The Death of Imagination

So it's not often you'll hear me complain about not having enough bad weather, but I was really hoping for more rain this past weekend. Not only would it have spared me having to water several times but it also would have made it easier to stay in and do the laundry. As it was, I found myself last night trying to split my time between the downstairs, the front lawn, and the back porch and was a bit hectic.

I also screwed myself by, once abed, making the mistake of calling a potential trick. It was his idea; he asked me to talk him through while he wanked. But it ended up being an awkward mix of sexual fantasy and interview for a job I wasn't particularly interested in. Then I compounded the mistake by reaching out to Pepperoni right afterwards to talk through my discomfort only to have him tell me rather bluntly that he didn't want to hear it.

His attempts to backpedal only made things worse, since after four attempts on my part to end the conversation he still felt the need for a shitty parting shot. I'm still not sure what set him off and while I appreciate his need to set limits I'm disappointed to find out that someone I thought I could talk to about anything isn't. I'm torn on whether I should tell him this which probably means I should just shut my trap and deal with it if it comes up.

But enough dwelling on the negatives, since it was a very good weekend overall. In fact, if it had gone a bit less well, Sunday might not have been so stressful since one of the positives kept me up until the wee hours. I'm talking about the guy I took home from Bear Night.

In an odd bit of synchronicity, I'd been thinking of him earlier in the week. I say "odd" because nothing specific reminded me of his existence, just the vague realisation that I'd been so happy to finally meet him months ago and then we hadn't interacted since. I'd barely made it to the bar when I ran into him. "I knew the moment you said 'hi' to me," he told me afterwards, "that I was going to have sex with you."

Still, I had people to greet, so I did that perfunctorily and then dragged him back to my place. He was very sweet and the whole experience was very balanced: vigorous without being too athletic (I thought I'd be much more sore the next day than I was), chatty without being to talky, tender without being falsely sentimental--you get the idea. We both agreed it was something we'd like to do again sometime.

Before that it had been a great cocktail night. I was worried I'd have too many guests but somehow it was just the right number again. Several people cancelled, but one of the visitors brought a friend and then summoned two others (any one of which I would've been happy to show a good time). I probably had one gin too many but it ended up not really mattering.

One of the consequences of this fog I'm living in is many small injuries. I seem to have lost my sharp sense of where my body ends judging by how often I misjudge distance and stub a toe or bang a shoulder. In particular, my fingers have been taking lots of punishment. It seems every other week that I slash one open doing the most innocuous of household tasks.

I still don't know what it was that I cut myself on Saturday night. Something in the cabinet under the sink. And judging by the mark, something jagged. I don't even remember being upset, just mentally shrugging, grabbing a piece of toilet tissue, and wondering how long I should hold it before I went upstairs to disinfect it.

I wasn't particularly rushing, but I was trying to pull the place together a bit in anticipation of a hookup. Needless to say at this point, he was a no-show. He'd originally proposed getting together the weekend before, at which time I'd assigned a 50% chance of it actually happening. Chagrinned, I decided afterwards that the actual chance was more like 5%. That night, though, I thought it was an actual 50% because we'd just made out at a party and he said he'd message me on his way to the bar. Nearly two hours later, I messaged him to say I was going to bed and said "raincheck?" I almost didn't reply but responded "if you're serious" and turned off my phone.

I did have several good interactions at cookout, though, including a geeked-out convo with another language nut. When he introduced us, I don't think that our mutual friend was prepared for us to spend the next hour ignoring him completely while we ran the gamut from Romance phonology to constructed scripts for isolating tonal languages. I think someone needs to introduce this boy to the larger online world of conlangery.

It wasn't a sure thing I'd even make it there. Friday night was one of my worst in weeks. I'm not sure if there was a specific trigger, but hearing from Fr Medlar a few days earlier sure did tap some emotions. I could easily have whiled away the day in bed reading, but I'd promised to help a neighbour move some plants so I keep watch over them in her absence so that got me to the porch. Getting from there to the cookout, however, took an equally great act of will.

I've told my neighbours that having them there is a damper on my going on. If getting in my socialising is as easy as opening the door, where's the incentive to gussy up and go further afield? It was a similar story when Monshu was home. I still want so badly to share my day with him and nothing has come close to filling that gap except in the very short run.

Sunday was a day of laundry, recovery, and dick pics. The last of these wasn't my fault--if you don't know by now that swiping through a gay man's photos is going to land you on a dick (sooner rather than later more often than not) then I can't help you. Plus I was laughing too hard at Johnny Balzac's distress to intervene anyways.

My stomach was bothering me most of the day, but happily it didn't prevent me from sleeping nor from serving my volunteer shift with the therapy dogs. This time, rather than being put in the main room, I roamed the halls with a lovely older woman and her arthritic collie. It did help me to hold back and observe the interactions between the students and the therapy team, which were varied and often amusing.

I'd done my system no favours on Saturday by day-drinking and snacking and putting off dinner until nearly 10 p.m., but I still didn't expect it to turn on me like it did. After all, I've done that before with no ill effects. Maybe it was the dip at the first house party, which had been sitting out for really too long before I took my last nibble. Or maybe the barbecue at the second house party, which gave my mouth a burn which wouldn't go away.

The crowd at that party was more familiar but somehow less fun than the crowd at the first. The guy that I fondled there sent me drunken jerkoff videos as he made his way back home from the bar. (I was, of course, already in my own bed.) I also successfully dragged out two introverts, which I feel should be worth something.

As much fun as meeting all those new people was, it was nearly eclipsed by what happened afterwards. All through brunch we'd been glancing at the sky trying to determine whether rain would actually come or not. Just as I left, it started sprinkling, but I got hope before any real rain started to fall.

Moments later, I heard the wind rise and there a sudden crash. It was loud enough to be a thunderclap but without the same resonance and I realised something must have been blown free. I ran to the front window and saw a large limb down across the intersection pinning a power line underneath, so I snapped a photo and posted it to LJ.

Meanwhile, the rain became a downpour so heavy it was almost impossible to see across the street any more. I glanced at my phone to see a reply from one of my condomates. "Look out the [north] side," she said. Her apartment is just to the east of mine so I ran back to the dining room and looked that way--and saw that one of the maples on the hellstrip had snapped off about four metres off the ground.

Fortunately the trunk had fallen away from the building. It was blocking the street and lying across the hood of a parked car. I opened a window to take a picture. Rain was still falling, though not as heavily, and the sun was already out again. I saw an older gentleman surveying the fallen limb. He saw me and said, "That's my car." I offered my condolences.

I tried calling the city but gave up when I couldn't get through and texted the neighbours to the south. "Come outside" I said and ran out the back gate. He joined me at the car and we examined the huge dent near the driver-side door. The windshield was perfectly intact, however.

At the corner we noticed a man in bright brown suit directing traffic. He looked like he'd been on his way back from church. Despite his urgings, drivers kept running over the downed line. "I called the city and ComEd," he told us. Sure enough, a cop car came a few minutes later and the officers set up a roadblock.

We were like children, running around the block and inspecting the damage. I found some blocks of wood in the street and on our lawn which we determined came from the scaffolding across the way. A chunk of it was lodged in a tree high above the sidewalk and the officers were also urging pedestrians not to walk under it.

When it became apparent Streets & San were in no hurry to get there and clear the debris we ended up doing some impromptu gardening. He trimmed the grass while I pulled weeds and stuck my geraniums into the pots flanking the front door (much to the chagrin of the couple upstairs). Meanwhile a steady stream of gawkers came by, bearing reports of damage in the vicinity--another downed powerline, a tree fallen onto a building, and so forth.

Around dinnertime, I heard a chainsaw and came out to find most of the fallen tree cut up and dumped into the street by a grapple truck. I took some perv shots of the husky operator and then watched him guide the boom to hold the trunk in place while the other man sectioned it, chatting with a Canadian grandpa from up the street who'd also stopped to watch.

It's funny how an event like this brings the neighbourhood together. There's a bear living across the street who I've nodded hello to numerous times in the past decade but we'd never actually spoken. Sunday we shared reminiscences of the microburst four years ago and he shared some of the pictures he'd taken then. A woman came by to tell us how she'd been parked in the very spot where the tree had fallen only half an hour before. Another neighbour told us about having a branch hit his car last fall and causing him several thousand.

On my way to work this morning, I saw a chipper truck working its way up the street and a team taking down the tree that smacked the building. I expect to come back and find the street largely back to normal. But maybe the ice between us will stay cracked if not broken.

Well, Saturday is turning out...interesting. A couple friends--well, guys I know--are having a housewarming at their new place is in West Chicago. Needless to say, this is not convenient to anything. I'll take light rail if I have to, but if I'm going that far, I'd rather travel with somebody, and they know plenty of folks up here on the Far North Side (it's where I met them, after all) so I should be able to bum a ride with somebody.

The first guy I asked is a cub in a dom-sub relationship with two sirs. There's room for a fourth in their car, but the sirs have never really warmed to me in 20+ years and I feel it would be awkward. The second guy I asked lives very close to me. We got together for dinner once last year and then snuggled afterward but I haven't heard from him since so I thought it might be a good excuse to get reacquainted.

At first he was like, "Sure!" Then he told me that he was heading down early to "help out" and had to check with the hosts. I was like, no prob, I don't mind helping out and messaged the one host I'm a little sweet on to make sure it was alright. He told me he'd have to check with his husband--which I thought was odd, because the guy who's driving told it was him and not his husband who might object, but whatever.

Then it all came out: Yes, he's arriving early to help out with the prep. (He's a professional chef.) However, he's also going to be servicing both the hosts as well (and is willing to do me, too, if time allows). Am I cool with that? So I've just inadvertently inserted myself into someone else's scene, which feels like a faux pas even if everyone professes to be cool with it.

So, in order to avoid one set of awkward circumstances, I've stepped right into another. But at least there's a payoff!

Fortunately, angst was not the defining emotional of my weekend, but it did take up more of it than I wanted it to. So far the new boys are chiefly a source of frustration. Butterfly In Traffic (an I'm cleffing the guitar player) did text me off and on during the week but still hasn't proposed a followup and responded to my suggestion that we "chat" over the weekend with "Cool!" and then didn't get in touch at all. I was going to poke him Sunday morning but hearing from Pasillero derailed that plan.

The other one is even more annoying. After two weeks of online flirting, I finally asked point-blank if he wanted to "bump uglies" and offered some days and times. We settled on Saturday afternoon. A couple hours beforehand, having still not received a message with his address, I texted him and got an excuse of a developing migraine and a request for a "raincheck". Still waiting for him to propose something.

I'm beginning to see why most of my single friends are so bearish on dating.

The cancellation put me in something of a sour mood. Plus the weather wasn't as fine as hoped which dampened my desire to get out. I had a couple of surprise invitations, one from a friend for drinks in the evening and a proposal for dinner from a suburban couple who were in the city. But it annoyed me to see that the drink invites had gone out over a week ago and I was just being added at the eleventh hour and the couple picked a restaurant that was barely in the city at all. So I ended up saying no to both.

In the end, my craving for human company only got me as far as the back porch because my neighbours were out there "celebrating the holiday". They offered me a toke and that was all she wrote; I hunkered down, leaving only to fetch the occasional cup of tea and fix a sad but adequate pasta dinner. Some friends came over, the conversation got in turns raunchy and theological, and it was a good time for all (until one of the guests starting having a very bad trip, but I'd turned in before then).

The next day was similar. The neighbours were cooking out and had a couple coming over they wanted me to meet. I needed to go to the store for sundries, so I cleaned up and came back with a loaf of multigrain for some belegete Brote on the back porch. About 4 p.m., I gussied up for my friend date with Nuphy and peaced out.

My worries I might be in a bad mood when I met him were unfounded, so I was able to take everything in stride, from the crowds of Cub fans, tourists, and panhandlers downtown to our supercilious server. The food at Imperial Lamian was what I'd expected--perfectly decent Chinese at twice the price it would be in Chinatown--but Nuphy enjoyed it, so that's what mattered. I managed not to burden him with any of my boy trouble and reassured myself that he's hale and hearty.

After he headed out, I spent a little time strolling near the river. I found myself across the river from the apartment of an acquaintance who wants my D, so I texted him only to find he was still on the Blue Line heading home. I also texted it to bunj, who lives practically around the corner, hoping this might spur a spontaneous invitation and when it didn't I contentedly got back on the El and came back to my needy little whiner baby.

Plans with aadroma (and others) meshed well and made it a full and rewarding weekend. It wasn't without its bumps, of course; I got so frustrated trying to make plans via text on Saturday morning that I finally just got dressed and hiked over to Jigglypuff's apartment, where he was staying. Honestly, it's hard to see how anyone can think coherently in the chaos of that household. But I managed to squeeze a meeting place and time out of him before leaving.

When I did, I was at loose ends, so I wandered on over to Smack Dap to give it a try. It's a nice little café and one of the employees was super solicitous about explaining the items and even giving me a little sample first. (Another was a bit more sceptical and needed some convincing that the chili powder liberally sprinkled over my fried egg with no warning really would fuck me up before she gave the go-ahead to remake my sandwich.) I even managed to screw up enough courage to chat up the handsome beardo at the next table (albeit just as he was preparing to leave).

This still left me with four hours before dinner and I was considering whether it would be worth seeing if I could fit in a showing of Us, but I arrived home to find an invitation to a meet-and-greet for the local challenger in the aldermannic run-off and I felt a civic duty to be there. The incumbent's attack campaign had gotten very nasty and is in danger of eroding enthusiasm among the Good Liberals who supported challengers in the primary.

The attendees, like our hosts, were predominately female activists d'un certain âge. It was a very pro-challenger crowd, so much so that we actually spent a substantial portion of the Q&A coaching him on what approaches might help him fight back against the Machine. I'm considering what more I can reasonably do in the scant week remaining to shore up his support; currently I'm focussing on convincing my friends and neighbours to overcome their hesitations and not sit this one out, since the low turnout means it could easily boil down to a handful of votes.

Dinner was at Strings, a ramen shop in Lakeview. Despite the trendiness of the cuisine and the gimmicky sound of the name, it was a good slurp. I'm glad aadroma insisted on eating before we went to the concert venue, City Winery, because as much as I insist it doesn't matter, paying their inflated prices for middling food would have soured me somewhat on the experience.

As it was, I had a much better time than I'd expected. I knew literally nothing of Idan Raichel beforehand except that aadroma was a big fan, and even he wasn't prepared for how charming he could be in a relatively intimate room. At his father's insistence, he skipped a family funeral to be there, and that naturally coloured how I viewed the performance. I was in an unbreakable good mood for the rest of the night, chatting animatedly with aadroma on the El and completely forgetting to settle plans for the next day until I was finally home.

Those plans were for another visit to King Spa, and that also went better than I'd expected. My journalist friend had never been and fully committed to the experience, so I got the pleasure of viewing it through his eyes as well as Raja's. We ran into so many folks I knew there that I had to defend myself against suggestions that I "know everyone". In fact, I ended up adding to my circle of acquaintances someone I've been anxious to meet ever since FB first suggested him to me and finding out both that he's way more interesting than I'd first anticipated and that he comes with an equally engaging husband.

We dropped our visitor off at O'Hare in the rain so he could make his sad voyage back home to the "Independent Republic" and then extended the conviviality by heading back to my house for warm tea. Was my pal the landscape architect who'd organised the trip just being friendly or is he sweet on me? Either way it left me feeling pretty damn good about my recent life choices.

I felt a bit sniffly and tired Wednesday evening but I didn't think much of it. Thursday morning it was undeniable that I had a cold. I came in anyway because my student worker needed direction. Shortly after he'd arrived, however, I realised it was stupid to stay and took off at noon. But I didn't just give up and go home.

My original plan for the evening had been to get my hair cut in anticipation of the big Bear revel on Saturday. On the way there, I'd pick up a couple bottles of wine for the tasting that afternoon and, when I was finished, I'd pop into the vegan place next door for some takeout (since it would probably be lousy with Valentine's Day diners).

I still put that plan into action just five hours earlier than expected. The one hole was that the vegan place didn't open for lunch so I went to Indie instead. The upside was that it was nearly empty so I could eat in before dragging myself home to form a nest for the next couple days. (I thought about going in for a half a day Friday and quickly realised that was a bad idea.)

It was an act of faith to buy the wine and get the haircut. I was still feeling bad enough Saturday morning that I contacted Scruffy about taking the wine in for me. (That was also my sneaky way of feeling him out about a ride.) He couldn't because he had a guest in town. In the end I went but didn't drink.

I really wanted to see the house, which was a gorgeously redone brownstone in Ukrainian Village. I'm feeling more an more intimidated about hosting one of these gatherings in my shabby flat. I was also curious about Scruffy's man, who turned out to be a total charmer from Queensland though now living in Saskatchewan. I impressed him by knowing...well, anything at about his home country. (Even he wasn't aware that Qantas represents an acronym.)

I talked mikiedoggie into giving me a ride back, not because I was too cheap to get a Lyft (though I did appreciate saving the money) but because if I'm going to make chitchat with someone for 45 minutes, I'd rather it be someone I know. He surprised me by opening up to me in a way he hasn't in ages. Then again, it's the first time the two of us have been alone together in ages. Maybe I need to make sure that happens more often.

I was worried the excursion would make me too tired to leave the house again but the event activated my extroversion and I craved more company, not less. I fixed myself another crappy meal at home and then stopped by Taste of Heaven for tea and cake, just like the last time.

And just like the last time, the event was a roaring success. It was already half full when I arrived; eventually it became almost too full to dance, but I persisted and after midnight it thinned out a bit more. By then at half-dozen of us had taken our shirts off (in the heyday of Bear Pride, it would have been at least half the crowd) and I was praying my legs would hold out on me a little longer.

Despite not having a drop to drink at the bar, I paid for it all the next day. My midday nap was a solid two hours, and I couldn't avoid going out into the newfallen snow afterwards because I'd emptied the last can of cat food the day before. I thought I'd feel just as bad today but surprisingly I seem to be already on the mend. Perhaps I shouldn't discount the effect of being social on my overall wellbeing.

It's was almost too packed a weekend but I survived.

I started out underslept due to others in the house. AWI and my BIL were supposed to leave St Louis at 4 p.m. on Wednesday. Due to one thing and another, they didn't leave town until 5 p.m. but still managed to arrive at my place before 10:30. Of course that still meant I was up past midnight, once you consider the time it took to get them settled and for me to unwind afterwards. The next night was better because AWI was staying on campus but I still didn't sleep soundly. I slept in a bit on Saturday morning but we had dim sum with bunj and after that it was go go go.

I like the idea of AWI coming up to Chicago but I'm worried he's not really up to the demands of the programme. Apparently part of the reason they were late was that they discovered at the last minute a financial aid form to be filled in and submitted and then Thursday night BIL told me he'd discovered from talking to the other parents that there was a list of questions for prepare for Friday's scholarship interview that neither of them had seen. I really wonder how well he'll do without his parents helicoptering.

Not my problem though. I just got to enjoy guiding the tourists. Unfortunately there was a 40°F plunged between Thursday and Friday and they got turned around trying to meet us at India House on Friday night. The food was pricey but good (bunj orders from them often) and it wasn't at all crowded. The next morning we all met up again for dim sum at Furama and I took them on a mini tour of North Chinatown as killed time before the little community New Year's parade.

They had to get going but bunj and I stuck around for some lion dancing and a "lotus dance" that we genuinely thought was going to be set to "Da Da Da" from Trio. When the politicians started talking, we peaced out. He had to get things done at home and I sprinted up to the Bear Coffee at the new location of Rewired on Berwyn. After all that society, I found myself adrift afterwards as I stumbled through the aisles of Jewel unable to decide what I really needed.

Sunday was comparatively quiet. I got to sleep in. I didn't go out and shovel any snow. (Let my damn condomates do something.) My only real activity of the day was hanging out with my brother.

He'd contacted me a few days earlier about the ukiyo-e exhibit at the Art Institute. It'd been on my radar for weeks, I'd mentioned it to him and Nuphy, but I hadn't gotten around to actually scheduling anything. Given how bad the weather was, I thought I'd maybe catch it the following weekend (which was chancy given that that was closing weekend). So I leapt on the invitation.

We met up at Toni beforehand, which was somewhat disappointing. My water glass had a huge glob of chocolate on it, the waitress clearing tables didn't even bother to wipe them down, and my egg sandwich was really just quiche on a brioche. At least it wasn't at all dry, but the breakfast potatoes were mushy and underseasoned. Next time we should check if Bienmesabe is open.

At the time, though, we hardly noticed. Only after two hours of lively conversation did I note the time and suggest that, just maybe, we might want to move on to the ostensible reason for our rendezvous? We crossed through Millennium Park on the way an detoured past the Bean, which I'd never seen with icicles on it before.

The exhibit was extensive. After about half an hour, I suggested powering through the rest just to get an idea of its size so we could prioritise before the mego kicked in. Unfortunately, while doing this, I got some unexpected intense butthole pain and had to sit down for a while. I encouraged bunj to go back in without me, but he soon came back and we sat and talked for yet another hour or so.

We had so many questions. As much explanation and context as they had provided, we still wanted more. I was very surprised to find not a single woodblock print in the whole suite of rooms because of how the mass-production aspect was emphasised in my college class. I guess we'll just have to read the book.

Despite the cold, we ended up walking together as far as the Grand stop. He walked home from there while I rode. Around this time, my painkillers were really kicking in and they left me so fuzzy I took it easy when I got back.

The next day was a full one. First I had a dental appointment. Everything went swimmingly until the end when the dentist nicked me with his polishing brush. For the first time in ages, I was wondering whether it was time to move on.

His office is just south of Monshu's old condo. When I left, I turned into the park which goes behind both buildings. There was at least an hour to kill before meeting my coworker for lunch and I thought that taking some snaps of the ice on the lakefront might be a good way to kill it.

I wasn't disappointed. A cliff of ice had formed all along Foster Street Beach and the waves were pounding it. Unfortunately I had to take my glove off to work the camera on my phone and it wasn't long before my hand began to feel frostbitten. Figuring I had enough for Instagram for now, I went to the grocery story to warm up.

I concentrated on dry goods since whatever I bought would have to stay with me all day. At one point, I saw some specialty pasta I thought might go well with the salsa di noci I had to use up. No price came up in the system which led to a whole comedy at checkout, culminating in a manger asking me, "How much do you think this is?"
"Three bucks?" I replied, shrugging.
"Good enough for me!" he said, punching it in.
"I coulda done that!" said the cashier.
(Me being me, I had to go back and check. It was $2.99. I circled back, yelled to the cashier, "Y'all owe me a penny!" and dashed out.)

Lunch was at Bibim Town, a place Big Red had recommended. It was sun-drenched and minimalist and bright in every sense. I started off with some burdock tea while I waited and we split a pʻajŏn. I ended up ordering the bibim with glass noodles, just because I could, and he got them regular.

Every time we get together, we start out talking about books and end up talking about sex. This time I finally got the skinny on his relationship (which might be the payoff from meeting away from campus finally) and found that it's "don't ask don't tell". So I sent him a wanna-fuck after he dropped me off and (hours later) got the sweetest "thanks maybe later" reply.

I would have propositioned him right there in the car but I'd already told him I had another assignation planned. I'd messaged Pasillero shortly before leaving him and he'd texted right back suggesting afternoon delight. I figured out if I went to his place, I could hit Middle Eastern Bakery on the way to replenish my exhausted supply of masala chai.

I had enough time that I was able to hit Crossroads and buy a couple pieces that I don't need but really really like. Well, arguably the vest is an answer to the question of what to do when I feel like wearing my fleece vest but want to appear a little more stylish.

He answered the door in a towel. I was ready to whip it off of him but he made me wait in the front room while he got into costume. It got wild and heavy and we both collapsed on the bed. I thought we were taking a break before Round 2; he thought we were finished, but he came around to my line of thinking.

Unfortunately, he'd tired himself out at the gym and fell asleep in the middle of cuddling. I felt so comfortable I could have nodded off, too, if not for fear of what it would do to my sleep schedule. He stood by in a robe while I got dressed to make sure I didn't forget anything (and gave me back the strap I'd left behind on the last visit).