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9:05 a.m. - September 09, 2004
When I moved back to California in 1997 for graduate school and a job, I sought permanence, wanted to erect an obelisk marking my place, a homing beacon tuned to my frequency. Later, I thought it wise to buy property because the market was heating up but I also showed off in a way, secretly patted myself on the back for being able to buy a house, congratulating myself on thrift and saving pennies. So my obelisk became a huge house in the suburbs with a home owner's association, large lawns and mature trees, people who greet each other in the morning: Hi Bob! I spent years remodeling - floors, walls, moldings, kitchen, 2 bathrooms (the third is still "in progress"), roof, windows, skylights. There was an unknown part of me that sought refuge and to hide away and buying this house allowed just that - I'm sorry, I can't hang out because I'm working on a project - and now I recognize that this obelisk of mine has become lead weights on my feet, that pouring myself into this house is akin to riding in Dickinson's carriage, oblivious to the guaranteed destination.

If I can see this now, what does this mean? What is the appropriate reaction and response? Does it call for immediacy - sell and move! - or a recasting of expectations or at minimum a welcome mat on the stoop? A party. That's what I want and that's what I will do. A party! I think I know enough people to - what the hell am I thinking? It was a nice fantasy while it lasted.

But really - a party. I could do that; I have a couch in the living room and stools in the kitchen. Reality bites - I'm out of town each weekend through October 30, then it's my birthday, then it's Thanksgiving and then it's Christmas. Silly silly me.

A dinner party. I am a fag, right down to the genes. But I don't have a table. I have dishes though, and napkins, I think, stored away in the little room.


I'm scared for today. I don't think I'm ready but I pledged, gave my word and it is too late to back out. I worry I'll run into somebody I know (unlikely!), worry I'll stick out in my ugliness like a bullfrog amid butterflies. I am too uncertain when around gay men. No, I am too uncertain when I breathe. Same uncertainty, different scene - it's all the same.

I'm procrastinating - I don't want to go. Bart to SF, take Muni or taxi up Market to a meeting about setting up a program for gay male sexual and physical violence. Sad this is apparently a novel idea but I'll find out more.

I look like a dork in my black jeans and button-down from Eddie Bauer. I feel like a dork, I already feel most unwelcome, already feel that swift gay-eye deal where fresh meat is scanned for its appeal and quickly passed over in a split second.

How quickly I set myself up for failure, to later say See, I knew what would happen and provide myself a convincing reason not to go back again.

I am just scared.


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