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12:51 p.m. - March 16, 2003
Holy shit, this is what one means when referring to a Waste of time
Yesterday talked on the phone with Bathsheba and then last night with Spec and trust me, I not only catch the contrast, it hits me in the face. I asked Bathsheba a while back not to read my journal any longer and I have no reason to suspect she still does and I wonder if it hurt her feelings when I made the request; I think this because she made a comment along the lines of I donít know whatís going on in your life any more and I shrugged it off Ė well, of course you donít and I suppose that is the burden of friendship, keeping people informed about the bric-a-brac of oneís life. Or maybe I just donít get it; I donít know. Caught her up on some of my goings-ons and she found much Ė too much Ė humor in the San Antonio job Ė a quick aside; speaking of bric-a-brac, maybe I should write about these things as well? I donít think much of these details for some reason Ė I applied for a position at a college in San Antonio and found out yesterday the job has been offered to me. And I told her I will soon have to craft a polite refusal and avoid revealing that the only reason I applied for the position was to see whether or not I would get it because who would want to live in San Antonio? Yes, yes, thereís the Riverwalk and bats and Rob says the hill country is beautiful but Texas I wonít do. Why is it all the jobs are in the Southwest? Iíd be content to find a college position in New Hampshire or Virginia Ė or this weekís application, Connecticut Ė instead of a region where water is measured in drops and if it isnít, it should be because theyíre living off water imported from elsewhere and speaking of, I heard that older homes in Las Vegas donít have water meters so what a crock is that, living in the desert on a literal pipe dream? Talk about an invitation for consumption.

I digress.

So we talked about teaching and massive layoffs and pupil-teacher ratios and how next year sheís going to let me do her taxes because this year her return is a measly $250 and change (unbelievable; she says I became noticeably agitated) and in sum, I felt it was a good conversation; I enjoy the distance. And it makes me sad. I would consider Bathsheba one of my closest friends and it has been difficult for me to talk to her about the things on my mind Ė particularly the Spectual issue (heh, get it?) Ė because of the being-gay-is-a-sin thing, but one no better or worse than any other sin. Itís frustrating and actually hurts to avoid or censor the elephant in my life but it reminds me, better to be solo than open, the opposite direction Iíd like to go.

Itís easier to be facile and superficial, keep you at a distance.

I could tell my Jason-is-stupid stories, update you on the new one that occurred yesterday when I walked directly into automatic doors that I trusted would open but didnít and I was momentarily confused, questioned whether I walked into a window or a door. But Iím not a good story-teller, cannot write a comedic journal entry that captures the humor and disorientation of the event and my horror that there were several witnesses.

I could say nothing, which is tempting enough.

But you know, Iíve always been distant from people; even my closest friends, which arenít very close at all, often remark that thereís much they donít know. Somehow, sometime, Iím going to have to realize that nobody is going to hurt me Ė if thatís what Iím worried about Ė and not be so uptight.

[Tangent.]

Rob is in Dallas until late May when he returns to London and wants me to visit and Iím not really pleased with this cling-y vibe thing Iím getting. How awful is that? Itís because I feel like a hypocrite, I know, and overwhelmed by being his confidante. You know what it really is? Iím worried he is too interested in me and this bothers me now that I know heís gay. When he would call me from London or Dallas at strange times Ė my insomnia and time differences collude Ė to talk about shit and frustrations and his girlfriend and mine, I was never bothered; but now that I know and heís begun calling more often than ever before (easily twice a week) to talk about things, I want to push him away. I donít want him to know about me. I worry he can tell, how silly is that?

[Tangent.]

I am sick of thinking and writing about the gay shit.

[Tangent. Right back to the gay shit.]

A heated discussion with Spec last night Ė but in a good way Ė over admitting things. Out of the blue he asked me to describe a guy who turned me on and I was quick to say that I donít think of guys like that, that I donít have a ďtypeĒ or inclination Ė and this is, generally, true. So he asked me about women and I could rattle that off no problem: The smarter the better, kind and generous, moral and chaste, petite, B-cup tits, long hair, good skin, shaves her legs and neatly trims her bush, neither a stretched-out whore but not repressed. Yeah, I know Ė good luck finding that! But Iíve always been lucky in the past, no sense thinking the streak is over.

So I caved. I wonít say Iím attracted to this type but this would be a workable ideal in terms of a guy.

Taller than I, intelligent, someone who laughs a lot. A man, not a boi, someone who doesnít have an obsession over shaving every natural hair on his body Ė but please, trim when a trimís needed, eh? Ė or for that matter, obsess over abs and trips to the gym, someone who prefers the mind to the clubs. I like eyes and smiles. Either a larger or smaller cock than my own Ė how odd is that? Larger if Iím going to defer to him, smaller if heís going to defer to me, perhaps thatís my motive. Good skin. Someone who doesnít think an STD is part of being gay or knows where the closest bath house is located. Iím full of shit. You know what I really like? I like the Ė heh I donít like saying it Ė the daddy top type. You know. The ones whoíll swat my ass and is sure of himself. Something like that.

Whew. Okay, now Iím embarrassed. Not quite as bad as walking into the door, but still Ė itís bad enough.

I wouldnít say that Specís my ideal because heís not and Iím unsure whether I have an ideal or not; thatís what he wanted to hear and I wouldnít inflate his ego. Out of the blue he remarked that heís attracted to me because I do my own thing, unconcerned about whatís in style or popular, am not a victim of the herd mentality Ė a phrase heís stolen from me Ė and I thought You donít know what youíre talking about but didnít say it. I mentioned Iíve gained more weight Ė perhaps more a Why donít you rethink your visit statement Ė and I can tell heís disappointed. I am, too. Maybe this is how I can get him to go away, huh? Maybe thatís whatís going on inside that head of mine.

Itís Sunday, I didnít go to church Ė why bother now, it seems Ė and Iím writing, listening to music, watching the rain. Thereís one bird on the fence and I feel just like he does.

Holy shit. What the hell have I written here other than drivel?

 

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