Halloween 2006
Went to a party at my friend Greg's house. His partner Steve (who was dear long time friend of mine) died of a heart attack this past March 14th at 53 years old, and this is the first party he's thrown since that time.
Kevin, the organist from the Methodist church that kicked me out in 1994 was there. He kept talking about how that church had changed into our local 'Six Flags over Jesus' church. Last Easter I rode my bicycle by that church on the way to my church (Unitarian Universalist) and remember thinking that it could have been an SUV dealership. Uncomfortable. At one point he asked me how long I was at Broadway (the church). I said from sometime in September of 1992 until 6:30p.m. the afternoon of April 17th, 1994. He stopped talking about church stuff.
Seems like Halloween is a very gay holiday - I mean, most of us gays are masters of make believe - but tonight I left feeling sad. I feel sad as I write this. I've been staring at this screen for some time, and I've decided to leave out other snippets of conversation that led me to this feeling. There were people there I knew, of course, and others that I didn't, but I felt apart and seperate and unable to bridge the gap that stretched like a desert between me and other folks.
I am, however, glad I went. Had I followed my usual instincts, I would have stayed at home and avoided the gathering. I figure that if I ever hope to have a satisfying social life (hopefully with a boyfriend in the picture) I'll have to mingle with gay people at some point.
I should have ridden my bicycle. Even though Greg's house is about 3 miles down a very busy, very dark highway, there is a back way to get there that is about 8 miles. It goes over an old iron bridge that spans an almost magical stretch of the Barren River. The reason I didn't ride is because the last time I rode that particular route, I was nearly wiped out on my bicycle by a herd of deer. That memory added to the certain prevalance of drunks on the road made me think the auto was safer. I still should have ridden the bicycle.
Kevin, the organist from the Methodist church that kicked me out in 1994 was there. He kept talking about how that church had changed into our local 'Six Flags over Jesus' church. Last Easter I rode my bicycle by that church on the way to my church (Unitarian Universalist) and remember thinking that it could have been an SUV dealership. Uncomfortable. At one point he asked me how long I was at Broadway (the church). I said from sometime in September of 1992 until 6:30p.m. the afternoon of April 17th, 1994. He stopped talking about church stuff.
Seems like Halloween is a very gay holiday - I mean, most of us gays are masters of make believe - but tonight I left feeling sad. I feel sad as I write this. I've been staring at this screen for some time, and I've decided to leave out other snippets of conversation that led me to this feeling. There were people there I knew, of course, and others that I didn't, but I felt apart and seperate and unable to bridge the gap that stretched like a desert between me and other folks.
I am, however, glad I went. Had I followed my usual instincts, I would have stayed at home and avoided the gathering. I figure that if I ever hope to have a satisfying social life (hopefully with a boyfriend in the picture) I'll have to mingle with gay people at some point.
I should have ridden my bicycle. Even though Greg's house is about 3 miles down a very busy, very dark highway, there is a back way to get there that is about 8 miles. It goes over an old iron bridge that spans an almost magical stretch of the Barren River. The reason I didn't ride is because the last time I rode that particular route, I was nearly wiped out on my bicycle by a herd of deer. That memory added to the certain prevalance of drunks on the road made me think the auto was safer. I still should have ridden the bicycle.
posted by Woodog at 11:21 PM
2 Comments:
I am not sure if I understand about the cause of the sadness, but I know that some conversation with a gay party crowd can leave me flat and disconnected, lonely too. Funny because I am with "my people" but I guess like many minority groups, we feel pushed together even if we don't have much in common or even like each other. I know I feel like I have a small pool of queer folks to swim among sometimes.
I'm just lonely. I've not had a relationship for nearly 16 years now. By relationship I'm talking about anything with at least the promise of tomorrow attached.
But I want one. I really do. Part of the reason this 'blog' exists is to sound out what is me, and maybe figure out why I've been single this long.
Post a Comment
<< Home