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8:51 a.m. - September 23, 2003
How's that song go? \"It's raining men\"? Don't simply pull out the umbrella; it's time to relocate to the desert
Last night Eli called and was babe, I've missed you and I keep telling Lesley [his best friend - or fag hag in the nomenclature] how much my heart aches and you're different, you're special, I miss you. An hour wherein he retracted his doubts about me not being out, about my discomfort socializing with other gay men. It felt awkward to reverse roles and explain to him why he shouldn't and can't be interested and paraded my flaws and insecurities the same way he listed them when giving me the Jason, you're a great man but . . . speech not that long ago.

There's too much going on right now, so no Eli. Reject me once, and I become a scorched-earth acolyte.

But what the fuck, you know?

What bothers me most is my reaction: Perhaps for the first time I realized how cold I can be. People have told me this many times but I never saw it, never felt it; I did last night. It bothers me and yet is strangely comforting, not because it's a weapon in an arsenal but because I see it now, and that must be some sort of progress. Seems like a mucky road, though.


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