8:49 a.m. - April 03, 2002
I never reach conclusions. Just whine about situations
Not usually a hypochondriac but a bruise that started out the size of a quarter on my left foot has now become a dark ink stain covering the arch, ankle and entire top of my foot, and now there is a second bruise mid-calf and it seems the two will converge. Last night I woke up and wiggled my toes to make sure they hadn't fallen off as I dreamed. Thinking that perhaps I'm striking the right foot against the left like flint in hopes of creating a spark.
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Thinking lately about the concept of masculinity as it applies to two men in a relationship and I'm becoming angry at myself for being the weaker part of the formula and hence, a weaker man. I don't like that I talk more now than I ever have in the past, a constant jibber jabber that conjures images of girls who can't simply be quiet, and despise this urge that comes from within to talk, to communicate, to explore and gauge feelings and all these frilly emotions and I stand back, look at myself, and think What the hell? Spec says he likes the incessant stream but I can't help feeling girly or feminine when I can't shut myself up. I'm the one who wants attention, to hold hands, to cuddle, as if I've been starving all this time and want to make up for the past. This strikes me as weak and despicable. And then there's sex. Between two men, there's one who gives and one who takes and while I'm learning to enjoy both there is one that excites me most and it isn't something I'd admit to anybody but yes, I like it when I'm not in control, and no, it isn't a gift to Spec but rather selfishly fulfills some need I have to debase myself. It's humiliating on one side of the coin but a non-issue on the other, and I like being the bottom.
What I'm getting at in this frustrating round-about way that reminds me why I admire Monitor as much as I do is that I'm wondering if one can be a bottom and still be a man or if I'll find myself carefully purveying shoes and purses in department stores at some point in the future. Okay, perhaps hyperbolic but still, I can't shake this feeling of being a lesser man--and it's not like I was an alpha male to begin with. It's unsettling. Disconcerting. Alarming.
And then I turn around and think Who cares. But I do.
I guess I've always been sensitive, isn't that what it's called still? That, or quiet. Never got in a fight except for the time some guy punched me in the nose by accident and I was more surprised and amused than retaliatory. Never liked being the center of attention. Didn't feel the need to brag and talk about the notches on the post or the weekend's exploits. Flirted in my own way--if you ignore women, they flock, it seems--and found women liked the quiet and moody me and I never wanted for girlfriends. I do my own thing but don't march to the beat--don't hear one. I float. I become competitive only when I debate and argue and teach and write papers because that's my security. It's not my looks or the list of telephone numbers or my car or my muscles (lesquelles?) like it should be. Instead it's security, the degrees and books and owning a house and it screams stability and predictability and tediousness. A sensitive guy. A practical guy. A boring guy.
Yup. Boring. A beta male. Passive.
And why do I get worked up about this? People like me for me but I don't. That's jacked.
I don't care. I like what I've been doing but want to rein in the feminine stuff--as if it's truly feminine to be open and talk and hold hands and hold on you feminists, I'm just saying. I'm finding my own way, finding that balance on my own and we'll see where it goes.
Dammmmit. Can I ever write well again?
