We are closing your accout sir, your reality check just bounced.

Date: Sunday May 29th

I’m sitting here at work, half asleep, and I really don’t care. Apathy anyone? I’ve got plenty to spare.

One of the regulars pulled up into the parking lot and was waiting for me to open this place. So I intentionally drug my heels. But still had the doors open five minutes early. Sometimes I hate being me.

It’s memorial day weekend, so of course the news is full of stories about dead soldiers. Oh fucking well. Death is the price you risk paying for picking up a gun, traipsing off to some godforsaken part of the world, and shooting at the natives. Of course, they are going to shoot back, it’s called self defense, look it up morons. In my opinion, there is nothing heroic about turning humans into hamburger with automatic weapons.

Oh, if you haven’t guessed, I don’t support the war. I think it’s nothing more than a political scam with no more purpose than teats on a boar. It’s simply George Junior’s way of trying to do what daddy couldn’t, only to discover that he, himself is also woefully lacking where it counts, Brains!

Yes, I’ll admit I’m being harsh. But someone has to, as the rest of the nation seems content with being ladled out one heaping spoonful of bullshit after another.

People are constantly telling me I’m good looking and sweet. But when I look in the mirror I see what’s under the surface, and it’s ugly. I don’t like what I see in myself. Can anyone say false advertisement?

I know I’m far from one of the “Beautiful People” who dominate the idiot box and the big screens of theaters. But I’m sure if I put for the effort, I could be a close second. However, it would only make me that much more of a poser.

I guess I have something that the majority of gay society seems to be lacking, depth. Too bad, really that it looks like an oasis, when it’s really a tar pit. But hey, at least I’m not shallow.

I put a smile on my face, shave, comb my hair, put on clean clothes and walk amongst the rest of the world. But I feel no real kinship with anyone. Don’t take this to mean I don’t care about my friends, because I do, I just don’t care about people in general.

One woman came in about a week ago and asked me, “How do you do it? You’re always polite, smiling, and seem to be so happy!” I told her I just look at life as one big joke, of which, we are all the butt of. I lied. And that’s the secret to my happy exterior, it’s a lie, one big, dark haired, hazel eyed, good looking - lie -.

If anyone were to ask me if I lie, I’d probably say I try not to. But that also would be a lie. So why do I do it? Because if I were to show my true colors all the time I’d be even lonelier than I already am.

Sooz comments when I’m being moody and grumpy, she calls me “Grumpy butt” which translates to “Moody Asshole” in my mind, little does she know, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg breaking the surface.

Sometimes I just get tired of smiling, and playing nice. Being the “Good Guy” and looking all cute and cuddly. That is when the smile fades, the eyes narrow, and my sarcasm bites like a chainsaw.

Sometimes I think I need to see a shrink, other times I know I do. I hurt the people I care about, and have difficulty showing affection towards them.

I know I have issues, probably an entire fleet of 747’s worth, but what bugs me the most is the apathy and the rage I feel when ever I get into a situation where I’m arguing with someone.

My heart races, my muscles tense and there’s this sense of “Prickly static” that washes over me. I loose all sense of anyone and anything outside my direct line of sight, it also takes me almost fifteen minutes to unwind after a simple, but heated exchange of words with someone.

I don’t like how I feel when this happens, and I can tell, something about the way I look scares the hell out of people when I’m like that.

I’ve only hit someone in anger once in my life. And that was when I was 16, the day I came out to my family. I went off on my sister after she’d said some particularly hateful things about gays. Ok, Ok, I didn’t go off on her, I exploded. She’s terrified of me when I’m angry to this day, 16 years later.

I don’t remember what all I did to her, except a few minor snippits of memory, beating her head against the floor, kicking her, and calling her everything but a white Christian woman. Next thing I remember is sitting on my bedroom floor between my dresser and my bead, thumping the side of my head repeatedly against the side of the dresser.

I was crying and couldn’t stop, there was blood on my hands, but I couldn’t remember how it got there. I begged my mom to take me to the hospital, but she wouldn’t. Two days later, I was walking through the living room and saw a bottle of my mom’s xanax sitting on the coffee table.

My mother and grand mother were talking in the kitchen. So, as if it were the most natural thing to do. I picked up the bottle, popped the cap, and proceeded to swallow half the pills in the bottle, one by one, before my grandmother caught me. Either she didn’t realize how many I’d taken, or she didn’t care, because she simply gave me a scornful look, took the bottle away from me then turned around and walked away.

I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for a friend. We were chatting when the pills began to kick in. I don’t remember what happened next except Anthony was standing beside my bed, then I remember the emergency room as they tried to pump my stomach, then I woke up strapped to a bed in the hospital.

People talk about fear, self loathing and pity when they talk about suicide. I felt none of that, all I felt was numbness as I picked up that bottle, and began deliberately swallowing pill after pill. I wasn’t scared, I didn’t hate myself, I was fully aware of what I was doing, and what the results would most likely be, I was just numb, empty, and was sick of it all.

I guess numbness isn’t the proper word, I remember that same, “Prickly static” in the back of my mind, it wasn’t as intense as when I get angry, but it was there, lurking, dampening all my feelings.

That feeling didn’t come back until I was well into my twenties, and it hit me like a tidal wave during an argument. Now, the prickly static lies just below the surface, and when ever I’m angry, it’s volume is cranked up to a deafening roar.

It’s not a real sound, like static from a TV or radio, it’s more a sensation than anything. The prickly feel isn’t a real feeling either. It’s just hard to describe. The best way I can think of to describe it is this. Imagine a television tuned to an empty channel. Now, crank up the volume on the sound,, take the static on the screen and “Wrap” it around your thoughts, so anything beyond what’s currently going on in your mind is masked behind that static. Now, take the roaring hiss from the sound of the static, change it from low and hollow to a flat, higher frequency buzzing hum and that’s the “Prickly static” I experience.

Some people say they see red when they are angry, I hear and feel static. I guess I’m just nuts….

Freddie from the Four Seasons was just in to drop his cloths off. Cute guy, don’t know him that well but know he does some sort of tours. He didn’t recognize me right off the bat, took him a moment but he finally put two and two together. I think he was a bit embarrassed at first when he realized who I was. But I put him at ease by being casual but professional, making a bit of small talk as I did the paper work for his laundry. I told him I’d have his cloths done in a couple of hours. All I can say is I no longer wonder weather he wears boxers or briefs. ;-)

I haven’t seen James all this week; however, we have been talking via e-mail almost daily, sometimes we exchange messages several times a day. I would prefer to hear his voice, and see him sitting across a table or next to me at a bar, but I’ll take what he’s willing to give. Daily contact, if even via e-mail is better than talking for a handful of minutes once a week.

I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I’ve noticed something since I’ve moved to New Orleans. I hate to be touched by females. Anything even remotely intimate, like a hug or an arm around me, that I don’t initiate causes an extremely unsettling feeling of repulsion within me. And I, without thinking, withdraw from it.

I know it’s irrational, but it makes me feel unclean. It doesn’t send me running for the shower mind you, but it does make me recoil from the person doing it as if I’d been burned. Sooz seems to delight in pushing me about this, and it only makes me like it even less. And some times I just want to scream at her, I’ve even had to bite my tongue in order to repress my desire to say some particularly vicious things that would only serve to hurt her. But she won’t leave it alone. And she does it intentionally in public; this only amplifies the intensity of my reaction. I -Really- wish she would take a hint and keep her hands off of me. It makes me feel violated and I don’t understand why.

Yes I’m gay, and I can function with females on a casual, social level, however, when I’m approached by one who makes physical contact beyond a casual touch I have a very strong, very negative reaction to it. It doesn’t matter what that person’s intentions are behind the gesture, if it’s initiated by them, the results are -always- the same, pure and utter revulsion.

Children and teens do not produce this reaction in me. It’s only produced by adult females and certain adult males. I have noticed however, that with the males that produce this reaction, the severity of it is far less intense, even if it’s done in a public setting. Besides getting that creeping “Get your hands off of me” feeling, I am able to tolerate it until they release me from the embrace.

I guess with straight guys, they have the same feelings, just the genders are reversed. Looking at it that way I can understand why some men have a violent reaction to unwanted physical advances by another guy. There have been times when the reaction has been so intense that I’ve almost hit the person. -Yeah- I guess I do need to have a talk with a shrink.

I was reluctant to write about a lot of things I’ve put into this post, simply because they are so personal to me. But also, because expressing them and laying them out so openly will probably hurt some people who read this. For that, I am sorry. It’s not my intention to hurt anyone who reads this, simply keep in mind that these are my rambling thoughts, frozen in time and given digital form for the world to read. They are not meant as a personal attack against anyone. I try to write this with an open mind, and with an open disregard for who may read it, simply because opinions are like assholes, everyone’s got one, and they usually stink. So if you don’t like mine, get your nose out of my ass crack ;-)

Business has picked up in here, there’s got to be at least twenty five people in here, and as expected, it’s noisy as hell. I don’t think it helps that our quad-load washer is loaded to the hilt, unbalanced and running in the extract cycle right now. The damn thing sounds like a freight train rolling through here at eighty miles per hours.

It’s almost straight up noon now, and it feels like I’ve been here for longer than six hours. I’ve already got all of the drop off’s done except for one, and it’s in the dryer now. It should be folded and ready for pickup in about half an hour.

Before I started this job, I used to lothe to do laundry, but now it’s not bad. I actually enjoy it and have more respect for my clothing, doing my best to take care of it so it always looks nice.

I’ve also started buying nicer looking clothing, instead of my older, drab and dull looking stuff. Now, if I can just get back on to my original diet, before I moved here, and drop more weight, I just -might- like what I see in the mirror.

Yes, yes, I know, yet another thing for me to talk to a shrink about.

But hey, I like myself more now than I ever have in the past. There are times when I look in the mirror and actually like the face looking back at me. Those are the times when I let myself see what the world sees when they look at me, the rest of the time I’m not so diluted.

Sooz is starting a plot on Mesick, the game server where we staff. Hopefully it will go well, the plot officially starts tomorrow. For some reason I can’t seem to really get into it. My interest in role play waxes in wanes without rhyme or reason. I enjoy it when I’m in the mood for it, but in all honesty I’d rather spend the time with real people than be sitting in front of a computer living life in a fantasy world.

I think I’m going to check out the French Rivera spa after work today. I’ve been toying with the idea of joining a gym for the last few weeks since I bought the weights and started lifting again. I -want- to get into shape. I like the way I look and feel when I am going to a gym, although with this job, I’m not sure if I will be able to afford it. I may have to look into finding a job which has a better pay rate.

It’s thundering outside, It rained earlier this morning and will probably pour down again soon. I think new Orleans is one of the only places I’ve ever been where it’s 80 degrees at six in the morning, and gets so hot by noon that you not only want to strip your cloths off but your skin as well. I’ve been told that the weather this year is mild compared to what it usually is, the heat and humidity surprisingly haven’t gotten too me as much as I had anticipated it would. Although arriving here in October, staying through out winter and spring has helped me acclimate to the weather here, I’m sure if I’d come here from Michigan in the heat of the summer I’d probably want to die.

I haven’t as yet seen the streets flood, although Sooz has woken me up with the announcement that the street outside the apartment was flooded, my desire for sleep overrode my curiosity at that point and my only reply was a grunt before I rolled over and went back to sleep. By the time I’d woken up, the drainage system had done it’s job and the streets were dry.

I have no doubt however, that I will, some day have to wade from the car to the door step. This is the price one pays for living below sea level.