The rumbling underneath my seat is making me antsy. Flickers of amber rays dance in and out of my side-glance. I can never seem to wear the appropriate clothing. It's 37 degrees in December. Now normally the Amtrak train to Washington DC is warm and toasty this time of year. Outside was bright. Sun rays coating the grassy knolls and projecting it's yellow tinge on the baron trees. I think I'm depressed. Or maybe some type of chemical imbalance that makes me procrastinate, overeat and dream constantly. I have this idea of life. These reoccurring themes in my head. I often smile and laugh at myself. Jerry, you idiot. You're a moron and a failure. I am not saying these things for someone to state the contrary. I am saying it because I enjoy it. I enjoy feeling like scum and telling myself that I am the being undeserving of something great and beautiful. After all, if life miraculously changed and I had everything I every wanted I would still be unhappy. Somehow the mums that would line my cobblestone walkway would be the incorrect shade. Or the Land Rover in the driveway would have electrical issues. I would like to run away. The question is where?
In what Podunk town will I be able to finally relax and gather my self. It isn't the issue of surroundings. I believe I am the issue. It isn't the issue of things or success. Again, I am the issue. Somehow my virtuous and fleeting self is too much for anyone to handle. I am a procrastinator who believes that he is entitled to all of the riches and fame. I scoff at myself because of my absurd thoughts of cabdrivers being my own personal drivers or my partner in life "acting" as my personal assistant. Who am I and where do I get off.
I'm rambling.
I'm Rambling.
It was raining again. My thoughts were bouncing around inside my head like a pellet in a tin can. It was the second day that I lay awake; thinking of him. It was almost disastrous how he and I met because my life would never be the same. Rainy day, eyes lock, blah blah blah. Now, 8 years later and things are different. Something that was once so full of romance is now filled with companionship. I have moments when my anxiety takes over. It’s as if I’m pubescent teen and my parents will walk in on us. Maybe it is this raw underlying belief of homosexuality being this thing that devours the youth of middle classed black women’s children who grew up in the mid 80’s to early 90’s. These fatherless homes where women reigned as both good cop and bad cop. Mr. and Mrs. And yet still a nurturing gift from God a women in all of her splendor. It’s funny; mothers often hold big shoes to fill. We try and try to find someone as perfect as mother, but we fail. Yet, it is quite easy to find a father. Any guy can take on that role. Mr.. John, Minister Gary and Uncle Thomas. All fathers in their own right but none of them sharing your love for Budweiser and a charming smile.
I think it’s too easy. Too easy to blame my sexual desires on the fact that my father wasn’t around. My partner’s father is still with his mom and it’s been over 30 years. My partner is gay, super gay. Not gay as in shaking his ass on the dance floor in H&M super skinny jeans. Gay. A man who loves the male form, down to his hairy legs and big feet. I love him. He has this odd way of walking. Its like his right knee is more sensitive than his left. He does this thing when he gets excited that involves his wide smile, teeth and tongue. He’s adorable, and almost innocent in how I love him unconditionally. What confuses me is why this feeling is wrong. If another person attempts at answering by saying “Because in the Bible …” I am going to scream and then sodomize them- I’m kidding. This isn’t my only annoyance. I hate judgment and I hate fat women that smell like Victoria’s Secret body spray spewing the words, “faggot” and “bitch-made.”
I hate how society no longer finds it acceptable to use the words “fat” or “stupid.” Now it’s turned into loving your gluttony and taking medication to help deal with your stupidity. Maybe that last one was a bit mean and close-minded. What I am trying to say is that we are accepting the wrong things or am I upset because we accepting all things. Treating this world the way a waspy mom treats her only child. Spoiling it rotten and coddling it because Daddy is working late again.
I’m rambling.