Canned Angst

i would really like to apologize for the last post.

i can't actually quite remember why i decided (it was relatively recently) that queer people aren't just like straights. i do believe it, but there was a catalyzing moment, and i kept putting it off, and now i don't remember it. genius.

i'm tired. i'm tired, and irritable, and i think i'm actually sick. my blood sugars aren't staying where they're supposed to be (i have juvenile/insulin dependent/type I diabetes. have i mentioned that?) and that's usually the main indicator. because truthfully, i could have ebola and be losing body parts, and still just be walking around wondering why i'm in such a foul mood.

this doesn't mean i'm necessarily in a happy place, mind you. but it does mean that i know i'm not reacting to things rationally. and it would explain why i feel so hungry, so exhausted, so weak, so fuzzy and unintelligent (which is really the worst part). it would explain why i want to tear somethings head off. and am just looking for an excuse to go off.

and before you be getting ALLLLL clever on me, yes, i am capable of going to happy places. i have been to happy places, and i do know what they look like. so back off!

but at any rate, i totally phoned in that whole last post. it was poorly organized, and built around an idea i don't even remember. i didn't even bother to look up data on the "facts" i failed to cite. i'm pretty sure they're still true, but i need to at least like, link to wikipedia or something. and i need to write entries when they occur, rather than doing whatever it is that i do, which is basically procrastinating, but infinitely more interesting and deep because i'm doing it.

i should have just checked in and told you all that i haven't died, that i'm not thinking well, and that i don't really know what to say. my standard entry. but i tried to do something i really wasn't up to, and i'm sorry.

but hey. even ridley scott made "gladiator," so i guess i'm allowed mistakes.

Musings on That Whole "Gay" Thing

no, not that gay thing; the other one. to the left... little more... next to the, yeah, that gay thing.

go ahead and bring that thing over here. i wanna muse over it a little bit.

musings on that whole gay thing...

you know, i keep wanting to make a point about the gayness, and the gay-e-ti. about my own, inherent FAH-bulousness. (cue glitter!)

yes, in case you missed the earlier mention, and are, in fact, headless, i am gay. i suppose. still don't like that word... i like the dudes. there. i like that better. i am a dude, who enjoys the "company," of other dudes. in this definition, "company" can actually include a wide variety of activities, up to and including re-enacting major light-saber battles from all six Star Wars films with the help of a dimmer switch and a couple of glow-in-the-dark condoms. muse on that one a minute, all would-be suitors. when you belong to me, i might ask for some luke on darth action, and i really do expect you to comply.

anyway, all kidding aside (suitors... i swear, where do i come UP with this stuff?) i'm here to talk to you today about how gay people are really not just like you, aside from all the scissoring and anal penetration.

and before you start reading all sorts of "self-loathing" into my dislike of the term gay, which is of course there a little bit (what, i'm an equal-opportunity self-loather. no part of me gets overlooked.) mostly, i like to sit back saying nothing and watch other people be confused and make idiots of themselves. but look. i'm being all honest and open with you, and making myself vulnerable by arming you with some "truth" to sling around. don't hurt yourself though. i've seen people shoot their eye out with the truth; they didn't even know it was loaded, apparently.

gay people are really not your differently-wired counterparts. i know that so much of the current argument for acceptance or tolerance, or marriage, or adoption rights, is rooted in the continuing battle to prove to the "impartial" straight arbiters (notice the sarcasm quotes there... you're straight, you can't be impartial. neither can i; i'm gay.) that gays, lesbians, bisexuals (dirty, dirty bisexuals, who want it both ways, just like someone born on a zodiacal cusp... dirty, dirty cuspies...), transexuals, transgendereds, and general all around non-normative (discussion of term "normal" to follow...) sexualities are as fit to wed, mother, father, raise, live without fear, love jesus, just fucking EXIST, really, as all you breeders.

it really does boggle the mind...

and i am not, NOT, an advocate of jesus, thankyouverymuch. i'm just sayin', there seems to be a little friction between the gays and the jesus freaks. just a smidge.

little bit.

we are not just like you. we can't be. in fact, you're not even just like you. the whole fiction of "normalcy" is such a farce... have you ever met another straight person whose family was just like yours? no. no, you really haven't. its like the douglas coupland book, "All Families are Psychotic." its like the book, because its true. everyone has their own "hella-crazy" to deal with. sexual abuse, violence, illness, divorce, love with strings attached, no love at all, death, the list goes on forever, with endless permutations and exceptions to the rules. and so do humans. six and a half billion people, all with their own unique story to tell; quiet heartaches and major upheavals, and endless quests on all sides to see if you really can record the sound of a heart breaking.

and this is not an argument that sexuality is behavioral rather than genetic.

which illustrates another point.

someone on my dating site slash perpetual pain in the ass and underscorer of my loneliness, was wondering what the point of "gay pride" is. how is one expected to be proud of some inborn trait that they had no control over in the first place? the short answer, in my opinion, is that when society teaches you to hate yourself; when society teaches you that your place is as a subject of mockery and derision; when you are relegated to the outside, only allowed to look in and never actually reach for what you want and everyone else has... well, you need to really cultivate a rich sense of self-worth, or you're not gonna make it for long. "pride" might seem like an extreme, but in the end, the two extremes might balance out. maybe.

and we can take a moment, just a moment, to reread the above, and think about how many queer kids have no support network, because they feel alone in their secret, or their own family has rejected them. we can think about how many queer kids run away from home, commit suicide, or turn to alcohol and drugs in a vain attempt to cope. numbers much higher than their straight counterparts.

to carry the weight of a secret, all by yourself, it can crush you. its too much.

on the other hand, i live in an optimistic time. acceptance and tolerance are growing. and the gay community is ever-present. and gay culture is... there. alive and dancing, because alive and kicking is really so pedestrian...

and as long as they never actually find the "gay gene," since it seems to exist, (or the gay genes, since its likely a trait that requires multiple switches to be flipped) well, that means that parents-to-be won't be able to have their children tested for "gay" early in the pregnancy, and then turned staight by hormone therapy. because for some people, eradication is the only solution, as though we were polio or spinal meningitis. and however long it takes, those alleles will be found. and i worry about the future.

i'm really so cheery...

Is It Worth It? Lemme Work It...

I put my thang down, flip it, then reverse it...

what is worth it? and what is decidedly not? ya got a big trunk? oh i'll definitely search it, maybe even find out how hard i gotta work it. but no one with any-size trunk is approaching me, so that's not really here or there. sadly. however, i've come to a time of reckoning with my job search.

no, its not worth it. i mean, clearly, i need a job. i thought it was worth it, i thought getting a job at the University of Texas at Austin was totally worth it, and i even though living in austin, alone in my apartment save my cat, was worth it. i'd get a job, get my life in gear, have some money, schedule activities for my free time, make some friends, maybe find a partner for a little nookie, etc.

well, its been four or five months since all that began. i'm currently living at home with the family, because i can't stand the thought of living in austin alone. i've sent out fleets of letters each week applying to jobs in austin, and i'm no longer even getting the odd interview. rejections just drizzle into my mailbox, one or two a day. austin itself feels like a beautiful shoe that doesn't actually fit your foot. i love it, but it rubs in the wrong places, and wiggles around when i walk. i really, really want to be able to wear that shoe; i really want to feel okay in austin. but i don't.

so we're overhauling the jobsearch. i'm looking pretty strictly in san antonio now. and i'm trying to call people in the library system, scratching around trying to find an "in." i'm also applying to customer service centers at insurance agencies. possibly, i'll give medical transcription a try. but i'm trying to branch out now. because my efforts in one direction have hit a brick wall, and either i adapt, or i die. not like, physically dead, but you know.

but even in the first few days of this new search, i'm already getting discouraged. everyone wants you to apply online. you upload your resume, and a letter of interest, and everyone gets to be a set of documents. nice and impersonal for the HR departments, and sort of equal opportunity. you can't pre-judge anyone, because everyone is a slip of paper. whatever you can glean from their name is your image of them. beyond that, its dry skills and statistics. well, i'm still just as inexperienced as i was before. there's now a longer gap since my last job. and i've already been denied from one customer service job, becausei don't have enough experience, and blah blah blah...

what am i supposed to do? no one will meet with you face to face anymore, and obviously, my resume doesn't manage to distinguish me from anyone else. and believe me, i'm way far away from "anyone else". i just can't seem to convince anyone of that. i can't seem to convince anyone that i really did graduate from a prestigious university, that i made deans list during a condensed, high speed physics summer course, that i got into a super-competitive graduate program, and made it through a semester, even though i chose not to continue. i can't convince anyone that i've been in managerial positions, that i've effectively done my job, WAY better than those around me, that i'm intelligent, personable, even-tempered, professional, quick, funny, dedicated, and willing to really fucking WORK for the money i get paid.

and you know, all that stuff is in my resume. its all in my letters of interest. and its like no one hears it, or no one believes it. i feel like one of the puppets in those whack-a-mole games. every avenue means months of fighting; fighting my own depression and lethargy, fighting anxiety, fighting hopelessness, fighting against a system that seems unwilling to see me, and unwilling to even try. and each avenue is ending in brick walls. and i crash, pick up the pieces, reassemble them into a reasonable facsimile of myself, and start down another avenue.

to similar results.

and in my spare time, i wonder about the strange nature of our modern world, that so much of our self worth is tied to having a job, being productive, gettin' them wages, makin' that money. i try to separate my sense of self-worth (which is shakey to begin with) from my employment status. and its really fucking difficult. because every rejection notice is like being stamped with a giant "NOT GOOD ENOUGH; YOU LOSE" stamp.

i'm tired of it all. and that makes me unwilling to even try anymore. but i'll reach into my guts, and drag up that pleasant smile. i'll crease my eyes in just the right way to convey guileless enthusiasm, but without seeming desperate. i'll write letters, and fill out forms, and just keep on pressing on the door.

eventually its gotta give, right?

"Bow down, stupid!"

yes, stop what you're doing, scoot your rolly chair away from your desk, and bow your head for a moment of silence.

my car has passed on.

though the camry never had a name, she was definitely a she, and a trusty steed. nimble and sure, quick and slightly bumpy at high speeds; in short, a vision of utilitarian goodness and fair gas mileage in navy blue.

her passing was caused by my over-zealous revving of the engine during an attempt to jump a friend's ford. my heavy foot caused a rod to break the engine casing. this was accompanied by fire, smoke, and a great deal of oil and metal debris. sadly, the replacement of the engine, even with a used part, would cost more than the car is worth at this point.

the lady done gone.

yes, i killed my car. and though i don't feel especially great about it, the deed is done, and there's no way to bring her back.

in other news, i found out i was turned down by ten potential jobs today.

but i did go to yoga.

goodnight, solemn mourners. casserole and canadien blended whiskey will be served in the parlor.

Dentists

i went to the dentist about two or three weeks ago.

i have the beginning stages of gingivitis. i need to floss, EVERY DAY, and use mouthwash and mints with xyletol in them. i need to brush my teeth in a special new way.

i'm driving myself crazy over my teeth. i'm convinced that they're falling out of my head. i'm convinced my gums are both inflamed and puffy, AND retracting from my teeth as the gum disease takes hold. the first week, i flossed every night until my gums bled. i've since lightened my touch, and the bleeding is almost gone. but that makes me feel like i'm not flossing hard enough. i don't have the special mouthwash yet, but i'm trying to suck on the mints.

my teeth always feel weird. my gums are sore, and they look so funky... i don't know what they're supposed to look like. and i'm afraid its too late and my whole mouth is just going to end up a toothless mass of infected gums. and i'm pretty sure that's not something people look for in a potential mate.

i'm convinced all the flossing is just pushing the bacteria further down into my gums, hastening the decay. i'm convinced my teeth are being eroded.

i'm obsessing over my teeth, and its really, really ugly. and i just want to know that my teeth are going to be all right. i want to know that i'm not going to need reconstructive surgery and dentures because i didn't start flossing until i was twenty-five.

i want to know that i'm going to be all right. and all i have is the taste of mint, and a faint tingle along my gums.

and that isn't enough.

Then Again, There's THAT

hello, i exploded my car today.

wait wait wait... i totally just shot my wad in the first sentence of this whole blog entry... let me try and set the stage for you... play a little mood music, get the lighting just right... flip that dimmer switch, and throw some al green on the stereo. pour yourself a glass of something amber-colored and potent. slip into something loose, and easy, something that grazes your skin and makes you feel all relaxed, right down to your toes. you feelin' it baby? yeah... you feelin' it? that's what i like to hear. well listen up baby; i've got somethin' to tell you that'll blow, your, mind.

I EXPLODED MY CAR TODAY!!!

MUUUCH better.

for those playing the home game: we have woman, Sue, who is a sixty year old bat out of hell, born and bred in Texas, smokes marlboros to this day, and is currently on painkillers due to a car accident that was totally not her fault. when i say we "have" her, what i mean is that, partly because houses get dirty and partly because Sue needs a little more cash than she tends to get, my mom pays her to clean the house a bit once a week, and visit with our dog most afternoons of the work week.

now, at this point, i'm usually at home with the dog, all the freakin', day. but Sue still comes. the dog loves her. i like her, whatever, its cool.

so this afternoon, i get a call from mom. Sue's car has stalled out on her about ten minutes away from the house. she had been coming to say hello to the dog, who i have been letting inside and outside twice an hour for the entirety of the day. at the time of the call from mom, said dog (i suppose i could tell you her name is Emma. not a fan of the name, didn't pick it. don't blame me.) is stretched across every pillow on a couch in the living room, sighing like a lovelorn flapper on a fainting couch. and sometimes licking her crotch.

i throw the jumper cables in my '97 camry, grab my cell phone, and head of to rescue Sue.

i know nothing about cars. i am not mechanically gifted. no longer inept, but still not gifted. so i make sure to read the directions on the cables VERY CAREFULLY, because ever since driving school (ten years ago now, i think?) and mr. ayala telling us hooking up batteries incorrectly could result in an explosion, i have been very, very careful when i jump cars. because lets face it... me plus batteries minus careful attention to detail could very well equal BOOM! and BOOM! is something i like to avoid, generally speaking.

we hook up the cars, i start mine, and susan tries to start hers. it won't catch. i rev my engine a little bit, but she still can't get a jump. according to click and clack (the tappett brothers, based in boston. listen to npr at ten or so on saturday morning. then send me a thank you card.) her starter is probably out, so no amount of juice will get her going. that's my best guess anyway.

so we fiddle a little bit more, and i start my car again. she tries to jump her ford, and i rev my engine, perhaps, a little too forcefully. whatever the case, we know, we just KNOW, what happens next.

BOOM!

it was actually more like a THWUNK! to be honest.

the car shudders, and i'm suddenly able to see flames below the edge of the hood. my car, is on fire. my car is on fire. MYCARISONFIRE!!! actually, after a few seconds of "whoa...", i realize my first order of business is probably to turn off my car. so i remember how to do that, flip the key, and remove it from the ignition. the fire is already dying down. there's a lot of smoke though. but eventually that stops too. i can't be certain, but it looks like things in the hood might have shifted around a bit, and there's a massive spattering of oil all over everything.

Sue gets out of her unresponsive vehicle and we sort of talk for a few minutes on the subject of my having blown up my car. we watch the smoke billow away, and note that the attempt to jump her has failed. i call mom. she's free in thirty and can pick us up. i call aaa, and they say they can have a tow-truck there within forty-five. Sue and i chew the fat for a while, talk about the idiotic nature of Texas drivers, myself now possibly being included in that number.

mom arrives. she takes a look at my hood, gets Sue's things in her car, and drives her home while i continue to wait for the tow-truck. mom gets back, and we just sort of talk about things, and stare at my car.

when the truck DOES arrive, we're greeted by a skinny, spastic man who is missing teeth, which only further convinces me that he is in fact on meth, a suspicion i first arrive at when he tells us he's been working 22 hour days fairly regularly for a bit. (he's trying for a promotion.) he is both irritated, and amused at having to block traffic in order to dislodge my car from the shoulder, and he is certainly amused at my story, featuring as it does, flames and explosions and good deeds wreaking horrible, horrible consequences. when he moves my car, there is a puddle of oil on the ground under where the hood was, liberally peppered with chunks of metal, bolts still in their housings, now blown off of whatever they were once holding together, etc.

methy tried starting the car at first. the battery is absolutely fine, thank you very much. but the grinding and wailing sounds from under the hood didn't seem "right." so the car went off to the garage, and i went off to mom's office (she didn't have time to drop me home, and only had one more appointment) to drink diet dr. pepper and read vogue for an hour. yes yes, i am SUCH a fag...

so. the moral of this story would be, if you are jumping someone's car, do NOT, under any circumstances, rev your engine.

i don't actually know if that's the moral of the story. right now, i'm content just to HAVE a story. and really, i feel better today than i have for a few days. dad warned me not to get hooked on the rush provided by cars blowing up. i agree, its not an economical way to get rid of my blues. but still, the thought of sneaking into parking garages and blowing up random cars, every day, just to take the edge off... its holds some appeal. it really does.

and did you know that barry white was a virgo? its true! look it up! and who said we can't be sexy!?

Then Again, There's Violence

cheap therapy my ass.

i have impulse control issues. this should come as no surprise to you. maybe it should. i don't know. but regardless, when i start feeling intensely (which is, basically, anytime i let myself feel, AT ALL) i often start to have major fantasies about all sorts of kinds of actions. there is the eyes closed, orgasmic full-body shudder when i have an unbidden sexual thought about someone. there's the always humorous desire to just push someone for no reason. and then, there's the violent rage-fueled fantasies.

guess which kind i'm entertaining now.

guess.

my situation is starting to move beyond being "grating." this is no longer an unfortunate time period in my life. this is now officially a struggle to not buy a baseball bat and destroy everything i see. i'm starting to feel like i'm swamped in this thick, heavy black curtain. its acres wide, and feet thick, soft and dense, and completely devoid of light. and i really want to just punch, and kick, and scratch, and wail, and gnash my teeth, and bite and claw, and thrash, and do everything in my power to try and free myself. i'm willing to completely destroy myself if it just means i can find a way out of this stupid, smothering fucking felt wall.

i see myself smashing the light fixtures in my house. yelling at my family members. tearing things off the walls. breaking windows. knocking over furniture. the whole works. i just want to destroy it all. i want to break everything. i want to break the world. (haha, too late...)

i don't even want to try and find a job anymore. i do, but i'm so tired of being polite, and eager, and friendly, and smiling. i want to walk up to counters and desks and say, "i need a job. you need to give me one. send me to someone who can give me a job here."

i want to smoke like, a pack of cigarettes, all at once. i'd like to do anything that ends with me oblivious to what i've been feeling recently.

that's healthy, right?

right?

Cheap Therapy

blogging is cheap therapy. at least, for me it is. i get to hurl all the crap in my brain at a computer screen and watch it dribble down, waiting for you to consume it. all the raw brains i jettison go straight to you! and isn't that just so special and sweet of me? i think you should send me a cute little thank you card. filled with money.

i'm not good at updating once a week. i can only imagine how thrilled my friend and her associates are to have me on board for this project... the spazzy lazy one, who doesn't update and abuses his readers. yup, i'm gonna make a WHOLE MESS'A FRIENDS with this baby!

i'm getting to that irritating place, where its midnight, and i really am tired, but i just can't go to sleep. my brain won't shut down. no matter how much i've done during the day, it just isn't enough. my wheels continue to spin, and gummy allergied eyes shift around in their sockets, looking for diversions. i read every horoscope i can think of, check to see if my webcomics have updated, read my news sites, see if there's anyone worth oggling on my dating site, read a book, crochet a hat, play final fantasy XII, chat with people online who i like a lot, or just a little. i'll do anything but just lay back and close my eyes, and try to go to sleep.

i feel like if i do that, i might cry.

fucked up, no?

every day, i do the job-search routine. i do at least one crossword puzzle because i'm absolutely certain they're "good for me." i go to the gym and burn 650 calories, or go to yoga and end up soaked in a gallon of my own sweat. i try to take care of all those stupid little tasks that make up real life. filling prescriptions, shopping, drinking coffee, keeping up on current events, etc.

i would be so ready to sleep if i felt at all like i'm not wasting my life...

and its all in my head. because my body is exhausted. i'm not eating enough, or doing too much physical activity. because i can't make it through my yoga sessions like i used to be able to. i feel weak, and depleted, and just used up. i know something will turn up eventually. i know this stage of life can't last forever. sort of. i'm pretty sure it isn't permanent... anyway, at some point, something will click. i'll get a job. or have an epiphany. or something. but in the meantime, i'm so tired. i'm not the most optimistic person under the best of circumstances, (i can literally hear all your eyes rolling and the chorus of "no, really?") and this is starting to stretch too long, this whole situation. i need me a little bit of hope. and its not coming in from anywhere.

i've been holed up in my hometown for almost three months now. maybe longer. its just a short drive from austin, so i can go back to the apartment whenever i want. but i never want. i've been applying to jobs in austin, and here in town, and am just letting the situation tell me what's next. that way, i can stop trying to make the decision about whether to leave austin, or stay. i don't want to make that decision, so i'm quite happy to drift along, and let whatever happens, happen. abject surrender is not necessarily a bad thing. and there's not right or wrong answer. so why not just let the current take me?

in other news, my collection of seeds from native and adapted plants is reaching epic proportions. i at least need to go get my plants from austin, and my gardening bench. there are things that need to be done, involving soil, and seeds, and pots and saucers. and i need to rescue my eucalyptis. its hung in there during my abscence, and it deserves to be taken here and cared for properly. i love me that plant! hot diggity!

this is such a pitiful entry... no, its not. it just hasn't hit its stride yet. i'll just keep trying different things until something sticks. i guess.

sadly, writing this blog entry is actually making me sleepy.

i'm done.

stick a fork in me. i'll talk to you later.