The Death of Imagination

This year's birthday will go down in the books as a perfectly adequate one--not as brilliant as last year's daytrip to Milwaukee, but well beyond the time I pissed it away in a hospital room waiting for Monshu to be discharged.

With Clint still recovering, planning a trip seemed ill-advised, so I made dinner reservations with BB. Sometime around 11 am, as I was still lingering in bed reading through my avalanche of good wishes, I get a notification that the reservation had been cancelled. As there was no explanation, I called the restaurant and got some some kind of limp excuse about an equipment failure.

I texted BB about what to do next and he predictably left it all up to me. I wasn't feeling particularly motivated about finding another restaurant on short notice or about rescheduling with the one that had just ruined my evening and complained about this to Clint, who pointed out that he'd bought some lamb rosettes for my birthday dinner. He'd been planning to grill them sometime over the weekend, but he could just as easily do them that evening.

With that sorted, I turned my attention toward the afternoon. I'd talked to a friend they day before about maybe doing some shopping, but it was a muggy afternoon with intermittent rain and I didn't want to deal with that, so I just hung around the house until it was time for dinner. We ate out on the porch and bantered with the Yahoo Twins for a bit before making it an early evening.

The next day, which I'd also taken off, started out similar but I had a fun hookup come over shortly before noon. I took care of some errands in the afternoon and then met up with the Daddies Who Drink at Meeting House, swinging by Middle Eastern Bakery first for some sweets. With rain threatening, I hopped into a Lyft to get to Bayan Ko, where BB had managed to snag us a table.

It was a good meal though we both felt it peaked with the second dish. I thought the wagyu was the weakest course, but enjoyed the lechón and bibingka--though I took only a few bites and passed the rest to BB. He was predictably too full to want to go out afterwards but I moved on first to Max's and then SoFo, where I spent the rest of the evening.

There I ran into a bunch of furry friends who mentioned they'd be meeting up to do the Glenwood Arts Festival the next day. I made it there about four pm and immediately ran smack into them near the entrance. Apparently, there usual practice is to hang out at a friend's place nearby and make forays into the festival, so I followed suit and followed them back to their friend's place a couple of times, eventually closing out my evening there.

Sunday I might not have done much if anything if Babalu (one of the furries) hadn't hit me up about hitting a bookstore. He drove us down to Unabridged in Lakeview, which was much better than I'd remembered it being, and I bought four books, three of which I'd been looking to pick up for quite some time. Then we drove back to his place and watched Starstruck as his husband made us fajitas on the grill.

All in all, I really nice birthday weekend even if I never made it out of town.

So not one, but two reckonings with recklessness lately, and both involving the same bar.

Friday night Daddy Daycare was at 2Bears in Uptown. It was a solid turnout--more than thirty. I showed up early to find Posh Rob sitting in the window with a trio of friends and when I greeted him, he was like, "Your crowd is all in the back." Without us, it would've been nearly empty.

My wingman Marcus and I did our level best to convince the new daddy visiting from "Flarrida" that he should spend some time with us instead of rushing off back to his hotel. When that failed, he headed to SoFo and I set my sights on a new cutie. This one was chatting with my pal Javy so I thought they knew each other. Joining the conversation, I found out they'd only just met. We filled him in on DDC and said we could add him to the list for next time. He said he didn't have any social media, so I offered to take his number and message him.

This was only the first of several lies he told, as I discovered after I let him put his number into my phone. You see, he used his full name, and his unusual surname immediately triggered a memory.

"We chatted on Facebook a while back, didn't we?"

"No, I've never been on Facebook."

It took me a few minutes of searching, but I managed to locate the pics from January 2022. At the same time, since he said he was Berwyn, I asked if he new my pal Jaume who was plugged into the local bear community there if he knew him. He did, and he had little good to say. In fact, he texted back "keep your eye on your wallet, that's the vibe I get". Your man confirmed meeting Jaume at a block party but spun some crazy yarn about why they'd never connected.

If I'd been more sober, I might have heeded these red flags; instead I laughed them off. He was also hitting on my pal Rj and the group was breaking up, so we decided to go elsewhere. Marcus said SoFo was pretty quiet so I convinced them to ride the el with me to Anvil. It was a good crowd; I saw several guys I knew (including the timewaster daddy from last November, but that's another, less interesting story). And the Liar from Berwyn kept flirting heavily with the both of us.

Eventually, I texted Rj to ask if he wanted to team up, but he was like, "You go for it." And I did. A little after midnight, we took a rideshare over to my place and I ushered him into the salon. The sex wasn't good. He looked just as cute as he did in the pictures I'd saved, but in bed he was anxiously switching from one thing to another. On top of that, he was demanding, ordering me around the bed and needing reassurance constantly. He even convinced me to cook him a burger because he hadn't eaten--even though I'd brought him back some gyoza from a visit to the noodle shop across from the bar earlier.

Exasperated, I waited for him to doze off so I could go downstairs and sleep. He woke up and begged me to stay but I insisted. No sooner was I in my own bed but I heard him banging around upstairs, preparing to leave. He came down and got me to say goodbye and we waited awkwardly by the door for his rideshare to arrive.

The next morning, as I was lazing in bed, I saw a string of messages from him and two missed calls. Then I got a message from Jaume telling me he'd heard back from four different friends who'd all had to block this guy because they got tired of his demands. I messaged Rj to fill him in on my night and he told me about how offputting he'd found his behaviour at the bar.

The cherry on top came that afternoon when I was getting dressed for my haircut appointment and retrieved my jeans from the salon. The front pocket felt light; I could've sworn I'd had at least $30 tucked in there. I also noticed that my handkerchief was missing from the back pocket so I looked around and noticed it on the floor. It's extremely unlikely that I somehow took it out and dropped it there, so I think it's quite likely this trick went through my pockets while I was out of the room on some little errand, like peeing or getting him a glass of water.

Fortunately, nothing else appears to be missing. Despite the veritable parade of near-strangers into the apartment over the past few years, this is the first time anything like this has happened. Maybe I've just been lucky. Either way it is a timely reminder to be cautious, pay attention to my friends' instincts, and generally not think so much with my dick.

I may be running out of energy for summer. Weekend before last, I had six things planned and did all but one. This past weekend, I had nothing planned and only did two things (four if you count hookups) and I think I would have been happy if the number had been zero.

Friday night, Clint and I ignored all invitations to simply have a drink on the porch and grill some wurst. The "heat dome" from midweek had dissipated and it was a joy to be outside again. We mooted going out later but in the end we just didn't feel the need. (Plus I wanted to be in fine form for next morning's assignation.)

That went well, of course. He became very chatty during cuddling and I learned more about him in those 20 minutes or so than in the entire year and change we've been flirting on social media. Afterwards I puttered around a bit but ultimately accomplished very little until I decided I needed to get some steps in before dinner and strolled to the lakeshore, where a northeast wind was whipping up some attractive surf.

After noshing on leftovers, I went to see a mediocre drag show. It was literally a block from my house and a friend had practically pleaded for people show up and support his husband, Holly Baloo, so I did. I was the only one from our friend group who did. It's such a shame--Holly is very talented (and always makes me bust a gut with her absurd antics), as are a couple of the other performers, but the leader of the group is just phoning it in. Any time he took the stage (which he did at least four or five times), the performance became lifeless, despite the energy in the crowd. Another friend suggested a coup was in order and I agree.

The show started late and dragged on, so I felt too tired to go out afterwards. I could even have gotten to sleep before midnight, but I was waiting to hear from JR[*], who was driving to NYC and agreed to text me when he reached PA. He'd gotten a late start (troubles with the rental agency) and surprised me by phoning to talk about it because "I needed to tell someone". It's not the first time he's vented to me, of course, but the first time he's done it by voice call.

(Side note: I still think about JR quite a lot, albeit with less intensity than I used to. Curious, I decided to count just how many times in a particular day he spontaneously crosses my mind. So far we're up to seven today and it isn't even noon.)

I also wanted to get good sleep because Sunday was to be the last session of our eight-month Apocalypse World campaign, which I feel deserves a dedicated post. Did I get it? Not really; for some reasons, I woke up at a reasonable time and had trouble napping. But everything worked out after all.

[*] Formerly RJ, formerly formerly BB.

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!

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?

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.

Yesterday I had a good laugh at one of those odd coincidences that define gay social life in Chicago. So, remember how the weekend before I ran into a friend of this guy I attempted to date three years ago? Well, Saturday I saw one of the guys I met as a result of that failed date at a housewarming and told the whole story again. Sunday I went to Pride North and ran into the friend of the guy--and this time he was there too! I looked at him and casually said, "Hi, Fernando." He said nothing and walked away with a tall red-beared man in tow (presumably his new beau). I LOLed and then turned back to exchange a wry look with his friend.

My favourite interaction of the afternoon involved chatting up a handsome guy who was palling around with someone who kind of used me for sex last year. I noticed a tattoo in Syriac script on his arm and impressed the hell out of him by reading it. (It said "Samuel" but he introduced himself as "Hugh" so there must be some story there.) Later the User informed me via messenger that he was sweet on the Assyrian and eating his heart out watching him flirt with other men. My reaction was a mix of empathy ("been there, it sucks") and pettiness ("now you know how I felt, you bastard").

Bringing a sort of closure to things, I ended the evening with what may have been a date. A guy I met a month ago at a street fair and hadn't seen again due to COVID came up to Pride North to hang with me and I took him to dinner at a pan-Latin restaurant around the corner. At one point I described him as "interesting" and he said, "Why do you think I'm interesting?" I replied, "Because you don't look or sound like anyone else I know."

And it made me realise that's something I value in the people I know. ladytiamat once told me that what destroyed her solipsism was meeting someone at high school who made her think, "Hmm, maybe I didn't make you up." I've taken stabs before at fictionalising my life and it's made me appreciate how difficult it would be to make characters out of some of my friends because I really can't reproduce either the cadence or the content of their speech. In a world where 90% of what people say to you can be safely predicted from context, those folks who seldom, if ever, say what's expected really stand out.

Well, I'm back again which can pretty much only mean one thing. I'll try to follow this post up with one about all the truly positive things from IML Weekend, but I just need to process the stinky parts and this seems to be where I do that these days.

So the big dance party was Furball at the Metro. I was last there three years ago and I remember it being pretty amazing. It also struck me as something BB would enjoy, so before I ordered my ticket I suggested he get one too. He took a little bit of convincing, but I promised that we would "drink, dance, and have a good time" and so he agreed to come.

A couple hours before doors opened, I began to realise just what he had to overcome to do that. His therapist has been urging him to accept all the invitations he can in an effort to have him confront his social anxiety and this was kicking into high gear as he contemplated being surrounded with buff bodies at a monster event someplace he'd never been. So I did my best to reassure him while preparing myself, traveling to Metro, and then waiting in the hour-long queue outside. Fortunately I had company for that, as a guy I know and his best friend hopped into line right behind me.

BB showed up maybe five minutes before they starting letting people in. At my urging, he'd worn his harness under his t-shirt but he was worried he hadn't put it on properly. We eventually ended up going to the vestibule by the upper balcony exit doors so I could adjust it for him. For the first hour, he never left my side while I showed him around and introduced him to what friends I knew were there.

I was pleasantly surprised when he finally relaxed enough to remove his shirt. There was a moment in particular when we were standing at the base of the stairs with my pals from the queue. He was in front of me looking away and I contemplated for a moment draping my arms around him but I didn't want to make him uncomfortable so I held back. A short while later, I was standing on the other side of my pals from him, chatting, and I glanced over and realised he wasn't there. I just figured he'd gone to get another drink. Finally, after maybe 20-30 minutes I texted him and he replied "I'm getting laid! Hahah"

I want to say I was happy for him. I want to actually be happy for him. This was, after all, an expected outcome of this kind of event, a vindication of my efforts to get him to come. But in the moment I felt wretched. I know we weren't going as a couple but, I confess, on some level I was enjoying the fantasy that we were. I also realised that I'd somewhat unconsciously made the focus of my evening making sure that BB had a good time, so without him there, I was suddenly at something of a loss.

I wasn't really getting any play, so I reminded myself that what I'd enjoyed most about this events in the past was dancing with my friends so I started looking for friends to dance with. But the old crowd wasn't there and the new crowds were small and scattered. I bounced from one side of the main floor to the other trying to find them and when I did it was underwhelming. When I managed to locate someone in particular I knew--someone who I'd danced with there before, who had told me just two nights before he was looking forward to dancing with me at Furball--he ignored me. I just couldn't figure out what was going on and realised I didn't want to. I made one last desperate circuit (my pals who had been stationed at the bottom of the stairs for at least an hour were suddenly nowhere to be found) and decided to go.

As a saving grace, on my way out, I ran into an opera singer from New York who I know and like and caught up a bit. He was similarly unenamoured of the music and preparing to leave as well. I ran into him on the street maybe ten minutes later with his best buddy; they were heading to Touché and graciously offered me a ride. I won't say it turned my night around, because my night was effectively over at that point, but it at least arrested my downward emotional slide. At least someone was showing some concern for my well-being.

I literally cried myself to sleep. I lay in bed, played some sad music (drawing the line at "How Soon Is Now" though!), and felt myself tear up before I drifted off. It was fitful sleep. At quarter to 7, I glanced at my phone and saw that BB had finally responded to my request that he text me when he was safely home about half an hour before. (I confess that the first place my stupid mind went to was that when he hooked up with me, it was also around 2 a.m. and he left after three hours, not four.)

Without trying to be too nosy, I asked some questions and found out some basic details. He had only a first name and no picture, so I don't know if this is someone I know or not. I also don't know if that would matter. In any case, we left it that we would chat more later. (I thought we'd have that opportunity Monday, when we had tentative plans to go to the vendor mart together, but he ended up bagging.)

The whole rest of the morning I spent lying in bed trying to sleep and being foiled by my anxiety. It took me a while to sort out what the source of that was. Jealousy, yes (I always thought I'd be the one to fuck BB in that harness, ever since he first sent me a picture of him wearing it the day after we met), but also fear. Fear that he was being taken away from me, that this new guy would become a regular thing and instead of jumping at my invites BB would soon be begging off to spend time with him instead.

I'm well aware that none of this is a healthy reaction to a good thing happening to a friend. It's humiliating to realise I'm not as over him as I thought or want to be and I don't really have a good solution. I talked at length with a couple friends that day and the next and--though they had good advice--they didn't have any remedy for the way I feel now. Not only will BB never love me romantically, this is further evidence that he'll never give me all that I expect from a good friend. (He did at least ask "did you get lucky?" but that was all and there's been no follow-up since.) And at some point, I need to accept that and reduce my investment or I'm just going to grow resentful.

Honestly, sometimes I wonder if that isn't the solution. I think about how I overcame some of my bad crushes in the past and often it was the eventual realisation that I was making someone a priority who had no intention of prioritising me and I deserved better. But this is a worse crush than those were and I'm kind of afraid of the level of anger it might take to reach that point. I honestly don't know where things go from here, but I know I need to step back and see what he's willing to do while I work on shifting my focus to all the better friends I've been neglecting for too long.

So now for last weekend.

Friday night was the 5th anniversary of Monshu's death. I'd thought about getting together with my friend Mozhu or at least going to visit the scattering spot, but in the end I didn't feel the need for anything elaborate and simply burned some incense while I recited the Heart Sutra. The next morning, I reenacted what I did the morning after his death (also a Saturday, due to some calendrical quirk) and laid down for a bit in the room where he died. I felt reflective, but not particularly moved, and started to get ready to meet BB.

I'd decided to treat our rendezvous at a breakfast spot before heading over to JB's as a first date and approach it without any preconceptions about where it was going. I wasn't going to bring up anything we'd shared in our moments of intimacy or try to steer the conversation toward weighty subjects. From that point of view, it was a complete success. We had an easy rapport, I learned a bit more about his mysterious past, and I was buoyant taking him to meet my friends.

At JB's I got my most burning question--whether he was still interested in fooling around with me--answered as well. We played footsie under the table and stole a few furtive deep kisses when left alone. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told me he was lousy at boardgames, but he greatly enjoyed playing them. At about 5 pm, he rushed home to take care of his dog and I stayed to keep playing and catch up with a friend I hadn't seen since before lockdown. JB eventually ended up ordering pizza so we could keep playing into the evening.

It was probably about 8:30 when I left to walk home. I felt blissful; although I considered popping my head into Touché to see some friends, I soon decided it would be an anticlimax to a wonderful day and instead just sat in the frontroom savouring all that had happened.

Sometime after this, things took a turn.

I was in bed listening to music. Talking about 80s bands with the young-uns had put me onto a nostalgia kick and I found myself playing the first side of Upstairs at Eric's in its entirety and wishing I had BB there to share the experience with. I began to get moodier and moodier, found it hard to sleep, and soon it seemed every song I played was making me want to tear up. It seemed inexplicable given that everything that day had gone as well as I dared hope.

The next morning, it was worse. I woke up feeling completely bereft and didn't want to stir from the bed. I managed to complete the very basics of my routine but soon I was under the covers again. I moped around the house all day and got nothing done. Well, I did call my mother, but I was only half listening to anything she said. I tried texting BB but we couldn't get beyond mere banter. I went to bed feeling miserable and began deliberately playing grief songs until I was sobbing almost uncontrollably.

So what happened? I have a couple of hypotheses:

One is that this was a simple case of delayed grief. I wasn't really neutral about Monshu's yortsait, it's just that looking forward to a good day with friends allowed me to delay dealing with it. Once I was alone again, it all came flooding back all the stronger for having been damned up.

A more complicated explanation is that something about my experiences on that day triggered the grief. After BB left, the party was down to me, JB, Hildy (the friend I hadn't seen in ages), and his husband. We talked about their wedding (which due to lockdown we hadn't been able to attend) and Hildy and I had a good conversation about sex with friends v strangers in the kitchen.

In retrospect, I wonder if being alone around couples (JB's husband wasn't there but of course he came a lot in conversation) combined with the anniversary to tap into my fears of being alone indefinitely. I liked the feeling I had of being in a couple with BB, even though we aren't, and thinking that we might never be (which is honestly the way to bet) depressed me. There's no set time limit to find someone, but I guess I felt I'd be further along that track five years on. Instead, this year has brought me only a brief crush which ended disastrously (back in June and I'm still resentful), a mostly unsatisfying summer fling which ended that day with the guy's return to the Southwest, and my crush on BB.

Then there's the possibility that it's specifically my crush on BB which is making me miserable. The weekend after I returned from St Louis, he told me he just wanted to be alone and though I told him I understood I was pretty bummed. I ended up going to a house party and pumping our one mutual friend for info on him. "Don't lose your heart to this guy," he warned me. His take is that BB is looking for to have fun and not much more. And he's probably right.

But I've been through this whole journey in my head over the past six weeks as my mind keeps spinning possibilities and then trying desperately to rein myself back in. Frankly, having a week or two where I wasn't constantly checking my phone for a word from BB felt like a relief (hence my reluctance to get back in touch). I feel resentful of him for "doing this to me" when really I'm doing it all to myself, and that realisation turns the resentment back onto me and this flawed emotional makeup which repeatedly leads me to take crushes too far and then have to keep constantly consciously checking myself. It's tiring and it's no surprise that the strain should lead to bouts of depression.

Looks like I was wrong about making it through Valentine's unscathed. I left work in a pretty good mood but without any particular plans except checking out the vendor market at the Leather Archives and Museum. It was small and crowded and I only knew a couple people, so I didn't stay long before running across the street for groceries.

When I got home, I decided not to make what I'd bought ingredients for anyway and instead threw together a Monte Cristo with some Tofurkey and the leftover French toast in the fridge. Even so, I managed to stay up a bit late and wake up groggy. My mid-morning nap ended up being an hour instead of twenty minutes but I popped out of bed ready to make my noodles after all.

Then I felt my energy desert me. I didn't feel like doing much of anything, even reading; only watching YouTube videos kept me awake long enough not to fall asleep too soon. I had to make one phone call--to my stepmom to make arrangements for next weekend--and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Despite a good night's sleep, I was just as listless the next morning. Then it hit me: This is depression.

I got up early and had my tea, but then I crawled back under the covers. All I wanted was for someone--anyone--to reach out to me. But when someone did (one of my new pals, asking if we were going out for Venezuelan later), I ignored them. It was agonising. I found myself wishing for some happy pills to pop.

In the end, what got me up was dim sum. The day before, a couple acquaintances had planned a trip to support Chinatown (which is losing business due to dumb, racist Coronavirus fears) and I'd pledged to go. If I'd cancelled, they wouldn't have missed me, but still I used this chimney myself up from the depths. It was a somewhat harrowing ride down (I basically sat wrapped up and tried to ignore the goings-on around me), but I made it.

And once there, I enjoyed myself, of course. It was a good crowd. Afterwards I remember thinking how little anyone had used their phones (which gives me hope for the young people after all). We visited a couple bakeries, the candy store, and a beauty shop, and chatted the whole while. Hopefully this isn't the last I'll see of these guys, but even if it is, it was well worth it.

I lingered so long that I didn't have time to stop at home before heading up to Evanston to meet the new boys at La Cocinita. I naturally didn't feel like eating (the ride up had made me a little sick) but they didn't mind and noshed away. We spent most of the time talking about food and restaurants with an eye to our next outing.

I came back home tired out but happy at my triumph. Hopefully it won't ever get any harder than this.