OK, I need to come
I have any number of
activities I could be doing today,
several required domestic chores and obligations, as well as any number
of "elective" pleasures I could be indulging in. Not to mention that
there are even a handful of extremely attractive buddies I could be doing.
I'm back on track
with my diet and workout program, have accomplished few little projects that
required skills I didn't know I had. My
depression and anxiety are at bay. I'm
my generally optimist, content, and positive self, full of faith and hope, and
filled with gratitude for what is my life.
But the truth is,
I'm experiencing a certain level of melancholy and sadness.
This is not about
self-indulgent self-pity. It's just about the fact that there are things beyond
our control that are not only difficult to accept, but impossible to approve
I think many of us
here in San Francisco are dealing with this in the last several days. We've had
a brush with reality this week, delivered in the manner of a grave prognosis
that resulted from what we're to believe was an rather routine surgical procedure
performed on a member of our community.
A gentleman that is a friend to many and at least an acquaintance to
even more of us here in the city.
Men of my era and
myself are no strangers to loss. Hell,
we faced an onslaught of loss it the 80's and early 90's that is unfathomable
today. It was loss on a wholesale basis, Costco sized portions of grief. Every
day was like being kicked in gut when you heard that yet another friend had
been "diagnosed." In fact, it
seems that for several years I just remained bent over, ready to vomit. The grief became so much a part of life that
it had a way of leveling out all other emotions. We did our best to remain
animated, to go through the motions, to attempt to fool ourselves into looking
towards if not a better future, at least some end to the present manner of
Little by little, we
began to see the light of hope, many experiencing it firsthand in their own
survival. We began to rebuild, to bring
life back to our social structure. We still
had some of our silly and frivolous ways, but we were changed. I know if you're like me, even those you may
have once perceived as foes you were able to see as dear friend, whether they
had passed or were very much alive and encountered on the street.|
Life went on, people
still came out and joined the community, people still moved away or died. Many of us that had become somewhat reclusive
began to step back out into the light of day, or the safe darkness of the night
which in the past was our playground, our safe place.
Many, like myself
have gone on to live in two worlds. I
live with the memories visited upon me by the ghosts of my past, as well as
creating new memories with fellow survivors and new friends. My experience has allowed me the curse of gut
wrenching grief, as well as the blessing of appreciating the preciousness of
life. My days are filled with joyful
experiences, and when you see a tear in my eye, it's not a tear of sadness so
much as a tear of joy, thinking of somebody long gone that would have enjoyed
the many changes that have come to past.
In fact, now I've
come to the place where many of my contemporaries are succumbing to the natural
process of aging. They're having hips
and knees replace, heart valves reamed out and restored.. prostate issues, hell,
I suppose even erectile dysfunction could be considered a luxury if it's age
related. I personally almost embrace
the fact that even when I feel like I have to pee even when I'm actually in the
act of pissing itself. I've resigned
myself to the fact that my stream of urine generally comes on at about the time
I stuff my junk back into my pants.
Having me piss on
you would not be considered a Golden Shower, and hardy a Water Sport, unless
you consider slow Chinese Water Torture a sport. Yeah, I'll piss on ya, one drop at a time.
And as far as
ejaculation? I haven't hit the ceiling
fan in years. When I blow my load it has
all the erotic impact of a urinary discharge.
And I've abused steroids for so long that my testicles long ago
atrophied to the size of raisins and then seemed to take their leave
altogether. My scrotum is the actual
size of a real teabag at this point. If
I want to wear a cock ring I have to use a staple or duct tape to hold it on.
I still wake up
stiff in the mornings, just that it's no longer my Johnson but my many other joints. But, I almost always wake up laughing, even
if it's to laugh at me attempts to get erect, as in stand straight.
Life is pretty
fucking wonderful, but not so wonderful that I'm immune to sadness. Not so wonderful that it hurts to lose a
fellow that I only wish I'd had a chance to know better.
I'm going to allow
myself to feel sad today, to grieve what seems to be an impending loss. I'm praying for a miracle in my own
Atheist/Buddhist way, ever hopeful, but yet pragmatic.
I can feel sad and
melancholy today because I know I'm not alone.
I have a city full of friends, acquaintances, and brothers in the form
of total strangers that are feeling sad as well.
Right now I'm going
to hug my cats, count the countless blessings in my life. Realize how fortunate
I am to have an amazing husband that is first my best friend, brother, soul
mate, partner and provider in the purest sense of the words.
I'll notice that our
oldest guinea pig Angus Peabody has developed a cataract in one eye, and is
getting somewhat elderly. I'll take a
moment to pick him up, hold and stroke him, even though it pisses him off and
he'll snap at me. I'm selfish, I'm doing
it for me, because I can, because he's still here with us, part of our home and
family. But, in so doing, there are
countless faces that will pass through my mind. The faces of lost friend,
lovers, mere acquaintances, and even a few old enemies, and think of what I'd
give for the opportunity to hug the one last time. Poor Angus, I wonder if he'll ever reach a
plane of existence where he realizes that he was a surrogate for my memories.
Go ahead, it's ok to
feel sad today.