7/12/96 - Mixed-Up

7/12/96 - 1810 Chapala

Actually, it's twelve minutes into 7/13. Max left for New Jersey today, he should be gone for over a week. I rented and watched "JFK," but now the apartment is creepily quiet. I feel free, in a way, but this time alone feels more like a burden than a gift. Life weighs a lot lately. [Oh, the humanity!]

I have a sort-of date tomorrow with James. I went to Fathom on Wednesday, and ran into him. I ended up sitting at a table with him, Mike M., Tom, Jody, and Burton. James and I started out polite, but grew closer (literally and figuratively) as the evening and the drinking proceeded. Eventually we ended up making a date to go to the French Festival on Saturday. We even danced and kissed some, and I drove him home after the bar closed.

Oh, but I drank way too much that night. I'm not sure what Max heard or saw, but I was almost sick, and was in no shape to go to work the next day. I haven't been that bad in years. I just slept and lay in bed until past noon, then sat at home until about 3, when I was getting so bored (while still feeling shitty) that I went to see "Independence Day" at the Arlington. [How that's supposed to make anyone feel better is beyond me.]

I went to work today, of course, but I still had this weird ache in parts of my body, as if muscles were bruised. My throat muscles are still sore (I'm wondering if my glands are swollen), as is my left hip. It's as if someone punched me in those two places.

I suppose I should be excited about tomorrow's date but...I guess I'm half expecting James to flake again, or for us to have nothing to talk about. This bitter cynicism is really taking hold. It was fun and all dancing with and kissing James, but I'm having misgivings about his drinking, and of course about his illness. This whole thing has seemed like such hard work, and I'm wondering if it's going to be worth it.

But James, or even men in general, aren't really what's causing what Max might call this "existential malaise." I'm feeling an utter lack of control over my own life, from job to friends to sex to finances to family. The fact of my non-graduation is looming over everything I do or try to plan, like one of those flying saucers in "ID4." Plenty of people lead wonderful lives without a damn degree, but I've been living and planning as if I do have one.

Living lies is something I've always done, but this is the biggest, even bigger than being gay. I don't even know how to start undoing the lie. Life will never be the same, which has its good points, but I want to save the good stuff from my life-as-it-it-now, and I don't know if that's realistic.

This lack of control, of not knowing how to work the room, is just debilitating. I've been spending more and more time alone, even going back to some of the icons of my childhood. I spent a couple of hours last night at Barnes and Noble reading "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler," a book Mom read to Kate and me almost twenty years ago. I've been escaping into nostalgia a lot lately, and into other pointless pursuits, like Wednesday. Even James, as attractive as I find him, doesn't feel quite real, like it's happening to someone else.

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