Times Like These I Wish I Was A Drinking Man

So life's been complicated lately. Mostly up in my brain. The gay-straight alliance I helped found during my uni days was recently featured in a national story. I passed that along to my Vegas pal since we went to uni together. In return he tells me he's got a boyfriend and just came out to his dad. It's official now: I don't know a single straight person I'm not related to.

Bloody hell.

In other more mundane areas mother's being a lousy patient. The antibiotics are done, the SIL brought over more cigarettes and mother's not had much appetite. The car is now in the shop. Didn't bother with a rental. Brother got that minivan he needed since his family has expanded to five. Faithful readers might remember I went to a new car show with him and we looked at minivans.

I mentioned this to Braan before, about Brokeback. I had a problem with the film and my emotions about it evolved. I'd have talked with him about it but he said the film wasn't interesting enough to discuss. Duckie's not been. Anyway, mulling the film almost immediately after I noticed on a level I was Ennis to someone else as Jack. Back at uni, I mean. So I think about how if he'd been a woman how life would've been so very different, how the situation wouldn't have eaten at me like a pack of ravenous wolves in the midst of a sheep herd. It's been nearly 10 years now. It doesn't bite at me with quite the pain it did.

I have a lot of anger about homosexuals. On one hand I think they ought to be allowed to live and let live but on the other hand they make me nervous. There's some reason, not just paranoia, because I was pursued vigorously, assaulted and abused by a family friend. He was driven with jealousy in part over my emotional connection with my own Jack. I'm still angry at the pain I was caused.

I can watch gay theme films, even queer porn and get along with it more or less. There are some things that I have to turn away from but there's no reason to titillate. One, however, is any expectoration as lubrication. Doesn't matter what context, it makes me want to projectile vomit. I know why. That was the lubricating method of choice for the destructive predatory beast in my life. It's like a flashback moment.

Porn has been a part of my life since I was my eldest nephew's age. He's almost 8. It's had a destructive, or at least distorting impact on my life. When having sex with my girlfriend at uni, I was almost acting out porn scenes. There were photos snapped that first time, now long since destroyed (sorry Duckie--no pix for you). The porn started as pictorial magazines but it wasn't long before video porn came into my life. I've suspected it set forth a environment ripe for confusion because it was so-called double-penetration video: two men and a single woman. At times one man per pelvic entry point and even two men in one pelvic orifice. Toss this in with the absent father (work-addicted) and a protective, controlling mother with a contentious relationship with my brother and it's hardly surprising I've been a mess.

I've had people tell me I was straight, say I was gay-in-denial, say I was bisexual. My own girlfriend thought there was something going on between me and my Jack Twist. There wasn't. Well, there wasn't that we were aware of. Honest affection ran deeply, however. As you might guess, I've heard it all. I've had opportunities for gay sex. It just wasn't me. There might be a strong compassion but there's no sex to be had or given. Sorry.

I feel miserable. Sad. Empty. Perfect timing too: it's Valentines Day.