It’s a fun story.

I find myself alone, yet again, dumped. I’ve been dumped more times than I care to count. It’s funny, because I’m sitting here reading my old journals, and I supposed I should have seen it coming, but it surprised me nonetheless. I haven’t had a moment to grieve, though. Grieve for my dead relationship. Hopefully it isn’t so bad, when it comes to pass.

I really should write this paper.

"A man takes a wife and possesses her. If she fails to please him
because he finds something obnoxious about her, and he writes her
a bill of divorcement, hands it to her, and sends her away from his
house" (Deuteronomy 24:1).

So, that’s what marriage is all about, huh? You know, someone ought to tell my fellow homos that maybe we don’t really want that after all. I mean, apparently, we have to marry a woman. And she becomes our property. I mean, I like women as much as the next ‘mo, but I certainly don’t need to own one. Although, if she’s too obnoxious, then we can send her away. That sounds kind of cool.

Oh, wait, marriage has nothing to do with the fucking Bible.

I mean, if that’s true, then married women of the world, know that you are property. You are your husband’s possession. That must suck.

So, Illinois is poised to become the fifth state that allows two people of any gender to enter into a civil union, granting them the same legal benefits that any heterosexual couple would have, ranging from inheritence to health insurance. Left out, is that whole property bit. I’ve had this discussion with a lot of fellow “queer folks” as one of my professors referred to us. The conversation that sticks out is one between Loverboy and I. He said, “We’ll never be able to get married, we’ll be civilly unionized; That doesn’t sounds as nice.” And he’s right, it doesn’t sound as nice. But if marriage entails me becoming his property that he can throw away when I become too obnoxious for him to handle, then I don’t think I want to be married. I’ll stick to being civilly unionized.

The other day I took an exam with my favorite teacher ever. Completely aced it, by the by. I got to the end, and I was like –wait, it’s over? So, that’s good. Anydrama, I finished the exam and decided I’d wait to rendezvous with the Mistress to grab something to eat. Cut to me three hours later, writhing in starvation on the floor of my room. It was horrible. Susan Sarandon was about to do a commercial on my behalf. (For just thirteen cents a day you can feed starving children like Mykal.) After I finally caught up with her, we embarked upon Green Street to find something to eat. Green is like the nexus of campustown life. The majority of the bars are situated on or just off of it, as are most of the restaurants and shops. It’s like a small slice of urban life in the middle of an unending rural landscape. What was my point? Oh, yeah, okay, I’m getting there. Anyway, after waiting three hours for the Mistress, I had to spend another hour walking up and down Green, trying to find something to eat. Everything worth eating was either closed or a little too grimy. Speaking of which, there’s a new restaurant on campus called “Fat Sandwhich Company” and it’s the most ridiculous thing ever. I’m conflicted by the raging curiosity and unending disgust that I simultaneously hold for this place. Let me give you an example of their offerings: A “Fat F” is a sandwich consisting of cheese steak, chicken fingers, mozarella sticks, mayo, ketchup, and french fries all crammed into an 8″ amoroso roll. I’ve had one friend describe it as “boy food” which I feel is apt. Heinous gluttony aside, I want to try one just for adventure’s sake, and I was up for it that night, until I saw the guy cooking my food. He looked like he sweats Bud Light. It was revolting. We finally settled on a kitschy Mexican restaurant named “La Bamba” which claims to not only stay open late to accommodate, but that they’ll make burritos as big as your head. Something which I wasn’t inclined to believe, but then again I have a fairly large head. So as I’m sitting there, eating my Torta, watching the Mistress eat her tacos at a pace a turtle would envy, she looks up and randomly asks me, “Do you still like [the Boy?]”

The question took me a by suprise because he isn’t something that I’ve been allowing myself to think about lately. By some higher being’s good graces, I’ve found myself actually content with my life. Classes are going well, I’ve managed to surround myself with people that don’t suck, I’m reading more (which I adore, but for the past year or so haven’t had as much time to), Dragon Lady and I are getting along so well, and true miracle of miracles I have someone who, for some unexplicable reason, calls me his boyfriend. I shouldn’t complain. For the most post part, I think I don’t. But there’s always this quiet voice in the corner of head that’s like, “You know, your grades should be better. You shouldn’t have gotten an A minus, you should have gotten an A plus. What? Did you get a B?! Off with your head! Speaking of your head, have you seen your hair? Yeah, let’s fix that, oh and the Red Cross is collecting donations to get you a new wardrobe. By the way, your Mother needs your help at home, and you’re here at school. SELFISH. Oh, and you thought you could forget about that boy you work with? You know, the one you were all in love with and shit? You keep trying to push out of your mind, but it isn’t going to happen.  SORRY. NOPE. HE’S STILL THERE, LOOKING ALL KINDS OF STUNNING. DON’T FORGET. NOOOOOOOOOO.”

So maybe the voice isn’t so quiet; But you get the point.

I was just reading this book, and the author was talking about gays having amplified crushes later in life, because we aren’t allowed to have them like normal people in school. It was like he was writing about me. Later that evening, the Mistress and I were on the bus back to our hall, and she made some motion in reference to the Boy that looked a lot like holding the back of someone’s head whilst they give you head. I told her that motion meant something different to me, and she replied, “He’s taken. He’s fucking someone else’s face.”

Which is true. the Boy has a girlfriend, a really nice girlfriend, the kind you can’t hate – not even a little bit. Whether or not he fucks her face is up for debate but I’d wager no. Anyway, it was weird, because even thought I know all of these things about him, that doesn’t deter my unending interest in him. Nor does my person, my Loverboy. And I feel so very helpless, like a prisoner of my own emotions. Then, I feel so over dramatic and silly. He’s just a person. A collection of molecules, what makes him so special? Besides he’ll never look at you that way. You could coiffe yourself to death, it’ll never turn him crooked.

The whole point, is that it’s time to crush this crush. (Cute, I know) The funny thing is, I thought I had a handle on this, that these feelings have evaporated, but ever since that conversation between the Mistress and I, they’ve been roaring loudly inside me, aching to be expressed, throbbing for acknowledgment. And I’m sick of feeling like those feelings control me or define me in some way. I don’t know how you go about eliminating a feeling, an emotion. Maybe I’ll conjure up some Eternal Sunshine-type shit. Who knows. But, I’m not going to do this anymore, I’m not going to risk my relationship pining over someone else. It’s not right.

Oh, read Dry by Augesten Burroughs. Read Augusten Burroughs.

(17 Mar: Update: It’s funny. I have no conclusive evidence, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this very post caused the crumble of the relationship I wrote about saving. Lulz.)

I just finished reading my favorite novel –The Time Traveler’s Wife– and now I’m all sad and broken-hearted. It’s one of the reasons I’m absolutely in love with the book, it breaks my heart. Anyway, I’m working on a few other novels as well, like:

Devil in the White City
I am Charlotte Simmons
The Road (Which I, for the life of me, cannot finish)
Watchmen

I bought a ton of books over the weekend, but I refuse to start reading them until I finish what I’ve already started. What are you reading? I want to know. What do you recommend?