Another post titled with a lyric that I plucked out of a song. I featured it recently, though ... "I'd Do It All Again" by Corinne Bailey Rae, if you recall. Today I think I know why this song had me bawling for a week.
"I'd do it all again" doesn't just mean I'd make all my choices all over again -- it also means I'd fail the same way all over again, too. I'd make the same mistakes, make the same ommissions, the same acts of cowardice, waste the same amount of years of my life, have the same regrets that I do now, and be this old with nothing to show for it as I do right now.
I was made acutely aware of this today when on Twitter, in the public arena of my 463 followers (some of which you guys are), it was assumed that I was not gay. The young lady in question challenged my sexuality because I knew stuff about soap operas (I was crying out against the inherent violation I felt from them cancelling All My Children and *choke* One Life To Life). Well because she assumed I was straight (those are the words she used) I chose to let her go ahead and keep assuming that. The girl is clearly fascinated by me. She loves my sense of Twitter humor. And she involves me in conversations when she's play-fighting with a fellow New Yorking Geek. And myself, I have involved myself in those playfights as well. Instigated one or two. Trying to play matchmaker, in fact. She's resisting that (although who knows what they're texting each other behind the scenes), but she seems to be probing around MY area to see what I'M made of.
And those are the times when I wish it were true. That her assumption was right. That I was eligible and available. That I could just fall into a whirlwind romance and go along with the flow and upset no applecarts and challenge no one's assumptions, and shock no one, and be well-wished on by every witness of my relationship. But that's not what happens when you're gay. This is why kids jumped off bridges and campaigns called "It Gets Better" were started. "It Gets Better" because it starts out HORRIBLY, full of judgment and ridicule and rejection and classifying and ignorance and segregation and attitudes and whispers and scoffing and name-calling and ... stuff.
So I dodged my Twittersationalist. Deftly warped and weaved around her assumptions, leaving all who witnessed with "The Impression" which I've been nursing for years now. Alan's a little strange, but funny in a "ha-ha" way. I've LITERALLY had guys on a podcast call me "Cool--Because he's just himself." AND THAT KILLED ME because I swear before God how I wished that they were seeing the real me for true, and STILL thought I was "Cool." A part of me wished that they kind of know I'm gay, but since I don't talk about it they don't, and that adds to my "coolness." But no. One of those guys once asked me, a few years ago now, in a Direct Message, if I was gay, and that was back when it was more horrifying-er. I'm sure I denied it back then. So he must be left with the impression that, 'Hey, Alan likes to flirt with straight guys! But he's straight too! So he's COOL!'
So ... I'm not.
And I was thinking all this as my battery slowly died on my phone and my Twitter access died with it. And I started feeling like a failure and a coward. So I turned on Corinne Bailey Rae's "I'd Do It All Again" and realized why it was a painful song for me. I was doing it all again.
Then I went downtown to get some English-style fish and chips, and made a detour, and marched myself right into The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center on W13th St. and inquired about groups I could attend. I got me a brochure and I found out how to get me a peer counselor and we 'gone talk about some stuff and I'ma fucking figure out how to get the fuck out of this closet. Because I need help and I went and got me some.
Because I can't keep doing it all again.
Cool, right? Not the way you thought this blogpost was going to end, right?
But wait, there's more.
So you know how I've been fizzzling out on Match.Com? Well, no, I haven't gotten any of the dreamy hunks to wink back at me (and good gosh are they dreamy) but I DID get a letter from a fellow therapist. In Jewish Mother Voice; "A DOCTOR."
He wants to start a dialogue! I got that just yesterday, after I looked at his profile -- because after I did that, he was notified, so then he looked at mine and voila! He likes what I am.
Of course, I'd love to say he was a dreamy hunk, but ... not so much. I mean he weighs what I weigh, only stretched out to 6 ft tall, so hopefully he's got something nice to look at. SOME interlocking rib muscles would be cool.
Well, I'll find out. Because I wrote him back. Because why not? Plus--like my First Man Date, he's given to being therapeutic--he's a listener. Hopefully patient, but also hopefully, he's got something more. Something I find sexy. A manliness maybe. A guy-ness.
And I'm going back to The Center on Sunday to get my therapy on.
So let's see what's what.