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8:13 p.m. - August 31, 2004
It's my anthem, my opus in the works
This morning en route to work I passed what I imagine was a drug deal and quickly looked away, though I was curious and would have liked to observe. How does one find people with the goods, so to speak? Are suppliers like the Masons, with special handshakes, or is it in the eyes? I wonder how these things work.

That was me traipsing along Telegraph Avenue, and will be me for the next 10 months' worth of Tuesdays and Wednesdays. After some thought I accepted a contract of 9 hour days twice a week, full rates+1 plus mileage, my commute time and transportation costs. At first I was hesitant due to the nature of the work but it will be a challenge and as the arrangement seems now, I will have a lot of time free for myself. The desk I was promised has not yet appeared but I'll take the small round table under the potted palms.

The contact person isn't all that enamored of me yet. She mentioned twice, once under her breath and then again, later, more audibly, that I am earning more in two days than several of their staffers make in a month. I didn't respond.

In a bizarre twist to my gay socialization exposure course, I was asked out to dinner by the (male) receptionist. I'm still trying to figure out how we went from Hi, I'm Jason ----- from ---- to an invitation to lunch then dinner as he showed me around. Is it the way I walk, my voice, a mannerism, or is my handshake effeminate? It might be my walk - I think men (straight) take up space when they walk, arms and legs akimbo expanding their personal space. I walk like I'm trying to blend into the cement, pulling into myself so I don't touch or jostle others.

I would be half-flattered if he were not 61 years old. Yes, that is correct. It is humorous even to me.


Listening to Khenany right now, writing with my eyes closed and remembering dancing with Shannon in Mexico as they played. That was in 1990, which makes this CD one of, if not the, oldest in my (small) collection. It was for a celebration hosted by the townspeople, and we had to dress up. I wore a white button down shirt, dark green shorts, and another girl - Melody, from Burma - unbuttoned it all the way down and I loved it. And Shannon and I danced on the mini plaza on the beach while the sun set and the festival lights glowed.

Later that night a good half of us got the runs and we tossed toilet paper rolls over the stall partitions.

One of my most favorite memories.


I am not a man of action. I don't know how to patch things up with people I'd like to keep as acquaintances, or as friends even. Are things ever worth fighting for, to exert the energy needed to reverse the pull of habitude? For a short while I was getting to know Chris well, and I was pleased with myself - no, I was happy - to hear his secrets and to share mine, to think maybe he could be a friend and for once not banish the desire. I would like to think the interest in developing a friendship was reciprocal. During our correspondance I struggled with the urges to freeze the gaping vulnerability and the thrill of a genuine friendship and openness it requires. Then while I was in Washington, D.C., I had a spontaneous idea - why not drive up I-95 to visit? Sure, a 9-hour drive but how fun! How exciting it would be! and I asked him, What do you think? and his response was That'd be great and instantly I pulled back. That'd be great is something I say when I think the contrary, it's a pre-fabricated stock response to the unpleasant and unwelcome when it is impolite to be honest. And so I said never mind, it was just a silly idea, and the disappointment in myself was overwhelming and total. Later, Chris asked had he responded differently would I have acted otherwise, and I said no. But I corrected myself, thinking I could be open and honest, and said yes, his response did have something to do with my decision. Apparently this is called playing games. We don't correspond any longer and I'm disappointed. No, that is vague: I am sad that I failed when I hoped for so much.

There seems to be a trend developing, almost like a nebulous leitmotif that just now is shaping into something I can perceive. It is neither hostile nor benevolent, merely an intrigue. My greatest solace and menacing fear is solitude but perhaps there is a reason I am not one who forms attachments easily. I must be learning a lesson of some sort, maybe it's like working sums until one day it clicks and you can do mulitplication tables or parabolic equations and you look back one day and think gee, that wasn't so hard at all. Maybe solitude is difficult for me because I'm not practicing it correctly, finding that balance where I don't need the world because I'm wholly myself and who cares if I buy one ticket to see a movie alone. Maybe embracing solitude is the way to defeating it, to controlling it.

Hollow. It's hollow.


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