1:52 p.m. - July 16, 2004
Were I a bird, I'd be a pelican
Ryan hasn't returned my call. I shouldn't be surprised. A cute guy like him can get whomever he wants but fundamentally, I don't treat him as well as I ought and comparatively, any guy appeals better than myself. I miss making him giggle. I'll give him another call over the weekend.
Chatted again with Chris. Towards the end of the conversation I pulled away, tired of hearing a beautiful guy say he's not hot enough to go to a club. If he's not hot, that makes me invisible. Once a long time ago a gay guy told me it was the fat ones who get their knees because otherwise they'd be standing alone. I don't think Ken said that but it's something he would have, I'm sure. It strikes me as prophetic but just when I catalogue my sins and dumpiness I recall seeing the two guys leaving the movie theater in front of Jon and myself; one was large, a vision of what comes to mind when I read morbidly obese and the other was average, decidedly HWP. And the two were cuddling as much as can be done while walking, and the fat man rubbed his hand in circles around the other man's back. It was altogether lovely to see, that expression of intimacy and fondness, an insouciant privacy amid the public. And I thought then, If he can find somebody, then I can, too but I'm single.
I don't want to be single but I must learn to embrace it, embrace myself. How true that saying, You can't find love until you love yourself. I can't stand to look at myself in a mirror much less hold my own hand so there's a ways to go yet. Who am I kidding? I could be beautiful on the outside and I'd still be me. It isn't about embracing being single; it's about embracing me being me.
Most days, I picture myself as a forty-something on a phone sex line looking to squeeze out a few drops of here-and-now happiness. Other days I picture myself dead and it doesn't matter, it doesn't bother me aside from the pull in my throat that doesn't let me believe it doesn't matter. Even Adam found somebody because it wasn't good for man to be alone.
Must stop feeling sorry for myself. Rationalizing the positive aspects of solitude sounds delusional because let's face it, it sucks to be alone. And dwelling on being alone does nobody any favors - nobody wants to feel it, nobody wants to hear it - so how about I apply a few lessons I learned from Ken: Slap myself silly and get up off my ass and do something. But then there's another question in this torrid onion of mine: Am I really doing it for me?
I don't think so. I'd do it so somebody would look at me. I'd feel the same on the inside just as I do now.
