Becoming a Gay Adult

well, i'm going to visit williams. and in terror i visit with some black gay gathering at the lesbian and gay center and of course they had some trouble getting it together, and although it's fabulous, it's homeless: held in the lobby, under a wispy sculpture of an engorged penis from a detached torso, with classical music playing from some other event that eventually devolves to lesbian two-stepping... it's about relationships. and black gay men. and it's interesting, but no new territory is covered. a question wakes me from dozing: "would you date someone who is HIV+?" and of course, when you are HIV+ and people talk about you as if you're not in the room, like parents of a dazed and confused child, you listen carefully, you become acutely aware of your fate and how it's held in the hands of these people who are going to now make a decision and pronouncement about whether you're good enough to date. as if HIV+ people didn't have enoug

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I love my mother. She got on her knees and scrubbed the kitchen tiles with steel wool...something about applying her feminine touch. Being a man, I have little affection for totally scrubbing away all trace of previous ownership. I'm more like, get it liveable and then live in it. that maybe just me, not my sex She however, found it intolerable to have the dust, grime, matter from previous remain. And so she scrubbed. The apartment is very clean and having lived with her clean-up job for two weeks on my own, I have to say I like it. And haven't had to buy food really for two weeks. Sweet. I'm having a night at home after seeing a matinee of Spamalot (good laughs), and now nibbling on bon bons, especially enjoying Devil's Food Cheesecake from the recently? opened Junior's in the theater district, yum! (immersive advertising) It's Dirty Pretty Things tonight and bedtime...well...anyway, we'll see. It's weird not being driven to go dancing and bars

Admittedly, I could have left the office at 5:30pm. But I was glued to my seat. The image of me dashing out of my apartment to catch the 3:50am bus to get to the office at 5am and my mom trying to hand me anonymously a banana out the front door, was at once hysterical and well, hysterical. Like a woman laced in the Victorian tradition, I feel at a loss for breath when I'm with my mother too long. She was sitting in semi-darkness waiting for me to leave, as if waiting to pounce, and I babbled something about leading orientation and meetings, and all the things I had to do at the office, when all I really wanted to say is, "you're stifling me, and it's beyond your control. We can't do this. We can't be together like this. We need space to love and live peacefully on earth together and I love you, and all the things you've done like scrub my kitchen floor, and buying me a kettle and gloves to hold hot pans, and the post-it suggestions on all my kitchen

Well, I'm settling into my new place. I like it. Tom called. It was uncomfortable, especially since he prefaces his calls with dramatic reports of dying prognoses. Am I becoming callous? And then my mother called a week ago and announced a visit. I keep thinking to myself, her Majesty has come with the white gloves to check out the apartment she helped me buy. That's terrifying. She's there now (I just got back from the alumni board meeting which successfully happened the same weekend she came to visit, but that's done now and I'm back in New York (albeit huddled in my office blogging as I wish I had a couple more days of excuse not to be there while she putters around and dreams up curtain colors)...I presume she's also come up with a list of chores for me to do in my own home. I'm 37 years old and I'm terrified of my mother. It's 11pm. I need to go home. This is ridiculous. It's my home, even if she dropped trou to make it happen and

I called Tom last night…he'd not called for a while (we used to talk every night, but he'd been a bit distant since I got back from San Fran). He says we're not a match…and can we be friends? He did it very thoughtfully and kind as he always is, and I said yes…I was kinda numb, but I didn't act out and this morning it hit me like a wall of emotion and I cried like a baby almost all the way to the subway. On one hand it hurt like hell, on the other, I'm delighted to know that I have full access to my emotions: confusion, sadness, anger, hurt, but mostly deep mourning. It's all good. It means I'm not as callous as I sometimes think I am…I think as long as I have the support network I have, my heart will remain open to love, joy, and the other natural human emotions of sadness, grief, despair, desire, longing and all that. I'm definitely not going to grow old and bitter. I think though I'll need some time not talking to Tom for a bit, and from dating...

There is so much I want to say...by the way, this blogging is fun...like a virtual confessional that the world can receive and expunge. I saw WTC. Moving, and I'm crying and run into one of the Summer Associates from work on the floor and I'm softer, kinder and human with her. It was a tender exchange. The Hollis apartment is working out afterall. I'm hoping to move in August. What a big adult step for a gay HIV+ jamaican-american black man to take. I thought I'd be dead at 30, and 7 years later, I'm thinking of making a home for myself. Suddenly bars became boring and Bed Bath and Beyond compelling. Color schemes and Home Depot projects. Suddenly nesting. And I want a boyfriend to fit all of it...like an accessory. And now I get the whole marriage thing, and the 50% divorce rate. Kinder, softer, gentler world.

There's a strange sound coming from my window, like someone's recording into a microphone. Must be Queens, New York. So the lady came down in her price and it looks like $125K. Crazy world. I could write a pamphlet for new potential homeowners. It's such a long process, not really grueling but emotionally taxing and everyone who's buying should have a sherpa. Tip 1: have an appraisal, or some hard core research done BEFORE you bid on the place. I'm listless, part heat, part my job changing, part the pressure on my brain from this arduous home purchasing process waxing and waning, part I don't know what to think about this budding relationship and I'm flying to San Francisco to be with him for a weekend in his apartment, part I'm turning 37, part how do I help my roommate deal with not having a lease and some finance stuff, and insects, part medical stuff I'm dealing with, and part realizing that I live in a first world country, I'm not in the mid

But it's so sad. Ultimately what I really want is to have healthy connected relationships, take good care of myself, like get 8 hours of sleep, eat healthy and manage my emotions well. Is it so boring to contemplate living a normal drama-free life and not feel like I'm subsumed what it means to be a cool ultra-hip metro out gay man? This is the beginning of becoming adult. The coop might fall through. I might have to start looking for a new place in Jamaica Estates closer to the F train. Taking a bus was way too much drama. I am falling in love with Tom.