I hold my liquor
A collection of notes from a punch drunk lover
I have loved a few times. Maybe love is a strong word, and maybe I should not put it to use so carelessly. Billy was the love of my life, and as much as Peter, he was my best friend for the brief while we’ve been close, before of course I tell him I was in love with him. Peter. Not Billy. Billy and I just grew apart of each other. We were too young and he was too straight. Less straight than Peter, who still was. He’s married now, Billy, not Peter. Peter just chose to leave. He had to protect himself from the power that I had over him while he tried too damn hard to not get entangled into this crazy story. Yes I have a tendency to fall in love with straight guys. The only time I think I came close to loving someone who could love me back I panicked and threw away the possibility of what we could have been, out of fear and anxiety. And that’s why all I can say, to all the boys, always and forever, is a heart wrenching good bye.
I have never been shy about how difficult it is for me to make new friends, trust people and go the distance to build new relationships. That’s not a secret. So every time I am actually able to do it, it is a special thing and I find the need to go for it. As of recently I have made an otherwise improbable friend. Not because we don’t have much in common, but because when we first met we went through several months without really sharing a word. The moment when both of us realized together that we had a beautiful friendship coming up was in a late Friday night out with a bunch of people from work when we smoke some pot and then talked about our feelings, fears and anxieties of life. He told me he was having a bunch of firsts in his life, both post pandemic and post his recent break up, with me, including going to the theater for the first time and smoking pot as well. We reminisced on how all of that had been really important to both of us and how we were literally holding on to those new moments. And then we would just went on with it and start living together, cause that’s how fast lesbians do it.
I’ve got unresolved feelings myself. I’ve been looking for some sort of Frankenstein. Someone who might like to go to the movies, maybe to even watch the ones I like. Someone that can hold up hours of conversation about nothing, like those 90’s sitcoms or these modern meta shows. Someone that goes with me to bars and dance parties and friends houses and even quieter places. Someone who might want to stay home on a sunday afternoon to watch a film or two after a crazy friday night out. Someone who would argue and discuss our issues but not through fighting, yet through some raw honest conversation. Someone I can be comfortable with. Someone I can dream and build together and individually. Someone who likes sex and wine and cool rock bands. Someone that might feel happy when I’m around. Someone I would be happy to be around. A best friend. A lover. A soulmate or a partner in crime. Life’s the crime. I’m the monster, the Frankenstein. Maybe I’m still dreaming about falling in love with my best friend, and finding a best friend to fall in love with. Could it be you?
Yesterday I went to a pool party and met someone there I haven’t seen in at least five years and haven’t really spoke with in the ten years since graduation… yes, I’m about to go to a reunion any time soon. What’s funny is that I never really had any form of connection to any of my classmates after we finish school, which I’ve always found to be the norm. Apparently not. My friend Jo knew some big news from everybody. Half my classmates are married for a while now. A dozen of them have kids and just a handful finished college, myself included. So that and the revelation that the Mafia me Jo and Louis had meant only that we govern the school by word power only and that it amount to anything really important, was enough to put me on a spiral path. This week’s Gama Magazine main story is about parenting and fertility. I mean, ten years ago I knew I wanted to have a kid or even three, but let’s face it, much has changed since. Besides, I got to see and be somewhat a part of raising my little brother, and that was an experience in itself. Now, I just don’t know that much. Does it come down to being raised in a christian nuclear family embroiled with expectation towards building a modern family of my own? Maybe. Can we come down to the fear of not being able to commit to a long term relationship with someone to have the kid with? Probably. Does it matter? Yes. Knowing that ten years ago I did want to have a kid and now I don’t know that about the next ten years makes everything sound dubious. But why?
Is this whole thing a big old panic attack? I think it is, yes sir.