i grow old…i grow old…i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. the love song of j. alfred prufrock, t.s. eliot

long time, no post. i sit in a trading room at my new job and dont have any privacy when it comes to what i’m doing on my computer. do i jack off and talk to my friends on gchat all day. yeah. do i shop on amazon for 99 cent hardcover books, totally. but, i absolutely cannot risk someone at work seeing this website. cause then they would know all the shady shit that went down with the guy who sits in front of me.

i probably think about our past more than he does. i don’t know, it amuses me. when he asks me to do something or i am asking him about something and i think, wow you were inside of me once. strange, and i smile. sometimes, i’m very paranoid that everyone in the office knows. i don’t know, how could they not? these guys have known each other for 15 years; don’t good friends pick up on that shit like dogs? je se pais.

and then i think how nice all of them are to not mention it to me and forgive their friend for his dalliance. that’s all.

things are going well with the frenchman. i’ll keep to my bearish outlook though (hehe, see how i am picking up on these financial terms?) and predict nothing. there was one point in the past 4 months, like right after i came back from hawaii that i really started thinking about the doctor. i think this is what people call “relapse.” i think it was because there were tons of really muscular asian men on the beach and this just triggered something. also i was on my period. also this, also that. i don’t know, maybe i was also all freaked out about having to go home. i hate the home that i have, it’s unfortunate.

aanyways, so like i thought about the doctor. really started thinking about him, and missing him. but i pulled myself through it. i was like, remember you made a choice. a choice to live. and a choice to live is ESSENTIALLY a choice to be happy. and all that good stuff. and the doctor is not the road going to that.

he is: a reenactment of my sorry childhood. a necessary set-up so i could choose to play who i was forced to be when i was younger. then i could also choose to leave. im not going to say this choice was entirely my own, i think god probably had a lot to do with it. and the doctor too, we must give this faltering devil some credit. he made it easy for me to leave him, and that’s sort of nice.

and someday, i’ll probably write a long novel about him. or no, maybe someday, he’ll just be a minor character; a snapshot photograph in my memory. 5′9, sullen, man-boy. lost, too pretty for his own good, a bit of a bore. and a lot of, seriously, not even vaguely entertaining, mental illness. and possibly true evil.

the frenchman?

humble, very contained. capable. smart. kind beyond any measure. looks about 12 years old but has been a man to his family. lets me cry and act crazy. still makes love to me like the first time.

woohoo, this is getting corny.

we laugh a lot, almost all the time.

merry xmas. happy new year. a better year.