2/19/98 - Wrapping Up

[There was an entry dated 1/3/98, but it's definitely in the Same Old Shit category, so let's move on to...]

2/19/98 - 1478 Jax

All right already, let's finish this awkward journal and move on to a new one.

In my room, John's moving around, getting ready to come to bed. I bought "All About Eve" at the new Amoeba store in the Haight the other day, and we watched it tonight. Will I ever have that command of the written word?

John's now curled up against me. He just reminded me it'll be a year soon. Like I don't know. He also asked whether I think we'll make it there, and I said I had no plans to go anywhere. [Ouch. A little more enthusiasm might've been in order.]

It was...an experience hanging out with Andrew the other night. He couldn't stop talking about his ex, and I could tell he knew I was upset about the drunken John/Tom debacle at the White Horse. [Briefly, John had a couple too many at this small Olde Englyshe pub downtown with a group of Sean's art school friends and Sean's boyfriend Tom. Tom came up behind John and "noogied" his hair (that's the word we always used to describe when you gently or not-so-gently grind your knuckles or fist "affectionately" on the top of someone's hair), and John swung his beringed hand back and walloped Tom in the face. John was upset and embarrassed by this mostly reflex reaction which left a mark, and he left the pub dramatically. I chose not to follow him this time and went and had dinner with Andrew. It was a bit of an issue for a time.] Andrew is someone I've always found attractive, just the kind of guy I always had in mind for a boyfriend: witty, cute, joyous, literate, "alternative" (I can't describe it, but I know it when I see it.)

And yet, there weren't any sexual sparks between us, never have been, I don't think. And I made two calls to John's answering machine, trying to make sure he was OK and not pissed off at me. [What did I do? Why, I didn't follow him out the door and coddle him and tell him everything would be OK. You had to be there, I guess.]

I love him. I've loved enough to know that he's in my heart.

But am I "in love" with him, whatever that means? Can I see myself with him in another year? Five? No, not if we live our lives the way we have. It doesn't seem as though we're headed anywhere. We don't encourage each other in our dreams, we both are all too given to distraction.

And how much of my own lethargy can be blamed on John? Do I keep him around to avoid facing real life?

Welllll...on to less dangerous ground. I started yet another new job this month, at the service desk of [a large commercial real estate company. We handled all property management issues relating to the branch and admin buildings of a very large banking chain.] I like the setup a lot better than at [the San Rafael or downtown S.F. HMO's.] The computer systems are (pretty much) together, the company structure is pretty straightforward, and my coworkers are a lot more simpatico...that is, they resemble me in age, temperment, etc. The job is not a challenge in any way that makes me excited. However, I plan to stay there at least a year. I knew this far into my tenure at [the downtown HMO] that I'd be looking around soon, and I don't have that feeling yet at this job. We shall see.

I have officially asked the Grandma for a loan to help pay off my credit cards. I hope she doesn't fall over dead when she sees the amount. She's made such a stink over how long I took in coming out to her that I believe she can handle this. [She did, and she loaned me a huge chunk that I'm still paying back. Better her than Visa. My coming out to her was a comedy: for something like four years, Mom insisted that the generation gap was too wide, that Grandma just couldn't handle it. I knew that was wrong, but respected Mom's wishes. Eventually, a flaming hairdresser moved into Grandma's triplex, and she started going over to his house and taking part in little get togethers with him, his boyfriend and their queer friends. It didn't take me long to come out to her after that, and she was magnificent. The only drawback is that she can't stop harping on the fact that I "wouldn't trust her take it well." All right, already!]

And Dad's pneumonia. We all knew he was sick, really sick, at Grandma's 80th birthday party. I don't know how to deal with him, never have. I'm never more than cautiously affectionate, afraid that if I let my guard down, he'll find a reason to attack me. I'd like to call him, let him know that I do think about him and worry about his health. I have to make some sort of answer to his answering machine message. [Not sure, at this juncture what that message was, but I did have an opportunity to show some concern: he was airlifted from the small clinic in Brookings, Oregon, where he was living, to UC San Francisco Medical Center, where he stayed for a couple of weeks, getting better. I visited him several times. It helped both of us, I think.]

So ends the hellish ringbound journal.

[And so ended my regular stint at journal writing. I'm thinking about continuing some sort of "nostalgia narrative" in this space, but it's no longer going to be a transcription of actual writings. We'll see.]

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