I am not a prophet nor am I fully a pessimist anymore. Yet, I have a feeling Harring's time in my life is done. It upset me earlier this week. The reason not being love sickness, but feeling manipulated.
I still feel like I've been lead on. I'm getting over the fact that this unfortunately was the case. I want to call, but I don't even feel like it's worth it. I have put my effort into it and I'm still baffled by how it all changed.
My prime example being that Harring apparently wrote a letter to my friend thanking him for "bringing Iguana to New Years and into his life." Something along those lines. I was touched when I heard that, which in turn helped promote investing in hoping it turned into something when he returned. Silly me.
Like a newlywed who has to hear of her husband's death on the battlefield. Never really getting a chance to know the man she wanted to love. I will wear black for a few weeks [hours] and then give up my wedding band for metal collection.
After that, I will begin again. . .
Saturday, January 31
Picture of Success
I've had it with you, and Mexico can fucking wait.
You stood me up. Perhaps you really do want to get to know me, and if you do I would not mind getting to know you too. Just be fucking adult about it.
These are times that can't be weathered, and we have never been back there since.
Wednesday, January 28
Blood Mother Fucking Asshole
If you are lovesick/moody/blue. I share these to you. Martha Wainwright is in perfect tune with my mind these days.
To all those in the world, during these cold days. To Jim, to Noah, to Elizabeth, to Bradley, to K, to Jeff, to Eric, to Colin, to David and to Geoff [have you gotten my package yet?!] I think about each and every one of you everyday and I hope to keep those thoughts in my mind. Not these silly thoughts that have been forcing themselves in.
To all those in the world, during these cold days. To Jim, to Noah, to Elizabeth, to Bradley, to K, to Jeff, to Eric, to Colin, to David and to Geoff [have you gotten my package yet?!] I think about each and every one of you everyday and I hope to keep those thoughts in my mind. Not these silly thoughts that have been forcing themselves in.
The Problem with Harring
A Point-to-Point if you will. . .
My intuition is ringing out like a school bell. I have ideas and thoughts that have brought about this paranoia.
Yet, here is what is going to happen. . .
After all this was finished and I was riding home on the train. A man got on and looked at me. We rode home and I felt him looking at me. He was a tall man, not handsome, but a unique beauty was in his face. He wasn't ugly by far, but taller than a normal man and possibly bald under his winter cap.
In that moment I knew what was wrong with my equilibrium. I am not giving myself enough credit. I woke up today at 6 am, ran 4.30 miles (with a cold mind you!) I went to class, came home and did homework. Made myself hot for the meeting that never happened. I went to Manhattan, bought some plays for class, went to the Designer for the movie and worked until 10 PM.
The powerful being I am is beyond me. I am doing so much and I am allowing myself to fall apart over a guy. To let Harring rule my emotions and cause me to sound like a stuttering fool!
Not anymore. I still like him and wish to see him (perhaps it will happen sometime soon) again. No more paranoia though. If in Mexico he tells me of some Folgers man who came over the hills of Merida, riding on his mule. That they had a passionate tryst and that's why he stopped texting me. I can only reply with, "That was your choice."
I walk down the street and I see eyes. I see attractive men seeing me, looking at me. It makes me smile. I know anyone of these guys I could go up and strike a conversation, if I wanted to. For the moment I want to direct my attention towards Harring. I want to, that's why I don't just sleep with just anyone anymore. I know how nice it feels to sleep with the person you WANT to. If he wants to abuse his right and sleep with others and then show interest in me still. That is fine, I can expect no more or less these days.
Harring has been moved to the back burner. He decided that himself and I am okay with that. I will see him when I see him. I like him, but I was rash and thought his advances were sincere. He wants to spend time getting to know one another, I want to get to know him, but in order to do that. You actually need to see the person.
- The first two weeks of his Mexico trip he texted me constantly. Telling me he missed me , he couldn't wait to see me, when he came home he was going to be very intense, etc.
- The last week I did not hear a word from him. When I would text him there would not be a reply as there was the first two weeks.
- He could NOT wait to see me when he got home.
- When he got home I did not even hear a word from him until I called him the next day and then his response was just sort of, "Hi."
- I opened myself up and said, "I missed you more than I expected while you were gone."
- He responded with silence. Nothing.
- He told me we've hang out tonight [meeting time was tentatively 8 o'clock] and that he would call some time to talk about it.
- 8 o'clock rolls around. Nothing. In my wonderful way I call and text him. Instead of asking "What's up?" I send: Are you blowing me off?
- He calls me back and asks me what is up. "You've been acting strange since I returned home." I admit I have been strange, but no stranger than you.
- I respond that I will tell him fully when I see him. I say this as the movie I am working on is going crazy and I just exposed raw nerves at the support group last night and I have missed him for weeks.
- He ends up canceling because he thinks he is getting a cold.
- I call him on the way home and tell him I didn't mean to be weird or paranoid.
- He was understanding and told me that he wants to get to know me. To be myself.
My intuition is ringing out like a school bell. I have ideas and thoughts that have brought about this paranoia.
Yet, here is what is going to happen. . .
After all this was finished and I was riding home on the train. A man got on and looked at me. We rode home and I felt him looking at me. He was a tall man, not handsome, but a unique beauty was in his face. He wasn't ugly by far, but taller than a normal man and possibly bald under his winter cap.
In that moment I knew what was wrong with my equilibrium. I am not giving myself enough credit. I woke up today at 6 am, ran 4.30 miles (with a cold mind you!) I went to class, came home and did homework. Made myself hot for the meeting that never happened. I went to Manhattan, bought some plays for class, went to the Designer for the movie and worked until 10 PM.
The powerful being I am is beyond me. I am doing so much and I am allowing myself to fall apart over a guy. To let Harring rule my emotions and cause me to sound like a stuttering fool!
Not anymore. I still like him and wish to see him (perhaps it will happen sometime soon) again. No more paranoia though. If in Mexico he tells me of some Folgers man who came over the hills of Merida, riding on his mule. That they had a passionate tryst and that's why he stopped texting me. I can only reply with, "That was your choice."
I walk down the street and I see eyes. I see attractive men seeing me, looking at me. It makes me smile. I know anyone of these guys I could go up and strike a conversation, if I wanted to. For the moment I want to direct my attention towards Harring. I want to, that's why I don't just sleep with just anyone anymore. I know how nice it feels to sleep with the person you WANT to. If he wants to abuse his right and sleep with others and then show interest in me still. That is fine, I can expect no more or less these days.
Harring has been moved to the back burner. He decided that himself and I am okay with that. I will see him when I see him. I like him, but I was rash and thought his advances were sincere. He wants to spend time getting to know one another, I want to get to know him, but in order to do that. You actually need to see the person.
Monday, January 26
Group Session 1: Support & Cookies
I made it to the support group! I have been feeling off balance lately. Those entries are for a different date though. I will not be brought down by mild paranoia, stress and feelings of overwhelming doom. This is a night to celebrate!
I started off my journey to the group like this:
I needed to collect myself as only Joan Didion can teach me. I told myself that this was a good thing, there was no reason to feel as if the world is closing in on you. It was a bold attempt, and it worked somewhat.
Arriving to the LGBT Center, this time in the right room and on the right time. I began to feel terrified again. I clutched the chair. The room was filling up quickly, older gay men dominated, but of the twenty of us there were about seven who were in their 20s. I felt relief.
The group opened with stating your name and the feelings you were bringing into the session.
"I'm Iguana and I was supposed to be here two weeks ago, but I got lost." Everyone laughed and I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. "I feel overwhelmed. I have school that started today. Then this project outside of school. Also, this is all so new. . ." I trailed off, not wanting to be the talkative new guy. Another guy in the group passed around cookies and I held mine until after I had spoken. It was Oatmeal, M&Ms and HIV flavored.
"I am upset. . . because of all the new people attending the group." I felt a hint of shame, obviously I was one of these people. I would not let it get to me though, it saddened this man to see so many people infected. I had to admit he did have a right to feel that way.
I don't want to go into detail of how it all played out. I can best compare it to being in a cave filled with echoes. I heard so many things tonight. So many worries or issues that I'd heard before, but only in my head. I found myself agreeing with a guy who felt anxiety in trying to get proper medical care and felt nothing but frustration.
I listened to them open the discussion of "Were you surprised when you first found out?"
I felt my body tense. I'm new to this. Do I really go that far and tell that personal of a story?
Here it comes. . . "I knew I was going to get it. I did some many drugs. . .When you're that high, even when they told me they were poz. I didn't care. . ." Wait, what's not me. I looked up and saw a man across the way. He had the same story I had and so, I spoke up.
Why I spoke up is beyond me. I wanted to let him know he wasn't the only one. No one in the group had said it yet, "I agree with you--I--I have done many drugs-- f--or the last few--years. I would know who was poz and it didn't bother me either. Then when you're sober, it seems to be all you can think about." I trailed off because the reality had happened. I openly told a group of people that I did drugs and didn't care if I became positive. Okay, that felt different. We need to see what progresses from that point.
It was liberating in the sense that I know I am not the only person to make this choice. Does that make me feel any lighter? No. Do I feel proud? No. Do I feel that I've connected with the world and I am beginning to put my life together? A little. Baby steps.
We continued on. Discussing different issues. At one point someone pointed out how surprised he was that all the new people are sharing. I lowered my head until he added that it was a good thing.
The last thing that shook my soul was when someone brought up, "Telling your family." The room became a game of hush. The distance this creates and how we all hate it. I spoke out because the topic was so ripe I could not resist picking it from the vine.
"I was born the middle child and grew up as the one you didn't need to watch. I always got good grades and my brother created trouble. I could move to NYC and take care of myself! Now I can shake the very foundation of my family life with one sentence. I have become the child who has the biggest issue to deal with and I cannot speak with them about it. I fight with my mother and it ended with my screaming at her that I was looking for therapy and she said, 'I didn't know your childhood was so rough.' And I had to let her believe that was the reason I wanted it. . ."
I felt small. I felt afraid. I felt alone.
At the end of the group we went around again and stated our names and feelings.
"I'm Iguana and I'm still feeling overwhelmed."
I will return next week, though.
I started off my journey to the group like this:
I needed to collect myself as only Joan Didion can teach me. I told myself that this was a good thing, there was no reason to feel as if the world is closing in on you. It was a bold attempt, and it worked somewhat. Arriving to the LGBT Center, this time in the right room and on the right time. I began to feel terrified again. I clutched the chair. The room was filling up quickly, older gay men dominated, but of the twenty of us there were about seven who were in their 20s. I felt relief.
The group opened with stating your name and the feelings you were bringing into the session.
"I'm Iguana and I was supposed to be here two weeks ago, but I got lost." Everyone laughed and I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. "I feel overwhelmed. I have school that started today. Then this project outside of school. Also, this is all so new. . ." I trailed off, not wanting to be the talkative new guy. Another guy in the group passed around cookies and I held mine until after I had spoken. It was Oatmeal, M&Ms and HIV flavored.
"I am upset. . . because of all the new people attending the group." I felt a hint of shame, obviously I was one of these people. I would not let it get to me though, it saddened this man to see so many people infected. I had to admit he did have a right to feel that way.
I don't want to go into detail of how it all played out. I can best compare it to being in a cave filled with echoes. I heard so many things tonight. So many worries or issues that I'd heard before, but only in my head. I found myself agreeing with a guy who felt anxiety in trying to get proper medical care and felt nothing but frustration.
I listened to them open the discussion of "Were you surprised when you first found out?"
I felt my body tense. I'm new to this. Do I really go that far and tell that personal of a story?
Here it comes. . . "I knew I was going to get it. I did some many drugs. . .When you're that high, even when they told me they were poz. I didn't care. . ." Wait, what's not me. I looked up and saw a man across the way. He had the same story I had and so, I spoke up.
Why I spoke up is beyond me. I wanted to let him know he wasn't the only one. No one in the group had said it yet, "I agree with you--I--I have done many drugs-- f--or the last few--years. I would know who was poz and it didn't bother me either. Then when you're sober, it seems to be all you can think about." I trailed off because the reality had happened. I openly told a group of people that I did drugs and didn't care if I became positive. Okay, that felt different. We need to see what progresses from that point.
It was liberating in the sense that I know I am not the only person to make this choice. Does that make me feel any lighter? No. Do I feel proud? No. Do I feel that I've connected with the world and I am beginning to put my life together? A little. Baby steps.
We continued on. Discussing different issues. At one point someone pointed out how surprised he was that all the new people are sharing. I lowered my head until he added that it was a good thing.
The last thing that shook my soul was when someone brought up, "Telling your family." The room became a game of hush. The distance this creates and how we all hate it. I spoke out because the topic was so ripe I could not resist picking it from the vine.
"I was born the middle child and grew up as the one you didn't need to watch. I always got good grades and my brother created trouble. I could move to NYC and take care of myself! Now I can shake the very foundation of my family life with one sentence. I have become the child who has the biggest issue to deal with and I cannot speak with them about it. I fight with my mother and it ended with my screaming at her that I was looking for therapy and she said, 'I didn't know your childhood was so rough.' And I had to let her believe that was the reason I wanted it. . ."
I felt small. I felt afraid. I felt alone.
At the end of the group we went around again and stated our names and feelings.
"I'm Iguana and I'm still feeling overwhelmed."
I will return next week, though.
Sunday, January 25
As These Days Of Collegiate Experience Wane On. . .
The vicious cycle begins one last time. For one last semester. I'm writing this to keep my mind off other issues. I need to just type for a bit. Endless banter, as it were. I awoke early this mourning in a coughing fit. I couldn't breath and gasped for air, my eyes began to water. I could not tell where I was, the haze from the TheraFlu made sure of that. It could have been the end.
The choking fit pulled me from a nightmare I was having. A reoccurring one in which I am involved with a production of some kind. Usually it is a musical, this time was no different. I was in the lighting booth at my college. The show was opening tonight and I was to run the light board. Unfortunate as it is, the light board is broken. I can't communicate with anyone and the show goes on. Surprisingly, the performance is good. I sit there watching helplessly and hoping no one will notice that there are absolutely no light cues. No one does and they tell me how well they thought the show was . . . I feel guilty of taking the praise for doing nothing.
To have that dream and then to wake up in a coughing fit. It would put the shake on your day too? So I have been a little weary of everything, feeling doubtful of the future. The movie business is shaky right now, issues with production being organized. I have no power and tomorrow classes begin. It takes us full circle, no?
Class will be a welcome reminder. . . Oh and the Support Group! I am giving myself a pep talk right now, because this being positive thing is difficult. I am doing pretty well with it. It puts me to bed early.
The choking fit pulled me from a nightmare I was having. A reoccurring one in which I am involved with a production of some kind. Usually it is a musical, this time was no different. I was in the lighting booth at my college. The show was opening tonight and I was to run the light board. Unfortunate as it is, the light board is broken. I can't communicate with anyone and the show goes on. Surprisingly, the performance is good. I sit there watching helplessly and hoping no one will notice that there are absolutely no light cues. No one does and they tell me how well they thought the show was . . . I feel guilty of taking the praise for doing nothing.
To have that dream and then to wake up in a coughing fit. It would put the shake on your day too? So I have been a little weary of everything, feeling doubtful of the future. The movie business is shaky right now, issues with production being organized. I have no power and tomorrow classes begin. It takes us full circle, no?
Class will be a welcome reminder. . . Oh and the Support Group! I am giving myself a pep talk right now, because this being positive thing is difficult. I am doing pretty well with it. It puts me to bed early.
Saturday, January 24
A Mind Cleanse
I am sick. I have a stuffy nose and I am coughing as if I have TB. These slow days, it's Saturday, yet I am stuck indoors. Oh, to be so poor! I have been using a Nettie Pot, but all I ever get is salt snot down the back of my throat.
Oh, forgive me, I just had a coughing fit. It's so hard to focus, ever since this cold arrived. Last night I slept, but not soundly. I kept dreaming that I was starting a rock band. I would wake up to pee or in a cold sweat. I would return to sleep, intent on forming the band.
College begins the final semester. A five year journey, coming to a close. Has it been five years? Am I still in college? I think back to Pratt, being 19, believing the world didn't have anything on me. I'm sinking into thoughts, I must change the topic or I'll be here all night.
Equus is a play I hold dear to my heart. I have been waiting to see it for about 2 years. There were parts that made me shiver. Daniel Radcliffe is a fine actor and has a cute body. More coughing, my throat feels raw.
I am finishing In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It's one of those novels that you read and fully understand why it's famous. Is it necessarily shocking to the present date? Not quiet, but that's how unimpressed we've become.
Harring is due back from Meh-He-Co tomorrow. We shall see what happens. I need him to return before I can officially consider anything. Right now, I seem to be dying. So I consider that a touch more important. Having been reminded of what it feels like to be touched by another man, it just stirred my soul up. I have to forget that feeling all over again otherwise.
Oh, forgive me, I just had a coughing fit. It's so hard to focus, ever since this cold arrived. Last night I slept, but not soundly. I kept dreaming that I was starting a rock band. I would wake up to pee or in a cold sweat. I would return to sleep, intent on forming the band.
College begins the final semester. A five year journey, coming to a close. Has it been five years? Am I still in college? I think back to Pratt, being 19, believing the world didn't have anything on me. I'm sinking into thoughts, I must change the topic or I'll be here all night.
Equus is a play I hold dear to my heart. I have been waiting to see it for about 2 years. There were parts that made me shiver. Daniel Radcliffe is a fine actor and has a cute body. More coughing, my throat feels raw.
I am finishing In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It's one of those novels that you read and fully understand why it's famous. Is it necessarily shocking to the present date? Not quiet, but that's how unimpressed we've become.
Harring is due back from Meh-He-Co tomorrow. We shall see what happens. I need him to return before I can officially consider anything. Right now, I seem to be dying. So I consider that a touch more important. Having been reminded of what it feels like to be touched by another man, it just stirred my soul up. I have to forget that feeling all over again otherwise.
It's Difficult to Be Famous
Anita Morris is not a phrase you often hear out loud. Her name spoken is like hearing wind chimes, it takes me back to a better place.
I was going to see Equus with my good friend and we were in the second to last row of the mezzanine. Behind us were three out-of-towners—those kind of girls—who attended the show with all intents and purposes of seeing Harry Potter's dick from the last row of the mezzanine.
We had the unfortunate luck of arriving 25 minutes early to the show. I only need to be in a theater for a maximum of five minutes before the show. Tonight we had 30 minutes (for shows always begins 5 minutes late) to mingle with the people around us.
I was trying to talk to my friend and I stopped abruptly when the excessively gay usher in his 50s said. "Who's that on your arm?"
Let's stop for a moment as I explain. I love Anita Morris, I love that she is tattooed on my arm. I love to explain it to those that will understand the tribute behind it. This was not going to be one of those moments.
I looked to my right to see that the 3 ladies were interested as well, "Yes, who is that?"
"It's. . .Anita. . .It's a Broadway dancer." I quickly responded, for anything more and their heads my have imploded.
"NO! That is ANITA MORRIS!" The Usher quickly spouted out, making sure I was not escaping so easily. "Well my God! That is Anita Morris! Look at that!" He clicked on his flashlight and began shinning it on my arm. "Anita Morris! I know her! Charlie. . ." He said trying to wave down an usher in a different aisle. "Charlie! It's Anita Morris! Yes, Anita Morris! Tattooed on his arm. . . That's right!" His flashlight still shinning shoulder, however at this point I was so red the light wasn't necessary.
"Who was she?" One of the three women asked.
"She was a dancer on Broadway. . ." I saw their eyes glaze over. "She was sexy. . . Nine the musical? She. . .curves. . .Raul Julia. . . Ovarian Cancer?" I knew that anything I said sounded like the Sex and the City theme song.
"I love her! I can't believe she's on your arm!" The usher kept spouting out, he had given up seating newcomers and instead would take their ticket and say, "Look at that! He has Anita Morris tattooed on his arm!" I threw my head back and laughed. How could this moment get more weird?
I realized that my head was still starring at the girls behind us and they thought I was listening, "I used to choreograph musicals in high schoo--"
"So did Bob Fosse, Jeremone Robbins and Michael Bennett. I like their stories better." I replied and turned back to my friend, ready to return to normalcy. Before I got a word out I heard.
"What is she up to these days? Oh, I love her!" His face glowing.
My friend took this moment to whisper into my ear, "You've found your soul mate. The man who can identify your tattoo. You will wed." My face turned a pale shade of grey and I realized what I had to tell the usher now. . .
"She is dead." There was a silence as the usher let in a quick draw of air. A mother finding out her child died on the battlefield, he had to keep up appearances.
The weight of the situation was quickly alleviated when one of the threesome behind me went, "AWK-WARD!" The situation was now fun again, for everyone except the usher.
"Oh. . . That's. . .That's just to bad. When did she die?"
"In 1994." I just needed to give the facts. I knew it would be enough. "Ovarian Cancer."
"Well that's is news to me!" He said this with such venom, I felt the ink on my arm boil. He was playing the shock off with surprise. He took a moment to blink and collect his emotions. "She was a darling woman! Have you seen Hotel New Hampsire?" His final test it seemed. He was trying to blind side me with something he thought I did not know.
"Yes. It's an interesting movie. This is my tribute to a wonderful woman! For without her you wouldn't have movies like Hotel New Hamshire!" I sat as I heard the 5 minute tone chime. Now we could begin the real show.
I was going to see Equus with my good friend and we were in the second to last row of the mezzanine. Behind us were three out-of-towners—those kind of girls—who attended the show with all intents and purposes of seeing Harry Potter's dick from the last row of the mezzanine.
We had the unfortunate luck of arriving 25 minutes early to the show. I only need to be in a theater for a maximum of five minutes before the show. Tonight we had 30 minutes (for shows always begins 5 minutes late) to mingle with the people around us.
I was trying to talk to my friend and I stopped abruptly when the excessively gay usher in his 50s said. "Who's that on your arm?"
Let's stop for a moment as I explain. I love Anita Morris, I love that she is tattooed on my arm. I love to explain it to those that will understand the tribute behind it. This was not going to be one of those moments.
I looked to my right to see that the 3 ladies were interested as well, "Yes, who is that?"
"It's. . .Anita. . .It's a Broadway dancer." I quickly responded, for anything more and their heads my have imploded.
"NO! That is ANITA MORRIS!" The Usher quickly spouted out, making sure I was not escaping so easily. "Well my God! That is Anita Morris! Look at that!" He clicked on his flashlight and began shinning it on my arm. "Anita Morris! I know her! Charlie. . ." He said trying to wave down an usher in a different aisle. "Charlie! It's Anita Morris! Yes, Anita Morris! Tattooed on his arm. . . That's right!" His flashlight still shinning shoulder, however at this point I was so red the light wasn't necessary.
"Who was she?" One of the three women asked.
"She was a dancer on Broadway. . ." I saw their eyes glaze over. "She was sexy. . . Nine the musical? She. . .curves. . .Raul Julia. . . Ovarian Cancer?" I knew that anything I said sounded like the Sex and the City theme song.
"I love her! I can't believe she's on your arm!" The usher kept spouting out, he had given up seating newcomers and instead would take their ticket and say, "Look at that! He has Anita Morris tattooed on his arm!" I threw my head back and laughed. How could this moment get more weird?
I realized that my head was still starring at the girls behind us and they thought I was listening, "I used to choreograph musicals in high schoo--"
"So did Bob Fosse, Jeremone Robbins and Michael Bennett. I like their stories better." I replied and turned back to my friend, ready to return to normalcy. Before I got a word out I heard.
"What is she up to these days? Oh, I love her!" His face glowing.
My friend took this moment to whisper into my ear, "You've found your soul mate. The man who can identify your tattoo. You will wed." My face turned a pale shade of grey and I realized what I had to tell the usher now. . .
"She is dead." There was a silence as the usher let in a quick draw of air. A mother finding out her child died on the battlefield, he had to keep up appearances.
The weight of the situation was quickly alleviated when one of the threesome behind me went, "AWK-WARD!" The situation was now fun again, for everyone except the usher.
"Oh. . . That's. . .That's just to bad. When did she die?"
"In 1994." I just needed to give the facts. I knew it would be enough. "Ovarian Cancer."
"Well that's is news to me!" He said this with such venom, I felt the ink on my arm boil. He was playing the shock off with surprise. He took a moment to blink and collect his emotions. "She was a darling woman! Have you seen Hotel New Hampsire?" His final test it seemed. He was trying to blind side me with something he thought I did not know.
"Yes. It's an interesting movie. This is my tribute to a wonderful woman! For without her you wouldn't have movies like Hotel New Hamshire!" I sat as I heard the 5 minute tone chime. Now we could begin the real show.
Friday, January 23
Wednesday, January 21
While I Breath for a Moment
I'm taking the night to relax for a moment. I've been doing various things for the little independent movie and I haven't had a moment to just breath. I'm breathing right now. Winter Break has almost come to an end and what did I do?
I went home for oh so long and discovered more than I wanted. Which is usual of every visit it seems. I worked in a warehouse for a few weeks, helping organize Forbidden Broadway costumes. I am working on a film as a Wardrobe Supervisor.
I met Harring and lost him to the sun in Mexico. He returns Sunday and I just know it won't be easy. I wish he hadn't escaped so quickly and I had this time of leisure to have become more acquainted with him. I admit that my body has missed the physical attraction. I have felt withdrawal symptoms in my body. The struggle to not feel lonely.
I like his company, but I believe that I only got the brief illusion of what Harring is. Debonair and charming. I want to see what this extreme personality brings out before I begin to let myself fall for it's charm and glamor.
I want to get to know him more, which is the grown thing to do. I believe in lasting relationships. People change their tune so quickly at our age. Harring wants kids and five child family. Ha! Everyone knows my womb cannot bear offspring. Plus, five?! I can do one or two with the time span of 15 years in between.
I am so dedicated to myself, but I will try my damnedest to work him into the schedule. With class, the filming beginning, oh and, not to forget the Support Group.
Oh, but I joined the Support Group too! You've done so much and come so far! The group will lead to things. As will graduating from College. For better or for worse. You got into this life for a reason. There must be another chapter to all this. I feel my body saying to keep calm, this is that step I'm missing.
That essential piece of advice that I can't figure out. Terror. I'm nervous and scared. I can't let myself just give into it so easily. To share that part of yourself with someone. I should not necessarily run to him because he returns on Sunday. He left me for three weeks to go to Mexico, you met only a week ago. It's not the best idea, I can't spend the night and I need to stay focused in school.
I'm to cautious to live frivolously. To let my head fall into all this again. Yet, the plane will land and he will come home. He will call on me and I will feel the pull to run to him. Part of me says to withhold. You can see him on a day that suits you better. Am I allowed to be this way? I feel such a pull to be cautious, I'm so close to the border of change.
That essential piece of advice that I can't figure out. Terror. I'm nervous and scared. I can't let myself just give into it so easily. To share that part of yourself with someone. I should not necessarily run to him because he returns on Sunday. He left me for three weeks to go to Mexico, you met only a week ago. It's not the best idea, I can't spend the night and I need to stay focused in school.
I'm to cautious to live frivolously. To let my head fall into all this again. Yet, the plane will land and he will come home. He will call on me and I will feel the pull to run to him. Part of me says to withhold. You can see him on a day that suits you better. Am I allowed to be this way? I feel such a pull to be cautious, I'm so close to the border of change.
I am simply just writing out my nerves. I just wish it would click. What lesson did I miss?
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