honest with him. And, if my choices are not have him as a boyfriend and not in my life at all, or not have him as a boyfriend and have him in my life on his terms, I choose the latter. I am sure the anvil will fall on my heart and head in the next day or too, but for now, once again, I am taking solace in the fact that I know he still loves and cares for me, that he still wants me in his life, and that I love getting to see him and talk with him, and be in the presence of the person I hold most dear. For now, it is a relief to give thanks for the amazing years I got to live my life with him, for the fact he still cares, for the glimmer of hope buried under all my shit that he may come back to me one day, and for the simple gift of him being in this world, and that I have experienced enough love and importance, that I get the gift of pain.

pray twice

I’ve been asking for your prayers that Chad would find his way back to me. Of course, I still ask that you would keep that request in your prayers. However, I have another one as well. It can be linked to the first request or separate, however you feel led. I need some help. Every day is getting worse and harder. I didn’t know I was capable of hurting so much. For those of you who remember my grandmother’s death and what a huge deal for me that was (the biggest of my life so far, especially where God is concerned), this is equal. At times even harder. At least grandma didn’t choose to leave me. People keep saying they are sorry to hear about my breakup. And, I know that is exactly what it is, however, that is not at all what it was to me. Chad quit being my ‘boyfriend’ well over a year ago. In every faucet of my mind, he was the one I was going to spend my life with. I knew he wasn’t ready to make that leap, but I was, and I thought he would be there one day as well. The total direction of my life and every aspect in it has been flipped overnight. Every plan I made, every dream I longed for (even the ones about me getting published) had Chad in them, and how all of it would affect him, me, and us. In my mind, we were one. I know many would call that foolish. Go ahead, I never claimed to be anything other. And I know, this sounds morbid, but you don’t need to worry about me doing anything stupid. It’s not like that; I’m not eyeing the kitchen knives or anything. However, I do need your prayers. I need some relief. I figured, even if Chad didn’t come back, each day would get a little easier. Instead, each day is one more day he chooses everything else but me, every day is another day that takes him further and further away. Every day my hurt goes deeper. So please, pray for some relief, some sanity. Pray for both of us, that we walk the paths we are meant to, and that God would grant his peace, wisdom, and clarity to each of us. Thank you.

Pearls

I have been pretty disappointed with myself today. I was really thinking I could hold it together better for Mother’s Day. No, I didn’t. I cried like five or six times today. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Couldn’t afford to get you more than a card this year, but here, take this breakdown; sorry there’s not a bow!

For the second time in a row, I actually got something from the church service. One, they announced the pastor was leaving in the next couple weeks to become the district superintendent or something. You could feel the shock go through the congregation. They really depend on him. I don’t really know or have much affection for the man, but I know the church really does. Of course, I immediately went to, “Why does everybody have to leave?” and felt abandoned by Chad all over again. Not that I really needed that announcement to make that happen. That feeling seems to be growing by the day.

The lady who spoke told a ‘cute’ little story that kinda hit home for me. It was about this little five-year-old girl who saved up enough money to buy a string of $2 pearls from some junk shop. She loved, loved, loved, loved them. After awhile, her dad, after he read her a bedtime story, would ask her if she loved him. She would reply yes, of course. He would then ask her to give him her pearls to show him that she loved him. She always said no and tried to give her second favorite possession. Week after week this transpired. Until finally, one night, the dad came into the little girl’s bedroom. She was holding out her fist, tears rolling down her eyes, and dropped the cheap set of pearls in his hands, sobbing that she loved him. As she did, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a velvet box, opened it, and gave his daughter a priceless set of real pearls. He’d had them all the time. Life lesson: We have to surrender our ‘dime store treasures’ to God so that He can give us the real thing. Now, part of me feels like this is just cruel. Give the girl her pearls, damn it. Are you that insecure that you have to have her prove her love? On the other hand, I find it achingly beautiful and a little hopeful. Maybe what Chad and I had was dime store love, only in the sense that it wasn’t enough for him to want to stay. Maybe by surrendering, I can experience the real thing. In theory, this could be with someone else, or, hopefully, with Chad when he figures out whatever it is he is wanting to figure out, then he can return and we have the real thing that lasts…

This Wednesday is our last Top Model night together, it’s the season finale. I have such mixed emotions. I am looking forward to it so much. I get to see him! Dreading it so much. What will I look forward to when it’s done? When will I see him? Why will I see him? And, at the same time, I am hoping not having a set date will trigger him missing me, which, I know, hasn’t happened yet, so the absence of Top Model doesn’t hold much promise. Yet, I keep coming back to, “How could I have been unbelievably happy and it not be real? He has to come back!” Of course, the flip side is, “If I was so happy, and he so wasn’t, then it couldn’t be real, he’s glad he’s not with me, and he is not going to choose to come back.”

Really?

Our Song

It's a long trip alone over sand and stone

That lie along the road that we all must travel down

So maybe you could walk with me a while

And maybe I could rest beneath your smile

Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold

'Cause it's a long trip alone

It's a short piece of time but just enough to find

A little peace of mind under the sun somewhere

So maybe you could walk with me a while

And maybe I could rest beneath your smile

You know we can't afford to let one moment pass us by

'Cause it's a short piece of time

And I don't know where I'd be without you here

'Cause I'm not really me without you there

Yea, Yeah

Yea, Yeah, Oh

So maybe you could walk with me a while

Maybe I could rest beneath your smile

Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold

So maybe you could walk with me a while

Maybe I could rest beneath your smile

Maybe I could feel you right beside me til' I'm home

'Cause it's a long trip alone

A long trip alone

--Dierks Bently

three weeks later

At this moment three weeks ago, we were just getting out of bed, then we fixed lunch, then we packed, then he left.

I don't how it is possible to feel so much hurt, anger, confusion, and sorrow all at the same time.

the words i want won't come--just these

Here I am at Diedrich (now Dazbog) Coffee. Full intentions of writing on the novel today. It’s like I stepped back into someone else’s life. This was Brandon before Chad. I would come here and spend hours writing and blogging. I was perfectly content in that life, for the most part. I liked who I was, for the most part. I couldn’t imagine much better than just doing my own thing, free to do what I wanted, when I wanted.

So, here I sit, in my old life. And I hate it. Apparently, all the weight loss I have undergone in the past three weeks (yes, tomorrow will be three weeks) is paying off. I have a few men staring at me right now (one has even already dropped of a receipt with his name, number, and note on the back), of course, now that I am getting teary, I am sure their attention will divert elsewhere. I’m on page sixty-eight of my fantasy novel, and I could easily get to seventy-five, I know exactly where I need to go in it. One of my favorite characters just died a horrible death in the previous pages, and am I ever able to write about pain right now! It’s funny, ever since Chad and I have been together, I find it hard to write in my novels while listening to music, it’s too distracting. However, now I am not able to write without it (not distracted enough) and, sure enough, the second song that came on was Jon McLaughlin’s For You From Me, a song I dedicated to Chad and would, on occasion, sing to him. This is not the life I want, everything I do, hear, or see reminds me either of how happy I was with him or how much I have lost. Yes, I know it will get better in time. That knowledge doesn’t help so much. For several days, my brain has not been able to get Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat’s Lucky duet out of my head and I haven’t even heard it lately. “I’m lucky to be in love with my best friend, lucky to’ve been where I have been, lucky to be coming home again.”

Are you sick of hearing me cry all the time? If so, don’t answer that. I’ve had enough rejection. Just smile and nod.

Okay, I have more to say, but I have to get out of here. Despite the tears in my eyes, some big gross guy came over and asked how my dissertation is going. How’s that for a come-on line. What the hell? I guess I have found a worse place to grieve, not that that is the reason I came here in the first place. I know I’ve said I’ve turned it over to God, but He doesn’t seem to be fixing this fast enough. Could you ask Him to speed it up please?

Sail On

I have been going to church with mom and dad ever since Chad with broke up me. Not because I have a huge desire to go to church, although prayer has been amazing, but mainly because I don’t want to be alone and I know it makes them happy. It hasn’t been as bad it could have been. I haven’t left all angry and annoyed. Mostly, it is what I experience at nearly every church: I’ve heard this sermon a thousand times—several of which were better; Yeah, that’s how life works; Are you really talking to your church about how much money you are giving to build the new building—when they are the ones who are providing you the money to begin with; so forth and so on…
This last Sunday, I actually felt part of the sermon was for me, which was nice. It has stuck with me all week. I don’t think it has fully accomplished all it was meant to. The jist was this: The pastor was talking about the sailing log Christopher Columbus kept on his voyage to discover America. No matter how you feel about C.C. and his ‘discovery,’ it doesn’t change this story. Every day he wrote the day’s events in the journal. Some day about storms on the seas, or various challenges or successes faced by the crew. Most days, however, he wrote one line: Today we sailed on.
I guess that it seems strange that those four words would resonate with me and continue to clang around in my psyche. However, they sum it up for me, and, for the time being, being able to say, Today I sailed on, is a huge accomplishment—one that probably required a lot of effort and tears. Just getting through the day while trying to stay Brandon and do the things I have to do and the things I know I should do is taking every ounce of power I have. I can’t tell you how many times I throw up my hands and tell God, “I’ve done all I can do. There is nothing left to try, nothing left that I can change. I give it to you, please have mercy.” That is always a hard, humbling, and minimally freeing event. So, I am continuing to sail on. I don’t know what my America will look like. I don’t know what storms lay on the sea ahead. I don’t know how long the voyage will take. I don’t know how many fatalities and losses will transpire. Still, I sail on. Towards something. Towards my America. As much as I love and hate it, I am in His hands, and my sails are directed by his breath. So, for now, I simply sail on.

Glutton

I have stopped sobbing now, so I can over-share with the world of the internet. Chad and I just had our weekly Wednesday Top Model night. It is the highlight of my week. The best night of the week and the most painful. I broke when I was taking him home. I so don’t want him to see me cry. At first, because I knew that wouldn’t make him want to come back. Well, he’s not going to come back. Now, I don’t want him to see him cry because it hurts him. He is over me. Fully. Completely over me. He is fine. He has moved on. He is content with how his life is without me. He still loves and cares for me, but he is over me. And, right now, he is simply taking care of me. I don’t get it, as much as I try, I really just can’t grasp what I am missing. How was he so miserable and I had no idea while I was so happy? How can it go from something to deep, real, intense, and meaningful to me to what it is now? How do let it go? How do I let go and not lose him more than I already have?

Agony of Hope

While I was with P. & C. R-L last night, we got on the topic of hope and how horribly painful it really is. I don’t think anyone that reads my blog knows who these people are, so I think I am safe to talk about this. They are friends from college and my oldest friends in Colorado. They have a gorgeous, little girl who has one of the best personalities I have ever seen, of course she has two of the greatest parents I have ever seen (really). Around a year and a half ago, they lost their second child, a son. They told me last night, that they are ten weeks into another pregnancy. They are thrilled and excited, and scared beyond belief. There is not a way to know as of yet if the child will have the same disease/disorder (I don’t know which is correct) and it may be a long, long time into the pregnancy before they can find out. They spoke about how one minute they are filled with hope (faith) that this child will be spared and be healthy, and how the next, their hope is dumped into surety that the same pain awaits them as before. They spoke of how at times, it is almost less painful to nearly except that tragedy is inevitable. Of course, you can not choose to spend you life like that. Actually you can, many, many people do, however, you can’t truly life when you embrace that mentality. However, the fear and anxiety increases as their hope begins to take root. To hope is to give yourself over to devastation when your faith is denied. You could see God seep out of them as they spoke, see the love of all three of their children, feel the agony they go through simply to believe their child will be blessed with the gift of life and health. They’ve known pain I pray I never have to face or become familiar. Please, keep them in your prayers as they travel this path with their eyes and lips lifted to God, their hearts always near the abyss.

Being self-absorbed (even as I know my pain can not compare with theirs). I couldn’t help but completely understand what they were saying and feeling. No, I have never had a child die or had to fear that one might. I do know what it is to have hope, true, strong, real hope that you are with one you will be with when you die. I do know the pain of seeing all you planned and all you prayed for and all you loved with every fiber in you walk out the door, step into a friend’s car, and drive away. And, I do know how much more painful it is to try to hold on to the smallest glimmer of hope with no amount of guarantee that faith will become reality. Even as I let go of hope and try to live my life as if he will never want me again, part of me holds on so desperately so that in a few days, weeks, months, or even years, there will be a warm place for him to come home to, a spark for him to fan into a fire, and a love that will once again accept him for a lifetime. It’s amazing how the minuscule glimmer of hope and faith makes each moment heavy, aching, and, at times, nearly too much to bear.

Crash

Today was the first day I have really been able to feel anger about the whole thing. I was angry at being left, angry at losing all we had, angry for him not being willing to stay and figgure things out together, angry I hadn't heard from him since Saturday. I didn't want to be angry, but it was kinda nice. It helped me not only feel the hurt.
I had dinner plans to be with P. & C. R-L and their daugther tonight. They are amazing people (and some of Chad's favorite of my friends). They were the first people I was able to ask to pray for Chad and I who I knew would actually pray for us, not about us.
After school, I headed to the gym. I was about five blocks away, when I stopped behind this pickup truck on 88th and Wadsworth at a red light. After a few moments, I felt somthing slam into the back of my car, my car fly forward and crash into the truck in front, pushing it into the intersection. Everything shattered around me: glass, air bags, things from the back seat. Long story short, I am truly lukcy to be alive. A witness said the truck behind me was weaving in and out of traffic and didn't even slow down. (I couldn't help but feel sorry for the driver, he said he just glanced away and then hit us; he was in tears and so concerned for us.) The trunk of my car crumpled into the body of my car, and the hood smashed and conected with the truck in front. The front window shattered but stayed in place, the rear exploded, I have several cuts in the back of my head and one in front (you can't even seen them now). The driver's seat was broken and would not sit back up. A couple of the doors would no longer open. (I will post pictures on facebook soon if someone wants to see them.) The car is totalled. I only have liablity, but fortunatley, the man who it me has insurance. However, I am sure I won't get much for my junk car. At least not enough to get another one, so I'm not sure how that will play out. I guess it is doubly good I got the massage room ready for business yesterday since I am now paying the mortage alone. I have a burn on my arm and a few small bruises on my ribs, legs, hips, but nothing serious. Truly, it is a miracle I am alive, let alone no broken bones!
Of course, I wasn't upset about the car. My first thoughts were of Chad. How he wouldn't be with me. How he would have taken care of me. When I got to mom and dad's, I texted him the pictures. He texted and asked if I was ok and if I needed anything. I, of course, like a wimp, asked him to call me. I just wanted to hear him. At this point all anger was gone. I just wanted the man I love. Needed to hear him. He called within minutes and was very sweet. I so wanted him to rush over and be with me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be fine. How much do I sound like a damsle in distress? I know, pathetic. Of course, he didn't rush over, I'm not his boyfriend any longer, why would he? However, he did text later tonight to make sure I'm ok. And he is buying me dinner on Wednesday, which is sweet.
I am thankful that I am ok. I could care less about the car. I am thankful Chad still cares about me. I wish he could/would be here with me.

Hogwarts Dependancy

What does it say about my stability when I am a nervous wreck about fish? In my classroom we have three beta fish: Ron Weasly, Sirius Black (who were purchased by a kid in class) and Hagrid (who Chad and I bought months ago for the aquarium at our house. Hagrid moved to my classroom when Chad and I bought our three fat goldfish (Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagal, and Professor Snape). Every Friday, I move the Bettas into the art room so that they can be by the window and get light. I move them back to my classroom every Monday morning. I realized this morning as I waited to get the art room key that my heart was pounding like crazy. When I got the key, I rushed to the art room and felt such a great relief that I almost got teary when I looked into Hagrid’s bowl and he we there, moody as always.

Conflicted

I don’t know if the weekends are worse, or if I have to pay for several days for actually having a mostly decent day on Friday or what, but today was horrible, again. From beginning to end. I have been all over the place today, emotionally. I think part of me is slipping back into shock or something. I just don’t get it. I think I do, that he needed space, he needed to find himself again, he needed to just be Chad. I get it. Then I don’t. More and more I don’t. I know everything wasn’t perfect, but no relationship is, and to me, it was close enough. Is it truly possible for one person to be completely content and satisfied, happy, and deeply in love with someone when the other person isn’t? How could I have felt so secure, so safe, so loved and in love, if he didn’t feel the same? It makes me question everything over the past two plus years. Which I can’t stand. However, when I do question it, and really look at it, it makes even less sense. I can’t believe he was faking or simply trying to make himself feel that way. It couldn’t have been faked. However, if it wasn’t faked, then why did I get thrown away? Why did the time we had together and the future we could have had together get thrown away? And if it was real, then how can he not miss me now? Why is he not miserable and aching to see and be with me like I am with him? So many people have said to me that I am so great and any guy would be so lucky and thrilled to be with me. Very sweet, but really? The evidence is not leaning in that direction. I don’t understand how I could be so happy and him be so not. All I wanted was for him to be happy, for us to be happy. I still just want him to be happy. However, it crushes me that I am not part of his happiness when he is such a huge, huge part of mine.

Breaking Point

Yesterday was the best day I had had in the two weeks. I only got a little teary once and I was able to look at the good things, the two wonderful years together, how we still love and respect each other, how I get to see him soon, all my friends, family, puppies… Today, however, was nearly as bad as the first two or three days. Maybe because it was exactly two weeks today (although it feels soooo much longer), although I tried not to think about that. I went up to Estes to help my folks with stuff, and it was so painful. Then tonight, I went to TH’s birthday party. It was my first ‘outing’ with a group of people. I thought I was doing pretty good. I only had to go to the bathroom once to cry. However, the minute I left, I broke, and I stayed completely broken for over an hour. Wasn’t sure if I was going to get it back together or not. It was not pretty. Thank you, KE for letting me text you instead of texting things that would not be smart. (Don’t ever text broken-hearted.)

Part of me has felt guilty because when MM left me three years ago, I was a wreck for nine months, I couldn’t sleep in my bed, I couldn’t be around people, etc. And that relationship was only two months long. With Chad, I have been sleeping in our bed still, I cry a lot, but, for the most part, I am functioning. I am a lot more sane. In a weird way, I felt like I owed a breakdown to Chad, not MM. However, the more I think about it, I think it is really the other way around. Although my pain was real back then, it was kind of a teenager pain. This is grown up pain, and so, so much worse. Being strong enough to handle it in some ways almost makes it harder, because I can see so clearly most of what is going on. Our relationship was/is so real. And for me, I looked at our relationship as permanent. I can see clearly what we had and what we lost. Being thankful for all we had (and for how we are with each other now) is what is carrying me through (along with a small [at times miniscule] amount of hope that he will return in the future).

I know I want to spend my life with someone. With just one person. And, I know if Chad doesn’t come back that another person will come along. That knowledge doesn’t help so much. Chad ALWAYS made me feel safe and loved. He ALWAYS made me laugh. And there was NEVER a moment when I was with him that I wanted to be with anyone else, being with him felt like home, pure and simple. Most of you know that I have a pretty active and free imagination. I can not picture experiencing that with another person. Sure, there are others out there who would be more similar to me than Chad was, others that would look better on paper than Chad and I did, but I have never experienced the happiness and satisfaction I had with Chad with anyone else (lover or friend), and, while I don’t believe in The One, I’m not convinced that a relationship like we had comes around more than once a lifetime.

countdown

May 1st. May. A month that I have always loved and hated. It marks the beginning of summer vacation (typically something that makes me happier than nearly anything else in the world—not so much this year, it scares), and it also is the month of my birthday (wonderful when I was a little kid, rather awful since I was a teen). For most of you that know me, your probably know that I HATE my birthday—there almost always seems to be something bad that happens (car wreck, moving 1,00 miles away, getting really sick, having surgery, etc). The exceptions have been the last two with Chad. My 29th was great: calm, no calamity, just love, easy. Last year, my 30th, was one of the best moments of my life. Chad and KE worked together to plan and surprise weekend in Breckenridge at a tiny mountain ‘castle’. I don’t believe there is any way to ever top it, nor do I need it to be. It was one of the few times in life where every moment is engrained in your head, and it will never fade. It meant so much to see all my friends had done and how much time and preparation Chad spent getting it ready (especially since I know how such things are not his favorite thing to do). Needless to say, I felt the ‘birthday curse’ was over. He gave me the best birthday of my life and one of my favorite life memories. After that, I told him I was done, at least for ten years. No more big parties, I was satisfied, just little dinners, etc. This year, we were planning on going out to cheap dinner with a very small group of friends, then going to the Imax to see UP, then come back to our house and play board and video games. It, too, sounded like a perfect birthday.
Now, here we are, and I couldn’t dread my birthday any more than I do. If I could pass out for a week on either side and forget it happened, I would do it in a heartbeat. How do you go from THE BEST birthday imaginable with the man you love more than you thought possible, to a birthday where all you will feel is the absence of what you had so securely 365 days ago? I don’t want a party. I don’t want to be with a lot of people. Right now, I don’t want to be with any, but that might change. I hope that I can focus on how much I have been given and allowed to have and experience, and how much I have right now: Friends, Family, Puppies, Words, and even if I don’t have Chad, I know I still have his love, which means so much. So pray that I will be overcome by all I have and have had, not by what I have lost. I hated to see it turn into May today.

Chad

This morning, I am just so very thankful for Chad, for our life we shared for those amazing two plus years; thankful that he continues, even now, to make things safer, better, and assure me that I am loved; thankful that we love each other enough to let the other live and hope that by simply living, our paths might be drawn back together again.

Chad, I know you’re not reading these, but thank you for all you are, for all you have given me, and how much you love me. I love you and only want you to be happy and complete. I love you.

moment by moment

I am learning so much more about pain. I thought I had it all figured out before. I really could have lived without the refresher. Really. The pain I feel about missing my boyfriend and not having the man I chose by my side is so very different than the pain of loosing my best friend. While both are different, they are very equal. Sometimes, often, they happen at the same time, others they show themselves separately. For some reason, they hurt more separately. Today, while the boyfriend hurt is acute and raw, the overwhelming one has been the missing of my best friend. I have so much to tell him. I am so used to talking to him multiple times throughout the day. I keep starting to reach for my phone to text him whatever just happened, or whatever thought I just had, or what I would love for us to do this evening and then I remember that I can’t do that anymore. It’s almost more than I can stand.

laughter, screaming, and tears

Since Chad left, I have spent every day with my family. My brother is going through a really hard time too, so he has spent about half of the nights at my place. Sunday, we drove home from spending the day at mom and dad’s. It was around 10:30 or so, and it was raining. Dunkyn and Dolan were in the backseat of the car. We pull up to the house and sit in the driveway for a few minutes, both of us crying and talking about whether or not my brother should spend the night (he ended up not staying that night). While we are sitting there, Dolan begins to growl softly. I didn’t think much of this, as he has started to do that a lot lately. However, soon, his growl turned to out and out barking, which is very unusual for him. I told him to be quiet that there was no one out there. As I said that, I turned and looked out my driver-side door. Less that five feet away, in the raining darkness, a slender figure stood, staring at us, towering over the car (the driveway is sunken a bit), in a trench coat and what looked like a wet, shapeless fishing hat. Visions of getting killed by a wandering vagrant flittered through my mind. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. In response, my brother started doing the same, and yelling for me to back the car up and drive away. I knew this was what I should do, and I am ashamed to say that, just like in the movies, I was struck stupid. I couldn’t figure out how to put the care in reverse. I continued to scream and pound my window as hard as I could. I guess trying to scare the man away. In between my yells, I finally heard a small, timid voice mumble, “It’s me…” It took me a second, but the voice worked its way through. I flung open the door and saw my next door neighbor, who was on her way to her overnight shift. She had seen us pull in and said she wanted to check on Dolan because she hadn’t seen him outside lately. I simply told her I was going through what has been one of the most painful times in my life, and that the dogs and I haven’t been home very much. To which she responded, “I think you need to lay off the coffee.”
My brother, the dogs, and I rushed inside, still freaked out, slammed the door and burst out laughing for about ten minutes straight. It was the first real time I have laughed, and for a moment it was good, then it kinda made everything more painful. Chad would really have enjoyed seeing that. My brother stayed with me last night, again, and he was still a little afraid of being there.

lost

Right now, I have completely lost hope. You would think the pain would get a little better everyday, not worse. Maybe I am supposed to lose hope, maybe not. I hope not. I still want him back. He's still the one I choose. Right now, my heart can't seem to handle it. So, for those of you willing, please keep the hope (faith) for me, and pray for us while I am weak. Thank you.

hard night

How do you function when the person that holds you when you're hurting is the one person who can't hold you when you're hurting the most?

Because I need to tell someone. . .

I think the shock has finally started to wear off. Actually, it started a couple days ago. I hadn’t realized I was in shock. If you had asked me a week ago at this time, I would have told you that Chad and I were fine. We weren’t at our very best, but that we were good. If you asked me if I thought we would end up staying together for good, I would have been 85% positive. So to find myself suddenly single and alone, completely set me off balance. I couldn’t really focus on the small or big details of the matter, just that he was gone, and it seemed impossible. After five nights alone, the shock is gone and the reality is setting in. On one hand, I am amazed at the strength and clarity that God has allowed me to have thus far. I haven’t gone of the deep end, shut myself off from everyone, or called him begging him to take me back (like that would work!). However, there are moments of such extreme pain that it is more than I have ever had in my life. To suddenly be kicked off the path leading to ‘marriage’ one day to having my entire life altered in a matter of moments is agony. Every time something happens, I start to text him, just like always. Every time I walk out of work, I start to call him, just like always. Every time I get into bed, I wait for a kiss and to say I Love You, just like always. It’s not like I had something and it got replaced with something else. Every moment of my life was filled up (which is part of what Chad needed, and I know that, less of every moment being filled up), and now I am left with gapping holes. People are telling me they are sure he’ll come back (though those are few), many are telling me to shut the door and not talk to him (that is a stupid suggestion, neither one of us deserve or want that). No one knows. I don’t. Not even Chad, at least not 100%. I miss him so much, and I have a loneliness that creeps up on me when I think I am actually ok. Not a loneliness to be with someone, just a loneliness from the absence of him, specifically. I am not making it where the earth ends if he doesn’t come back one day, but I do feel like I need to have some modicum of faith and hope. I think a wonderful relationship of over two years with your best friend deserves nothing less. I think Chad and I, separately and individually, deserve nothing less.
I have felt people’s prayers. Truly. Despite what I am describing now, I (and other people) have been amazed how I am really doing. Even I didn’t know that I was this strong. I can also feel the prayers for Chad and I, regardless if we can get back together or not. There is still such obvious care between the two of us in our continual communication—that is not the norm in a break up. In and of itself is a gift from God and proof Chad continues to be my best friend, even if he can’t be.
Please continue to keep both of us in your prayers. Of course you know what my desire is, but pray for him, that he is safe, and finds whatever he needs, even if it’s not me, and that he will know how very loved he is.

Thankful

I am thankful. It really is that simple. I am thankful for the pain I am going through. Chad is worth every throb. I am thankful for my insane kids. They know Mr. Witt is having a ‘hard day’ and somehow simultaneously try to take care of me while not following any of my directions. I am thankful for my friends. Some say he is definitely coming back, some say he most assuredly will not return, and others simply say to release the butterfly. All say I love you. I am thankful for my puppies who travel everywhere I go. Fur and licks always at my fingertips. I am thankful for my family who let me know I am safe and loved.

I am thankful that even if God and Chad don’t see fit to return home to me, that I still had his love for two years as a lover and a best friend, and that I still have his love and he has mine. I am thankful that I have learned the difference between ‘I need in order to survive’ and ‘I want and choose.’ The first of which is the love a leech and is shallow and changing, and the second the love of freedom which is pure and true. I don’t and never did need Chad’s love to survive, but I did want his love and choose his love (and still do) every day we were together.

So, Dear Father, thank you for all you have given me in my life. Thank you for the friends you have surrounded me with that show your compassion. Thank you for the angel souls in the form of dogs you have entrusted to my care that show me your unconditional tenderness and faithfulness. Thank you for my brother who shows me your desire to have us walk the path of confusion with someone who may not be in our shoes but is wearing the same brand. Thank you for my parents who show me what it means when you say you love us like your children, for they show me that you must indeed love, accept, and rather adore me, and want only to have me safe, happy, and to be a good man. Thank you for Chad who shows me your desire for me to live a full and abundant life, not based out of fear or convention, but out of freedom, and choice to love, and shows me that I can trust my heart to those I love, even if they break it, they do so out of love. So, thank you for life and the fallible yet perfect treasures you have placed to surround me.

Day Two

I just got home from spending the day with my parents and brother, and all our dogs. My brother spent the night with me last night. He slept on the sofa in the living room, so any time I needed to I just peered out of bed and saw the light coming from around the bedroom door. Just having him in the house helped so much. I think I was so exhausted from the crying that I passed out, which was wonderful—until I woke up and the crying started again.

I have been amazed by my parents. They have been so loving. Not that they aren’t normally, but I expected them to somehow at least make some comment about how this is what happens in gay relationships, but they didn’t. They cried with me, literally. They said nice things about Chad. It made it so safe to be there the past day and a half. It was so hard to come back home. I don’t know what I would have done without the three of them. And now, I have every night for the rest of the week booked up with friends that are going to be with me in the evenings so I don’t have to be alone. I truly am blessed to be surrounded by such love.

Yesterday was just agony over losing Chad and having him leave, I was lost to the pain of his absence. This has still been there today, but also continual thoughts of not really being able to trust what he told me, even though he has always been nothing but honest with me, even when it hurts. What if it wasn’t him that needed to leave to figure himself out? What if it really was me? Too needy, too boring, to dull, not enough for him to want to stay? If it is any of those, then he won’t come back.

It is the most horrible thing. We were together almost exactly two years and three months. Right now, it feels like yesterday that we started dating, like the last two years were only moments. His stuff is gone, there are a few items that prove he was here at all. It almost makes me ask if it really happened. I don’t want Chad to have been a time in my life. Although, it was the best two years of my entire life, and I wouldn’t trade them. I don’t want to have to look back and remember what was with us. I want us. Planning life, walking through all of it together. Why is that so much to ask? What if he doesn’t ever miss me or want to come back? How do you go from spending every night in the arms of your best friend who you love watching the grey creeping into their hair, to hugging a pillow? How do I have faith that he will come back without driving myself insane? How can I be sure that he truly knows how much I love him? Even if he never wants to return, it is so important to me that he knows I love him. I love him.

Please Pray

Today, Saturday, April 18, at 3:10 PM, Chad moved out. I have wept for a little over two days straight and at the moment, I feel somewhat removed and numb. Almost. I just got back from my folk’s house, I couldn’t be alone here. My brother is staying the night on the couch outside my bedroom, and then we are going back up to mom and dad’s tomorrow.

I will leave most of the details out, because Chad’s reasons are Chad’s reasons and they don’t need to be shared with the world, unless he is doing the sharing. Long story short, I could tell something has been bothering him for a couple weeks, and Thursday night, I asked him to tell me what was going on. That started the conversation that led to us packing and him moving today. He isn’t sure if he is able to be in a relationship and still be Chad. He is hurting, torn, and upset too. There wasn’t a fight or argument, just the opposite, in fact. We spent the last twenty-four hours crying with each other, holding each other, and simply loving each other.

Although slightly removed at the moment, I am devastated, thoroughly and completely. Not only have I lost my boyfriend, but I don’t have my best friend with me anymore either. I don’t have him here to hold me as I cry and to rest my head on his chest and feel safe and at home. Ok, since I am now crying, I must not be as removed as I thought. If two nearly perfect years are all we get, I am thankful for them. However, part of me is holding on to hope that he will figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out, and will come back and we can continue our life. Together. He is the man I love. He is the man I have chosen, the one I want to spend my life with, as long as he will have me. That doesn’t change just because he is questioning and not here. I have never met a better man, who treated me as wonderful as he does, who always makes me laugh, and automatically makes me feel that everything is going to be alright simply by his very presence in the room.

For those of you who are willing, I would ask that you keep both of us in your prayers. That Chad will know he is loved completely and that he will find what he is looking for. That I will not loose control and can stop crying soon, and I that I will be able to have faith. And, that God will do His will. And that God’s will could possibly be that Chad and I get back together. I will be praying the same, and also give thanks for the privilege of being with such a phenomenal man for as long as I have, either way this turns out. Thank you for your love, friendship, support, and prayers for both of us.

8 hours and 45 minutes

It’s eleven at night, I just got back from dropping Chad off at a club where Kaskade is the DJ. We had just gone to see Duplicity. It was great to see Julia again, but I was rather bored and disappointed with the movie. Chad will be home somewhere between two and three in the morning. Since I can’t fall asleep without him, I will be up till then too. Joy! I just sat down on the couch for a long evening of TV (I was going to watch Last Cake Standing that I had recorded earlier on the Food Network), when I heard a loud pop from my fuse box, and the entire house went dark. I sat there stunned for a couple seconds and then rushed to the door and flung it open for some light. Thank God I was in the living room and not downstairs. I would still be down there in the dark, long past trying to find my way upstairs and curled in the corner crying. I opened the front door in just enough time to see a huge spark over the tree line maybe a fourth of a mile southwest from here and to hear another really loud pop. The entire neighborhood is in blackness. I stood there, hearing nothing but distance sirens. Then, I heard one of my neighbor’s doors creak open. I couldn’t see them or tell which house it was coming from, so I got freaked out, and closed and locked the door. I grabbed my computer, which had been sitting beside me on the couch, opened it up and used it for a light to find my phone, which I then used to text Chad and use as light to find my candle lighter. I am now surrounded by seven different candles. However, I realized that they are casting a light from the edges of my windows, which makes me nervous that someone will know I was home during the power outage. So, I then used one of the candles to find my way into the kitchen (with Dolan growling at my heels and really not helping the situation) and got my large butcher knife. So, now I am in the living room with my computer, dogs, candles, and a big knife. I don’t know why having the power out makes me feel less safe, but it does. I think it has something to do with the prehistoric silence that falls in a house mixed with the darkness. Not even the hum of the air conditioner fan… Of course one of my first thoughts was that having no electricity would mean that alarm systems would not work; people could break in anywhere (thus the knife). Half a moment later, I remembered that I don’t have an alarm system anyway, so I’m not sure how this situation is more dangerous, but I am sure it is. I just got a text back from Chad, he is fine, and, of course, the club has power. He said he good luck with my big knife and that he loves me. Pretty sure the correct response included something along the lines of rushing right home to make sure that when I dropped him off a bit ago wouldn’t be the last time he saw me alive. Apparently, not.

said the fish to the butterfly

do you choose to
stumble through a
fog or freely fly

are the heights of
soaring real or
my hand in yours

is the unfettered forgoten
moment what you
choose or am I

Night Visit

Most of the time, I can let dreams go, no matter the subject matter. However, probably due to the nature of the dream I had last night, I can not get it out of my head. It was one of those dreams that feel so real that you feel like you need to call the other person to make sure they are ok or inquire if they dreamed it too and perhaps it wasn’t a dream after all. Luckily, I am sure this dream was in fact a dream, and most of the time, I don’t put any stock in dreams—at least outside the subconscious mind crap. Nor do I think this dream means anything either, but I can’t quite shake it, so I thought maybe if I share it, it would flitter away. The names have been changed as the people in the dream are ones most of us know and love.
Characters: Me, Brandon, I have not be changed, obviously
Dean
Shane—Dean and Shane are boyfriends
Chris—Chris is Dean’s best friend
The dream starts with Shane and me in one hotel room and Dean and Chris in another. Even though the dream has just started, I am aware and filled in on all the details leading up to this moment. Dean has been upset about his age, although we are all the same age we are now. He is also sick, that is one of the details that has left me since waking. I think he had some type of cancer in the dream, but I don’t quite recall. Either way, the disease has not yet begun to make him overtly sick (and no, it wasn’t HIV, there wasn’t any emotion around the sickness, it was familiar, and I am nearly pen-pals with cancer). The four of us all know we are there to be with Dean as he commits suicide. (Told you this was troubling to me…)
Anyway, somehow the hotel room Shane and I are in is directly across from the hotel room of Dean and Chris. We are on one of the upper floors of the hotel. There is a little breezeway or sidewalk between the two, but no more than eight to ten feet. It is night out. Both rooms have huge, full wall windows that face each other. Shane and I stand pressed against our window, holding hands, staring at Dean who is standing at the other window, smiling sadly at us. Chris is behind him, head down, dreading what he has to do. No words are exchanged; everything is said through our eyes. You can physically feel and almost hear the unspoken “good-byes” and “I love you’s.”
After what seems like an eternity and countless, wordless conversations back and forth between the windows, Dean acknowledges that it is time, and Chris reaches over and draws the dark curtain, shutting off our view. Even though Shane and I can’t see through the curtain, we know what’s going on. In the dream, we somehow see the events of the other room in our minds. Chris stands aside and Dean stand up on a chair, slips a noose over his head and then the chair is gone and Dean hangs himself. We can’t see in our minds what happens next, but we wait, because we know the plan we spoke of before. We know that Chris waits until he is sure it’s over, then removes the noose from Dean’s neck and places him at the window once more. Moving beside the window so he won’t be seen, Chris slowly pulls the curtain, uncovering the window once more.
The dream zooms up on Dean’s torso. His eyes are blank, there is a limp half smile on his face, and his skin in pale and clammy looking. Shane and I continue to hold hands and draw closer to each other as we stare at Dean’s lifeless face, wishing we could remember him only as he was before as he said goodbye at the window instead of how he is now. Somewhere out of sight, Chris draws the curtain shut again, ending our last view of Dean.
Shane and I quietly try to sooth one another and fall asleep.
I wake up.

A Strong Constitution

Was it Kanye West that said he knew it that times were rough because he could only afford ten karat gold toilet paper? Maybe not, but it was someone of his ilk that said something equally asinine. Well, the financial turbulence has affected the Witt-Hinton home as well. However, we are fortunate. We simply have discovered that we have fully maxed out credit cards of which we can’t pay the balance. We are able to pay our mortgage, do a few fun things during the month with friends and eat at home most of the time. Beyond that, we are finally learning to live within our means. Which means, that once we finally get everything paid off, except for the mortgage, we will be in good shape. That means, by the time we are fifty or so, we will be good to go.
While I hate the whole bale-out this, bale-out that ideology (things come and go—let ‘em), I do enjoy seeing large corporations struggling. It makes me feel like they experience some of my pain—of course, they pass their pain right along to us, so that doesn’t work out so wonderfully, but still…
I have worked out at Bally’s Total Fitness for years. I have an amazing lifetime deal where I pay less than $15 a month for the rest of my life to use any of there gym anywhere in the country. That being said, I guess I can’t complain too much. However, things have been getting a little hairy as of late. One of the first cuts they have made has been their custodial staff. I didn’t realize just how much they did before. The other day, the hot tub was a bright Shrek green, although that was probably a chemical imbalance—hopefully. I opted to not relax in such a fashion that day. For a couple days in a row, men apparently forgot that bowel movements were supposed to go in the bowl and not on the lid—I waited ‘til I got home. When you sit on the tile benches in the sauna, you slip a little due to the algae (a.k.a. slime)—I just pretend it’s a ride. When I stepped into one of the shower stalls last week, I almost stepped on a huge swollen corn nut. While I was minorly grossed out at someone eating (and spitting) corn nuts in the shower, I bent down to pick it up and throw it away. When my hand was less than six inches from grasping the faux-corn nut, my brain caught up with my eyes and my stomach began to gurgle. There was not the harmless, overly praised corn nut as I had so naively been misled. Lying mere centimeters from my feet, within inches of contact with the skin of my finger tips, lay an entire, yellow at one end, brown at the other, several millimeters thick, half-inch long, curved, diseased, old man toenail. I quickly vacated the shower and (shockingly) was successful in my attempt to keep my lunch from vacating my stomach. Awh, how I miss the day of free flowing credit and workouts without snack disguised human appendages. If you feel the Lord subtly leading you to send money to cover the cost of a tetanus shot, I will take money orders or cashier checks. No personal checks, please. Cash or Ricky Martin porn (or Dean Cain) also accepted.
Side note: Download, Upload, or Free Load: Fuck You, by Lily Allen. My new favorite song. Awesome. You’ll laugh and sing along or be horrifically offended, and sore when you have to pull a stick out of your ass.

Viewing History

I just got back from an evening walk with the dogs.  I had on a short sleeve shirt and I was perfectly comfortable, not cold in the slightest, in the middle of a Colorado January!  To top it off, I was listening to Kelly Clarkson’s new song:  My Life Would Suck Without You.  Gorgeous, warm evening, walking dogs, finally a new (good) Clarkson song.  What a way to start the first blog of 2009.  That’s gotta be a good sign. 

I haven’t been very good about blogging lately, obviously.  Life has been to busy, and the time I have had to write, I have spent working on the new novel.  Chad and I brought in the new year in San Francisco.  It was pretty great.  Not my favorite town, Chad liked it a lot more than I did; however, it was some of the best food I have had in my entire life!  It was also really cool to see Castro Street and walk into Harvey Milk’s old shop.  Very humbling. 

I’ve gotten a tad caught up in the whole new president thing, which I find funny since I didn’t even vote for him (nor McCain) and several things about his politics terrify me.  However, I am so tired of everything being a state of emergency, everything being the end of the world, blah, blah.  The world has gotten hotter before, as well as colder, we have had rough financial times nationally before, and we’ve had plenty of politicians that have been the supposed anti-christ.  If everyone would shut the hell up and quit focusing on how horrible everything is going to be and quit scaring people, things would get better.  I hate the Beatles, but they were right, there is a season for everything (at least I think that was the Beatles—although the Bible said it first).

I am choosing to be excited about Obama.  If he starts fucking up, lets crucify him then, not before.  I made my kids watch the inauguration yesterday.  The first one I have ever cared to watch.  I was blown away as my SIED, ADD, ADHD (and every other label that stands for excuses you want to name) boys sat there, eyes glued to the TV for the entire presentation.  We were watching history happen.  No matter which way it goes, it was world changing, and it was awesome.  Some day we will have a woman president.  Someday we will have a gay president (I 100% believe that, although I don’t believe it will be within my lifetime).  I am so thrilled to live in this period of history.  Even the negative things that are going on.  I’ll get to say that I was there, this is how we coped. . . Before this, all I’ve really seen happen is The New Kids on the Block come, leave, and then come back again.   Yay, America!

Teachers are the Winners

As a kid, I didn’t think there was anything better than Christmas vacation (or summer vacation)—the thrill of knowing I wouldn’t have to do anything, knowing it was special, the presents, the snow, the fun. Well, I have found something even better—Christmas vacation (or summer vacation) as an adult. Freedom is ever more important to me, and although I truly like being a teacher and love my kids, I could barely fall asleep last night because I was so excited that today is the last day of school until January 5th! I love it more now than I did when I was a kid. I was off school on Tuesday as well. My furnace went out, so I had to stay home all day and wait for the repair man (fun and cheap). I did some school work, killed time on the computer, backed up thousands (literally) of pictures, and played Mario Kart on the Wii with other people from all over the world for hours. I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt, and how content. I was also surprised how I live my life in a unknowing constant state of stress (and it is better than last year, these kids are much more pleasant). It was also amazing to me how my body reacted, as I played Nintendo, my mind started drifting to different plot lines in my book and picturing different options for my next drawing/watercolor. I drew it that night, and am going to paint it tomorrow on my first day off (writing will start again Monday). It is one more piece of evidence (at least in my way of thinking) that we were not designed to work like we do. Creativity and imagination are signs of health and mental well-being, and the fact that the first moment I had unencumbered I was consumed with such thoughts shows that life is not meant to be spent working, working, working. Of course, the opposite can be said that creativity and imagination are a product of anguish and heart-break as well (Lord knows that my most dramatic and moving work comes at such times), but I chose to look at that as a bonus we receive to help us persevere, not a statement of how we are supposed to live our lives. All this to say. . . Whoopeeeee!!!!! School’s out!!!

all in a weekend

The day after the annual ‘gay boy’s Christmas dinner’ at my house this weekend, I was on my way back from picking Chad up from work (he had a few overtime hours this weekend). Chad was in the passenger seat, Dunkyn and Dolan were in the back seat—Dolan’s head sticking out the window, desperately taking in all the sights and smells around him while seeking his ever constant fix of human adoration. I saw a beat up red truck coming up behind us in the lane to our right. The back was piled high with furniture, and there were two large men in the cab. The driver looked to be around fifty; he was burly with a dirty white pony tail. Instantly, I thought, ‘Oh, brother, here we go.’ You begin to equate personalities with certain characteristics. Stereotyping, sure. But there is a reason people stereotype, yes, even most of the gay ones. As Dolan came up even with the truck’s driver side window, I hear this manly voice talking baby talk to Dolan. Dolan frolicked in the attention, and the man’s voice got ever more babyish as he cooed to my dog. A flash of pleasant surprise went through me; I needed to stop judging a book by its cover. The truck sped up and came even with the passenger window, which was open (it really was a perfect summer day—considering it was Dec. 7). As he zoomed past, he turned his head to us and yelled ‘Homos!’ As the truck took the lead, a tarnished icthus (Jesus fish) shown out in the sunlight against the oxidizing red paint.
Later that evening, we went to see the movie ‘Milk.’ Remarkable. It shames me to no small degree that I am so completely ignorant of my gay history or how many have sacrificed so much for my less than equal rights. Here I have been wondering who was going to be our Martin Luther King, and come to find out, we already had one. The amount that this fallible, far-from-perfect, un-trained man accomplished in so short amount of time was mind boggling. Depressing, of course, but also inspiring, and a reminder of how much I have to be thankful for and how much I still need to fight and to give. The movie was expertly crafted and acted and given so much love and respect, while not really sugar coating anything. Used to, it would have driven me crazy seeing the fallibility of ‘heroes.’ Now, it just reminds me that if the case calls for it, I will be in like company.
The following day, five blocks away from my home, a little after six in the evening, after working out, waiting patiently at a red light that seemed to be taking forever in the blizzarding snow storm (for those of you keeping track of the weather patters here in the Rockies it was December 8, the day after the summer day), a car or truck ( I couldn’t see) plowed into me from behind. This is the third time I have been hit in two years. Once in the side of my car, two from the back. Both of the other times, I haven’t made a big deal about it, never even turned them in to insurance. It’s the beauty of having a crappy car, plus I felt sorry for the people that hit me. However, the second my head flew forward at the impact and I heard the crunching of my car, I told myself that enough was enough, and tonight I was going to call the police and turn this into to insurance. Apparently, my thoughts are louder than I realized. As I pulled into the parking lot, to get out of the snow packed, crowded street, the car behind me zipped off into the darkness. All I could do was double over laughing. Then I got mad. Then I laughed again.

March

The protest march on Saturday was much different than I was expecting. There were very few people protesting against us, and from what I could see there weren’t any altercations between the opposing sides.
It is easy to criticize those who actually get out and make things happen. That being said, there was a lack (or an over-abundance) of planning. The actual rally part, where they had speakers and singers, took well over an hour and a half, maybe up to two hours. It was entirely too long. The public began to get restless. Some left, other’s began to chant, “March, March!” And, of course, old prissy queens got in fights with old bitter lesbians. I, being use to angry, fighting immature children, got in the middle and broke them up. It was disgusting seeing my own fight when the whole purpose was to come together against those who want to deny us. Overall, though, it was a whole lot more peaceful than I was worried it would be.
The actual march was fairly amazing. We marched all the way down (and back up) Sixteen Street Mall. We seemed to go on forever. I felt a huge swell of pride for my community as we walked along. No one dressed over the top or stupidly (like during Pride, and no one was overtly rude to the naysayers around us. We were simply normal, everyday people, of all races, who simply wanted the right to be treated as such. Of course there were a few people on the side of street who called out to us, telling us we were going to Hell (wow, never heard that before), yelling, ‘faggots’, and calling us other names. It, for some reason, seemed so much for offensive when such things were coming from African-American men. Weren’t they in a similar place half a century ago? (If you really want an ear-full, check out the comments on the news sites that reported this event—sickening.) However, most either watched us silently or applauded. I swear I saw a few cry. There were even these two beautiful high school girls (obviously straight) who were shopping at the mall. After a second’s hesitation, they joined hands, hopped in with us, and marched for several blocks.
Thank you to all of you who supported us, whether by attending, donation, or through positive thoughts and prayers.

2008's First Snow

I have been dreading the snow all year. I love it until Christmas, but then want it to be over. (FYI, you should see the Christmas presents under the tree this year—gorgeous. I went monochromatic—shiny red paper with matte red polka dots paired with red ribbon, sigh…) Unfortunately, the snowiest part of the year is January through April. However, when I woke up this morning and drove to work in the very wet, very blustery, hard to see through snow, with my chocolate filled Caribou Coffee and The Host (Stephanie Meyer—Awesome!) blaring through my speakers, the world was made cozy and perfect. Even with all the ridiculous drivers who all of the sudden forgot that we drive in this every year. And to top it off, it’s Friday! And I get to write all night and most of the day on Sunday. Perfect weekend. So very happy. Still nervous about the protest march tomorrow, but excited to be able to take some action, no matter how small.
By the way, I am writing on a new book (science fiction), which will hopefully be a series. The other book is finished, but based on the feedback I received from some of the people who read it, I am putting it on pause until a later date. With this book, I am going to write three or four chapters and then submit for publication. And that is all I am going to say on the subject. I am sure the two people who read this blog regularly are sick of reading about my writing, especially after all the time I spent yabbering about a book I am now not seeking publication for. I still love the book and it saddens me to leave it be. Maybe one day.
Last night, at 9 PM (on a school night, rebel, I know), Chad and I went to see Madagascar 2 at the IMAX. It was hilarious. Fat hippo love. OMG! Also, it was hands down the gayest movie I have ever seen. Made me wish we still had our beloved Jerry Falwell with us so he could kill over. Opps. . . that was rude. You have to see this movie, I was even able to get past the “I Like to Move It, Move It” song which ruined the first movie for me. My brother and I saw with two of our little cousins years ago, and after the movie (for days) they sang that damn song. I am convinced that I can survive any thoughts of attempting suicide after existing through such an experience.
So, and this, hopefully, will be the last time I mention it until I actually have news… say a little prayer for me (yes, the music behind those words was in my head) or send good thoughts, whatever, as I trudge on through my new writing endeavor (starting chapter three tonight), say a big prayer for us tomorrow as we attempt to let our voices be heard in a peaceful, respectful way (pray that it stays that way as well), and know that if you are feeling down, it is best to try to do something nice for someone else. By that I mean, feel free to send me double cheeseburgers from Sonic, or nearly any TV on DVD collection available. Or maybe another Corgi puppy (Chad wants a bulldog, so maybe one of both).

Number Two--Not that kind, sicko

Today, Connecticut became the second state (currently) to legalize same-sex marriage!   I would love to take more joy in this, but I was joyful about California a couple months ago, and we all know how that turned out.  However, I am very hopeful!

 

In addition, my friend KD sent out a link which I now share with you.  It is of Ken Olberman (?) talking about Prop. 8.  He make some wonderful points, some I had never thought of.  In 1960 something, thirteen states still had laws where whites and black could not marry.  Just sayin’….

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4xfMisqab8

 

Also, she sent me a link to this website:

 

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/protect-marriage-protect-children-prohibit-divorce

 

It is to sign a petition to make divorce illegal since it harms the sanctity of marriage.  While I won’t sign it, yet (two wrongs don’t make a right, and I think it would do more harm than good), it makes a very good point.   Just thought I’d share.   

Action

Every time I drive by a group of protestors, whether I am by myself or with someone else, I always scoff.  What good do they think they are doing?  Why don’t they go do something useful with their time?  Do they really think making people honk their horns is really going to bring about world peace?  If anything, their ranting, raving, ridiculous signs only make me want to go the opposite of whatever they are trying to shove down my throat.  Go War!!!.  Oh, wait. . .

This Saturday, I will be one of the ridiculous time-wasters.  Probably with a picket sign.  Not sure how this works.  I got home from working out, and started the prep for my made-up recipe for coconut baked chicken (cross your fingers, I hope it’s good) and got an email from my friend GG.  It told of a protest going on this Saturday at 11:30 (at the Capitol, I think) in response to the passing of Proposition 8 in California.  I believe it is happening nationwide, but that might just be my imagination. 

The minute I read the email, I thought, “Oh Shit!  I’m gonna be in a protest.  I hate myself.”  For the first time, I understand why other people do it.  Do I really think someone is going to see me and suddenly change their stance on gay rights, on gay marriage, on gays being human?  No.  I don’t.  Hopefully, but no. . . However, I have to do something.  I don’t have $100,000 to donate to the cause, I don’t have any power, there are only two people that read this blog, but this I can do.  I can stand, powerless and stupid, and do all I have in my power to show how angry I am for being denied the rights of every other American, and hope that someone will see a spark of humanity in this thirty year old faggot that will make them think twice. 

I have thought that I was totally out of the closet to everyone, never a second of doubt or hesitation.  Even now, however, I can’t help but think, “What if I get on the news?  What if a riot breaks out, what if some extremist tries to take us out with a gun or bomb, what if only two of us show up?”  My answer.  Well, fuck it!  I’ve been ranting for years that no one in the gay community truly seems to take any real action.  Maybe holding a stupid glitter sign and chanting some fairy rhyme will be the first step. 

Would love to have you join us. 

Land of the Free, Home of the Bigot

After such an insane election, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill when it was announced that Obama won. (I didn’t vote for Obama, nor did I vote for McCain. I voted Libertarian, simply due to the fact that I couldn’t morally vote for Obama or McCain, for reasons I have already specified.) Honestly, I think I would have felt the same thrill had McCain won. Either way was historic, either an African-American President or a Female Vice-President. No matter how you feel about the individuals, it’s pretty cool. You could feel the history being made in front of our eyes. Even though things about Obama terrify me (as they did with McCain), I went to bed last night on a high, even woke up this morning that way. Something I wasn’t expecting at all. However, as soon as I got on the computer to check how Proposition 8 came out in California, all good feelings vanished. From all reports I could find, although most seemed confusing to me or like they hadn’t really finished counting, the ban on Gay Marriage passed.
Glad I’m so vile, that I desecrate the spotless institute of marriage. Glad I’m so twisted that I should be banned. Glad that certain murderers can get married and have conjugal visits while they’re in jail. Glad Ellen and Portia woke up this morning and found themselves, once again, both single and monstrous in the eyes of their state and country. I still love my country. I also hate my country. I am sure it is petty and childish to hate simply because I am hated, but too bad. I can’t help being thoroughly disgusted with the human race. Sadly, I can’t help being disgusted knowing that certain family and friends, had they lived in California, would have voted the same. Wake up and take a fucking look at the people you are deeming evil and subhuman.

sin

This month (although a month early) marks the two year anniversary of my decline. Although I didn’t realize it at the time (only since I have looked back at pictures), I was hot. I worked for a couple months to get into what ended up being, hands-down, the best shape of my life. I wasn’t happy at the time, because I wanted to loose like five more pounds. Blah, blah, blah. The decline started in November, on my way back to Missouri to visit AA (not the meeting). I discovered the Pumpkin Pie blizzard at Dairy Queen. I of course added cookie dough to it.
Since I was so close to my target weight, I figured my body could handle it. So, starting on that drive across the Midwest, I averaged five to six large Pumpkin Pie Cookie Dough blizzards a week, almost all the way through December. By the time New Year’s Day rolled around, I had gone from 169 pounds to 185 pounds. In January, Chad and I started dating. We’re eaters. Within a few months that ‘heavy’ 185 transformed to 205 pounds. And, there it stayed for the next year an a half. I am down to 195 pounds at the moment.
All this to say that Dairy Queen, this time in October, not November, brought out their best offering once again. All this to say that last night, while watching a truly painful episode of Project Runway, I had a large Pumpkin Pie Cookie Dough blizzard. Uh-oh.