even the rain is sharp like today as you sh-sh-shock me sane
Thursday, December 08, 2005
I can’t write what I am inclined to write, I don’t want to be found out to be the person I am. I don’t want to ruin the life of a very good friend. Even if I were circumspect about the entire incident there would be people who could put the sad pieces together. There are some truths that don’t need to be shared.
That’s the thing. I have always lived this way. Making these massive mistakes where I maximize carnage. Saying things that hurt. I seem to live, sustained by the hemp woven guilt noosed around my neck, to be cruel. The drive to hurt, so subtly covered and hidden by my dazzling smile, propels me forward into another poorly planned and brilliantly executed execution.
I plant my ass on a bar stool and my feet on a cross bar. Even as I wish I could be alone I put on the face that will draw them. An innate skill, displayed with ease, shown in a mirrored finish, deflecting the light. The approach only shows what’s already visible on the outer, and that is what people see in me, a reflection of themselves (as they are or as they wish to be is immaterial, they use me to feel something about themselves).
No I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want you to tell me about the most amazing night in your life. I don’t care about the time you pulled a man from a burning car. I don’t find you either fascinating or interesting even if I repeatedly tell you that I find you either fascinating or interesting (especially if I tell you: “You’re fassssscinating”).
It’s an act. I’m good at it. I’ve won awards for it. Please do not be fooled into thinking that just because you were interesting or fascinating (see above) that I ever want to see you again.
But I think to myself, as I sit there, and hear you stories, nod my head, enlargen my eyes at the appropiate points and feed into your belief that I care: “Please, stop sucking me dry.”
My mother once described the difference between my sister and myself in the following:
“Your sister has always been so smart and gifted, but it was something into which she put time and effort. Whereas she worked very hard to complete certain classes in high school, you just breezed through them. You made everything seem so effortless, because to you, these things were effortless. I can’t imagine what it is like for an older sister to have to look at her younger sister and know these things, but she does. You walk into a room and draw attention. There is just something about your personality that shines. When your sister was spending all that time working on being a good student and creating the persona of the responsible, stable person that she is today, you were focusing on the pieces of you that make you the person you are today, you were working on the shine.
She is the standard building block person who worked hard and has a very nice and stable life. You are equally as smart and gifted, but you didn’t let that define you, you didn’t want that to define you. You are defined by your personality. You are the outstanding to her standard, you are the capstone to her building block, you are the exciting to her stable. And that is why people are attracted to you, they want to be near the shine. You walk into a crowded room of strangers and leave with a room full of people who want to be your bestfriend. While you sister holds on to those new friends, you are more than willing to never see them again.”
But the shine is fake (all that glitters is not gold).
So Sally can wait, she knows it’s too late as we’re walking on by. Her soul slides away, but don’t look back in anger I hear you say.
Don’t look back in anger. Don’t look back in anger. Don’t look back in anger. At least not today.
(I knew I shouldn’t have slept with him, but I did, repeatedly.)
I’m just not cut out for normal
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
He thought from beyond cyber space I would be cold. My warmth surprised him.
He bowls. Every week. With his own personal bowling ball. Which he had detailed with its name.
He named his bowling ball.
And yet, this bowling thing, I can overlook.
I can overlook his procrastination, indecisiveness, the extensive travel for work, his ADD speech patterns (although the conversation can be hard to follow, the randomness of the topics always makes me laugh).
Because on the other side, when he lays next to me and tells me all those sweet nothings about me that I wish were really true, everything feels so right.
He wants me to stop dating the Other (“I’ll call you after my date.” “No. No more dating other people.”).
He talks in the future tense about we, us, our. We should live in Boston…our apartment…our children (that was me actually, yeah, I totally was like “our children” WTF, was I just talking about OUR children?).
For the first time, we, us, our isn’t overwhelming.
Oh and the sex is phenomenal.
But he’s gone now and I suspect the worst. (My call went to voicemail; he’s clearly ducking my calls. He didn’t call back already because he’s sitting back enjoying the game he played. He’s used me for sex and now he’s laughing all the way home.) As soon as I admit to liking him for all the right reasons, I convince myself that it was all just a game.
And then the phone rings.
(Pussy Willow proclaimed: “He’s so normal.”)
Never Meant to Make Your Daughter Cry
Thursday, December 01, 2005
I’m a little surprised that I am bored about hearing about my own problems. Perhaps I am not as self-centered as I previously suspected.
I hate evil women. Case in point: I was dating a boy. He and I were having a grand old time getting to know each other. His female roommate learning this decided that now was the time to tell him that the reason why she broke up with her boyfriend was because she dug the boy. Okay: She has known him for years and has been single for long enough to have the opportunity to share this with him. She decides that the perfect time, even though they have been living together for a while, is when he goes on a date and seems to be building a relationship with someone else. Oh yeah, her ex- is a co-worker of the boy. He says that he doesn’t know if he likes her like that, he never before looked at her in that way. I say bullshit. She’s shitty and fucked up if she thinks that she went about this in the right way. If he’s never thought about her in that way then I think he probably won’t.
Being of sound mind and body, when he said that he wasn’t sure that he knew what to do about all this, I said: “I guess we won’t be going on another date.”
I cannot be caught up in other people’s baby mama drama. Of course I am not wanting for a date, I just hate how fucked up she was to play it like that. I think he’s going to give it a few days and then turn around and try to come back. Unfortunately, this ship has sailed. Some Girl doesn’t do second best.
Carrie Patch has spoken thus: “Well, I can see why he would say you play your cards close to your chest. I mean, when I think about when we go out, you are open but I am really open. You definitely make people work to get to know you, they have to ask questions, but you are always willing to answer anything they ask. I just don’t think you can judge something like this against me. I’m the type of person that would tell a homeless guy that I have gonorrhea or something. Not that I have gonorrhea, but if I did, I would definitely unprovoked tell strangers about it.”
And that is why I love Carrie.
Big weekend in the city: Pussywillow will be here, I have to go to Rhode Island on Saturday, date with someone on Saturday night, and Sunday is the Patriots/Jets game, which I hope to see at the stadium.
Difference
He looked at me; I was casually seated on his couch. The couch would become my bed in a few hours, but for the time being, this was where we sat while he changed my world.
Me, being the blunt one that I am, flipped through the pages of a magazine meant to tell me what to do on a Wednesday night in London (if I were a gay man) and noticed: “Why the hell are there so many adverts for AIDS awareness?”
Looking back now, I can still see his eyes slide to my face and without taking a breath, he laughs: “It is world AIDS day, darling.”
Aghast I look up and oops my way back. The queen of backpedaling I mumble something about being a shallow American.
I never really had the chance to finish that half-assed apology because as I came up with the words to turn my brash insensitivity into a humorous moment, he continued: “You know I am positive, right?”
People talk about seconds seeming like a lifetime, split seconds that go on forever, and time standing still. For me, time slowed to an excruciatingly slow palpable dimension. In between the time I turned to him to ask about what he was positive and the words formulating in my mouth, I felt my heart skip. I realized he was POSITIVE.
I looked at him and looked back at the magazine. Finished flipping though as if nothing had changed. I asked him a few questions (how, when, who) but acted as if nothing had changed. Eventually we went to sleep, and the next morning as we went our separate ways in Covent Gardens I hugged and kissed him as if nothing had changed.
Everything had changed. I know that all things being equal (and nothing is equal now) he will die before me. No matter how healthy he is, no matter how low the viral count is, and with the knowledge that he only (ONLY!) has HIV and not AIDS, I know that he will die before me.
His proclamation of positivity changed my worldview. I no longer can live with an idea with an “us” and “them”. Now, because of him, my world is just us.
I see him as often as I can; he is still by far one of my closest friends. When I am in London, I stay with him, when he comes to Boston, we spend as much time together as his job allows. I know that whatever happens he and I will always be the fun loving duo looking to break some hearts, but that day, he broke my heart. He also made a difference, he still does.