A Heartland, Relatively Innocent Boy

Mother is worried about the older sibling finding a job. He’s been graduated the same length of time I have, and he hasn’t found anything yet, even just a small job to bide the time until what he’s looking for (graphic design) pops up. I told her he needs to apply at Wal Mart… but she seems averse to that. I know Wal Mart isn’t exactly the golden world, but beggars can’t be choosers.

She skated Chicago… I could tell she was thinking it (poor mom, you raised a son like you, who reads between the lines to know what you’re thinking, is intuitive enough to run with his suspicions, and who also knows you well enough to know when he’s right) when she talked about “my generation”—living in wolf packs, either being too far in debt to survive or uneducated/unqualified too far to find a living. Times have changed, mother, and I’m sure I don’t have the same dreams you have. 

So I’m not scared of the city. I’m not scared of the masses. I’m not scared of finding a job and making a living. All of that is secondary to being alive. Maybe I couldn’t see that until I realized my sexuality and was forced to acknowledge that happiness isn’t something that you can take for granted. If I’m alive, surrounded by the right people, then I’ll find a way.

I think I’ll leave Derek a Facebook message tomorrow morning (not tonight, it might set off his phone). And see if I can call him tomorrow night if he’s not busy. August is looming closer and closer in my mind, and I’d like to know if I’m heading out then (my original intent back when I promised myself this in January) or if I’m waiting until December and Christmas.

I’m ready. I’m ready to start fresh. I’m ready to be done here. The person I used to be might have had a future here. I don’t feel like I really do, or at least one that I’ll be truly satisfied with. But if Chicago isn’t in the cards, I’m persistent enough to make something of this.

You only get one life after all.

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Two things. 

I was talking to Ellen’s younger brother while in Chicago last week (was it last week? I don’t know…) and finally pinpointed why I can’t or at least feel like I can’t remember things. There’s a huge disconnect with the past, where in my mind I was gay my entire life (truth) but the outward image I presented to the world and turned around and presented to myself was that I was straight and it’s just confusing. Plus given that I was dating my best friend (a girl) the past is foggy because I think living with that daily would be painful.

And then there’s the future where if I really try to think about it my optimism doesn’t hold and so I make no plans and don’t consider it.

Which leaves the present. Which is why I can’t remember or see ahead I guess.

And then yesterday the mother of one of my friends from middle school stopped by and we chatted once I asked about her son and she realized how we knew each other and she asked if I was still dating “that girl from St. John’s” and I was like “no we broke up a… year and a half ago” and then it was awkward so I fed her the same bullshit lie I fed everyone else which was “we grew apart” because telling her “I’m gay” would have been very awkward. But it still bugs me because my sexuality is a part of my identity and any instance where it’s better to hide it is frustrating to say the least.

I optimistically believe in a bright future but I focus on no detail.

As always, tomorrow I’ll wonder why I bothered to post this but it’s been tossing around in my min for a while so I thought I’d post it instead of writing it all out and deleting it.

I was walking back from class today, and I had a revelation. There’s a lot of homeless people that come around campus—any large group of college kids generates a lot of garbage, and to them, that garbage can mean if they eat for a day or not. Usually I just see people collecting cans or something that they can recycle/sell later for a bit of change.

It’s sad watching everyone just walk by them. It’s even worse when I’m one of the people walking past, not making eye contact.

But today there was and old woman pulling old food out of the trash, and eating the leftover french fries.

It was that moment I realized I was a liberal—that even though I couldn’t do anything for her (no money on me, none to spare, nothing I could give or do), I would gladly pay money to help her. That I believe that even though I, as an individual, don’t feel there was anything I could do right then, that I know that if people everywhere come together we could help her. And people like her. And I believe government can and should do that.

But the revelation came a few blocks later as I was walking, When I realized that my thoughts were what you would call liberal.

Instead of my thoughts being what you would call human.

I hate money. I hate it.

I hate being aware of who has it and how doesn’t. I hate thinking of the little things—when I walk into my house, my own house, and I see snack foods lying on the counter, and all I can think is “what a waste, if they hadn’t bought these how many more meals could they afford,” and then I open the freezer and it’s full of ice cream, either tubs or from Dairy Queen.

And then my friends. What do they want for supper? Or lunch? Should they get Jimmy John’s today? Or perhaps Pizza Hut? Or how about a late trip to the juice store, to counteract the toxins put into their bodies at the bars the other night?

I’ve given up on Chef Boyardee, even though it’s the cheapest food out there. And every so often I get a meal from the union and pay with my student ID, but I know that just means I’m making my family pay for the bill later.

And I need to think about cleaning the bathtub when I get home. Because neither of my two lazy brothers will have done it by the time I get home, and the thing looks filthy.

Too bad we don’t have a maid.

And I shouldn’t even be complaining because it’s not like I’ve ever had to work a job before or worry if I’ll have enough money.

I hate money.

A big huge feelings post

I should have known where I was going to end up tonight as soon as I got into the car, when roommie (DW) turned to me and said that the other roommie asked him last night if I was gay.

Sigh.

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