Such a turn off...

Blood is not my thing.

Nor is vomit, or pretty much any other human bodily excretion. I'm not a squeamish person, per se; it just seems like when confronted with a pool of red, even if it's not my own, I get a bit of a gut wrenching feeling.

I'd make a great nurse, right?

So it was quite the moment in the men's washroom today that left me standing awkwardly a few feet from the grand white bowl, mouth agape and stomach clenched.

I'd strolled in innocently enough, planning to do my business and get back to work. Unlike many, I don't find the bathroom a refuge; there is no stack of magazines in my loo, since I prefer to do my reading on a softer seat than a plastic ring.

My phone was in one hand, tapping out a text message, while I locked the door with the other. I hit send, then looked down.

Inside, surrounded by clean, clear water, was a large dollop of blood and a small smear of brown.

Being the quick thinker I am, I flushed immediately before the sight made me gag. Only after the water had rushed away did I think about what someone had left behind. Can you say 'fucking gross!?', cause I sure can.

Of course, my mind then jumped to wondering just who it was that left a great deal of themselves behind in the toilet at work. It looked as if their ass had been raped with a rusty nail, then left to unload into a public rest room.

I shudder to think how this happened, and pray the poor soul isn't suffering too much. I mean, really! Jesus, that must have hurt!

I also shudder to think that anal sex can do such collateral damage to one's colon.

So, thank you to the guy who left a piece of himself behind in the toilet, only for me to discover after eating lunch. I sincerely hope you're not bleeding to death, or suffering any long-term effects from your backdoor activities.

I'll just try to focus on the good feeling instead of the bloody mental picture I have next time my own back door becomes the subject of certain activities.

$15 for your thoughts?...

It's always amazing when you call someone with your own troubles, only to have them superseded by theirs.

That was the case last night at around 8:30, when I called a friend to complain about our final assignment, and exams, and studying, and laundry, and a bunch of other things that were happening. She let me ramble on, talking about this and that, and about this cute boy that I'd taken a shine to from a class. I finished my complaining for that moment, after asking her for some advice, and then dropped the usual, "And how are you?"

"I'm late."

"Late for what?" I asked...then said, "Ohhhh...shit."

As it happened, she was late about five days for her period, something that always comes to her like clockwork. I went through my limited knowledge of the menstrual cycle. Her stress levels have been high, she said, thanks to family and school and problems. So maybe it could be that, she guessed.

"But I don't know what to do," she said quietly.

Truth be told, neither did I. Not like I've been having my period since I was 14 (is that even when they start?) and not like I've ever really asked Mom about periods and the woman question. I asked her if she wanted to wait a few more days, or talk to a nurse, or another girl, or maybe try a pregnancy test.

"I just don't know what to do," she said again.

"OK, well, sweetie, do you think that doing the test will make you feel better?"

A pause. "I guess so?"

"Alright then," I said, "so a pregnancy test. Easy stuff." As far as I knew, but what the hell do I know about women?

We talked about doing it for a few more minutes, and I asked her if she wanted to come over and do it here in my bathroom. "No, that's OK," she said. Her boyfriend wasn't going to be by for a while, so she would just do it herself.

"Are you sure about that?" I said. I didn't want to push her into having me help, but she seemed half-gone at that moment.

"No," she said, starting to cry.

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," she said almost silently. I swear I could hear the tears by then.

"OK, that's what we'll do. We'll just have to go to the pharmacy and get one, and then pop back to your place."

"Where do they have them?" she asked, "and how much?" There was another pause. "I guess I could just go get one myself..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"No, no. I'll just pick one up on the way," I said. "Sit tight, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

My trip to the pharmacy was embarrassment free, which didn't really surprise me. I walked to the condoms and cleverly underneath was a row of pregnancy tests. I took a brand name I recognized, looked it over, and went to the pharmacist to pay. No questions were asked, until I asked about a girls period being late. She told me it could be anything from stress to illness to physical changes, but that it was a good idea she do the test anyway.

Her parting words of wisdom actually went on the 'Things I Learnt Today' list: Girls can actually have their periods change if they start hanging around with another group of women. I kid you not, their bodies actually tune themselves to each other so they all get bitchy and bloody at the same time. I shook my head, paid the $15 bill and headed out.

This would be my first time ever having to fulfill the role of 'girlfriend'. I mean, I'm there for my close friends, but I've never been asked to do that whole 'girlfriend' thing, to fill the shoes of the more experienced woman. Hell, I'd come prepared with a 5 minute crash course in periods, pregnancy and the hCG, dropped $15 on a test kit and powerwalked ten minutes to confront a girl about her sex life and talk periods and menstrual flow.

To say she was cowering in her room would be an accurate statement. For some reason she never likes crying in front of me, so the tears had stopped, but she was still in a state. I gave her a hug, and she squeaked out a, "Thanks for coming."

Why do people think they are so totally alone in these situations? I would move heaven and earth to help the people I love, and I don't think a second thought about it, yet people seem so surprised that you would be willing to help. But she seemed so generally happy that I had taken the time to buy her a test kit and come do it with her, as if the possibility that I wouldn't come even existed. It's almost like people expect you to tell them you're busy when they need to go to a hospital or are getting divorced or have just accidentally drown their significant other in the coy pond.

All I know is, I really have faith in my friends, and if I ever asked for help I sure hope they're there for me too. I just hope that faith isn't misplaced, because everyone other than me seems to be surprised at my random acts of kindness.

"OK, so bear with me," I said as I pulled open the box and read the leaflet. "I haven't done one of these before, for obvious reasons." Why not insert a bit of humour? It's not like we might have an newly minted mother on our hands.

We read them through together, and I asked her if she needed any more directions in my best doctors voice. She said no, and I went back to the page.

"Sometimes I wish I was gay," she said, exhaling on a laugh. "You don't have to deal with this."

I tried as best I could to keep my forehead from launching off my face. "Well, yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "We just have to worry about, you know, that test that you can't take back."

We both laughed, but I think I got my point across.

"Right, so now you've just got to go wee on a stick, and we're all set," I said.

She looked at me. "Wee on a stick? What the hell is that?"

I glanced over at her. "Well, come on, I haven't done this before. The only experience I have of pregnancy tests is from Bridget Jones, and that's how she described it," I said, in mock defence. "Jesus, besides, they at least had a bottle of wine on the go...what do I have!?"

She stepped out of the room and I sat staring out the window, mind ablaze. Not that I really believe she was pregnant, but still, there always is the freak chance...

...and as I was finishing that thought she came back in the room and slammed down the test on the chair in front of me.

"How could you be done!?" I asked, "you just went in there! Did you, uh, get it on the strip?"

"Oh yeah," she said, "easy."

We both sat there. A pink line appeared. "Don't worry, that just means the test is working," I said, still staring at the line. Don't you fucking move, I mentally chanted to it.

To break the ice while we waited, I asked if she had told her boyfriend what we were up to. She had said she was 'concerned' but didn't come out and say it to him. I then asked if she would be telling the boyfriend if it came back positive, and got an 'I don't know' answer. Probably best to stop there.

After a few more minutes, I realized we'd forgotten to check the time. The test was supposed to show within 10 minutes, and we were pretty sure that over five had already passed. We waited a few more, then she breathed deep and said, "That's it then, I guess I'm not pregnant."

It was very anti-climactic, really, because I didn't get that rush of 'ahhhh' that I expected. Probably due to the fact that I 'knew' that she wasn't pregnant, but still, we both felt a sense of relief. I packaged up everything and put it back in my bag, figuring it best not to leave a spent test in her garbage can for prying eyes. Around that time I realized my head was pounding, so I got some aspirin and a glass of water and we just sat there shell shocked.

A few minutes later, we Facebook stalked a cute boy in a class of mine, to get her opinion, and then I decided I should make my exit before the boyfriend came by.

"That's it, I'm never having sex again," she said. "Never, never, this is crazy. I'm done." I contemplated the thought of 'never never' having sex again, shuddered, and told her she'd be back in bed with her boyfriend inside a month. She rolled her eyes and called me oversexed.

"Thanks for coming," she said again, and gave me a big hug.

"Of course," I replied, and she walked me to the door. A few minutes later I was out on the street, breathing in sweet fresh air and contemplating moving to the mountains and living as a hermit.

---

Of course, no day like this could end without one more little slap in the face.

I smacked the up button in my lobby, blaring music and trying to pretend I was anywhere but there. The door slowly creaked open to the elevator, and I stepped into a car that was already half full.

Within about a half a second, I realized someone who we all know and love was also on board, standing in the corner. He looked as good as usual.

Indeed, Elevator Boy was again locked in an elevator with me, who looked like absolute shit, Carly Simon blaring out of my eardrums and looking withered and washed out.

I made the faintest of eye contact, then glared at the door, cursing my ever-ridiculous situation with the guy. I swear, one of these days I'll actually say hi. Either that, or hope to God we meet through one of our mutual friends. To think, I've gone an entire school year and not even said hi to him...what am I, 12?

---

This afternoon, while walking through the mall, I found myself passing by some sort of drop-in massage place. I had actually walked by it, then stopped, backtracked and read their sign. My back was killing me from what doctors like to call 'tension' and normal people call real life, and since I knew I wasn't going home to Swiss Boy, a hot bath and massage oils, I figured what the hell. For $25 I could get a 20 minute massage.

As luck would have it, there was no wait, and after filling out a questionnaire that asked me everything but did I enjoy getting fucked by barnyard animals, I was introduced to Brian, a middle-aged guy with a strong handshake.

"So, what are we working on today," he asked pleasantly. "Anything bothering you more than other areas?"

"Uhh...upper back?" I said, since I have no real idea what you call where it hurts other than pointing.

"OK, upper back, shoulders," he said, and sat me in this back-rubbing-chair-contraption.

I've never had a massage with a shirt on, and I've got to say I'm not really a fan, but the things that man did to me were wonderful. I have definitely said "harder" and meant it before, but he could deliver.

As he was rubbing away I could actually feel the tension in my body. Sort of amazing what we can do to ourselves, isn't it? As he moved to using his elbows, he hit one particular spot that was the money shot of the massage.

"Mmhhoooo," I groaned in pain. It felt great, but ow, it hurt.

After a few more such noises, I amused myself contemplating how much noise one young gay boy is allowed to make with one older straight man before it raises eyebrows.

As if on cue, he moved to my spine, pushing from the bottom up. A second later, there was a loud 'crunch crack' and he stopped. "Wow," he said, "even I heard that."

"No problem..." I moaned.

---

In other news, the Swiss boy left today. He gave me a big hug, which I happily ate up. Annoying in a way, since he's pretty much exactly my type (except for the straight part). Tall, really good looking, European, intelligent, quiet in a fiercely friendly way.

The hug felt really good...I never really noticed, but hugging boys just feels so much different than hugging girls. I hug women all the time, and boys infrequently, but this felt just nice. I tucked right into him, which annoyed me further, because honestly what kind of a tease is a perfect hug?

He did leave me with one great memory though, a going away picture in my mind. As I was walking to my room, I passed by my roommate's door to see him standing beside the bed. What caught my eye was the blur of motion, as he leaned back to stretch his arms out. With his arms pinned behind him, his newly-bought white Abercrombie tee rode way up his stomach, giving me a brilliant view of his amazing body.

And that's just how I'm going to picture him when I remember him.

Just the waiting...

Well that was a bust.

I called the doctor's office this morning, and headed out to get my results. The entire time I tried to ignore the gnawing in the back of my head, to block the sneaky fears out and just carry on with it.

For the most part, I guess, it worked. I sat patiently and pensively in the waiting room, finally called into an empty exam room by a really young, really cute (I'm assuming) male nurse. He stayed with me for a minute, then said the doctor would be along.

When the door opened again, I got that little clench in my chest. This was it...

"So, what are you here for?" the doctor asked cheerfully.

I nearly fell off the bench.

After explaining my situation, he looked over my chart. "Ah, here we go," he said, glancing at the typed information. "Hrm..." he said. "I see some results here...but not everything. How many tests were run?"

As it turned out, the only results he had were for the most basic blood tests for electrolyte levels and such. None of the big, important ones were back yet, nor will they be back until possibly two weeks from now.

Great. I wasted an entire morning, plus $23 on a doctor's note, to find out pretty much nothing.

Of the results that I did get, everything 'seemed fine' other than a slightly higher-than-normal white blood cell count, which 'could mean a lot of different things' and 'isn't specific enough' to help in any diagnosis simply by itself. Doc said the higher white count can indicate the body is fighting an infection of some type.

So I have to wait now until they have the results - all of them - before I go back and hopefully get diagnosed.

Afterwards I felt really edgy. Naturally I was upset that they didn't really have my results, but I understand that nobody really is to blame for that, they simply take that long. I also felt this sense of wonder...what exactly is wrong with me? Naturally I started let my imagination wandering about, and by the time I'd joined up the class I had missed most of, I was a bit bummed.

Thankfully the people around me today were great and helped cheer me up. I guess I'm being way too concerned for no reason at this point, and they all agreed that I shouldn't worry too much until there is actually something to worry about.

What bothers me the most is that I'm having a lot of trouble switching the worry off. I can't put it behind me, adapting my usual professional understanding of conditions and diagnosis and options. All the stuff I'm used to doing with my mother, being the one who looks at things scientifically and rationally from the start, is seeming to be really difficult to do in my own shoes. I dare say I'm getting a sense of how it feels to be the actual person waiting for the results, not just a person in their life who waits alongside them.

Maybe that's part of the reason I'm getting worked up over things, the fact that my family has a bad history of things not going well medically. I guess I'm just expecting something terrible to pop out from the results and scare me to death.

Whatever the case I feel better about it now. There's nothing I can do for the next week or more, and I probably won't hear back from them until after Easter. Until then I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed and focus on life. After all, I really shouldn't be that worried. Whatever is actually wrong with me, by all accounts, should be fairly straight forward to treat.

That is, I hope it will be.

"Please call us back, at 416-..."

The Doctor's office left a message on my machine this afternoon.

Which means, something came back on their tests. After all, the lady said, "No news is good news, it means there's nothing there."

I got the call, so apparently I have some news. I have to wait until tomorrow morning to call the office, where I will no doubt be given the run around and asked to book an appointment to see the doctor, and who knows when that will be.

So there, I guess I got what I was hoping for; the tests are showing something.

Then why am I scared tonight?

I'm so tired...

I'm tired on two levels.

Physically, I zombie-walked through today. After waking up at 9:30 with a splitting hangover, I downed a glass of water and tried to sleep. But it was one of those ill-hangovers that, in addition to making you feel like shit, give you this nervous twitch that keeps you from peacefully falling to sleep. To combat this, and give myself something to think about while I lay there, I popped on some Frasier and pulled the covers over my head.

I managed to fall asleep around noon, and found myself in a bizarre dream. The world was very dark, something you would see in a '30s film noir. I remember looking out the window at a city that looked entirely art deco (which I love) but ultimately very cold and detached. At some point I was in a class, where the guest prof wanted to lecture in French, to which we agreed. Bizarre.

My phone, conveniently placed on the bedside table, went off ringing loudly in my ear, thrusting me from my dreamspace. It wasn't important, but it took me out of my deep sleep.

The rest of the day was spent puttering quietly. Nothing too strenuous. I wound up taking Lisa some chicken soup, as she's fallen ill. We sat around for two hours reading newspapers and trying to generate essay topics. Neither of us were successful.

Once I was back home, I returned a call to my mom, who needed me to look something up online for her. While I was doing that, she got very quiet.

"So I got some results today," she said, of the recent follow-up tests she had.

Basically, from what I understood, her results were very ambiguous. There's a growth, but it could be a polyp. Most likely it is, as the medication she's on as part of her post-cancer treatment is prone to growing such polyps. It's one of those situations that are becoming ever-familiar. The constant check ups and wondering what's going to turn up, the inevitable questionable results...the waiting.

I waited for a few seconds before the silence was broken.

"Well, what are you thinking," she said.

"Really, I just...it all never seems to end."

"Yeah, that's for sure," she said sadly. "But what do you think."

"I really just don't know what to say," I answered. "I mean...I don't know enough about your results, I can't give an opinion. I guess we just wait for the next test and see whats what."

She sounded a little surprised. "Oh..." she said quietly.

"What do you want me to say?" I said, "I don't know enough about it, and it's just what we always do. Don't worry too much, I mean there's reasonable chance this is nothing. It's just really a lot...we seem to do this a lot."

I honestly don't know how to do this any more. It used to be I had to be the scientific one, and play the line between being worried and engaged while at the same time stepping back and looking at all the science involved. She told me afterwards there were moments she felt I wasn't concerned enough or that I wasn't taking the big picture into account.

So with that in mind, I had to really be careful, and will have to, to be as compassionate as possible. Because, of course I'm worried to death about this type of thing, but I can't let it become my focus.

It all started when I was 17, the tests and waiting for results, then the further tests and all the appointments and worrying and wondering if this time, really, there will be something wrong again. And it's been this way for four years now. And it'll be this way for many more.

And I'm starting not to be able to cope with that. Of all the test drama, tonight's news just seemed to set something off in me; it revealed how tired I am of this. How I wish it would just not be this way.

But of course, it has to be. Because if I had nothing more to worry about she would have to be dead. And really, the worrying is a small price to pay for not being dead.

In all of this I'm sure she's tired too. It frustrates and bothers me, and it's not even my body. But we experience things pretty much together, so I hope she doesn't think I'm undermining her own distress when I say how it never seems to end.

Someone asked me how it had changed my life, having a mother with cancer at a young age. I didn't really have an answer; I don't know how things would have been different had this not happened. But I guess what I'm discovering is the times when the specter hovers in the peripheral vision and the lifelong commitment to concern and worry is brought to my attention again.

I'll sleep tonight, probably not well. I'll catch up on the sleep I missed because of Halloween and drinking too much. I can't seem to take away the other weariness, no matter how much sleep I get.

And I probably never will.

Back to bum-fuck...

"I'm home again in my old narrow bed, where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end."

Thanksgiving is upon us. Well, Canadians anyway. We like to be odd, and celebrate in October. You know, keeps space between turkey times...lets you work off the extra ass fat before the Christmas calorie rush.

The drive home took longer than usual. I can't believe how traffic has continued to increase. Watching the scenery change was interesting...why does it feel like I've been away for so long?

Really, I think this is probably the longest I've gone away from home. Some days I missed it, but I was adapting to my own life in Toronto, as unglamourous as it at times is.

But this weekend is going to be sweet. I skipped my classes for the rest of the week, and don't have to be back until next Wednesday morning. And I plan on enjoying this time at home, with my family.

---

I fought the urge the entire ride home to scream, "I'm dating someone!" to my mother. I mean, all my friends are excited...well, the ones who know anyway. A huge part of me is yearning to hear her approval, get a pat on the head for finding myself someone. But I'm scared, too. She's shown though she cares about me, she's not really ready to handle my sexuality.

The plan is to tell her tomorrow. Whatever happens happens, but the whole point in coming out is so I can live my life. I'm not going to hide this from her even if I'm scared she's not ready to hear it.

I've also decided to draw the line about what we discuss. There is a pretty good chance she'll ask if I've slept with him, and quite honestly it's none of her business. I'll discuss the intimate details of my sex life with my close friends, but certainly not my mother. When she asks, I'm just telling her it's none of her business, as hers is none of mine.

---

After dinner (a stupid time of day, I know) I ran upstairs to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I stripped with enthusiasm, tearing everything but my socks from my body.

The mirrors showed me my naked body, illuminated by 200 watts of light. I did a mental grimace, because I really can't look at myself and think, "Oooh, looking good today!"

My toe jammed into the base, and I stepped on. Terrified, I stared straight ahead, back standing rigidly at attention. I counted to three and looked down.

I've lost weight.

Thank God.

We have no scales at our apartment, something I plan to remedy. So I've had no idea what I weigh, or how much I've gained since going back to the land of easily accessible food and beverage.

But my newfound attention to food has done me well, and I almost collapsed with relief.

Now all I have to do is vomit after every Thanksgiving meal I eat (which will be two or more) and I'll be set.

---

The air has a bite I have not felt for months. I think by midnight I may even be able to see my own breath. Without concrete to warm us, the evening truly feels like fall.

For the first time in over a month I have seen stars. Hanging vividly overhead, they are as spectacular as memory serves.

The things we give up to live in a city...

A touch of clarification...

I've been asked about my weight and my plight to loose a few pounds, and realize that I didn't paint a completely clear picture in my last post.

I was never really overweight or obese or any of those terms. That said, I was on the higher side of my Body Mass Index, though still in the 'healthy' section. Remember, I come from the place that fixes meat and potatoes for every dinner, and nobody around here is shy about eating. I fit into that category, because I do like food, especially homecooked stuff.



Part of my motivation is health related. I eat anything...which means the healthy stuff right down to the bad crap like fast food. Well, I guess I should say 'ate' at this point, as I've cut out the fast food and really slutty snack stuff. I want to increase the vegetables and decrease the meats, and try to buy foods that are high quality to begin with, in an attempt to live a little healthier. But this isn't an obsession, or a pre-emptive hit on future health problems, its just a little innocent cleaning up my act. Though I still am slightly vengeful of teenagers who eat crap all day yet are improbably thin.



The other part is appearance and physical strength. Though never 'fat' (for lack of a better word), I wasn't toned. I did physical stuff when I lived at home, but my first year of school was pretty sedetary. My biggest walk to class was about 5 minutes. Second year brought a big improvement on that; I had a walk to and from class everyday, plus more walking around the city that I've ever done before. It started to come off through stress pounds when the situation with my roommate started to deteriorate and when I actually cared. Then, I just got into some bad habits because of the hours I kept at school, and ended up eating less.

What always shocks me is the number of really skinny guys. I mean, I know that porn and models are pretty much always skinny bodies with ripped muscles, but holy crap! Even reading things online, profiles of guys who are " 6' and 160 lbs" shock the hell out of me. How do they get so damn thin! I understand part of it is related to your natural body tendencies, so maybe since I'm broad shouldered and really tall, I have a few extra places for pounds to go.


Admittedly a large part of it is wanting to look more attractive. Not that I run around with my shirt off in public, or go to foam parties on my weekends, but lets face it, everyone likes hot bodies. And though I know I'll never be able to look at myself and say, "Damn, looking hot!" I'll enjoy it more having a more toned and defined body. Truly it's shallow, for society to be so enthralled with the 'perfect body', and I feel a little badly writing this. But at the same time, I want to pick up hot guys, or get picked up by hot guys, and it's just the way it is.


Also, I know that I'm not going to get the 'perfect body'. I don't plan to spend hours in the gym every day, or go on intricate diets to enhance pretty much anything. I just want to loose a bit and tone up.

Oh, the humanity (part two)...

I laughed and told Lisa, who then said:

"I'm a little worried about you. Not about the fact you're going online, but the fact you're sleeping with guys when you don't even know what you want."

I then got to feeling even worse than before. She didn't look down at me when I told her about my 'guys on the side' before, but tonight she seemed to be getting worried about what I was doing. I questioned her about what exactly she was 'worried' about, considering we'd had the safe-sex discussion, and the fact that I was actually enjoying some sexual activity.

"It's just, you don't know what you want with Jamie, and you visited that other guy more than once, does he mean anything to you?..."

I started wondering if the reason she was 'worried' is because I'm not being monogamous with any specific person. Sure, I got a few under my belt, but now she must think that I should settle for sex with one guy, regardless of if we're going out or not.

Now, I'm not entirely sure, because we never finished that part of the discussion. So I'll just have to wait and see what she says face to face.

I ended up telling Nate (the guy who messaged me, the one who I've hung out with twice) that I wasn't up for anything tonight, since I've got studying to do and have to be in bed at a decent hour. After that, I collapsed into my chair, and felt awful. Just a sick feeling, eminating from the pit of my stomach, totally distracting me from doing much of anything. I just felt so swallowed up in the immenseness of it all...not that I expect my change in life to be as simple as clicking my heels...but I've already worked through a lot of what I thought was bothering me in December. Now, I've got a fresh weight hanging over me.

I just want so desperately to be embraced by a boy, someone who wants to spend time curled up in bed with me, watching tv or reading, having a home-made dinner together, hitting the town for an afternoon of culture or an evening of drinking...

See, I missed the whole relationship-jumping in highschool. I had my fun with a few girls, but somehow stayed single for the senior years. I never got any of the fun, dopey, corny 'together time' with anyone special, since I was never really going out with anyone. And it's not like I think it's dopey or corny to want to snuggle with a guy my age while watching Boston Legal tomorrow night, or having dinner on Thursday evening...I know I don't want an infatuation, an obsession with one person where I can't spend a moment without them. I just want a little love and attention through the week. Unfortunately the only love and attention I can get right now begins with a conversation online and ends with cum drying on my body.

So I trudged out in the freezing cold once more to find some food for my single dinner. I went to the grocery store, found some good-looking frozen home-cooked-style dinners, but decided against waiting for the oven to blast the package for an hour. In January I promised myself not to go to McDonalds anymore, but tonight there seemed no other place to go, so I started walking to find one.

After getting very cold because I forgot my mits, I landed into a Micky-Dee's and hurried up to the counter. I just wanted my poison, and then wanted to get the hell out of there. But naturally there was a lineup (after 8pm on a Monday night...), so I waited paitently.

And who was ordering before me? Hot college-aged gay guys.

And how do I know they were gay? Other than the beautiful tans, the cleverly torn jeans, the overly put-together hairstyles and the all-telling fur-lined jackets, they were loudly making plans with each other (and other guys on the phone) about which gay bar to go out to tonight.

Fuck. I'm buying McDonalds on a Monday night feeling depressed and alone, and four rediculiously hot gay guys are making plans to go out to one of the gay clubs in the city, meeting more rediculiously hot friends there.

It's not that I necessairliy want to go out with the clubber-boi posse, but they make it all look so easy. No doubt they've got a huge number of personal issues, and they probably are all sleeping with each other's boyfriends...but fuck, they make life look so easy and fun.

I placed my order and paced the floor, wanting desperately to get out of the sight of these guys, and put the evening out of it's misery. Finally my food was ready, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. But as I started walking, I skidded on the slick tile and slipped right into a table. Thank God I didn't fall over, because I would have died right there in McDonalds. I mean, I was reaching the point of crawling into a corner and crying myself to sleep, until the nice men with butterfly nets came and took me away. I recovered and without looking back stepped back into the frigid night, returning to my empty home, empty couch, and empty bed.