The Death of Imagination

This is a birthday for the books.

As per usual, I hemmed and hawed about what I wanted to do. Fortunately, two things happened recently that made the decision easier: one was that Clint and I got invited to a pool party in Indiana and I enjoyed riding with him there and back as much as I did the party itself. The second was him telling me that he was maxed out on vacation accruals and needed to start taking random days in order not to lose more PTO.

Putting those two things together, I came up with the idea of a day trip across the border to Wisconsin, batting around various ideas (Madison, Genosee Depot, etc.) before settling on Milwaukee. It's a city I've been near rather than to--always either visiting the baseball stadium on the south side of town or our college friends in Glendale and once a friend staying near the airport. And this despite how very accessible it is from Chicago and how much there is to see there. In particular, the art museum. I'm a huge Calatrava fan and there's so little of his architecture in the USA that it beggars belief I haven't made time to visit. With that as the keystone, it was easy to round out the trip with a little lunch beforehand and a shopping run at the public market on the way out of town.

On a tip from a friend, we went to Tupelo Honey in the Historic Third Ward. It's apparently an outpost of a North Carolina chain but regardless the fried chicken was legit--so much so that Clint mused ordering takeout for dinner as well. I wasn't impressed by the dessert choices, however, so I googled "frozen custard third ward" and begged Clint to take me to Purple Door. When it comes to ice cream, I believe less is more, so I was chuffed by the "split single" which offered two flavours in one scoop. When I saw the cone, however, I asked, "Is this a split single or a double?" It was a lot but it went down so so easy.

As for the museum, it lived up to all my expectations. The main hall is simply gorgeous; we spent the first fifteen minutes just gawking and taking photographs. The galleries themselves feel slightly like an afterthought, tucked off to one side as they are, but I really appreciated how many lovely spaces are tucked in among them. For instance, in the modern wing, there's a room on the southeast corner with maybe three sculptures and spectacular lake views that I can imagine become a favourite spot if I visited more often.

As for the collection itself, it's not bad. Lots of solid works by less-knowns like Gabriele Münter and Conrad Felixmüller mixed in with lesser pieces by better-known contemporaries. We were singularly unimpressed with the contemporary wing but the design gallery was well-populated and very interesting. (Apparently I missed a spectacularly ugly Victorian couch by not visiting the pre-20th collections but, as they say, always leave something for the next visit.)

Clint was pretty tuckered at this point and waited in the car while I did the market. I was slightly disappointed to find out that it was more food hall than food market, with only a single vendor each for such things as fresh meat, fresh fish, and cheese, but the standards seemed pretty high. I left with no cheese curds but "salmon crack" and a couple of spreads for dinner on the deck.

Driving in and around the city was wack. Apparently the POTUS was speaking in a factory nearby so there were odd street and lane closures all around. On top of this, the streets and lanes are poorly-labeled and some of the driving is impressively bad. (To quote Clint, "Illinois drivers are bad but at least there's a logic to what they do.") Just as well that next trip we hope to take the train and spend more time getting around on foot or by trolley.

I came home to a beautiful bouquet from my sister sitting on my welcome mat. Later, as I was sitting out on the back porch having a cocktail with the neighbours, my brother called and I brought him up to speed on our travels, which caused me to miss the call from my neighbours coming over with frozen custard to treat me with. Mom forgot to call again but I was in such a state from the successful trip and the scores of good wishes on FB and in my DMs that I hardly noticed. Looks like we've got a good blueprint for next year!

Fifty-three in two weeks and I can finally say I've eaten at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

RJ's week-long staycation ended today. We went on a bang last night with the third of his high-end meals. He gave me my pick of which one(s) to join him for out of Jeong, North Pond, and Temporis, so of course I chose the priciest (and only non-refundable) option. I was nervous all day but everything turned out nigh-perfect.

The service, though superior, was not flawless. I thought there were some odd lulls (notably the ten minutes between when we were seated and when the server returned to take our drink order), but overall it was friendly without being familiar. There were some fun moments, such as when I puckishly drew attention to an ant in my microgreens. The server didn't apologise but she did offer to replace the dish. I told her I wasn't bothered, but they still comped me a glass of wine.

And what a glass! RJ isn't a drinker so we opted not to do the wine pairing but I had a cocktail to start and was trying to decide on something fortified to finish with. The sommelier offered me three options. The first I forget, the second was a Madeira, and the third options was something "Madeira-adjacent". "Would you like a surprise?" he asked and I assented. He was positively giddy when he returned with a 1968 Rivesaltes. Yes, dear reader, I drank wine older than myself last night.

The only clunker of the night was the duck breast, which felt a little perfunctory. Oddly, it came with duck confit "gnocchi" that was outstanding; we agreed we'd have much rather just had more of those. The wagyu beef was nice, but I thought it was their seafood that really shone: marinated razor clam, an uni amuse, fluke escabeche, and a butter-poached piece of lobster that was to die for. When I showed him a picture of the duck, Big Red mocked the plating as being "so 2015" but of course it was new to me. I especially appreciated the use of edible flowers and tiny leaves that were easy to eat. (I've always struggled with what to do with lemon balm, for instance; pick it when it's the size of your fingernail and garnish a dessert with it is one option, apparently).

But what really made the evening for me was RJ's mood. I've seldom seen him as happy as he was last night. Maybe I deserve a little of the credit, at least indirectly, since I'd gotten him invited to a cocktail party earlier in the day which I wasn't able to attend myself (since it was rescheduled from Friday due to storms) and it went smashingly apparently. It's seldom that I get him to myself and those 2+ hours were a reminder of all the things I enjoy about him.

I thought I'd be up all hours afterwards but I was full without being overfull and probably could have fallen asleep close to my regular time if I'd made a dedicated effort to instead of lying in bed replaying the delights of the evening. One of these was realising how impressed my younger self would be to see my now, dropping $300 on a meal without an ounce of regret and comporting myself with complete ease in an elite eatery. This is what you hardly dared dream for yourself, hon.

So--in the most predictable turn of events ever--I gave Useless Fuckboi another chance and he blew it. Actually, depending on your accounting, I gave him two more chances. He initially asked to meet Thursday but then around noon he texted asking to reschedule. He told me that, the night before, his estranged ex had tried to break down his door and he'd ended up calling the cops (a story which I accepted at face value at the time but now I'm beginning to doubt). He asked if I was free on the weekend, and I was like, well, I'm meeting my friends at the beach Sunday afternoon and that's right by your place so maybe I could stop by afterwards?

He was enthusiastic; we discussed the idea and made plans. He sent me nude selfies. That morning he texted me "Hi" and I responded "Good morning". Later, from the beach, I sent a cute picture of me and Kayla. No responses. As the party broke up, my friends asked me what I was about and I was like "He has until the bus comes to get back to me." As it turned out, the bus wasn't coming for a while so he had plenty of time to fail to get back to me. I sat in the park next to his apartment building and left a voicemail. Finally, I headed home and fixed myself dinner and a cocktail.

I made the decision not to be angry. Why? What difference would it make? On the ride home I'd been formulating snarky things to say. I was going to congratulate him on using the opportunities I'd given him to cement his reputation as a useless fuckboi. In the end I discarded them all and finally sent a neutral message to the effect of "This seems like self-sabotage to me and I hope you get help." He hasn't responded and I doubt he will. Given how stroppy he was before, I imagine he's found some what to take offence at this. So what; fundamentally not my problem.

The day at the beach, btw, was terrific. The idea germinated the Sunday before when I went there after Greek Fest and was joined by a big red pal of mine who is not Big Red. We decided we needed another beach day and floated the idea in our big gay chat group. Despite a health advisory due to Canadian wildfire smoke, we got a dozen friends to join us including "the children" (Kayla and RJ) and Big Red and his boyfriend. For our friends JIves, it was their first beach day of the entire year.

The weather was great, the water was comfortable (RJ surprised me by going in waist deep with a fraction of the fuss he made last year), and most surprising of all I actually did something sportsbally: We found a fun trio with a floating stereo out on the water and tossed around a spongy little ball for what felt like a solid hour or more. This was especially gratifying because it gave me an opportunity to chat with a cute guy I'd been ogling since he'd arrived a while earlier. That's me--always looking for the next potential disappointment!

In a slightly different world, I'm beginning today a bit underslept but very satisfied with myself and looking forward to a rendezvous after work. In this one, unfortunately, I'm fighting off a crisis of confidence and dreading more disappointment.

The reason why is really infuriating. About a month ago, I ran into a guy at SoFo. Five years before, I'd tried to hook up with him and got jilted because of a boyfriend he didn't bother to tell me about. Well, the boyfriend is history and he's feeling frisky, so we finally hooked up about a week later. Since then he's been in my DMs sending me nudes, but I held out for a proper date. That date was supposed to have been last night. Tuesday night, I texted him to confirm. I heard nothing back until about 8 this morning when he sent me a half-assed apology coupled with same lame excuse about thinking he'd replied when he hadn't and then getting dead drunk last night (an unsatisfactory explanation which raises more questions than it answers).

I'm pissed, of course, and pissed that I'm pissed. This isn't even a guy I like that much--I was honestly a bit relieved to be able to stay in and do laundry. But coming, as it is, during a dry spell where Hump Day is ignoring me again and Miller Park still hasn't set a date for our next rendezvous, it's yet another blow to my confidence and it takes energy not to start spiralling. I just don't need this.

Most frustratingly, it's distracting me from anticipation of what should be a lovely evening. This is also not someone I'm that into--he has a boyfriend and, based on our previous time together, I've even categorised him as a "bad lay"--but we have common interests and he's been texting me regularly about how much he's looking forward to going for sushi with me. I'd like to respond in kind, but at the back of my mind there's this fear that this will fall through too. Which normally would be NBD, but coming on top of everything else it would really deflate me.

Today I'm dealing with the usual event drop after an above-average Mem Day weekend. I'm not exactly sure where to lay the credit for the latter; I guess just the cumulative effect of trying to make better decisions about what is going to give me happiness and satisfaction rather than leading me into anxiety and brooding.

We kicked things off Thursday with the welcome party at Jackhammer. Clint wasn't feeling up to going out so I donned some leather and went over to Randall's alone to pre-game. There I ended up meeting yet another bartender, a charming Lithuanian named Arina, and striking up a conversation with yet another nice straight guy, who introduced me to a peppermint schnapps I actually like. At Jax I immediately ran into a circle of pals from the old Bear Pride days and mostly chatted with them, though I did meet some new folks. It was busy but not too crowded and I found someone fun in the Pit to take home for some good times.

It ended up being a late night so Friday I wasn't up to much. We've still got the issue of demo work being done across the street starting every day but Sunday at 8 a.m. or close to it, so sleeping in is a dodgy proposition. I was a bit at loose ends for what to do in the evening since the weed event at SoFo held little appeal for me. Fortunately a couple of our friends suggested a backyard hang at their new house which I hadn't seen and was eager to visit. It was more beautiful than I'd imagined--and a mere four blocks away!

Around 9 pm I realised I needed food and stumbled over to the chicken fingers place on Sheridan. I was drunk enough that a nightcap at Anvil seemed like a good plan. I didn't really see anyone I knew but I did end up chatting with a lovely Belizean man and getting so distracted that I left my bag behind. Luckily I only noticed this around 11 am, which was right about when the bar reopened, so it didn't ruin my sleep. Clint heard me tearing around the apartment and volunteered to drive me over to look for it. It was, of course, exactly where I'd left it, pressed up against the foot of the bar where the bartenders never spotted it.

To celebrate, he took us to Tweet for brunch and we almost immediately schnagged a deuce on the front patio. Clint was in a rare mood, constantly laughing and singing and generally being a beacon of brightness. He didn't want to drive to the IML vendor mart afterwards so we went back home and switched to CTA. The hotel was chaotic and crowded, but upon arriving at the mart we immediately met a dozen people we knew. One of them, an aggressive Italian, kept demanding ussies and we were happy to slip away to another room for browsing and voyeurism.

Eventually we washed up in the barroom at the north end of the hotel and found a generous bartender who was essentially pouring doubles and charging for singles. At that point, it became pretty clear we weren't going anywhere for a while, but we were both enjoying the atmosphere immensely. Finally as it got late I suggested we head north for some food before going out, which brought us to South of the Border on Morse since the other mooted possibilities were already closed or closing.

Again, we pregamed at Randall's. Again I chatted up an amusing straight boy, this one a graduate of SLU law school. Then we crossed the intersection to Jackie's and saw a line the likes of brought me back to the Bear Pride days. Clint went up front to check whether his pass gave him priority access and it did so he abandoned me tout-de-suite. But the line was very social and I made new friends on all sides during the 45 minutes it took us to crawl to the door. There was a similarly long line for the downstairs so I decided again just to hang in the front bar with pals again. There was a gorgeous Asian bear from Twin Peaks in SF who I tried to bag but though he was very kind I saw his eyes darting all around and decided to make it an early night.

Sunday morning was a little stressed. RJ had planned a brunch in Evanston at 1:30 and seeing that it was after noon and Clint wasn't stirring, I intuited that he was bailing. Fortunately he was still able to give me a ride so I was able to arrive ontime. LeTour is a cute place and we loved the staff. The young bartender was a little flirty and very solicitous and our server was *very* California and made us all fall in love with her a little bit. She also tipped us to an afternoon happy hour with raclette so we'll have to find a time to do that soon.

After dessert at Café Coralie, I got dropped at home to find a mess on the porch with our neighbours fit to be tied from the noisy power washing next door. It made me happier than ever to peace out and head to my powerlifter friends' barbecue steps from the Howard Street Station. As evening drew on, various folks peeled off to head to other locations, mainly SoFo, but I wasn't eager for another late night (which I knew that would probably turn into) and I was enjoying the quiet company so I lingered and lingered.

The next morning, I awoke with a bit of anxiety about having lingered too long. It took me a bit of time to push through that and get myself on the road to Sidetrack, but I eventually managed and found the boys in the atrium. We headed up to the roofdeck just as it started to fill up and shnagged a good table just opposite the bar. It made a good seat of operations from which to run around the bar and I ended up with a lot of new names for my "New People" file, some of whom are local and I'll probably see again. RJ made plans to hook up with an out-of-towner I introduced him to and I'm having my usual mixed feelings about that but I drowned them in a negroni at SoFo after another unsuccessful attempt to dine at Middle Eastern Grill turned into a quick run to Jet's.

I ended off the weekend as it began: With a shot of Ullr at Randall's. I still have some emotions to sort through (probably with the help of Clint's overtaxed ears), but overall a successful time with only a few stressful patches. Could it be I'm finally getting the hang of this?

Being a man of the world is exhausting sometimes.

Yesterday I headed over to Jax for the monthly non-bear tea dance. It was lovely weather and the place was packed. Among the mostly unfamiliar faces, I noticed one that had stood out to me the night before when I'd visited the bar briefly after my regular cocktails. He'd been prowling the downstairs in heavy denim jacket and I'd considered approaching him but I was kinda tired and kinda done so I just headed home.

If I had, I probably could have taken him home. As it happens, what I ended up doing was procuring him for another. Not intentionally of course--when I chatted him up Sunday afternoon and bought him a drink, I had every intention of getting his digits. But when he casually said to me, "Your friend is very cute," I pretty much knew how things were going to turn out.

The friend is a fellow chaser with highly overlapping tastes and more game than me. I tell folks that I consider him a valuable source of intel. "I've never been anywhere in Chicago where he hasn't been before me," I told a friend earlier in the day. I try not to think of him as competition, but that was sorely tested yesterday as I watched him swoop in and make off with someone I'd hoped to have a little fun with.

The worst part is how it almost wrecked what was otherwise the culmination of a very nice weekend. I even messaged Clint when I got home, dejected, and said, "Tell me to stop being a dildo." I mean, I was literally on my way out the door when a cute guy stopped me, chatted me up, propositioned me, and gave me his number and yet I was moaning about not being attractive enough or whatever.

So I magnanimously sent my pal a text telling him I hoped he'd had a good time. I may even have meant it--why should I begrudge anyone a little pleasure? I even joked that I'd take the drink that the guy "owed" me off him as a finder's fee. I hope we can have a laugh over it next time we're together. And I hope I can kind to the guy if I see him again, even though right now I pretty much want to tell him to go to hell. (Though he already lives in Indiana, which is pretty much the same thing.)

Terrific weekend all around, even if it did once again revolve a lot around drinking.

This actually started Thursday night since a friend was celebrating a change of employment at Jackie's. I ended up staying out later than I meant to because one of our mutuals (the man who introduced us, in fact) had rehearsal and ended up not arriving until after 11. Fortunately I ran into an acquaintance from Anvil and we had a really nice chat about reading while I was waiting for him to arrive.

Friday I had a catch-up lunch with my favourite Chilean, who took me along on a trip to doggy daycare and then to lunch across the street at Spacca Napoli, my favourite pizza place. I agonised to him a bit about my issues navigating the gay social scene and he was--as always--very patient and supportive.

That evening our friends Brendan and Josh hosted a gathering at their place. I love Brendan's style of hospitality. It's so welcoming and generous I have to remind myself he's not a Southerner. The two of them made a gigantic pot of congee and assembled a bar of add-ins such as marinated tofu, fried mushrooms, and something new to me called "olive vegetable" (橄欖菜), a combination of pickled Chinese olives and mustard greens that Brendan described as "pure MSG".

There was also good conversation (plus a little cuddling), so--despite my best intentions--I ended up staying out till something like 2 a.m. This made for a rough Saturday, as as well as being tired I also had some tummy trouble that wrecked my anus and made me kind of grouchy all day. Fortunately I'd done some cleaning the weekend before and clintswan jumped in after his nap to help so there wasn't a crunch to get the place ready.

It may have been the most successful one of the year so far, despite the absence of BB and a couple other regulars. I had several first-timers, but this being Chicago one turned out to be a coworker of one my of my regular guests and there may have been some other connexions that I missed. I had to do a little more mixing than usual, so it was once again Clint to the rescue, answering the door and getting folks settled so I didn't have to keep running out of the kitchen.

Just after midnight, he peaced out and scooted over to the bar. I came over not much later. (SquareBear and Kayla graciously stuck around and helped me tidy up, with the later waiting for me to change so we could walk over together.) I finally managed to have the conversation I wanted to with Kayla about getting counseling for his PTSD and we made an interesting friend down in the hole, but the highlight of the evening was seeing my new crush.

I'm going to call him Big Chick because he first came to my attention as a doorman as Big Chicks, my regular bar when I lived in Uptown. I don't recall ever having a conversation with him back then, but I was familiar enough that I thought nothing of casually addressing him by name outside SoFo sometime last fall. At the time, I remember being taken aback by his friendly reception (he didn't remember me, but he seemed chuffed to be remembered); he went so far as to add me on social media, but I really didn't think much of it.

All of that changed two weeks ago when I ran into him at the tail-end of a crazy evening that began at Farragut's, escalated at SoFo's Onesie Night (where I did something I would normally only have done at Touché), and inevitably ended up at Jax. I came over and started a conversation about music and before I knew it he was telling me he just wanted to find some place to make out with me. "How about my house?" I suggested and took him home.

It was wonderful--so much, in fact, that I focused on playing it cool and avoided messaging him. I did suggest we meet for dinner but didn't follow up when he didn't follow through. Then the next weekend, when I was at home getting over a sore throat and feeling sorry for myself, I tried again and we made a dinner date for Thursday at Anna Maria which went extremely well. So when my Sunday game was cancelled, I offered him that afternoon and he accepted.

So now here we are at last Saturday and he shows up after his shift at Chicks with a new clutch of pals just as I'm deciding it's time I headed home. One of them wanted to hit on me, however, so he insisted on buying me a drink "so I can keep you here". I humoured him, but really I only had eyes for BC, who was as charming and affection as that night two weeks back. There's no question that if we hadn't made plans already we'd've been back in bed together.

I came home on a cloud, so I guess it was inevitable that I'd wake up to rain: He texted me about 1 pm to cancel, saying he needed to prepare for a job interview the next day. It was a legit excuse--he'd talked a fair bit at dinner about the new position he hoped to be offered--but I was bummed of course (though cushioned by the highly-successful cocktail night).

I considered taking my copy of Rushdie's Victory City to the sun-flooded front room and finishing it while I rehydrated, but then my pals reached out and convinced me to join them at SoFo for daydrinking. I wasn't that eager to go drinking for a fourth day in a row, but I really wanted my friends around so I agreed.

It was a great choice. The bar was a bit crowded initially, but there was some sun on the patio so we met up there, alternating between outside and a table in the back once it got a bit chillier. My Hispanic Twin told me I was manifesting "Big Daddy Energy" because I was getting flirted with from all sides.

At one point, I was outside chatting with four or five pals when a gorgeous Punjabi man stepped out and immediately came up to us. He draped an arm around me and hit us up for cigarettes, but when it turned out that none of his smoked, he left it there and stayed to chat. He was an oncologist in town just for the weekend and I did my best to sell him on a return trip to Chicago in summer.

By now it was getting late and I was getting hungry so I traipsed up the block to Cuckoo and had dinner with Benty, Kayla, and another pal. As we left, the bus came along with perfect timing and swept me back home, which was for the best since otherwise I might have been tempted to return to the bar. Instead, I capped it in the best way--dishing with friends--and was able to sober up completely before bedtime.

So I let BB have it.

The last straw came three weeks ago. He'd confided in me about a bad trick and I was checking in on him, only to find that he'd invited the same guy over again. I encouraged him to cancel but he said he felt obligated to follow through. "You cancel on me the same day all the time," I told him. "You did it twice just last week." "Yeah," he said, "but you're used to it."

I don't have to tell you how spitting mad I was at that.

I spent a week having angry conversations in my head, dusting off every unresolved grievance from the tumultuous past year of our failed romance and stottering friendship. I knew there was no point in initiating a conversation he wasn't interesting in having, so I just ignored him and focused on other things. (It's not like I don't have enough social drama without him, but that's another post.) About a week later, he texted asking if I was in St Louis for the holidays and I just replied "No." A couple hours later, I followed up asking why he wanted to know and he admitted he thought "everyone was mad at me", so I told him, you got that right.

In the meantime, I'd had a conversation with the best of our mutual friends [hereafter OMF) which turned into an hour-long vent about him. The solidarity honestly made me feel much better. We're his only two good friends in Chicago and--as self-isolating as he is--I honestly don't think he can get by without anyone to hang with. So when he replied that he "didn't care" about my reasons for being upset with him, I knew it was a bluff.

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So here's a couple things I'm trying not to let prey on my mind.

I've been know to say that "I don't do jealousy". For the most part this is true. I often feel envious of other people for various reasons, but I try to feel jealous of them. Jealousy seems to me a pure negatively emotion, one driven by pure possessiveness and that's not how I want to behave in relationships.

So it's especially frustrating to be confronting these feelings with--you guessed it!--BB. The most recent flare-up was occasioned by something that should have been amusing to me: I texted him last night to chat. He mentioned meeting a friend of mine, which mildly surprised me, since neither he nor this friend are much for going on, especially on school nights. He was cagey about how they met so I messaged the friend directly and he confessed that it was a Growlr hookup. (He happened to see my text come through and was like, "Hey, you know Da too?")

What I wanted to say at this point was, "Good for them!" They're both good guys and deserve to have a little fun. Instead, I found I had to avoid any concrete thoughts of the two of them getting busy together in order not to turn green. Compounding this all was the fact that I've felt attracted to the other guy but I hadn't pursued it because he's married and I'd seen no indications that the relationship was open. (Obviously if I were really attracted to him, I would have done more to find out.)

I've been struggling for months with feeling in some way entitled to BB's attention--including his sexual attentions--and it was annoying af to be reminded that, once again, I'm not where I want to be on this. I really don't know where this delusion of mine comes from. I think there might be some racial component, but that can't explain it all. Ironically, before I initially texted him yesterday, I was once again at a place of equanimity regarding him and this just threw that into the garbage. Anyway, I've invited them both to cocktails on Saturday (with their explicit knowledge), so that should be interesting.

The other thing I've been trying not to think about is Nuphy. His children have moved him into assisted living in Naperhell and though he's trying to be positive about it, I know he's not happy about it. He'd been warning me this was coming and now I'm kicking myself for not doing more to spend time with him before it happened.

I hate backsliding. I know it's part of every natural process of weaning yourself off anything but it's annoying and frustrating.

Yeah, this is another post about BB. Friday night he joined the rest of us for a bit on the SoFo patio and was showcasing the bitchier side of his personality, as he tends to do in situations like that. But then at one point he kind of apologising, throwing his arm around me and saying something about how I knew he really appreciated me, right? And instead of leaning into the moment, I did what I always seem to do and teased him about finally showing some genuine affection for a change, at which point he took his arm away and said, "I'll never do that again!" Then it was my turn to apologise but it was too late.

Shortly after, he moved to sit on a bench along the wall and all I wanted to do was sit next to him so I could feel him again me again. But I was trapped in conversation with a friend I hadn't seen in a while and, by the time I could get away, BB had decided he'd had enough of SoFo and was heading out to Cellblock. I felt so downcast I considered just going home but it had been a good evening up until then and I didn't want to end it on that note. So I stuck it out and things got better (then they got very weird, but that's another post).

The next day, I was poorly slept and emotional and grappling with the fact that despite everything I'm still in love with his dumb ass. I mean, not anything like I was before, but the gap between where I want to be with him and where I actually am is very palpable and painful. Nothing to do about it, though, than to keep doing what I'm doing--focusing on other relationships and approaching this one with as few expectations as possible--and keep in mind that it's working, despite moments like these.