na foine ting
Friday, April 30, 2004
The problem isn't coming out gay.
My problem is always coming out bi. Everyone knows I'm gay (even people I don't know know me). The trick is going... "but wait, you, you I'll fuck" to people I find particularly tasty.
Then there's the whole inevitable "but I thought you were married and gay..." thing. So tedious.
I want a button.
"I'm gay and married.
Except for you, sweetass. Get over here."
Yeah, yeah, I'm all talk.
Anyway... so last night despite things being the chaos they've been, my fabulous family gave me some very precious, much needed writing time.
I cloistered myself away in the office, ate garlic pasta, drank, mantled over the keyboard a while, and emerged after some time to take some things to the washer.
Bec said, "I thought you were writing."
"I am writing," I said. "I've written two words. That's good, isn't it?"
"Only if they're 'the end,'" she said.
Not the one I'm married to; the sevenling-writin', marathon-runnin', fellow mnemonic plague carryin' one.
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