I hate when I get like this…
I don’t eat because I forget to. I flake out on friends or don’t make plans to begin with, I have no way to tell for sure if I’m skipping out on stuff because I’m too depressed to handle it or if I’m making excuses because I don’t want to do things that would pull me out of it.
It hits and hits hard when I’m not expecting it, and the slightest stupid little thing can throw me from “doing okay, even cheerful” to “visibly morose and feeling like shit with zero motivation to do anything at all.”
And I have had some seriously fucked-up things happen lately, but after I was already falling down into this. Monday night when I was drinking to forget, I got hit on (or so I thought) by a really cute girl I was flirting with at the bar. She was with a couple guys, and while during conversation she did make a couple of really really horrible racist statements (generalizations like “Mexicans are all dirty and even if sometimes hard-working, they’re only here to steal our Welfare” and “Blacks are all the ones doing criminal things, shooting and robbing, you see it on the TV every single day but if you try to say anything, then ‘No! That’s racist!”), she seemed otherwise okay. Guess I can see the “impaired judgment” at work there, with the alcohol in my blood. Should have been a Big Red Flag not to get involved. I managed to get drunk enough that I totally spaced out on letting a friend know what I’d decided for my plans that night, left him hanging when I said I might come over and crash…
She invited me back to her place a couple blocks away, and here I’m thinking “score! Hot chick taking me back for a few more drinks and maybe even some sex!” As we’re walking, she tells me in passing that this is actually the apartment that she rents for her two teenage sons, and that the 19-year-old is there… so, great. No sexytimes, that’s for sure. Then after we get there she mentions that she’s seen me before, I’d complimented her shoes at the coffee shop next to the bar we’d been in. (I didn’t get the chance to tell her that in all likelihood my compliment was what I knew I could get away with, because what I’d wanted to say was more like “You have an incredibly sexy body; want to take me home and fuck?”)
Then she starts telling me that she could tell I was trans* — and launches into this disgusting spiel about how I was such a cute man, and “oh, you know I’ve been in the fashion industry, I know, I get it, I’ve seen ones like you” but wonders how I could possibly be attracted to women, and “if that’s the case why wouldn’t it make more sense to just be the handsome, lovely, beauti– well, handsome man you are, I can see it in you!” Follow with many more backhanded “compliments” and bullshit like “I mean, I can see it — oh, I could cut your hair off, put you in some slacks, mmm! You’d look so good! Or, y’know, I could just leave you kinda like that (gestures at me) and.. well, you could look kinda good that way too…”
Much more crap while she tried to wrap her head around my repeated statements that I am ethically non-monogamous, prompting over and over again about “But can’t you see yourself with The One Person who will be your everything? I mean, sure, there’s companionship and such that you can get from a few folks but what about The One True Ultimate Settling Down?” and trying to sell me on a very specific version of “You have to figure out what it is that you want, and you have to write it down this specific way… like, say, companionship, you have to write down about the guy of your dreams — or, okay, I suppose the girl or whatever, but The Guy that you want to be with and put it where you look at it every day… so what do you want?” Then back again to pushing her ideals of heterosexual monogamy on me, erasing my trans* identity, erasing my lesbian identity, erasing my non-monogamous identity, everything about me was irrelevant to her as she kept “asking” me what I want from life and then telling me how to get what SHE wanted FOR my life.
When we went in to sleep, almost 2am, she opened the incredibly soft queen-size futon mattress — best bed I’ve been on for years, better than a waterbed even, “the cheap $200 thing from Costco” she called it — and brought me blankets far heavier than I prefer, but still functional… and she went to sleep on the small bed in the next room, opposite her son. Then came the New-Age ambient music, not pleasant to me at all, and turned up way too high — interrupted occasionally by the Pandora commercials. (“Look around your office. Is anyone playing music on a boombox? No! Like any well-adjusted member of a workplace in the modern technology age, they’re streaming music, from The Cloud! So why can’t your PBX be the same way?” Gag-a-rific.) She fell asleep almost immediately… and snored. Loudly. I was exhausted enough that I drifted off for a few, but woke at about half past 3 and stayed awake for several more hours, probably close to 7am when I finally dozed off.
I awoke to her puttering around the house in nothing but a bath towel — salt in the wound when she’s got such an amazing body and I wasn’t going to get anywhere near it, when I had thought that was the reason she invited me back to her place. I’d been nothing but shameless in my flirting and explicit as possible with my intentions (any of my friends who’ve been out drinking with me can likely attest to my open and up-front style, especially when I’ve got a bit of booze in me!) so I was pleasantly surprised to think that this might be one of the extremely rare occasions where someone was receptive to that. So, she’s wrapped tight in her towel, offers me a clean towel and a brand-new bar of soap, to take a shower (“sorry it’s so tiny, I really am!” she apologizes, for the shower big enough to fit 2 or 3 people comfortably without touching, with the separate tub to the side) and goes to make coffee for two in her cappuccino machine — or that may have been the home espresso maker. I’m not sure which one was which, since there were a couple high end coffee-drink gadgets side-by-side. Then we walked back to the coffee shop and I bid her farewell.
This is, mind you, after Saturday night, when I went to a farewell party for a good friends’ housemate… and after being gone for almost an hour waiting for my order at a nearby restaurant (I’d had no food that day, and wanted to eat before drinking much) I got back just barely before things wound down. So, here I am, making conversation around a campfire, and this guy I’ve just met starts trying to “solve” my (non-)problem of how to make myself financially stable after I’ve just told him that my first priority is finding a place to live — crashing in a friends’ guest room isn’t a long-term solution — and trying to dig out the “answer” of what marketable skills I have (“surely there’s something you can do on a consistent basis for reliable income!”) I try to tell him that I’m grateful that he wants to help, but that I’ve had this conversation before, many times, and that my priority is finding housing; I then tell him (as I do with most others) about some of the difficulties I’ve faced in trying to find a stable place — being robbed at gunpoint twice in less than 6 months out in East Oakland, under a slumlord who had literally cut cables so that we could not access the internet at home, and more — and he cuts me off to say, “Look, I don’t want to hear your sob story; just shut the fuck up and do something about it already! You’re capable, intelligent, obviously not disabled, just quit bitching about how bad you’ve got it and make the changes you need! You’ve got this!”
Oh, and I’ve had someone who’s expressed significant interest in fucking me — and if she could get her shit together instead of “break out the Selsun Blue, Head & Shoulders won’t cut it” level of flakiness, I’d be thrilled. But she can’t seem to grasp the concept of “If you don’t give me any advance notice, I’ll likely be occupied with other things.” When she tells me she’s busy the next night and can’t meet up, she still seems puzzled and disappointed when she texts me the next night and asks if I’m around and want to hang out, and I tell her I’d love to, but I scheduled with her lack of availability in mind and now I can’t change my obligations to other people. She asks me in the morning if I want to hang out that night — more specifically that it would be awesome to have me over for sex, but doesn’t respond to my repeated queries of “what time? When were you thinking of? Just wanted to know what kind of scheduling! If I don’t hear from you by 4pm I’ll have to make other plans…” And when she called me at 4:05 and I’d made up my mind to tell her off, and she gave me an unprompted list of “I recognize these are the things I’ve done that are problematic, and here are the changes I can make to do better in the future” I was shocked. My gut said it was lip service, but it didn’t take much of anything from me to hear her say all the right things, give all the right answers and at least appear to be genuinely contrite. So I figure maybe there’s a chance after all… until two days later (tonight) when she sends me a text message at 7 in the fucking evening to ask “do you have plans tonight?” I didn’t bother answering. When she called at 8:30, I had stepped away from my phone (it was charging across the room) so I genuinely missed the call, but I’m not sure I would have answered anyway.
It’s tough when right now she’s the only woman around who’s actively offering pussy to me, but then she can’t get things together enough to do more than just offer. There are a couple others — Smash for example, and the previously-unnamed Hands — who have shown interest and made offers, but aren’t currently available… self-care always comes first, before any other considerations, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to interfere with either of them doing exactly that right now. It’s still hard when I’m aching for that contact and knowing I don’t have it.
Look at the clock… there’s my prompt to finish, along with inspiration the post title. Damn near enough — It’s 3am.