My Blog

good morning

A wet piece of sandpaper is pressing against my face though actually it is not being pressed but is being slowly and seemingly unceasingly dragged across the delicate skin covering the right side of my face, which is not to say that the left isn’t as or similarly delicate as the right but just that the left lay nestled quite comfortably in the feathered embrace of my down filled pillow similar to the ritual performed within the confines of my pink tiled shower in homage to the gods of grooming, aesthetics, and New York gay life there was an unseen, most likely because I had yet to open my eyes, yet clearly felt, entity taking its liberties with my dimpled cherubic face and in an attempt to brush, push, or any other possibility my somewhat inactive mind could concoct in order to drive away this not too unpleasant sensation, though disagreeable enough to warrant cessation of immediate activities, from the relentless stimulation it was inflicting upon my cheek, I ordered my right arm to leave its comfortable abode and seek out the rude thing that was causing such distress to infect my unconsciousness, when mere moments after being forced to leave the indulgent comfort of warm 400 thread count chocolate brown goodness my limb was unashamedly beset upon by a what can only be interpreted, insofar that my sleep encrusted and heavy lidded eyes had still not flowered open, as a fur wearing sinewy being of the gnome-dwarf variety who, in the name of the spice of life, had holstered earlier mentioned weapon of the wet and rough variety and was now packing a more prevailing powerhouse and with such suddenness and lacking any prior provocation, unless you call forced manipulation in the form of undercover movement and mumbled sleep addled verbalizations a form of aggravation in which case there was an ever so slight bit of so called provocation, began to attack my innocent and utterly faultless right appendage with animal ferocity, piercing my awakening flesh with what my slumberous yet quickly rousing mind could barely ascertain as minute daggers of such incredible chimerical sharpness that they posed no problem in their purpose of penetrating the soft tissue of my extended and exposed said appendage I was soon to discover that this was not a lone gunman on the grassy knoll for as the puncturing parade continued unabated upon my arm a fiercely fresh nipping at my toes by yet another of these infinitesimal fur-wearing, lance-wielding Lilliputians was felt and only increased in intensity as my slumbering digits instinctually darted to and fro beneath the warmth of my café and cocoa colored velvet down filled comforter of which action only seemed to incense the villains even more as they doubled their efforts at subduing my slumbering form, however the quiet darkness was soon shattered by snarls, growls, and assorted other very feline-like sounds of such gargantuan magnitude that my auditory orifice perceived my body to be currently under molestation by a savage and renegade tribe Amazonian wild cats, whose bloodthirsty ancestors must somehow be distantly related to the duo currently stuffed and mounted in the Field Museum in Chicago, Illinois, which reverberated through the empty hollows of my room immediately and irrevocably forcing my body from its frolicking amidst the cloud lined savannahs of slumber-land and forced my physical body upwards, reflexively casting aside the comfortable confining accoutrements of the short death, which until this moment being of sufficient weight and warmth to keep my person in a state of restful bliss until such a time that my dreams be intruded upon by the digital vociferations of my alarm clock as it politely and respectfully alerted me with the sounds of Mozart to the fact that it was indeed time for me to get up and start my day, with such force that my attackers were momentarily held aghast, frozen in their preparations for yet another round of aggression while my titian eyes adjusting slowly to the dawn’s intrusive pale light that slowly reached through my larger than life window, casting its early morning fingers creeping silently through the dark confines of my room allowing me to finally identify the diminutive demons who currently stood frozen in statuesque perfection that had haunted my adventures in dreamland as the doomed Mesopotamian duo Gilgamesh and Enkidu, who, in their current reincarnated female and feline forms, sat with a blend of detached nonchalance and hungry wariness, their eyes, black slits nestled in seas of coruscating golden greenness that followed an imaginary game of Pong, flicking between each other and my awaking Goliathian figure telepathically communicating that they in fact needed to be fed but I am away from my phone right now, so leave a message after the beep and I will get back to you as soon as possible, so sufficiently awake I decided it was as good as time as any to start my day as I start every Monday through Friday by grabbing my towel and heading towards that pink cubicle those that dwell in my home call the shower as my bare feet flapping almost soundlessly upon the varnished surface of the hardwood floors and then upon reaching the tiled coolness of the bathroom changing slightly into a stony slap of flesh against ceramic which is soon overwhelmed and absconded by the noise of the hot and steamy water issuing from the shower head and rat-tap-tapping against the glass door and swirling down and around, around and down, and down and around into the drain, evacuating the wastes that had built up over the night before into an uncomfortable presence thought not too uncomfortable enough since I had been unwilling to drag my lazy ass out of bed earlier in the night to alleviate any of this built up pressure, deciding to save a few minutes, especially since it wasn’t a floss day, I grabbed my toothbrush, loading it with the 4 out of 5 dentists recommended toothpaste, wondering for a split of a split second what that 5^th dentist actually thinks about the stuff, that tasting salty sweet has a habit of foaming up and dripping out of my mouth with great regularity and which subsequently does happen but I am unable to bring either one of my hands to bear, for one hand is busy holding onto my toothbrush while the other is attempting to keep my cock from pissing on and around the toilet since sometime during the night my manhood has decided that, instead of the strong straight stream that more often than not gloriously pours forth, it will shoot a stream bearing to the right and in a feat of penile engineering splits into two individual streams that with some amazing foot dexterity I am able to keep under control though congratulatory back patting had to be put on hold for the moment for in my attempt to slightly shift the placement of my feet in time to keep the creamy aerated slop from splattering upon my naked toes and the tiles beneath fails and ultimately throws off the stream of hot piss, that up until this moment had been falling quite musically out of my manhood into the pink toilet bowl, and down upon tiles and toes a rain of amber falls but with an attempt to rectify the turbulence of previous actions I jump slightly backwards out of the way of any more of the early morning golden shower causing a momentary imbalance and the helplessly suicidal fall of my toothbrush into the toilet where the remaining foam fans out in a sea of honeyed yellow, spitting the remaining baking soda and peroxide grit from my mouth I step into the shower and directly onto a water logged piece of soap which to my early morning senses has the same consistency as a waterlogged body that has been floating in the East River for the better part of a week and as the blend sodium hydroxide and oil spread out beneath the weight of my body squeezing up in between my previously drenched toes shooting waves of delicate whiteness upwards amid the pale whiteness of my toes the hot and humid life giving goodness begins to cascade down upon my body sending pleasurable ripples of warmth to the furthest reaches of my sleepy skin I stand directly under the shower head, letting the hot water cover my body, giving myself a moment of quiet contemplation, allowing myself to get lost in the simple pleasure of warm water as it falls down upon my body, casting countless rivers of warmth that my mind attempts to follow down around the curves and hollows of my body before swirling around my foundation, into the drain and out into the great wide world though my contentment is cut short for mere minutes later I feel a weakening in the water pressure and due to my early morning sluggishness I am slow to divine the exact implications of this before I am thoroughly doused with torrents of ice cold water that must have come from some Rocky Mountain high and through an extensive and complicated waterworks system has found its way into the New York City water system and currently onto my now thoroughly awake body though in reality the torrent is merely a thin stream of slightly chilled water but to me feels like I am one of those insane people my little brother associates with once a year on New Year’s Day who line up along the Illinois River in our hometown and other towns around the globe, strip down to their bare necessities which usually, unfortunately for those around but fortunate for myself since I am not there to witness, reveals a mass assemblage of pale overweight bodies that look like radioactively enlarged maggots squirming and jumping around upon the snow and ice littered beach who, upon the signal given by one of the few sane persons present who has enough presence of mind to be bundled up in myriad layers of warm winter clothing, scream with such intensity and run, waving their pale fleshy limbs like maniacal Vikings on their way to slaughter, to the water and proceed to thoroughly submerse themselves in previously detailed frigid waters before they, screaming with such intensity, run, waving their pale fleshy limbs like maniacal Vikings returning from slaughter back onto the beach where they are greeted by the remaining sane persons present who, though shaking their head in utter dismay and disbelief, have enough presence of mind to be bundled up in myriad layers of warm winter clothing and are kind enough to have towels and steaming cups of coffee and cocoa waiting for them, this thin stream of mountain spring water is almost immediately replaced by a reinvigorated stream of water, though to my senses it has been nothing less than the coming and passing of the second ice age, and though my mind is now thoroughly awake it is now in a slightly shocked state and is having technical difficulties receiving messages from my brain which is attempting to alert me to the fact that the water is hot, in fact, very hot, and getting even more so by the minute and that if something is not done about it very soon I am going to wind up a vegetarian steamed dumpling and so after much deliberation between myself and the dials representing hot and cold water at this meeting I am once more enjoying my morning shower, soaping up the hills and valleys that make up my landscape before sluicing off whatever has managed to accumulate upon my person between this morning and my last adventure in lavatory land less than twelve hours before during the ordeal of my morning ablutions my little ladies, who I, when speaking to my mother, refer to as her grandchildren, have managed to push the door to the bathroom wide open letting what little heat and steam that has managed to accumulate in the bathroom to escape out into the rest of the house causing a pervasive chill to fill the room and reveal my now dripping wet form to any of the current assortment of roommates that infest the house at this time I manage to close the door and begin to rid my shivering body of all the excess water when upon turning around am met with two pairs of innocent looking eyes that stare up at my dripping form with a look that screams pity and shock at the current state of my fat inflated body, though deep down I know that I am not close to being corpulent but cant help but see myself as a greasy obese lard ass every time I look in the mirror and see the familial resemblance to those chunky oversized butterballs that frequent the Old Country Buffet again and again, but is most likely their next attempt to get me to feed them though I really think that they should take a look in the mirror sometime and see their own hanging bellies though deep down I chastise myself for I know that theirs is merely the feline equivalent to menopause, their uteri screaming for lack of children, weaving in and out of my legs my feline companions move with inexplicable grace despite the bulk of their gluttonous bellies as I attempt to navigate through my room avoiding the wood floor as much as possible because it has been a day or two since I have swept the floor and want as little cat hair to accumulate upon my soles as possible I spend the next thirty minutes debating on an outfit that will convince my mind that I am thin for the few seconds that I permit myself to look in the mirror, finally settling on a pair of jeans, white t-shirt and button up oxford the color of the sea at sunset and with a belt and mandatory New Balance sneakers, thinking that if my life cannot be balanced at least my shoes will be, I take a quick glance in the mirror and spy a thickset Holstein chomping on its cud staring back at me and so, while watching the early morning newsperson going on and on about the all the negatives that have occurred in the world and give the daily weather forecast, which will once again prove to be anything but the weather for the area, I ponder my outfit and what could and couldn’t be done to it in order for there to be any shift the sight I see, calling upon the powers that be, I open the top right hand drawer of my secretary desk and extract the thin joint of tightly wrapped reefer, touching it to my lips, and with al flick of the Bic the sickly sweet smoke is being drawn deep into my lungs sending waves of serene calm to blossom outwards across the time and space of my person, a calm that for the most part allows me to see past the bovine staring back at me seeing for a mere second a faded photograph of the boy I once was and the man that I am yet to become, a calm that allows me to gather up my school work thrown haphazardly around the room and know without thinking what I am going to need for the day ahead, and a calm that emboldens myself to stand up and fight for another day, as I walk out the front door, barely aware of my surroundings , I close both doors tightly behind me, because my roommates have a teeth gnashing habit of leaving one of the doors open which allows anyone within site of our home to look directly inside and in the typically case that there is no one home besides my sly sisters and their new roommate of the four-legged Llaso Apso and Poodle kind could possibly be an invitation to come on in and take whatever you want since our watch animals are exactly that, animals that watch, the former twosome running to an out of the way location where they may view all goings on in their domain and the latter, being of small mind, short stature and even shorter attention span who with joyful abandon covers you in kisses regardless of the fact that you have only been out of sight for a mere moment, and try to remember whether or not I flushed the toilet, turned off my computer, closed my window, emptied the litter box, posted the bills for this month, and brought all my dishes down from the previous night’s study session but I brush it off as something that I will deal with when I finally get home tonight for at the moment I am outside and the whole wide world is welcoming me to a new day in which I am drawing the fresh morning air into my lungs, the sun, in its beautiful transcendental beauty, is beaming down upon me and all is right with the world at least until I get to the subway or have to look at all the unhappy faces that stand beside me packed like sardines in the morning commute or ascend from the dark underground warren of the New York City Transit System into the hell spawned nightmare called Manhattan or until I have to deal with my boss whose incredible acts of flatulence have plagued me for over two years managing to burn ozone layer sized holes in my olfactory system or my other boss whose asinine questions and imbecilic attempts at humor plague me every day or when faced with the cruel joke of the street vendor not having a Pepsi or…never mind.

fat

It was a big mistake adding yet another mirror to my room already clustered with silvered surfaces I can view my fattiness, squeezing this part and that over here in order to make my mind see it is indeed fat there on my hips and not just an allowance of extra skin placed there by the powers that be so when I move from downward facing dog into plank pose I do not break in half forcing myself to exclaim in the middle of class that I have indeed fallen and cannot get up and it is at this juncture that a dark minded Jiminy Cricket sitting upon my shoulder starts whispering sweet nothings into my ear exclaiming how utterly fugly I am, which is a melding of fat and ugly into a word that has become my mantra over the years being said over and over again so many times that it begins to take on a life of its own as I look at my flabby flesh in the mirror, continuing to squeeze and pinch the warm canvas that is my body, my eyes having the power to will fat into existence, because I know that the fat is there and though others claim they can’t see it, it is nonetheless seen by my own eyes as they settle upon the image in the mirror and I know those that claim that I am not fat must have been billed as legally blind because they do not see the fat dripping off my thighs like some spitted pig roasting over a pit and I swear if I stand still long enough and stare hard enough at the image that looks back at me I can see the cellulite forming, like some great land rush it races across my body trying to claim the as of yet unsettled landmasses as their own, I know this to be true because I have stretch marks on my thighs that must have appeared sometime during those wonder years of high school where I think I was incredibly fat and wasn’t nearly as tall as I am now and it wasn’t until I graduated from high school that I shot up what seemed at the time to be upwards of three inches and lost upwards of thirty, no make that forty, pounds and I only say ‘think’ because I don’t really remember if I was actually fat for somehow there seems to be a black hole into which all pictures of myself and or my family taken between my early teens and my early twenties disappeared without a trace and subsequently there is a rather largish gap of around five to ten years where I could actually have been fat but there is no actual proof of this though I think that it could just be my mind creating this image of what I thought I was all through high school which is the one and only reason I wanted to go back home for my ten year reunion because I know, even though I don’t think, that I look a lot better than I did way back then however I decided that I didn’t want to go home for the reunion especially since I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending a weekend with the fucking idiotic small-minded Midwestern bastards that made my life a virtual living hell for the four years of my so called high school life by writing anti gay epithets and poorly depicted cocks everyday upon my locker and on the numerous occasions that I have been home, because my brother is a one of these jocks though he hasn’t gotten fat as of yet and hangs out with some of the jocks that I had the extreme pleasure to spend time with in high school, and been able to see that a large portion of these men about campus have all become as big as the campus and besides why would I want to spend four hundred bucks to fly into Chicago, then drive two hours to my hometown in order to attend a ten year pre-reunion party at the local VFW hall where they would most likely be tapping into a kegger or two, spend the following night at the actual reunion which was to be at the local ‘arcade and game funhouse’ where we would once more be drinking flat draft beers though this time we might get the supreme pleasure of eating stale peanut and popcorn mixes while reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ of high school when I really don’t recall there being any ‘good old days,’ except for those fleeting glimpses of Sean MacMahon’s unbelievable naked body in the shower during gym class, imaging the claw marks that crisscrossed his back were actually from my own hands as they dug into his back in the throws of agony and ecstasy when he made passionate love to me, though at the time and up until I was twenty three years old I had only a slim idea of how or why those claw marks were made on his back because I never had the chance to put those kind of marks on someone’s backside, and not from the twenty something he was actually sleeping with, before he would catch me eyeing him, tongue practically hanging to the floor, and start calling me faggot and freak after which the world would spin and I would myself head first in the towel cart where I would await the for the end of session bell to ring, before driving another two hours back up to Chicago on the following day nursing one helluva hangover since I would have to combine alcohol and ganja to see me safely thru a weekend of terror without going completely postal on the entire class of 1993, and so here I am looking at myself in one of the mirrors, knowing deep down somewhere that I am not as fat as those fucks back home though when compared with the people in this town I am nothing, in fact I am less than nothing, no longer am I a big gay fish in a little gay pond like I was years ago in the heart of Illinois because, not being cocky, in the very least, I could have any one I wanted to back home and I could dance up a mighty fierce storm that caused everyone else to leave the tiny little dance floor that filled the backroom of DJ’s Bermuda Triangle, one of the three gay bars in town, but when I moved here I was quick to discover that not only was I a tiny gay fish in a monstrous gay pond but I discovered that even though I could still squeeze into a size thirty two pant I was considered fat and even though all my friends and family back home thought I was cute, cute does not cut it in this city, and I was marked as ugly when compared to the other gay men that inhabit this city, who frequent the gym where other bunnies of the same size, stature, and tan line frolic and play amongst the weight machines seeking hand jobs in the saunas, who have more products in their medicine cabinet than I have under my sink, and who spend as much time in the bathroom getting ready to go out as it takes me to get up and commute into work, and I would be incredibly lucky, or maybe unlucky, to get noticed by anyone other than the old gross men who leer at you from behind their drink, coming up to you with alcohol stained breath asking if you are new around here, or from women who couldn’t tell that I was a homosexual from the get go and that think I would actually consider going down for a little bit of cooter, some even going so far as to think that I would deign to kiss them, reliving that horrible moment on the slide in grade school when Laura Martin decided it was time for me and her to finally kiss since she and I had been going steady since kindergarten but with a shake of my head I am back in the present looking at myself in the mirror, not able to see anything other than the big fat fuck staring back at me whose thighs are overflowing the size thirty two jean I have managed to squeeze into though I know, deep down somewhere there is a spark glowing with the knowledge that I am not truly fat but that spark is quickly snuffed out, never lingering for long due to the overwhelming constant bombardment of advertisements that plague the not so beautiful men of this city and others like it around the world because its no longer only women that are constantly hit with images of beauty and glamour that scream thin is in, and this form of advertising is especially prevalent in this city that never sleeps where models, who in the land of my birth are merely images on billboards or on the pages of a magazine that you dream and fantasize about, seemingly walk out of the pages and walk the streets in groups or by themselves flaunting their beauty to the world, screaming look at me I am gorgeous and deserve your recognition and admiration and “Get me some Perrier with a slice of lime, thank you darling,” like this man cum model named Ned, who has to be one of the most beautiful men, both inside and out, I ever had the pleasure of being introduced to here in the city when we both wound up working in a coffee shop on the Upper West Side and spent our early morning hours making sandwiches and regaling each other about our lives before New York and growing up outside of the big shitty all the while giving off this aura that forced you to like him because he was the nicest, most sincere, and honest man I have ever met which really sucks because if a person that is physically beautiful but is mean or stupid then you can not like them because of their fault(s) or if a person is really nice or smart but not that hot instead maybe being only cute or comely, you can be friends with him because, like my friend Patrick, who has now been deported back to Canada, was infamous for saying, “It is always nice to have someone less beautiful than you hanging around because you are automatically more beautiful standing next to them” however, like in the case of Ned, if the person is not only drop dead gorgeous, because this guy wakes up on the beautiful side of the bed every single day, AND nice it really really sucks because you want to hate him because he’s so hot and yet you cant because he is so nice but in this city being hot gets you places that being only cute and comely wont even get you an honorable mention, but of course I developed a crush on this boy and subsequently had my heart crushed for he knew I liked him yet nothing happened between the two of us because like Carrie Bradshaw’s favorite fag, Stanford Blach, says, “Not even guys like me want guys like me’ and its true, it really is, and I am sure that it can be chalked off to everyone having their own likes and dislikes but I think that is just too easy, its too simple of an answer for something that plagues this city because who wants to be dating or seeing a kind hearted Quasi Modo when you could have Tyson Beckford hanging on your arm and every word however to achieve that kind of status you have to have status either through being a fellow supermodel or have money or have power and I will never have any of those especially since all I want to be is a fourth grade teacher, write books, tend a nice little garden, sculpt, renovate a farm house in the country and maybe settle down with a good man who wants to have a couple of kids but this city is covering me in blanket of doubts about who I am and what I can be and I begin to think that I am nothing to get excited about, at least I don’t think that I am anything special, though my friends and family say differently but they are supposed to say things like that because they are your friends and family and it is required that they be nice to you so that you will be nice back to them and lately the only people that show any interest in me are a few women that haven’t seen through the butch mask I put on every morning, NOT, and men that are old enough to be my sugar-grand-daddy, not that there is anything wrong with the female of the species it is just discovered at the ripe old age of seven when my then girlfriend, who incidentally remained my girlfriend through my years in junior high and high school and even stuck around a couple years after that until I told her a itty bitty teeny tiny secret, “Laura, I am gay” and then she got all upset and mad at me for not telling her earlier, tried to stick her tongue down my throat but it felt like I was swallowing one of my brother’s newts even though I don’t know what it was like to swallow a newt, why, what have you heard, it was exactly how I would imagine sucking on a newt would feel like and I have never kissed a female since that fate full day unless you count my mother, my other mothers, sisters, or fag hags, who I don’t think should be included because every gay man kisses their mother, sister, and fag hag unless the two prior ones disown you once you come out of the closet which isn’t what happened in my case, and the latter really doesn’t count especially if you have as many fag hags as I do, and there isn’t anything wrong with older men either I just haven’t been able to find one yet that doesn’t make me feel dirty when he ogles me from across the bar but speaking of fag hags I introduced my flock of them to my new roommates, a young gay couple that just moved here from Cincinnati Ohio, yes, WKRP in Cincinnati, and one is twenty one year old Pilates instructor and the other is a twenty three year old ballet dancer who have a lovely half poodle half Lhasa Apsa that has to be the gayest dog I have ever had the pleasure of living with and all three of them are sitting in my room passing a joint between each other, well not the dog because he is busy hiding under the bed in fear of his skin because my twin sister pussycats are circling him, claws fully extended ready for attack, two of my very bestest friends, Fernando, who happens to be the second man I ever kissed in my life, and subsequently gave me a scar on my penis and has forever been known in my own mind as “wild thing”, but that was going on ten years ago and now we are best friends, both living in Queens, and Jesse, who I am falling for, and myself and we are all talking about something not very important because we are stoned out of our minds when someone suggests that we should go out for dinner one night at a fancy schmancy restaurant but then everyone’s self esteem started to get the better of them and soon they were exclaiming that they couldn’t go out because they weren’t anything special and when I heard those words come out of their mouths I couldn’t just sit back and let them beat themselves up because that is something is supposed to be coming out of my mouth and I immediately asked why they couldn’t go out to a fancy schmancy restaurant because in this little circle of homosexuality there sat an artist, a ballet dancer, a designer, and a Pilates instructor and who like the four elements represented a definite pillar of gay society and society in general for that matter and just as quickly as my question and answer session occurred, my friend, Jesse, who is throwing a dinner party tonight though I don’t know if I am going to be able to go because I really need to start buckling down on my homework and studies since it has really taken a great deal of motivational speaking and thinking to get me anywhere close to thinking about school, and though his best friend Lauren, who is jealous of me because of my relationship with Jesse, even though there is no relationship between Jesse and myself, is going to be at the party and I really want to get to know her better in the hopes that maybe one day we can join forces to bring Jesse and myself together in a most happy union of bodies and souls because I happen to have a massive crush on him because he reminds me of the very first boy I was ever madly deeply completely in love with, Anthony Lee Mylot, who was a pot smoking, skateboarding, artist cum hippy who wrote poetry and wanted to become a teacher though here it is going on almost a half a decade since I last saw or spoke to him and still running rampant through my body are these incredible feelings for him and I wonder why it didn’t work out the way I had imagined it would and these thoughts, these stinking thinkings filling my head, have only magnified as of this weekend because on Saturday night, at which time I was disinclined to do anything whether it be homework or going out to a party in Brooklyn which was where I was supposed to have gone with another of my friends though when he finally called a few hours before I was supposed to be over at his house making a kitty litter cake that we were going to bring to the party I told him that I was most likely not going because I had homework to do, I was busy making soup and cleaning up the house and he chalked it off as I wasn’t going which in fact I was hoping because I really didn’t want to drag my tired gay ass all the way to Brooklyn at ten o’clock at night to go to some party that I didn’t know a soul at and of course he got a little bit pissy with me, which is totally understandable but he will just have to get over because I went to a Mexican ballet performance that he had paid for, though I did offer to pay for my own ticket, I still went and supported him and his cultura despite the fact that he doesn’t like that I sometimes put tobacco in with my ganja when I'm rolling joints but only because I lately I have really needed the extra lift because of a certain other substance that I am no longer using and I don’t really want to go to any support groups because I honestly don’t have the time to do so even though I think about IT every day and from what I hear this is exactly what happens to those that no longer use IT and in fact that is exactly what happens because when I get up in the morning I always think that I wish I had some of IT because I would just do IT and IT would make everything so much more tolerable today and I could actually focus on what was going on however I know that IT doesn’t solve any problems IT just makes even more problems for you so I take baby steps every single day in the hopes that one of these days life will get easier and maybe just maybe IT will no longer be on my mind despite the fact of how good it made me feel and how much fun I had while on IT, my two new roommates came upstairs and we started smoking a bit of the old ganja and soon I was showing them all the pictures in my photo album because one of them had asked if they could see my family and so I showed them all the pictures I had and lo and behold slipped sneakily between shots of my brothers and I naked in the bathtub in our younger days and my mothers beehive hairdo were pictures of Tony in all of his glory including the one front tooth of his that was slightly discolored than all the rest and that sly quirky grin that always split his face and made me smile no matter what, and so like Tony, who had the superhero power to merely look up from his cup of coffee and whatever book he was reading this week, staring at me with those big beautiful sea blue green orbs and I would melt right then and there turning into a pool of ooze and god forbid if he were to actually smile, cracking his face with that roguish grin of his because I would simply cease to exist and instead become one with the cosmos so that I could better admire this boy that has such power and sway over me, however he told me the day before he was to move to New York City with me that he couldn’t be gay right now even though we had spent the last four years with each other and everyone knew that he loved me though Jesse has a smidgen of this same power over me though the more that I think about this thing between Jesse and I it isn’t like the thing that Tony and I had because first of all Tony was supposedly straight but with Jesse it is more of a mother slash nurture feeling that overwhelms me when I am with him and he is such a needy creature that my mothering instinct cant help but make an appearance but I love him or is it merely that the mother in me loves him and what do I do about it is the next big question because he and I met online months ago and after a couple months of trying to get him to hang out and do stuff I finally told him that he was too much work and that I couldn’t be friends with him any longer at which point he asked me what it was that I was looking for and I mistakenly, or in the hopes of hellifiknow, told him that I would be happy if we were just friends and we have been friends ever since even though he is always complaining, especially about how I roll my joints and I always think to myself that if you don’t like the way I roll a joint then maybe you should either roll a joint for us yourself or maybe bring your pipe over when you come because he is always coming over to my house because I have internet access and cable and though he says that he comes over to see me, which could be partly true but its so hard to want something from someone that has already written you off as a friend despite the fact that when he spends the night we sleep in the same bed, cuddling for most of the night, and plants tiny little kisses on my backside through the night which is utterly confusing and I don’t know if its okay to say, “Hey, Jesse, I was thinking that maybe you and I should try this relationship thing out because I think that we could really be good for each other even though you piss the shit out of my on numerous occasions, its these moments that make relationships stronger and I think that we could be something grand” but I don’t say this and keep it bottled up inside of me because I am scared that if I open up and say this that I will lose the friendship that has blossomed between us and I’d rather have us as friends than anything else, I know that part of the reason he comes over is to use my things, borrow money, and eat my food because he never has any money being a starving artist in the big city or maybe he should bring over his own ganja for us to smoke but the two times that I actually told him to he said that he was out and the other time upon his arrival he smacked his forehead with his hand in mock frustration exclaiming, “I knew that I forgot something, can we smoke?” and, of course, I oblige him, pulling out one of my finely rolled joints, and let me tell you that I roll a damn good joint because my little sister’s best friend’s boyfriend taught me how to roll and I rarely have any complaints except that they are too tight but if you don’t like the way I roll joints then don’t smoke them or better yet bring your own besides I am thinking that I am going to take a break from ganja for at least a couple of weeks which was my plan before my roommates wanted to purchase some and so I purchased some and the vicious circle started once more though there really isn’t anything viscous about the circle nor is there any real reason that I should quit, its just that I have been smoking every day since I discovered the stuff almost four years ago though the more that I think about it maybe I wont stop smoking because it is my only weakness, except for IT but that really isn’t a weakness any more since I have not touched the stuff since September 1^st , knock on wood, which means I have been off the stuff for over two months though like I said I think about it every day and sometimes wish that I knew someone that could hook me up with the stuff but I don’t and I don’t know what I would do with the stuff if I ever got my hands on it most likely just sit and stare at it for hours on end, but I don’t really drink because I don’t really like the taste of the stuff unless it’s a really fruity drink or if I have already been drinking because then my taste buds and my body is already numb I mean I am the kind of boy that gets drunk inhaling the fumes coming off of a drink, I can drink a few swigs out of bottle of beer and start to feel all warm and toasty which is just fine with me especially since I live in New York City and by golly it has got to be the most expensive city to live in because I at the very least spend about twenty dollars every single day and I tell all my friends and family back home in Illinois that you cant walk out your front door in this city without losing twenty bucks and so there are times that that I really don’t leave the house at all and that is okay with me because I am a very big homebody and if there was a way for me to work and go to school from home I would most likely find a way to do so and though I love New York City I know deep down inside me that this isn’t the city for me because it is just a big concrete jungle teaming with too much wildlife and I yearn for the simpler days and a simpler life spent in the country or in a city that is surrounded by just a little bit more green than what is surrounding New York City and that is exactly what Jesse, and for that matter Tony, wants too so I do not see why we just cant leave this city far behind us and move somewhere far far away and live happily ever after though I know that he has the tendency to drive me absolutely crazy sometimes and that is okay because aren’t relationships all about give and take, aren’t relationships supposed to be all about compromise and damn, I look so fat in these jeans.