On Friday I seriously considered taking a bow off of The Stage. And it occurs to me that I could be a little more concerned about my willingness to end The Play, but I'm not.
Last night I gamed with my D&D buddies, which includes Grim. And we were back to the Summer Behaviors, which is bare feet, shortsleeve shirts, and fit bodies on display. Only this year, Grim's fitness is joined by The Cop. The Cop's fitness and weightloss makes him look very masculine and very attractive. Very dark Italian. God bless him. And he really likes me telling him so, which I do because I'm not ashamed to. I've long established with the group that I can recognize good looks in a man, even though I haven't told them the exact nature of it. So The Cop craves my approval. It's almost cute how he acts. And what I like the most about him is his lack of facade. He's wide open. His ego needs stroking and he puts it out there, like a dog would offer his head for patting. And because he's wide open, it's also clear that he's 100% hetereo. I've never known him without a woman in his life. And now he looks good doing it.
And naturally, it makes me feel like an utter Jabba. I'm 4 lbs lighter now than I was at my maximum weight, which means I'm 4 lbs. away from losing ALL the gains I've made over the past few years. Which means I've lost ALL my gains save 4 lbs. All the work and gym memberships and NutriSystems food wasted. Wasted. And all of it has to be done again if I want the same results. Months and months of more. More more more.
And it's a perfect example of what is ahead of me in other areas. Or THE other area. It's going to be work. My life is just one big slog. One big Sisyphusian hustle up the hill behind the boulder. Work work work.
And who wouldn't be tired of it? How much work does a man have to do in one lifetime? 60 hrs a week for less than 50K a year isn't enough? I'm tired.
I've been tired and I've been striving ever since I started blogging on December 26th, 2003. No doubt this is why I've put the pounds back on. I've let an area of my life go because all these other areas are FUBAR. And in letting this area go, I've compounded my unhappiness by having a bigger stomach that I can't hide in this hot weather.
Last week, I called the hero who I left behind in the midwest, Pastor Hero. I just wanted to get my final indictment from him, ready to be cast away finally and end my relationship with him because I knew I was tired of fighting. I wanted to tell him that I'm gay and I'll never not be gay, even after I've married a woman who knows I'm gay. But my courage failed me and I couldn't say it as blatantly as that. I could only muster enough to tell him that I knew I'd always have this thing about me and that it would be safest to stay single forever.
But Pastor Hero wouldn't do what I wanted him to do. He wouldn't dump me. He fought for me. He prayed for me. He didn't try to cast demons out of me, and he loved me. He acknowledge what this was inside of me. He accepted that I'm gay, but to him, it didn't mean that I couldn't fulfill my goals if I wanted to. And he made the same suggestion that you did, Ned. He suggested I find a therapist who could help me work on my goals. He suggested I do the very same thing I've done for my clients. (Reading your comment Ned ... I had to chuckle. It's so clear that I have to get this help, but to get it confirmed by two people who love me... what other kind of sign do I need?
As long as a future woman knows me fully, and trusts that I mean what I say about wanting to be with her only, and can use the evidence of the fact that I've never been with a man and have no intention to, that I can be happy. With help, I can be happy.
So who am I to argue?
But on top of all this, if I get ground beneath the steel wheels of the crosstown freight train on my way to Happyville, as long as it didn't hurt for too long, I'm just like "whatever."
It is what it is.