|
Thursday, May. 30, 2002 / 11:07 p.m. ~Fucking Lack of Conviction, and Overall Confusion~ Again, I need to write. It helps me clear my head. Get it out, whatever "it" is. I had the street wrong. I went to the wrong part of town for the Convention Hotel. I couldn't believe it. Although the names are so similar, they were vastly different. I was in my old neighborhood, the area we lived in when we first moved here, back in '67 I think. Wow. I drove past the school where I attended first and second grades. I almost drove off the road. And the whole time I was thinking, "Why are they having this Convention out here? This is a crazy place to have it!". It wasn't there. Wrong road. I've seldom felt so confused, in my entire life. What was wrong with me? The same thing that is causing me to hit all the wrong keys right now. Having to backspace constantly. Every road was wrong. I knew them, but I missed turns, turned around, went the wrong way, wrong exits, it was insane, and when I finally found the Hotel it was so easy. I went in and saw a lot of people with lots of tattoos and piercings and asked some guys sitting around where I could get my pass and they pointed to some more guys (lots of "guys") sitting on some couches. I said I'd expected a table or something, and one guy said, "No. Just a couch." Got my three day pass, which is laminated and very cool looking, and went on to the club where the Kick Off Party was to be, and it was early, and there was no real party, just some horrible punk band playing some outrageously loud horrible punk music, club kid after club kid approaching the bar to order up a PBR, because that's the cheapest beer they have. And I sat with my Bass, for $4.25 plus tip, and watched the people come and go. And there was Howie, Hermione and S's friend, so I tapped him on the arm and he didn't recognize me at all. I had to tell him who I am, mention Hermione and S. Not fun. I left early, I guess, considering most clubs in this town don't get started until after 11:00, but still, I'd had enough. I wasn't about to order another beer, and there were so few Convention people there. More were arriving as I left though, and I considered staying, but I felt so awkward. It wasn't what I expected at all. Which got me thinking that the Convention itself may not be what I'm expecting, but really I'm not expecting anything at all, am I? I just want to get tattooed, and now I'm afraid that is not going to happen. Something is telling me that things aren't supposed to go my way, not at all. On my ride home I felt that someone was laughing at me, like a big someone, like some Supreme Being up in the sky, looking down, laughing, toying with me, in general. I don't ever feel that. But tonight I did. And I thought about Jon. Over and over. More than I'd like. So I re-read his email, and the email I'd sent him. And I had mentioned his previous weekend, how he'd hinted at things happening, but didn't elaborate, so I guess that's why he wrote the detailed account. That makes sense now. I'm sure I overreacted, but I wanted more. I still do. It hurts. I'm hurting. I really, really liked him. It was so funny too because I was looking to get in contact with his friend James, not him at all, he was an accidental pleasure. And once we started our frenzied email communication I couldn't get enough of him. Meeting him was icing on a proverbial cake. I really liked being with him. I felt an instant connection, I just couldn't read him. But as the evening wore on, every time he looked at me, I felt it, whatever it was, and when he kissed me it was a surprise, of course, but it was so welcome. Now, nothing. Nothing at all. If I write to him, maybe. But I want him to want me. It's no good if it's just me doing all the wanting. It doesn't work that way. Or the other. We both have to want the same thing, and it doesn't feel that way anymore. But it hurts, dammit. I think of him. I'll just be sitting somewhere, tonight at the bar in this club, listening to this horrible punk band, thinking about Jon, how I wish I were with him instead of sitting there by myself. Part of me wants an instant diversion, but that's not right either. Should I write to him? I was dead set against it, but now I don't know. Maybe I can write something enigmatic, semi-sarcastic without him knowing. Maybe a curt response. Slyly curt. I'm lost. I'm going to this big Convention totally not knowing what I'm doing. I feel so obvious, so out of place. I just want some comfort. Coming home tonight felt so good. I'm going to go consider writing back to Jon now. Really I won't "go" anywhere. I'll sit right here. I'll click on "reply to sender" and we'll see if anything comes out. I wasn't going to do it though. Is it the one beer? Is it the touch of alcohol in my bloodstream making me desirous? Making me remember? Why must I be this way? Why can't I hold on to my own convictions? Am I that starved for affection? Or is it really Jon, himself? I think it is. I re-read his weekend wrapup, and I find him so interesting. Fuck. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |