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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 Ė really, you can Ė was on the phone, asking me to meet him at his parentsí place and if I were to make a (caustic) aside, Iíd mention that the leash Iím 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 2:10ís Iím-ready-now. Being late wasnít the stumbling block; it was his observation: I knew youíd come. While it was an indulgence to kiss (and heís a fantastic kisser, though keep in mind I have limited experience with such) and cuddle for a while, Iím 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 Ė err, gift cards - and if youíve wondered about that slight background hum since the beginning of this entry, itís my new DVD recorda-write-thingie that Ė guess who - stretch on this one Ė I installed. Wasnít so hard once I realized particular bolts have to be removed in order to pull things out of slots (!), and now Iím burning a copy of Ryan IIís prized porn. Iíd pat myself on the back for being da man if it werenít 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 Ė get this Ė in the backyard. If I donít return to Washington, D.C. to teach I-just-need-the-credit undergraduates this summer, Iím going to get a new hammock and that will be me swinging and working simultaneously. And if I can work it, emphasis on work, itíll be a tax write off as well.

After Best Buy, went to Ryan IIís apartment and I wasnít 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 coasterís 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 IIís brothers are gay. They Ė the brothers Ė donít 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 thereís a comment about me being pretentious. At first I laughed, then remembered: Thatís 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, itís a symbolic capitulation to Mean Therapist. If I stay, itís an affirmation of Mean Therapistís assertion that I am (could be) a saboteur. If I go, I may not gain further insight. If I donít go, I wonít gain further insight. If I go, I have to talk about things. If I donít go, I canít talk about things.

Just fuck me.




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