words, words, words
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Thursday, May 06, 2004
My mother will be here in about six hours. I'm starting to get nervous. I'm fairly confident it will be a pretty easy visit. We'll see parts of St Louis, maybe see a play, walk around and enjoy each other's company. But there's always so much that's not being said. See, my mother's love is conditional. She loves me, so long as I'm not gay in her face. She loves me, so long as I don't speak out against war and killing.
So she probably loves me even during those times, when she can't agree with me. at least, she says so. But what matters more, her words or her actions? When it's obvious she hasn't stayed in any of my apartments since I've come out - instead gets a hotel - it's a slap in the face. Like i'm diseased. Her inability to see anybody else's side, her decision to look at the world in right versus wrong, makes me scared of her. Should I be scared? no, I wish i could say I don't care what she thinks, or create some distance there where I can care what she thinks but not to the point that I am frightened of her disapproval.
I'll show her the things that I like to do; she'll like some of them in spite of herself. she's the kind who will watch you cook, with a dirty look on your face saying, what are you cooking? you're adding that? ewww! and then, when she tastes it, will like it, and compliment you. so you have to endure the rudeness to get anything good from her. She'll hate my hair but she'll like the rhubarb pie i'll bake for her. I'm running through a list of good and bad things, parts of me she'll like and parts she'll dislike, hoping that in total i'll be in the good category again.
Four years ago, almost to the day, my dad found out I was gay, by looking through my desk drawers and finding bar notes with guy's numbers on them. We didn't talk for a year afterwards, my mother and I, not for a few months, but probably only about four or five times the whole year. She didn't invite me to see her for Christmas that year, for the first time ever. I can't tell you how much all that still hurts.
Last year, I started to talk to her, to finally approach her about leaving the Air Force, about being gay, things we had avoided saying for years. We talked three different times about it. I visited and helped out twice last year when she had surgery. I'm trying so hard.
She'll be here in less than six hours. this time i won't bring up the hard stuff. we'll just try to enjoy spring and each other, as much as we can. can we? How do you soften a Mother's heart?
12:00 PM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
