Had a somewhat restless sleep last night. That usually happens during the first couple of times I have a new person in my bed. Even if it’s a friend. I’m used to sleeping alone, so on the rare occasion that I have to confine myself to one side of my bed, it takes some adjusting to.
Bryan had to be at a physiotherapy appointment for 9 a.m., so this morning was a bit of an early wake-up call. That was good for me, though, as an early start to the day is going to help me get back on track.
That phrase is very image evoking for me. Back on track. Tracks remind me of trains. There have been many moments over the past few months – and throughout my life, in general – where I see myself as this speeding, runaway locomotive. The break lever is broken. There’s steam shooting out of the smoke stack. I’m leaving a trail of sparks behind me, squealing along the rails as I turn the corner of a mountain-side track. I see the bridge ahead blown out, but there’s no way for me stop. That’s what comes to mind when I think about getting my life “back on track.” I’m trying to avoid a crash. I don’t want my life to be a scene from Anastasia. Anyway, I digress.
I made Bryan some coffee, put it in a thermos, and sent him on his way like I was some deranged 1950’s housewife seeing her husband off to work. Being one for multiple personalities, I continued my characterization of June Cleaver at the Witch Cave over the next few hours. I did the dishes, dusted, vacuumed, mopped, and did laundry. I also baked banana bread and made some guacamole. Call it what you want – procrastination comes to mind – but, I enjoy that sense of order.
After I had finished with my Leave It to Beaver moment, I sent a number of very delayed email responses, made some lists, planned out my next few weeks, paid bills, and applied to a couple of jobs. I’m alright for money right now, but I still have to watch my expenses. Especially now that I’m dating someone. Romance is fucking expensive, man. Things can get out of control fast when you add up all of the meals and activities. It doesn’t mean that I have to shut down, though. I just need to find an economical balance.
I really want to start taking in more culture. I was going to go to the Art Gallery of Ontario today, but after doing so much housework, my day was more delayed than I had anticipated. The solution? Smoke weed.
I blazed at the Witch Cave, packed a bag, and then walked to the gym. I was stoned as all hell, but I still managed to get my full workout in. I had disco music blaring through my ears from the moment I left my apartment.
I always wonder what I look like to people on the street when I’m high. If I appear half as crazy as I feel, I’m sure they get a good laugh. I take the underground PATH on my walk to the gym, so I’m basically this insane mole person who’s so stoned that he’s in another universe. I’ve got my sunglasses on, I’m wearing my huge gym backpack, and my headphones are blasting Donna Summer, all while I power walk through my own disco diva dimension. Living the dream, man.
I dragged my ass back to the Witch Cave after the gym. With a fridge full of leftovers from Easter dinner, I was very excited to eat. I totally over did it, though. I basically inhaled a whole turkey and my body was not okay with it. More on that later.
One of the major items on my to-do list that I want to tackle alongside my continued search for work is to begin the process of transcribing my journal entries. Having written a detailed report on every day of my life since 2012, things are a little disorganized. I have handwritten diaries, journals, iCloud notes, and emails spread across almost five years, and I want to compile it all into one major document. It’s a big undertaking, but it’s something that I’ve always wanted to do. Mostly because I’m afraid of losing everything. What if there was a fire at the Witch Cave? What if a spell went awry and the whole place blew up? I can’t risk losing my stories.
I managed to punch out a mere two days of my diary/journal transcription. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but technically that’s ten entries – 1 entry/day x 5 years. Based on those entries alone, I can already tell that this process is going to be a fucking trip and a half. There are a lot of demons in my journals that I don’t want to face. However, seeing the progression of my life over the past five years is almost indescribable. Except, it is describable. Because I’ve written it down.
Bryan and I had arranged a movie date for around 8:30 p.m., so I showered up and started getting ready after my transcribing session. I knew my turkey-filled stomach wasn’t going to make it through the night, though. I threw up. I got on my hands and knees in the shower, stuck my fingers down my throat, and purged everything down the drain.
The thing is, my vomiting wasn’t coming from the place that it used to. The “I feel like the fattest person on the planet and I can’t deal with the anxiety of gaining weight” place. Tonight, it was more of a genuine feeling of sickness. I had simply eaten way much, pounded back a gallon of water on top of it, and my body was not able to process it all. After I did my thing in the shower, I instantly felt better. I could have done without the lingering taste and burn of stomach acid at the back of my throat, but it was what it was.
I met Bryan at TIFF Bell Lightbox and we saw The Lobster. I had wanted to see it during the actual Film Festival, but couldn’t get a ticket. It was a weird film, but I’m glad I saw it. Here’s where I feel so conflicted, though.
The last time I saw a movie at TIFF Bell Lightbox was with Logan. We saw Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo when he visited me over New Year’s. After the movie, we walked around the city, talking about the film in detail. Logan shared so many fascinating facts about art, history, and cinema during that walk. I could have listened to him talk all night.
Tonight with Bryan, none of that was there. We walked back to the Witch Cave after the movie, but the conversation just didn’t feel the same. As if there was a spark missing. The thing is, I don’t know if it’s that there was actually something lacking, or if it’s that I just want Bryan to be Logan so bad. I can’t help but compare the two of them, though.
As Bryan and I got closer to my apartment, he began telling me a story. I wasn’t paying attention. My mind began to wander. The only thing I remember was thinking to myself, “This isn’t going to last.” Maybe it wasn’t even that exact thought. It wasn’t. It was just a sliver of that thought. A small, itty bitty whisper in my head that I’ve had with so many guys before, where I question, “Is this going to last? Is this worth it?” Except, usually when that happens, the relationship isn’t at a point where I’m able to make heads or tails of it. As a result, I can’t answer that whisper with a firm “Yes” or “No.”
Fuck. I hate that feeling. Especially now, as I’m getting deeper and deeper into this thing with Bryan. I hate dating. I hate it so much. I don’t want to lose any more people in my life. I don’t want hurt any more guys. I don’t want to create any more bad memories – for me, or anyone else. Lately, it feels like all I’ve been doing with my life is creating bad memories.
On that note, RX messaged me today during my walk home from the gym. This afternoon’s text comes after our last conversation, in which we were exchanging consistent iMessages, then I sent him the link to my MOMENTS event page, and that was it. RX never responded. I was left on read, as usual.
Then, today happened. How typical of RX to pop up out of nowhere, after leaving me hanging for the thousandth time. RX sent me a link about some Sabrina the Teenage Witch TV thing again. It sounds silly, but that was a favorite show of ours. One of those things that’s a unique bond in a relationship. Except, this time, I didn’t bother opening the link. I just responded, “Nice.”
RX shot a text back right away.
RX: “Well that’s an underwhelming reaction.”
That was the end of our exchange. I finally left RX hanging after all the times he’s done it to me. Ironically, I hope he got the message. Stop fucking with me.
Why does RX keep coming in and out of my life like this? What does he want from me? What does Logan want from me? And what do I want from Bryan? Why do we do this to one another? Why are we all dicking each other around?
I want companionship. I genuinely crave it. It’s not even about being sexual. To be quite honest, I don’t really care all that much about sex. I have a great, efficient time with my left hand when I need some sexual healing. What I really want is for someone to sit on the couch with me. To hold my hand. To cook with me, or talk about my day with. But, at what point am I just filling a void? How do I tell the difference between fulfilling that need for companionship with something genuine, versus a Band-Aid fix with something – or someone – temporary and superficial? Every time I think I’ve found the real deal – well, see journal entries 2012 through 2016 for the answer(s).
I was really tired by the time Bryan and I got back to the Witch Cave. I didn’t think that we would end up doing anything but, naturally, we started making out on the bed. I ended up giving him a blowjob, which he stopped me from finishing because he didn’t want to “get there” so fast. I told you I was good at this stuff.
Later, as Bryan was lying on his back and I was sitting between his legs, we rubbed one out together and both came on his stomach. It was pretty hot. Although, Bryan did acknowledge that I got a little ripped off on the deal, which I thought was funny.
We washed up and went to bed. Before we fell asleep, I caught myself doing what I’ve done with basically every guy I’ve ever dated, Logan and RX included: a blank stare into space as I hold the guy close to me. A weird sense of melancholy, while thinking about nothing and everything all at the same time. Then, I blink and return to reality.
Bryan and I kissed goodnight, and I turned off the lights.
Goodnight xo
Some guacamole and banana bread (not to be eaten together). How domestic! Witch Cave, Toronto
My new Pottery Barn lamp at the Witch Cave. There’s a lot going on in this photo. That’s a Mariah Carey vinyl in the bottom corner, some leftover MOMENTS posters on the table, The Nanny playing on the TV, and one of my most prized possessions hanging on the wall: Mariah’s 1997 Butterfly LP. Witch Cave, Toronto