Journal

As Danger-Boy opened the back door of the car to get his coat, I entered the front door, fired up the engine, and with a great big smokey burn-out from the tires, dropped it into gear, with the rear door slamming shut behind me, and wheeled the car into the garage. As I noted previously, I was in no shape to drive. I caught the curb with the sidewall of the left-front tire, and it blew out. Fortunately there was no permanent damage to the aluminum wheel, but the sidewall of the Eagle Aquatread was damaged irreparably. Another $135.00 down the tubes, or rather, tubeless.

With the tire hissing out it’s last breaths, I drove down the ramp, closed the garage door and pulled into my spot. (I usually back in, but I was still trying to save the tire.) Danger-Boy, sans keys, was waiting outside the lobby when I arrived at the first-floor in the elevator.

I let him in, and with both of us steaming, we went up to my apartment. The details of the fight are a whole ‘nother entry which I don’t care to make. Suffice it to say, that for the next two hours, he tried to negotiate with me for a place to stay for the night. I didn’t. Finally, well after four, I got him out of the place. Only after threatening to call the local constabulary. Two landlines and a cellular. How fast do you think I could call 911? And who do you think they’d believe, a taxpaying middle-aged fag, or a fugitive-from-justice, ex-con crackhead rentboy?

It was raining by then, and after 4:00AM, and I didn’t give a damn. He tried to tug on my heartstrings, pleading and giving me that lost puppy look, but it wasn’t going to work. He was not going to sleep in my apartment. I had made my stand. I saw him to the elevator, and went back in to sleep. A fine, long, restful sleep it was. I had unplugged both phone lines, and turned off the cellular. As I recall, it was well into the afternoon before I awoke.

As his side of the story goes, he walked over to Debbie’s to spend the night. It’s roughly three miles, so it had to be nearly sunup when he got there. Debbie was not home. Later, she made her entrance, with a new boyfriend in tow, sometime in the mid-morning. Too bad for Danger-Boy. In one night, he lost both his man and his woman. And he didn’t get any rock. Life’s a bitch, and then you die.

When I finally woke, I was horrified at the thought that I’d only seen him to the elevator, and not out the door of the building. I had all the keys to the apartment, the building and the car by then, so as long as he went out, there was no problem. But I hadn’t assured myself that he’d actually left the building. I searched the entire building, basement to roof, both stairwells, and all the little nooks and crannies before I was satisfied that he wasn’t sleeping it off somewhere inside. Thank heavens.

As I’ve read back over the last few entries, a dim memory of Saturday has surfaced. At some point I had unpacked everything from the trip, then put all his stuff together with his bags and piled it at the door. When he showed up for some of his stuff, (Did I pick him up? I guess I did, I don’t remember.) he sarcastically asked me "Why didn’t you pack my stuff?" I had to remind him on the previous evening, when I threw his stem into his bag, the had told me, "Never put anything in my bag again." So I was just following orders.

At some point on Saturday, I realized that I couldn’t feel anything. My emotions had shut down, and even the psychic link between us was severed. I spent the rest of Saturday, as they say, dazed and confused. I only really began to become concerned on Sunday, when I made that entry. The entry that was to be my last. On Monday, I went mechanically about the things I was supposed to do being unemployed, and not quite sure what to do about my emotional state. Or rather, the lack of emotions.

Ali, from Tek Systems in Rochester called and told me of a two or three day gig with Bausch and Lomb, which I accepted. Actually, I had no choice but to accept it. If I were to turn down the job, they could deny my unemployment. She tried to cheer me up, but with all emotion shut down, nothing was happening.

By this time, I was concerned. Well, as concerned as an emotionless person could be, that this was the beginning of serious mental problems. I honestly couldn’t tell if what I was experiencing was the result of some defense mechanism protecting me from the disastrous week, the aftermath of breaking the psychic link with Danger-Boy, or the start of insanity. Lemme tell ya, we all wonder about that from time to time, but this was WAY different. It was the first time in all of my 41 years that I seriously considered checking myself in to the psych ward. And I’ve been in therapy for six years!

I reported for work on Tuesday. Ali met me there, and wondered why I looked such a wreck. Well, I had walked nearly a mile in the pouring rain at almost 80°F. I’d have probably been drier had I not worn my raincoat! B&L only worked me for a half-day. They had figured that the work they had assigned me would take the full eight hours. I was done in not quite three. Just to be on the safe side, I went back after lunch and was dismissed for lack of work. I came home, took a long nap, an awoke feeling rejuvenated. I could feel again!

What I was feeling wasn’t pleasant, but it was a start.

I don’t want to leave you hanging on last night’s news bulletin. First, although I’ll admit the thought went through my mind, I’m not posting any bail for Danger-Boy. Mainly, I can’t afford it, and after the way he hurt me over the past week, (more details forthcoming,) I just plain don’t feel like it. Even if I were to post bail on the city warrant, he’ll still be in there at least until he’s arraigned in the town courts next Monday. And besides, he’s going to do some time anyway, so he might just as well start now. It all counts towards time-served.

What I am going to do is this. I’ll go to the arraignment this morning, and as soon as they’ll let me, I’ll take him some clothes. He’s already drilled me weeks ago on what he can and cannot have, and some of the procedures, so it should go okay. At least he’ll be out of central booking after the arraignment.

The phone call last night was bizarre. First, I couldn’t figure out why he’d call me. He knows I don’t have any money for bail, he already owes me money, and he knows I’m still quite pissed at him. I’m afraid I couldn’t quite follow the logic of posting bail for the city warrant, if he was going to be detained anyway for the town warrants. Perhaps it’s to speed up the process? Now why would I want to do that?

Then all throughout the call, he kept saying "Hi" and "Yeah, I’m back" and "What cha in for this time?" to other guys in the place. It sounded like some sort of club! From what he’s told me before, Central Booking is nowhere near a club.

There are several large holding cells and they distribute the detainees between them. One generally winds up sleeping on the concrete floor with no blanket or anything. He said last night that he’d never seen so many people in Central Booking before, so I imagine there’ll even be competition for the floor space. And he’ll be going through the DTs again. I’m sure he won’t be looking or feeling his best for the arraignment.

It’ll be difficult to decide on a "real" anniversary because there are at least three others I can think of.  Feel free to cast your ballots.  On January 27^th, I registered the domain name, "brucew.com", and leased the server space. Then, on January 31^st, was the very first upload to the server.

A couple of weeks ago after reading his entry about the Toronto Pride Week, I was thinking about how much he’s changed in the past six months. Well, to be entirely truthful, I was smiling smugly to myself thinking, "I knew he’d get here sooner or later." It’s also had me thinking about if, and how, I’d changed since January. One of the notes I wrote to Casey said in part:

That's what it boils down to, isn't it?  Our sense of self.  Our identity.

That search IS an ongoing journey.  Because we change with every thought.  Every event that happens to us, changes us.  Not always in large easily seen, easily felt ways.  Usually in very small unnoticed ways.  But they're there nonetheless.  And so, we are the sum of all our thoughts and experiences.  If we're lucky, a bit of synergy takes place and we become greater than the sum of the parts.

You've discovered that the very act of writing about yourself changes you.  Never carve yourself in stone.  Write yourself in the sand of the beach.  Between waves.

The joys and rewards of self-discovery and self-identity are vast and great.  Identity is the second greatest gift you can give yourself.  The first is love.  We all want to love another, but can you truly love another, until you love yourself?  Can you love yourself until you accept yourself?  Can you accept yourself until you know yourself?  Identity.  That's where it starts.

So how have I changed? (You’re welcome to join in fun too. Drop me a line!) Well it’s easier to start with the things that haven’t changed. It still takes me ages to turn out a posting, I’m still single, I’m still smoking, and once again, I’m between contracts. (That sounds so much better than "unemployed", don’t cha think?)

On the other hand, I have gotten to know myself better. It has led to greater self-acceptance, and by extension, greater acceptance of others. While I still don’t take care of myself as much or as well as I should, I’m no longer routinely angry with myself. I no longer regret my mistakes, and mercifully, I no longer suffer my nighttime "visitations." I have a greater sense of self-worth, and, I guess, love. And I’ve discovered that I have an infinite capacity for love. It doesn’t get thinner as you spread it around, it just keeps growing.

Finally, this has been my second coming-out. I thought I was out before. I even referred to my self as being "out-out". I guess that means I’m WAY out now. I used to feel embarrassed every one in a while by public displays of affection or people I was with. I haven’t felt embarrassed or ashamed of myself, or who I’m with for months now. It’s a great feeling. And I’ve never once felt ashamed or embarrassed by this site.

There’s a lot to write about still. I haven’t forgotten where we left off in the story of two weekends ago. There’s still a lot to write about from last week and weekend. And of course the adventures of your humble middle-aged, middle-class, WASP web-journalist through Monroe County’s court system and the county jail. And I’ve done a lot of thinking about Danger-Boy, and wrote him a four page letter, (10pt. type, ½" margins all around.) I’ll include some of those thoughts in the next posting.

But, unlike almost every other web journalist, replying to e-mail takes higher priority for me than doing a journal entry. And boy is the inbox full! Why there’s three notes in there from Willie alone, and I haven’t written back to him since Saturday! Mi dispiace, amigo.

BTW, he's going to London, but not until September. And here’s a couple of lines from his recent notes pending reply: 

"I am driving to work everyday and I don't like it, I don't like to live with my parents... and I don't like to work here..."

"…it seems years ago when I was in Roachester, and I just realize that is less than a month."

Willie, it's been only two weeks! Okay, I forgot about the weekend in Manhattan, so it’s been not quite three. We all miss you too.

Poor guy. And don’t cha love "Roachester"? I thought I knew all the disparaging ways to refer to Rahchacha. Something new every day!

Thanks to everyone who’s written. Without exception, every note has been positive and supportive. And at least you know that your reply is in process. I may not get to all of them tonight before I crap-out. If you’ve never written before, now you know I’ll always reply. But it may take a day or five when things are this hectic.

Tomorrow won’t be quite so busy, and as for Friday, thus far I have no plans for anything other than catching up here, and maybe some dancing at Muther's. Then again, you never know when yet another crisis will rear it’s ugly head around here. Or maybe I’ll get a job interview. J

Now it wasn’t a very big fire. Someone on four woke up early, started breakfast, and fell asleep with breakfast cooking on the stove. The food burnt and set off the smoke-detector. Another resident on four, and a lady on six, heard the detector, smelled the smoke, and called the fire department.

I remember waking for an instant, hearing the fire trucks, deciding it was nothing, and falling back asleep. Apparently, everyone else in the building either didn’t hear them at all, or thought the same thing I did: Another false alarm across the street. There are two running jokes about it. The first being that they burnt the toast again, the second being that some poor old geezer got caught smoking in the bathroom.

I’m right across the street from a nursing home, which is notorious for their number of false alarms. We’re talking two or three a week here. Were it anything other than a nursing home, the city would have ordered the system turned off a good long time ago. At least they’ve turned off the damned bell outside. There’s been many a night when I’ve been tempted to take my wire cutters across the street and perform a public service.

Anyway, I don’t even pay attention to the sirens any more. The police have a precinct around the corner and up two blocks, and the fire department is just a few blocks past that, and then there are ambulances across the street constantly. There’s always something roaring by here with the sirens going. It’s just nuisance noise.

Everyone ignores them these days anyway because they cry wolf so often. I mean, just because on TV the sirens come on with the engine, it doesn't mean they have to emulate that in real life, does it?

If the cops didn’t use their sirens every time there’s a donut emergency, the ambulance didn’t use it every time they take a wheelchair patient to the doctor, and fire department didn’t use them every time they drive past a hot dog cart, maybe people would actually pay attention to them. Ya think?

And don’t EVEN get me started on car alarms!

Gee. I don’t feel grumpy, yet I’m writing like I am. We’re doing the nicotine withdrawal thing here again. It’s 10:00 and I just hit 12 hours.

Before I continue with the story of recent weeks, and bring up you to date on current happenings, I wanted to go back a bit and place a contextual frame around all that’s been happening lately.

This is the long awaited clarification entry.

I’m not a professional writer, and no-one proofs my entries before they’re posted. So sometimes what makes perfect sense to me, doesn’t seem to carry the meaning I’d intended. Fortunately I’ve had a lot of feedback and questions lately, and it’s given me the chance to rethink what I’ve written, what I meant, and try to set the record straight.

And later down this entry, I need to add some balance. One issue Danger-Boy has had with the journal, is that I generally write "bad" stuff about him, and "good" stuff about me. And he’s right. While everything I’ve written is honest, I have left some stuff out that has skewed things a bit.

While not conscious of it, I seem to have cast myself as some sort of saint in events lately, and Danger-Boy as an evil and wicked sinner to be saved. The truth of the matter is, we’re human and we each have a lot both components. And we’re a lot closer to the middle ground than I’ve made it seem.

First, stuff from e-mail lately.

I spent most of Monday night , like over five hours, thinking about how to word my reply to one e-mail I’d received. The author was concerned over several issues regarding Danger-Boy and I. I wrote back that I understood, shared and respected his concerns. And he got me thinking that I really hadn’t shared on the site the nature of our friendship.

I think I should have avoided the use of the words "love" and "relationship" in writing about Danger-Boy. They carry certain connotations that aren’t present in our interactions. The way I put is was this:

It's an unfortunate deficiency of the English language that we must use the same word for dozens of different meanings. The love we feel for each other is not the romantic type, the type lovers feel in a relationship. Rather, it's the type that friends or brothers feel for each other.

It's very highly unlikely that our friendship would ever evolve into a relationship, given that he's straight. Even he's confused on that issue. Although he expresses friendship and affection in the same way gay men do, (hugs and kisses) he is clearly not gay or bi-sexual. Unless of course you spell it buy-sexual.

It's true that he has stayed here occasionally. And it's true that when he stays here, we sleep in the same bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn't anywhere else to sleep, unless he were to sleep on the floor. But at his insistence, we sleep under separate covers. It's true that I am sexually attracted to him. It's also true that except for the very first night I met him, we have never had sex.

Yeah he’s cute, (the pictures I’ve posted don’t do him justice), he’s a rentboy, but he’s straight. I know I wrote that he had said he was bi, and for a time I believed it. But spending nearly every non-working hour with him since the middle of May, I can say I see no evidence of him being anything other than straight. For him, sex with guys is no more than a business deal. Like day-labor digging ditches. You do it cause you have to, not because you want to. The bi thing may just be a psychological defense that helps him turn tricks.

The e-mailer also got me thinking that I hadn’t fully discussed my motivations for taking Danger-Boy to Connecticut. It could well look like I was trying to break up his relationship with Debbie, (especially if you thought I thought he was gay or bi.) She’s felt extremely threatened by my friendship with Danger-Boy. I’ll admit that I think she’s bad news. But it’s not my place to drive a wedge between them. On the contrary. I’ve bent over backwards trying to put her at ease, but to no avail. As for why we went to Connecticut together:

He, like me, is a multi-drug chemical dependant. For him, as for me, the traditional rehab and treatment programs have been ineffectual. One thing in the conventional methodology that helped me, was to change people, places and things. Our hope was that by getting him away from his druggie friends and into a new environment, we could begin to work on his other issues and break the cycle of addiction.

That’s it kids. Sorry, no ulterior motives, no bedroom Olympics. Although we each have a conversion fantasy, (his that I’ll turn straight and go out with him to pick up girls, mine that we’re so good together he won’t ever look at girls again), that’s all it is. Just a fantasy.

Now, I just may have blown the mystique here, considering this:

Several people have written that they’re living their lives vicariously through me. First, I’m flattered. I don’t think of myself or my life as being all that exciting. You’ll note my frequent references to sleep and naps. Second, turn off the PC and go out for a change, dammit! J

I was thinking about that when I wrote to someone about people living vicariously through other’s journals. That guy had written me in part:

I wrote back:

And I’m getting it from old friends too. Scott’s written me on the subject before. About the "Good Riddence" entry he had written:

If I ever have to break up with anyone, I want you to do it for me. :)

I’m sure he was still thinking of that when he wrote this the other day:

I just got through reading your entry about the "event". Can I just say.... You break up great! I would never be able to come up with lines like those. *G* I know who to call to dress up my dialogue in my scripts some day.

Naturally my reply was:

What can I say?  It's a gift. J

I was think that it feels like a soap op, for those ppl that just read your entries, but I know you and I know Danger-Boy, I care about you both.

And several guys have gotten the impression that I’m fickle, alternately taking Danger-Boy in and throwing him out. Heck, Scott thinks I keep breaking up with him, and I even had Willie confused. He understood is better when I wrote:

No, love and anger are not opposites.  You can be angry with someone yet still love them… I love him tremendously.  And I think love is what he needs most right now.  But I may have to turn him away to protect my own well-being.  That won't change my feelings for him.

And to someone else on the topic of my anger:

I'm always wondering if I'm (finally) making the right decisions, especially in times of anger.  Now if can stop becoming quite so angry.  Because it was really a profound sense of disappointment, that was expressed, or converted to, anger

And to my closest friends, I’ve written a few different variations of this:

I've got so much to write yet.  With the space Danger-Boy has given me over the past few weeks, I can begin to sort everything out.  Gosh he's intense.  It's all I've been able to do just keeping up with him, let alone understanding him, trying to make sense of my own feelings, or discover the lessons in all this.  It's a heck of a personal growth spurt for me, and despite all the ups and downs, I'm feeling very good about the whole thing.

I don’t feel an obligation to anyone, including me, to make sure I finish out the story of recent weeks, but I want to capture and comprehend it while I can.  The writing helps me to focus my thoughts and analyze my feelings.  By thinking about how best to communicate them to someone else, things become clearer for me.

And at least for the next 30 to 60 days, I’ll have the time to think, analyze and write more about this. Not that the soap opera will grind to a halt just because Danger-Boy is in jail. No, among the recent e-mailers, are at least three different potential romantic interests for your favorite web journalist. No, for me I mean. J

I hope that helps put things in perspective.

It’s 20 minutes later already. I wonder where I’ve been? Concentrate, concentrate. Isn’t that what they make orange juice out of?

At least the cravings are easier to manage now than they were a few years back. Part of it is me, I’ve got my shit a lot more together now than I did then. The other part is medication.

For a guy who is unemployed and has no medical insurance whatsoever, $150 per refill is awful fucking expensive. But, Zoloft really seems to do the trick. And my body is extremely sensitive to it. They say you won’t notice the effects for two week. Shit, I know it’s there after two hours! I have one problem with the side effect profile. How do I put this? I can get it up, but I can’t get it off. You know, junior stands up straight and tall, but he just won’t spit.

Interestingly, the next med they try if you have problems with the side effect profile of Zoloft, is something called Wellbutrin. The exact same stuff, sold under a different name by the same company, is now used for nicotine recovery. It’s a bit more expensive, and it would cost me another office visit to the doctor to get a scrip, so I’m putting up with the side effect.

Although nicotine remains my drug of choice, and my favorite anti-anxiety drug, Zoloft is a very close second. And the side effect makes it a very difficult drug for me to abuse, so I don’t mind having it around the house. I just have to plan things two or three days in advance. J On the other hand, this makes me a KILLER top!

I do feel sorry for him in that the most recent postponement of his turning himself in on the warrants is because his middle son’s birthday is this coming Wednesday, the 22^nd. Can you imagine how he must feel? I have an appointment to visit Danger-Boy on the 22^nd. At this point, I’m not sure if I should insert myself into his family life and take his son in to visit with me, or to forget about it. On the one hand, I know Danger-Boy wants to see his son, but, I don’t know if he wants his son to see him in jail. What do I do?

I have no means of communication. You can’t call in to an inmate. MCI, who has the inmate outbound calling contract, may not have anything hooked up for me until Thursday or Friday. The mail, is well, the mail. The earliest visit I could get was Wednesday morning at 8:30.. So I have no way of asking Danger-Boy what his feelings are on the situation, before I either arrive or don’t arrive with his son. And would his ex-wife even allow me to take his son to visit him in jail in the first place? I repeat the question, what do I do?

This is not a rhetorical question. I’m asking everyone’s advice. What do I do? Do I talk with Elizabeth, Danger-Boy’s ex, and as if I can take her middle son to jail to visit his dad on his birthday? Do I buy a birthday card, take it with me to the visit, have Danger-Boy sign it and deliver it? Or do I just blow it off? Please, help me on this. I honestly and truly don’t know what to do!

Wow. Did I have a case of "poor me" last night or what? The frustration of not being able to communicate with Danger-Boy has been really bugging me. I know I’m skipping around here, but deal with it, okay? We’ll get to he rest of the story when I have the time to write it.

So for now, here’s the scoop:

How did I find out these last two tidbits? One of the deputies let him use one of their phones to call me this morning!

Thank heavens I’d sent him a series of letters already, outlining the communications problems, and the steps I was following to resolve them. I wanted him to know it wasn’t by my choice that the phone was blocked. Had I not received any mail today, it would have started bothering me.

He’s been equally frustrated. No envelopes in the commissary, no visits since the initial one, and the friggin’ phone is blocked. Do I sound a little STRESSED?

In any event, he sounds a lot better today than he did on Wednesday. He says his son’s mother won’t let the son come to jail, and Danger-Boy really doesn’t want his son to see him there anyway. So at least that issue is solved. And he’s been moved (finally) to the Men’s Dormitory. I know I’m getting a little ahead, but I’ve had other things to do ya know, other than write in the journal!

Six and a half hours! It took me that long to reduce the disorder to just my desk and the kitchen. Well the bookshelf could use a straightening and I still have to scrub the tub, but otherwise, everything’s squeaky clean and rigorously organized. I have my apartment back!

Here’s the report from the Pride Parade, and the subsequent Gay Culture Festival.

I ran into lots and lots of friends at the festival after the parade. Vince bought me a couple of hamburgers for dinner. When I offered to pay for the seconds, he said, "Not now. But I expect it to be your treat when you’re working again." Deal!

But, I had to come home early. It’s far too soon for me to be doing any heavy socializing and drinking with so many smokers around. When I left, I’d made up my mind to buy a pack at The Corner Store on the way back home. The walk gave me enough time to reconsider. I crossed the street.

Whew! Talk about close. Tonight maybe I should have my water straight up, without diluting it with Dewar’s. Alcohol is my drug of entry into my drugs of choice. It’s a lot easier for me to deal with the cravings if my judgement isn’t impaired.

Carrot stick anyone?