June 3, 2005
As regret, sorrow and anger slowly turn into acceptance and understanding, I have an epilogue for the past two-and-then-some-months that's been a long time coming. It's couched in pop culture references, of course. Did you really expect anything more or less?
In Episode 99 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy is… well… a mess. She’s catatonic and unresponsive to the dire needs of the Scooby Gang. Willow gets all Vulcan mind-meldy and realizes that the Slayer is stuck in a mental loop.
This episode, entitled, “Weight of the World” reveals that Buffy, after so many trials and tribulations, is simply tired of fighting. She’s tired of the ongoing drama that is her life. And she’s trapped in a moment where she allowed herself to feel the way she wanted to feel and she’s riddled with guilt for feeling that way. She’s stuck playing the same scene over and over again as a consequence.
A much wiser man than myself might call that a shame spiral.
I’ve been stuck in a similar sort of whirling dervish since I got back from my trip to California weeks and weeks ago. Two moments from my trip kept playing themselves out in my mind and I simply couldn’t break loose of the emotional stranglehold of those memories and those feelings.
It wasn’t a memory about seeing movie stars or wistful walks on the beach or rockin’ my style on Melrose. No…it was much more insidious than that. It was a big ole fruit loop of gay sentimentality.
One evening, while I was holding him in my arms -- I saw colors. Circular waves of orange, hues of warm bronze, gold and yellow. Bright warm loops of color. My eyes were closed, my head resting on the back of his, and every breath he took created this cascading color effect in my mind’s eye. Considering the time I spend in my own head, and considering there is so little there so often -- it was unnerving. Actually it was really trippy – and I haven’t touched ‘shrooms since 1994.
The other moment was one morning when I was standing at the foot of his bed, looking at him while he was sleeping, thinking, “This is what I want.”
I wanted to be somebody’s boyfriend, a desperate housewife, a Pottery Barn/Ikea/Crate & Barrel queer, a significant other with pretty insignificant demands.
I wanted the enviable pair of Weimaraners and the walks in the park with a cute man: envy me, my dogs and my cute boyfriend, you bitches!
I wanted dinner time together and real closeness and the familiarity and safety of intimacy. I wanted to not be so alone and thought, for just a moment, that maybe I didn’t have to be.
Since I got back, I have been trying to disavow myself of that moment of quiet contentment, that moment of gorgeous silence, that moment when I was so very, very happy and so very, very still.
Usually my happiness involves extreme thrills, new hats, raucous laughs, Pringles...but this was gentle and quiet and calm. And something I hadn’t felt for such a long time. And it fucked me up.
That’s wrong. So very wrong.
My trip to California and falling for this man tapped into that side of me that I’d locked up, hidden and almost forgotten.
Listen, I can be cavalier up on this blog and talk about sex in slings and three ways – and that doesn’t necessarily mean that I am happy with the decisions that I’ve made. It’s just the truth. And the truth isn’t always pretty. Like me, all blue and passed out in a sling.
And I know it hasn’t been pretty around here as I’ve imploded, exploded, unraveled and fallen apart and not had the sense to do it all in private.
The past few (and seemingly endless weeks) have been really trying for me. I’ve been trying to break that mental loop and trying to figure out what the hell I was feeling …..and I’ve been left with only more questions.
What did I do wrong?
Why didn’t he like me?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with him?
Why come he thinks there’s something wrong with me?
Where’s my whiskey?
Where’s your bong?
Where the hell did I leave my car?
But the biggest one, is the one that’s always plagued me: what kind of man am I?
I don’t see that many gay male role models to emulate. I see fussy queens who bitch and moan about so-and-so not inviting them to this-or-that cocktail party. I see tweaked out party boys spiraling towards oblivion. I see the seemingly perfect couple, but experience and observation have taught me that even the most perfect duos are fraught with infidelity, scheming and unnecessary bullshit.
It seems to me that gay culture forces you to choose sides. To conform to some sort of preconceived notion of “togetherness” and I just don’t know where I fit into all of that.
Does the love of a new hat somehow mean I am incapable of finding a fella that can fix a flat tire and still bust a move?
Is it okay to have two enviable Weimaraners and a bitchy cat and still have a wild night out with some tranny hookers? I’m not talking about hiring them for chrissakes...but they’re a lotta fun up at the club. And so what if I wanted to hire them for the night, I got enough eggs in my fridge and I sure as shit know how to make omelets for all four of us the next morning.
And my oracle won’t answer my question...it just tells me to do what I know I need to do.
Don't wait for life to happen to you. Make the life you want happen. Joseph Campbell called it following your bliss. Goethe said that once a definitive commitment was made, mighty forces would come to aid you. So what are you waiting for? There's a whole life out there waiting for you -- the life that you've always wanted. All you have to do is make that first, definitive movement toward it.
Isn't life too short to waste?
I suppose that it is and while the fruit loop has been broken, there are times when I feel that I’m still spinning my wheels. But the ground feels firmer than ever before. Especially after the past few days.
Sooner or later, I'm gonna get some traction and I’m gonna fly. And I hope it'll be a fun ride, instead of a crash and burn. It's a funny thing, to realize that you're in the driver's seat. All you have to do is choose a direction.
Keep biking and have a good weekend, y’all!