9:22 p.m. - January 04, 2004
Thought I could avoid the crowds but like most of my presumptions, I was in error
When I call Barbara-the-Editor tomorrow morning to inform her that - yet again - I've missed the deadline, and she poses the inevitable how come? I won't use today as an example of how the dog somehow ate my free time. Church this morning, then a planned 12:30 lunch with Ryan II, after which I'd head home to write. At the restaurant there was a message from Ryan II - running late - [editor's note: Must get cell phone someday] so I ambled over to Barnes & Noble, impatient though looking forward to seeing him. Half an hour passed when I was paged and guess who � really, you can � was on the phone, asking me to meet him at his parents� place and if I were to make a (caustic) aside, I�d mention that the leash I�m on is yanked at whim it seems, but onwards I went.
The bastard had just gotten out of the shower when I arrived so 12:30 lunch, now 1:40 let-me-get-ready time, became 2:10�s I�m-ready-now. Being late wasn�t the stumbling block; it was his observation: I knew you�d come. While it was an indulgence to kiss (and he�s a fantastic kisser, though keep in mind I have limited experience with such) and cuddle for a while, I�m unsettled that he either knows me well or thinks he does, with the same consequences: I come when bidden. Is there a way to retain ownership, much less maintain even power dynamics, when one of the dyad resembles a Yes Man and who enjoys that role/position only until particular, unknown boundaries are crossed and then chafes? When something is assumed and expected, I go the opposite direction; or is all this merely the escape route, the excuse, I need?
After lunch, we went to Best Buy to unload my Christmas gift certificates � err, gift cards - and if you�ve wondered about that slight background hum since the beginning of this entry, it�s my new DVD recorda-write-thingie that � guess who - stretch on this one � I installed. Wasn�t so hard once I realized particular bolts have to be removed in order to pull things out of slots (!), and now I�m burning a copy of Ryan II�s prized porn. I�d pat myself on the back for being da man if it weren�t so techno-geeky. The DVD thing, a new phone, this other thing I need to do a wireless set-up so I can use the laptop � get this � in the backyard. If I don�t return to Washington, D.C. to teach I-just-need-the-credit undergraduates this summer, I�m going to get a new hammock and that will be me swinging and working simultaneously. And if I can work it, emphasis on work, it�ll be a tax write off as well.
After Best Buy, went to Ryan II�s apartment and I wasn�t horny. Not at all and was more interested in his CD collection than his pecs or much else. Passive-aggressive moment, rebelling against expectations? A few minutes into one of his great handjobs I looked at him and said time to go and I did. Up, down, the roller coaster�s engaged.
Strange note: I looked at his family photos on the walls and remarked about his two (older) brothers having that look I associate with (most)(but not all)(happy now, Oz?) gay men. And they are. Both of Ryan II�s brothers are gay. They � the brothers � don�t know about him, but he knows about them and their parents know nothing. This struck me as sad, odd, and great all at once.
And in the guestbook there�s a comment about me being pretentious. At first I laughed, then remembered: That�s not a good trait.
To go or not to go to group therapy. Say the fuck with it and climb back into my (pretentious) rat hole? If I go, it�s a symbolic capitulation to Mean Therapist. If I stay, it�s an affirmation of Mean Therapist�s assertion that I am (could be) a saboteur. If I go, I may not gain further insight. If I don�t go, I won�t gain further insight. If I go, I have to talk about things. If I don�t go, I can�t talk about things.
Just fuck me.
Pretentious?
