Last night, Rene�, Jackie and I went to Pasta House for dinner. Even though we waited ten years for our dinner, the service proved to be prompt and courteous. The only problem I had with it is that it�s very dimly lit in there. I was wishing I�d brought some flares, or my flashlight.
The conversation was light, and Jackie behaved. I was sitting across from Rene� eating my tortellini. Jacquelyn was nibbling on her mozzarella sticks. He was digging into his cannelloni. It was very, very nice.
Out of the blue, Rene� said, �Those loft apartments downtown are really nice.� He had lived there some years ago.
�Oh, yeah,� I gushed, �Not only are they beautiful and spacious, but they are central to everything: the library, the courthouse, Union Station, the Arch�.I�d love to live there.�
He said, �Why don�t we go look at some next week?� I almost dropped my fork. What was he proposing? He then went on to say that they are huge, there�s a pool on top of the building, gated parking and security. We talked about how much rent would be and how much we would save on ours.
Financially, this would be great. Emotionally, well, we are now celibate and platonic and officially friends, I don�t think it would be detrimental to our friendship. How he will feel next week, we�ll see. I can�t think of anywhere in St. Louis I�d rather live.
I didn�t see Salsalita this weekend, sigh. But I wanted to give her time with Rufus, and I needed time to clean my pigsty, I mean, my house. I was also PMS�ing big-time and thought that she�d is safer away from my crabby attitude.
When I get stressed, when I PMS, when I�m angry, I clean. However, I�m never really done cleaning my house, it�s always just still dirty to me. It�s not something I dream up in my head either, it really is disorganized.
I guess I�m stressing about a lot these days because most evenings I find myself with a trash bag throwing various things into it that I don�t need anymore, or never needed anyway.
I steam cleaned my carpets, so I feel much better. With Jackie�s allergies I feel guilty if I don�t vacuum (with HEPA bags) every few days and steam clean the carpets at least once a month.
All in all, they look much better.
I didn�t get a lot of sleep this weekend, but somehow I feel refreshed. I haven�t felt this okay with coming to work in a long time, like since, the day I started over a year ago. I�m not counting the first real day: July 1, 2001; that�s when I really started working here. I just worked for a different contractor. I remember I was really excited to be making this much money. That wore off when I got laid off 9 months later.
But, I was hired back for SOME OTHER COMPANY last July and I knew what I was getting in to. Boredom, mental fatigue and burnout from doing the same thing every day. To a single mom though (me maybe) the prospect of making good money to sit in an air-conditioned cage, I mean, cubicle and do this job was more than I could ask for. I mean, I know people work way harder for a lot less money, so I need to be realistic about my own expectations. So here I sit, and for once, I�m not numb to the gills with boredom. I have only been at work for an hour so we shall see if this stays with me.
As I mentioned I had a very productive weekend; yes, it can happen! While still trying to shake this crud I have, I was able to do things I�ve been meaning to for a while.
Namely, do a deep clean on my house, not just a surface clean. I�m really convinced that it�s either my job or my home that harbors the mold/bacteria/various other cooties that are making my daughter and me sick. I figure if I do a clean sweep by dusting, wiping, vacuuming, detective work: what�s in this bowl, what�s under here, etc that I may find the source of the said bad stuff. So, I wipe everything down, then I throw out things I don�t need, like that fig tree from Grandpa�s funeral that was never going to make it, also, I find various other lillygags that I don�t need and pitch them, namely, McDonald�s toys, q-tips, wrappers and various almost empty beauty products.
When I clean out my simmering potpourri pot, I find one source of eww, oops, it had dried out and it was furry. Awww, look at the sweet little mouse. Wait, that�s mold! Threw it out, pine sol the container, and frantically sterilize the air with some OUST just in case some particles were airborne.
Then, I open the fridge and start throwing out crap that is unidentifiable. I happen to pull out the bottom drawer for the fruit, and underneath is a puddle of congealed beef blood. Oh, that is NASTY! The only reason I know is cause is smells beefy, which I really can�t explain but you know what I mean. Remembering that I rarely cook, I try to think back to when I had beef in the bottom of my fridge. I then remember that my baby sis, over two months ago had the bright idea to make tacos, but then forgot that dumb idea when I ordered pizza. Oh, and then we forgot about it. Then it got pushed to the back when I bought some groceries. When I did find it, it was still in the package but suspiciously mushy. I guess throwing it away wasn�t enough, I should�ve checked to see if it had leaked anywhere.
While I�m cleaning it up, and spraying the now clean bottom of fridge with Lysol, I�m contemplating that this sleep disorder has caused me to miss lots of important things; like a life, romance, but namely germs.
I vacuum our floors and then gather up the laundry to kill germs on them too.
Now, remembering last Sunday I had that huge argument with Mr. Non-Denominational-with-Apostolic-Emphasis I�m feeling a little smart that I decide to go on Saturday. As I�m dragging this laundry into the wash place, the smile disappears as, lo and behold, the preacher stands in exactly the same place as a week and 1 day ago.
He offers me a humble smile. Right now, I feel bad remembering that Saturday, at the height of my PMS peak, I smiled back and busied myself doing laundry. He�s probably thinking I didn�t show up at his church because he offended me. The truth is, I don�t go to church. I�ve never been to a church, except the Catholic church, where it felt good to be there. Maybe that�s because I�m allowed to sit there and ponder my thoughts and inner pleadings and not be bothered.
I�m looking at this man who is still obviously beating himself up, and in the most obvious ways I can, I let him know that I�m much too busy right now to church hop. Plus, I had mentioned to him just how leery I am of any �non-denominational� churches with �apostolic or Mormon-esque� tendencies. So he doesn�t feel bad, of course.
Thank god there�s like, 15 other people in there so I am buffered. If we were alone, it crossed my mind, he might try to convince me to go (out of pure Christian concern for my spiritual health) and then I might have to go �IGMO� on him. My sis Renee says that means you get ignorant. That would not be nice. Then I�d feel bad.
Then, I might go out of guilt. Then, I might lose it and tell these people they�re crazy in the middle of one of their tongues-speaking, snake-handling, aisle-running, fire-and brimstone services. It would be embarrassing.
Church ain�t my thing. It ain�t no thang but a chikin� wang, baby! Don�t take it personal.
Of course, the spiritual soul he is, he makes one last attempt to get me to come to his service. �See you at 1� o�clock Sunday!� as he gathers up his now clean laundry.
I look up and say, �Oh, that�s not likely. I clean my Grandma�s house on Sundays,� and I smile at him, as if to say, I appreciate what you�re trying to do, but you need to give it up because I�m not coming.
I hope maybe this time he got the message.
My friend Kevin, who is precious to me, left me a sad sounding message last week. I ended up writing him an additional eight-page letter about current events, and adding on to and apologizing for any hurt feelings about the first one I sent. You know the one where I told him how dare anyone judge him because he�s gay?
I think if a person has never stopped to consider how difficult it can be to live your life as a minority, as handicapped, as a burn-survivor, etc, I guess they may never understand homosexuality. Just as the situations above, you just don�t choose to be a minority, or handicapped, or scarred, you just are. And the same for a person who is gay.
When someone is a homosexual, it is usually because of one of two situations:
1) A person may be chemically and genetically predisposed to homosexuality.
2) A person may be homosexual due to extreme personal trauma, rape or sexual abuse or molestation.
This is true in my experience. Most of my friends can remember having feelings for the same sex since early childhood. Other friends would casually mention they�d been molested or raped without even thinking that that might explain why they don�t trust the opposite sex. It's just after a long time of hearing person after person make that remark I started to believe that it was a trust issue.
In either case, this is not the person�s fault, nor is it something horrible, weird or strange. You don�t choose to be gay, nor do you choose to love someone of the same sex. You just do.
Without our gay population I believe not only would this be a boring, colorless life but there�d be hardly any music or style to this life. My gay friends were some of the most loving, selfless, devoted, good people I ever knew. They worked hard, had nice homes and paid their taxes without having a million arrest warrants and a criminal history.
I was proud of them. They were my friends. I'll never forget, in college, my best friend Mike, had just graduated as Valedictorian for his high school class. He was not only smart, good-looking and a humanitarian, but also an Honor Club Member, a terrific mathmetician and a blooming research scientist, but he was also gay. Because he was gay, his parents kicked him out and refused to pay for his college education. I know this because I woke up one day to him at my door at 7 in the morning. He was dressed in a Calvin Klein suit, was wearing a white shirt and black wingtips. And he was crying. I actually found him a place to live and spent most of my time with him for the next few months. He was so devastated about his parents opinion of him that he wanted to kill himself. Every night that summer I slept next to him and listening to him cry, his slender small body heaving with sobs in the dark. I vowed to never base my love of my children upon something that's not really as important as sexuality.
Because of factors beyond someone�s control, I don�t think they should be sentenced to a life of hiding in your own body, and not being able to be yourself around your own loved ones. As I told Kevin, being gay is just another thing about you. Like the fact you have brown hair, or prominent cheekbones, or a dimple in your chin. You may have inherited your grandmother�s red hair, or your great-grandpa�s bear laugh. And then, you have families where some people develop cancer, diabetes, or high blood pressure. Some people get it and some don�t. Who knows why that happens�?
In fact, I have a friend from a devout Catholic family, who refuses to admit that he/she might have a sexual preference issue. I have noticed that this person has some almost undetectable tendencies that convince me that this person is alone today because they feel too guilty, too shamed to live that life. I love that person very much, as much as a sister or brother. In fact, that person has a brother with a sexual identity issue, who has chosen in fact to stay married with children despite the sexual identity issue. This person feels comfortable enough to come to family gatherings in drag. No one makes an issue of it; no one makes him uncomfortable. And yet my friend will not allow himself to take that step. We�ve talked about it before, but now this friend acts like the conversation never happened.
As I�ve told this person and as I�ve told Kevin; some people are not educated and are close-minded. Some people still believe Wiccans are awful people and should be burned at the stake, and some people believe that being gay is a curable disease.
A lot of these �some� people are the same ones molesting their own children, cheating on their taxes, and beating their wives. It just seems that some people would rather you be a predatorial rapist than be gay. That�s just stupid to me. My gay friends are some of my best friends ever, and I miss them.
I loved the light they brought into my life.
I loved the good times we had, acting stupid, going places.
I don�t know, I guess I miss the unconditional love and acceptance from people who know what it�s like to be judged and not accepted.
I was attracted to them in the first place because I felt so alone, so misunderstood. I felt like I was living in someone else�s worst nightmare instead of my own reality. The only difference in that feeling is today, I�m not surrounded by those friends. They�ve all moved on with their lives, but I carry them in my heart.
There�s something I really miss about my gay friends. Until I make new ones, I guess there will always be that uneasiness.
So, writing Kevin was therapeutic for me. I wrote him about knowing that things are going to get better�just when? I�m hoping the worst is over. I just want to go back to my life and living it.
I want to make friends again.
I want to find a job that�s fulfilling.
I want to be happy.
Is that too much to ask?
I want Kevin to love and respect himself too. I�m very angry that these people in his church told him there was something wrong with him for him to be gay. He was so vulnerable when he got out of the military I guess he just became defenseless against these sort of mindless attacks on him. He is so down on himself, fasting, praying, getting rid of anything that reminds him of the person he used to be.
I don�t understand where brotherly love factors in with the way people are treating him there.
If I were there I�d shame those so-called Christians. How dare they judge my friend? I think if you judge someone for being gay that you are in no way a real Christian. God loves all of his children. Every one. We don�t all have to love each other�he does. So let�s just keep that little judgement about someone�s sexual orientation to ourselves unless it affects us. We should love people for who they are, not what side of the bread they�re buttered on.
11:05 a.m. - 2003-08-18
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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