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Posts Tagged ‘every day life’

Yesterday was my birthday.  25.  Quarter century.  It has been a less than ideal year, and an interesting final week.

So, 24 started out alright.  I had a successful recital, graduated with my master’s degree, went to a summer music festival where I renewed my friendship with Jess and learned a little about my isolationist tendencies and how to fight them.

Then, however, I spent the rest of the summer unemployed, racking up debt, got sick while uninsured resulting in completely losing my voice, got a crappy job as a waiter, quit that job, and generally was a lazy slob.  Oh, and I was rejected from the mentoring agency.

I’m now pulling out of that.  I’m feeling a renewed interest in my music career.  I’ve been avoiding all the illnesses that are floating around (though I did go to the hospital with an anxiety attack).  I’m finally turning my house back around – albeit slowly – and making it a pleasant place to live.  I quit the old job and got a new, better one.

And then last week I came out to My Friend on the Facebook.  That last one is the real reason I’m writing today.  I told MFotF and the King that even though they assure me that all is well, I would still worry.  And I did.  Do.  I took the King’s advice and kept my distance for most of the week.  It occurred to me that that may actually have not been the wisest course of action.  While it gives MFotF the chance to digest what I told her, let it sink in, it also gives her doubts a chance to grow.  I’m not present, reminding her of my humanity and our friendship, so the parts of her mind that tell her that people like me are monstrous can speak to her unchallenged.

On the other hand, most of that battle has already been fought since this is an idea that has been present for a while.  I’m starting to think the advice I’d gotten from that website years ago was 100% wrong.  It said to never let those you love find out for themselves that you’re gay, but tell them yourself first.  twice now, the opposite has proven to be quite smooth.  It’s slower, more gradual.  The other person can work out the fact that you’re still a human being, still the same person as before, without having to actually confront the truth.  When people see things coming they tend to be better prepared when they arrive.

Anyway, I left her alone.  She texted me that night, left me a voice mail the next and that was it for a few days.  At first I was patient, but on Tuesday I was getting anxious.  I held off calling until Thursday.

When I did call, under the pretense of checking what the plans were for today (Saturday), she was normal enough but didn’t seem interested in talking long.  But she was talking ot me, and that was good.  She called the next day to wish me Happy Birthday and was much more friendly, explaining that she was a little short with me the day before because I called during one of her favorite shows.  I understand that feeling.  I said as much too, saying I should really not answer the phone when I’m in that situation, since it’s not pleasant for anyone involved.

“I considered it, but I figured what you were calling about and was going to call you at some point anyway.”

I can see that being true.  I can also see her answering because she didn’t want me thinking she was avoiding my calls.  Either way, I was mollified.

We’ve spoken a few more times.  I’ve come to the following conclusions:

  • Any awkwardness I perceive may or may not exist.  Either way, it will pass.  It is not a sign of anything bad.
  • Even if she’s less comfortable than she claims, the only thing I can do to help is be around her and be myself.
  • Most of it is in my head.

She’s coming down today to help celebrate my birthday with The King and BBM.

 


Well, it was fun.  Not the most fun I’ve ever had with MFotF and The King, but fun none the less.  Here’s the thing though.  Now that I’ve told her, I want to talk about it with her.  But…  I can’t be the one to bring it up, can I?  Surely she is curious.  The King was, in any case.

I suppose I’m just waiting for the transformation.  Really, there shouldn’t be one.  That’s kind of the point of  a smooth coming out.  Nothing really changes.  It’s just a bit anti-climactic.  I spend all that energy worrying and building up courage to tell someone I’m a boylover and then after it’s over, it’s like it never happened.  I guess I’m just not sure what I feel about it.  That’s not completely true.  I’m glad I told her.  Tonight was a good indication that we can still be perfectly normal.  I just…want more.

GAH!  Shut up, Louie!

But just one more thing.  I’s possible that she is curious but doesn’t want to bring it up herself.

OK, two more things.  I still kinda feel like I’m walking on glass around her.  Not for the same reasons, obviously, but for instance, tonight I played a clip of the B minor Mass with boys singing the soprano and alto parts.  I felt embarrassed.  Duh!  I’m a boylover.  She already knows I like boy sopranos a little more than is normal, but for some reason I was still reluctant to play the song in front of her.  Maybe it’s just an old habit.

I should probably talk to The King.  Get his opinion.

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Ah heat! Saturday night I noticed that, though the heat was on (I could hear the water moving through the pipes) it was getting colder. I felt the radiators and pipes. Cold. Great! The heat couldn’t break right before a warm spell. It had to break right after.

Then Sunday, after church, I had to go out of town. No time to fix the heat. So Sunday night after getting back, I headed down to the basement to see what I could see. The pilot was out.

I couldn’t quite figure out how to get to it at first. There was a hole in a metal plate behind the front access panel. I tried sticking a lighted match through there, but I couldn’t get anything to happen.

Monday morning I got out my tools and removed that metal plate. Finally I could see the pilot mechanism. I eventually got it lit (I was having trouble with the matches) but even after holding down the primer for a full two minutes it wouldn’t stay on. I conceded and called a plumber.

The secretary said someone would be able to come out that day, so I called work and said I wasn’t coming in.

At 8:00pm I finally got a call saying they wouldn’t be sending anyone that day and was I available the next morning?

If I hadn’t been so cold, I’d have been smoldering. No. I was not available during regular work hours for the second day in a row.

Someone did eventually come out today and fix it. Ah, blessed heat, how I missed you.

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blah

I have the worst case of lazy at the moment.  I just don’t want to do anything.

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I got payed by the Citadel on Thursday.  That helped.  Not as much as I’d like, but it means I can pay bills without fear of checks bounding and still put a little into the credit card to stay under my limit.  I also got a check from the Choral Society concert yesterday.  That $250 will also be a big help.  Now I can definitely make it until next Thursday for the Restaurant’s paycheck.  I fear it will be abysmally small.  But every little bit helps, eh?

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My life is in need of a little maintenance, I think.  I am writing this on a dining room table cluttered with junk, trying to avoid putting the book in a spot of jelly or the like.  Tuesday.  I’ll do it Tuesday.

Yeah right.

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I am not old.  Most people would still consider me little more than a kid.  I am old enough to drink, but my generation is still viewed, not as children, but as “kids.”  Still, I’m old enough to think about my childhood as something that is over, and will not return.  And I have been, recently.  And–holy crap!–everyone was right.  I’m NOT going to be able to remember everything forever.  I’m already starting to forget stuff!

That’s unfortunate.

So, I decided it’s time to start writing things down.  I started a journal.  The journal serves two main purposes for me.  I’m using it to stop the dribble of old memories from running out my ear while I sleep and getting washed out of my pillowcase when I do the laundry, never to be seen again.  I’ll write old memories down which I think were significant in forming who I am and memories that are just too pleasant to risk forgetting.

The second purpose is what most people use a journal for.  To record my memories, my “story,” as they happen.  To structure my thoughts.  Studies show, journalling improves long term memory, blah blah blah…

It’s also practice writing, and as someone who aspires to write creatively, that’s always time well spent.

But that’s my journal, and this is my blog, so what does that have to do with this?  Well, as I was writing I kept thinking about how it would be received by a person not me.  I think–though perhaps it’s pure hubris–that it could be interesting to a third party.  So, you may love it, you may hate it, or most likely of all, you won’t ever even read it, but I’ve decided to adapt parts of my journal into blog entries.

Why would it be interesting?  (Or controversial, as the title claims)  What could I, an early 20 something guy, possibly have going on that is worth reading about?  I’ll tell you.  (Even as I prepare to type it out on the screen in the privacy of my room, where I can delete it without a soul seeing, without having to speak a word aloud, my heart is pounding and my hands starting to shake.  NEVER think that it is easy to reveal this sort of thing to anyone.  Not to one’s mother, one’s best friend, the purportedly anonymous internet at large.)

I am a boylover.  A pedophile, if you must.  Palsambleu that’s hard.  Before you reach for that “report” button or navigate away, or before you become angry at me for using the two terms as though they were interchangeable (I don’t believe them to be), let me explain to you what I intend here, and how I see myself and those words.

This blog is not going to be about boys.  It’s not going to be filled with “pro-pedophilia activism” or accounts of illicit liaisons with “lily-lad” but rather, as I said above, it is going to be an adaptation of my journal entries.  It’s going to talk about things like tiresome jobs, maxed out credit cards, a fun night out with friends, recently viewed movies, my neighbor’s annoying dog (which hates me right back), troubles with computer viruses and maybe even the occasional discussion of foot fungus.

That said, the blog is not going to be devoid of mention of boys either.  Boys are an important part of my life.  I think about them, perhaps not all the time, but quite often.  The most insignificant of encounters can turn a bad day into a good one.  A distant sighting of a particularly beautiful specimen of boyhood can distract me totally.  But my talking about boys will be in the context of my life, which is much bigger than my sexuality.

As to the difference between boylover and pedophile…  Every boylover–probably every human, for that matter–likely has a different way of defining these words.  To me, they’re like squares and rectangles.  All squares are rectangles (being a parallelogram having four right angles) but not all rectangles are squares (being a parallelogram having four right angles and all sides of equal length).  Pedophile is simply a generic term synonymous with pedosexual.  A person who is sexually attracted to minors.  (We could go more in depth and define separately pedophilia, hebephilia and ephebophilia, but if you’re really that interested, you can refer to the lies on wikipedia.)  A boylover is, oddly enough, attracted to boys.  It is a refinement of the broader group.  But as a term adopted by a community of people to define themselves, it has further connotations beyond the physical attraction, such as a genuine interest in the happiness and well-being of the boy, even at the expense of the boylover’s own happiness and well-being.  But like I said, this is how I think of these terms.  Others may, and will, disagree.

So there you have it.  Blog about the regular every day life of a boylover, no matter how unexceptional that may sometimes be.

Thanks for reading,

Louie Singer

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