Late Tuesday night I found myself sitting at an upscale bar, having a drink, waiting for a burger and talking with Phil. He is my date for Palm Springs and he had not heard the story of Carrie’s discovery. As he listened, he could see the collision ahead and without wavering softly said – before I got to the relevant part – “you and your fucking blog.” He is not a stupid man and is quite facile with words and letters, but he just hears the tales of what has gone wrong and is aghast. He does realize that I have a tiny place in a community and would never suggest disappearing. He is even happy to assist. “Your blog should end with the simple statement: “I am Gay.”” It is not the worst ending line.
There is a part of me which longs to take his advice and I had both before and since been writing a final post. But then it struck me: this is my blog, the tale of my journey and while journeys of life never end, they do have some clear break points. I know what the break point is and I suspect that once that moment is reached, it may very well be farewell, as opposed to my less frequent random rants of late.
The thing is that I still live at home, still write in my basement. It is clear – crystal clear – that the original pipe dream of this being good for years to come is exactly that – an ethereal dream born of delusion. There will need to be a day when I carry boxes up the stairs, throw a suitcase in the trunk, try to keep the suits on their hangers, and drive off if not into a sunset, into something, something unknown and likely exhilarating and terrifying all at once. A moment that will truly be a border crossed.
We are trying to avoid that – at this point economic realities more than anything else. I do not want to force my family to “downsize” because I have taken a little long to address my own issues and because I have decided to live a new life. Carrie is good, sure a little comment here or there, but meanwhile I am sated by an incredible homemade dinner of one of my favorites. She and I lingered after the kids scattered, sipping wine, listening to music and considering that we do have a lot of history, that we are still friends.
But we also know that the myth of being Will and Grace… We have thought about the simple fact that Will and Grace were never lovers, never shared a bed. It is much harder to be fast friends after having been lovers. And while I am a bit circumspect and in a rare moment do not share my thought, I think about Will. He was a “good” gay, a television approved gay. As far as I can tell from the limited episodes I saw (I was never a huge fan) Will never took it up the ass and I don’t remember seeing him on his knees. In fact, I am not sure if he tops or bottoms. He is a very cute made for television asexual gay. And of course Carrie is on to me – she knows that I am not asexual; she knows that I come back from nights out a bit tired, and yes, from our years in the bedroom together she can probably hold court on my submissive bottom side.
So we continue, we share the house, we have our good days and bad days. In short much of a typical life, but in many ways not typical at all. We both know that come next May we will need to make some tough decisions. I will have to weigh the pleasures of my family day and excellent dinner with the knowledge that I cannot bring someone home and that while it is accepted, my comings and goings are noted. On the whole I have nothing to complain of, I am as happy as can be under the circumstances. But there is that damn other shoe.
So someday I will pack the bags and move on. Until then, I suppose you all are stuck with me a little longer.