Journal

My mind has been racing faster than usual lately, and trying to capture anything as it flies by is hard enough for me. I can’t even keep up with it. And try to figure out what it all means, ha, like that could happen. And trying to get anything out of there is damned near impossible.

In each of the sites I read, there are a couple of things that happen. And true to form, I, the fool, rushed in thinking it couldn’t happen to me. Well, it has. Let me tell you about it.

Everyone I’ve read says it’s hard to do a site like this. I thought, well they’re just not comfortable with the technology. For a guy like me, it’ll be a cakewalk. But I found it’s not the technology that’s hard. It’s this. The writing.

For me, it’s difficult on two levels. First, by the time I get half a sentence out of my fingers, about thirty dozen other things have flown through my head. Then I have to start over. "What was I thinking?" "Where was I headed with that?" I’ve thought about voice-recognition. You know, talking to the PC? But I can’t speak fast enough to keep up either. Even if I could keep up with everything, I swear I could fill all 5GB of disk space on my PC before lunch without even breaking a sweat.

The other thing that makes it hard for me to write is that I was brought up in a home where feelings and emotions were never acknowledged, let alone talked about. Getting that stuff out is tremendously difficult for me. Remarkably, it’s easier for me to this and post it for all the world to see than is to say it to a real human in person. And yet, a lot of my entries read like a travelogue. You get everything but the slide projector. And so, I struggle for hours to capture anything just to make a posting. It’s already been a half-hour just to get this much out.

Which brings me to the second common theme, the hiatus. I’ve found that lately I’ve been writing more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. And the goal I set for myself is a stupid one. 25K a week, at least four postings. Is how much I write and how frequently that important?

I think back to how much I enjoyed the writing, even as difficult as it was, back in January and the first part of February. That’s when I was writing for me. But lately, I’ve felt more like a slave to the site. And I feel like I’m writing for you.   And you deserve better.  Quality not quantity.

Selfish? Maybe. Have I been avoiding the topics it’s hard for me to write about? Certainly.

So, I’ve decided to stop writing because I feel I HAVE to write. I’ll continue to write when I feel I NEED to write, or because I WANT to write.. Right now, it’s important that I get back to living my life, rather than writing about it. The weather’s nice, spring is in the air, and I don’t want to waste it sitting on my (already too flat) ass in front of the monitor. (No matter how cute the guy in my wallpaper is!) J

To my regular readers, I’d like to say "Thanks." You guys really mean a lot to me, and I feel somehow that I’m letting you down. If you’ve just found the site, well, I’m sorry the timing sucks.

To all the guys who send e-mail, keep it coming. I’ve found I enjoy writing back to you more than doing the journal.

If you don’t want to keep checking the site to see if there’s anything new, I’ll put together a mail list and let you know when there’s a new posting. Send mail to.

Keep smilin’! I know I am.

Love,

There’s a guy who’s taken up business on the sidewalk outside Muther’s with his cart. When I worked downtown, I got lunch every day from a hot dog cart. I’d go sit in the park by the river and munch in ecstasy. Then I’d leave my empty pop can with one of the can men. Hey, there’s a deposit on them things here in New York.

I gotta tell ya, this hiatus thing is the best thing I could have done for myself. I hadn’t realized how much the stress I’d put myself under to churn out a journal. One of my problems is that I don’t notice stress until it’s unbearable. The fact that I’ve nipped this one pretty much in the bud shows I’m learning. I’m delighted!

Damn. Out of hot dogs. I shoulda gotten three! Oh well, there’s still a chocolate-chip cookie brownie left from my foray to the Park Place Deli last night. Earlier tonight while I was returning e-mail, I nuked one up. I mean, a cold brownie just isn’t the same, is it? It came out all gooey and warm. Better than sex, although equally as messy. J

Anyway, I feel like I have my life back. And like every other time I’ve come out from under stress, I’ve been sleeping a lot. Today I slept until noon, and it was a wonderful sunny day! I cleaned up around the apartment, then took a nap in the sun coming through the windows.

After nap, I returned e-mail, some as old as five days, (sorry, Ray!) Then dinner: the second half of last night’s sub and macaroni salad from Park Place Deli. And of course, the aforementioned brownie. And guess, what! Another nap. Five hours. I woke up at 12:45 going "Ohmigod! I gotta get to Muther’s!" After a quick shower and shave, I got there just after one.

On the way in, I ran into the cute guy Bob that I used to work with. (Remember? He’s the one who didn’t believe the rumors that I’m gay until we met in the bar.) Anyway he says, "How ya doin’?" To which I replied "I’m not sure yet, I just woke up!" He made some comment about my sleeping habits, to which I replied, "Yeah, but I’m friskier than anyone else here tonight." In a bar full of drunken sissies, he couldn’t argue with that!

Well ya know what? I’m going to bed without posting this. (I feel so rebellious!)

Night, night!

I also feel like my winter depression has broken. It was a rough one this year. It started off with Michael dumping me. Then I quit my job, and following that, my family’s usual surreal Christmas. I felt like I was there just to fill an empty chair at dinner. Heaven forbid there should be an odd number at the table!

The next day it was off to Toronto where I spent a bloody fortune both on objets d’art and rentboys. Feeling guilty about spending so much money while unemployed, I took on a client I should have run away from screaming. Three whole weeks doing what should have been a three day job. Without question, it was the most frustrating three weeks of my life.

I should have known better than to start a journal after that. I know how I am in the winter. All the introspection that goes into writing one of these things was probably, no certainly, not the best thing I could have done for myself in January. And, well, if you’ve read through the journal, you know the rest.

I use the word depression in its true clinical context. The word is overused so much that it’s kinda lost it’s meaning. People say things like "I feel depressed today." By definition, you can’t feel depressed for one day. You can feel sad or blue for a day, or even a week. But that’s not depression. Even if someone passes from your life, you break up, they die or move away, you feel grief or mourning. And grief is not the same as depression, although if you don’t work it through, it can lead there.

Depression is something that clouds or colors all your other thoughts and actions for a long period of time. Among the things that characterize depression are lethargy, apathy, loss of sex drive, changes in sleep patterns, either too much or not enough, changes in appetite, eating too much or not enough, and several other factors. You can laugh and feel happy yet still be depressed.

I tend to do self-destructive things when in the throes of depression. I mistreat people to push them away, I spend way too much money, I do things I know aren’t right for me, and this time around, I’ve resumed smoking and drinking. By the way, the headache’s gone, so it must’ve been nicotine withdrawal.

Anyway, the cloud seems to be lifting, finally. I’ve genuinely enjoyed the past few days. I cried a lot on Wednesday and Thursday. That felt really good, and I think that was the turning point. I actually enjoyed work towards the end of this week. On Friday, I walked the Ave, and enjoyed a few decaf espressos (I know, it’s a contradiction in terms) sitting outside at the Coliseum Café watching the world go by.

Yesterday when I cleaned the apartment, I didn’t do out of a sense of obligation, guilt, shame or because someone was coming over, (no-one did.) But it did it because I felt like doing it.

Last night, although I went to Muther’s because I felt I should, I had a blast. I wasn’t there to find a husband or a trick, or even a friend. I was just there for a little gay immersion. It was fun tuning in to other people’s conversations, catching little snippets here and there. Exchanging a few words with people I don’t know, and I don’t think I dissed anyone at all. I felt comfortable, I felt like myself.

And now, I’m gonna do some reading, not because I want to escape, but because I want someone to tell me a story.