A MOMENT of BEAUTY...
AND AN UGLY MOMENT of TRUTH...
I had the most incredible experience Friday night.
My Long-Legged Someone was visiting my mother, which got me up off my butt and back on the highway. After a very nice dinner, as we were discussing my driving the Someone back "home" today, the Someone told me my ex-wife had said she would be willing to invite me to dinner if it were important to her.
Coming from a woman who had, frankly, given me the impression that hell would freeze over first, it pretty much overwhelmed me. Even if it was only about trying to make our common Someone happy, it is as good as a Valentine.
I'll consider it an early birthday present.
As I said to the Someone,
"I guess I don't have to tell you how wonderful your mother is."
I don't. And she is.
Oh my, but the heart is an easily stressed organ.
OH MY, YES.
Almost forgot...
I did something unfortunately all-too-usually stupid on Wednesday night: after I called the Silver Fox, I sent him an e-mail trying to make light of the emotional turmoil I have gone through really taking onboard that the most I can hope for from him is a friendly @#$% once a month.
Yes, I know, never joke about politics or religion or your emotional commitments. But I did.
I came home from my visit to the Frozen North to an e-mail from him in which he basically read me the riot act about letting emotion into a "relationship" that was based on something else. He didn't use the words "cash transaction," but the sting was there.
I know he's right. That's not the point. He cautioned me to avoid romantic entanglements [!!!] until I had the training wheels off my gay self, and certainly not to expect any more from him.
And I don't.
Not when I'm sober.
Then he starts in again on my need for an exercise program. Now, call me stupid, call me over-sensitive, but that really grates on my nerves for two reasons:
[1] it basically says I am on the borderline of not being attractive enough to him to @#$% even once a month, and
[2] it means that I have to buy into the whole gay body-image thing, which was part of turned me off to gay life in the first place thirty-odd years ago. We may hate it, he sez, but looking good IS important in gay life. Just accept that. It's physically healthy anyway.
Shoot me now. Get it over with.
Am I going crawling back for another night?
You bet your sweet side-dishes I am.
But I feel like I have been taken to the woodshed.
And not in any daddy-fantasy way, either.
When will I ever learn? When will I... ever learn?
.
My Long-Legged Someone was visiting my mother, which got me up off my butt and back on the highway. After a very nice dinner, as we were discussing my driving the Someone back "home" today, the Someone told me my ex-wife had said she would be willing to invite me to dinner if it were important to her.Coming from a woman who had, frankly, given me the impression that hell would freeze over first, it pretty much overwhelmed me. Even if it was only about trying to make our common Someone happy, it is as good as a Valentine.
I'll consider it an early birthday present.
As I said to the Someone,
"I guess I don't have to tell you how wonderful your mother is."
I don't. And she is.
Oh my, but the heart is an easily stressed organ.
OH MY, YES.
Almost forgot...
I did something unfortunately all-too-usually stupid on Wednesday night: after I called the Silver Fox, I sent him an e-mail trying to make light of the emotional turmoil I have gone through really taking onboard that the most I can hope for from him is a friendly @#$% once a month.Yes, I know, never joke about politics or religion or your emotional commitments. But I did.
I came home from my visit to the Frozen North to an e-mail from him in which he basically read me the riot act about letting emotion into a "relationship" that was based on something else. He didn't use the words "cash transaction," but the sting was there.
I know he's right. That's not the point. He cautioned me to avoid romantic entanglements [!!!] until I had the training wheels off my gay self, and certainly not to expect any more from him.
And I don't.
Not when I'm sober.
Then he starts in again on my need for an exercise program. Now, call me stupid, call me over-sensitive, but that really grates on my nerves for two reasons:
[1] it basically says I am on the borderline of not being attractive enough to him to @#$% even once a month, and[2] it means that I have to buy into the whole gay body-image thing, which was part of turned me off to gay life in the first place thirty-odd years ago. We may hate it, he sez, but looking good IS important in gay life. Just accept that. It's physically healthy anyway.
Shoot me now. Get it over with.
Am I going crawling back for another night?
You bet your sweet side-dishes I am.
But I feel like I have been taken to the woodshed.
And not in any daddy-fantasy way, either.
When will I ever learn? When will I... ever learn?
.
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