My life is abrupt. My relationships start and stop without much hesitation or agonizing. This isn't to say I don't spend great deals of time considering and evaluating things as they happen, it's just that when I reach a decision or someone else makes a decision for me, I go with it. Regrets are dealt with later, if it all. As some have pointed out, my stories are the same way.
Some people seem to think that my stories end abruptly because I get bored with them, or I don't know what to with them. Nope. They end abruptly because that's the way I live my life. A martyr complexed knitter and her friends ask me to pick up my life and move to Pieceofshitdeserttown, I do it, despite my comfortable life and my friends' protests. When, five months later, I am broke and miserably unhappy, I take what I can carry and head home, leaving many of my Earthly possessions behind me. And when Scott accepted my invitation to Nantucket, that was it, we were going. Even though I didn't know him very well, and what I did know I didn't particularly care for.
It was my fault as much as his that the weekend sucked so incredibly much. I couldn't postpone the trip but I could have invited someone else, an old friend, CSB, Tommy, someone I would have enjoyed spending time with regardless of sexual activity. But I'd chosen Scott, and now we were two slightly frustrated gay men who had to spend one more night sharing a bed.
When I learned that he'd taken money out of his account to buy the books, and put some of it aside to take me out for our last lunch before we went home, I disliked him a little less. Plus, he had brought me orange chicken.
We didn't talk much that final night. There was no "coming to terms" with anything, no animosity, just nothing really to say. I woke up, showered, and was pretty much packed before he woke up.
"Morning." He said after a healthy yawnstretch.
"Yes it is."
By the time we made it out of the room, it was noonish. We put our bags down at the front desk, and went downtown to find a nice restaurant. I don't remember what we had, only that it was incredibly good (though not as orgasmic as lobster ravioli). After lunch, we headed back to the hotel, picked up our bags and called a cab. We had about a half hour wait before our plane left. We both read with our headphones on while we waited.
I didn't have any urge to push him out of the plane on our flight back to the mainland. Rather than have my mom pick us up at the airport and risk having to throttle Scott, we took a cab to her parking lot. He offered to drive me to the bus station, but I decided to toss my bags in my mom's condo, and wander around my old neighborhood.
And that was it. Apart from a rather terse Thank You e-mail, I never heard from Scott again. There was something comfortably familiar about that.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/90960.html
Some people seem to think that my stories end abruptly because I get bored with them, or I don't know what to with them. Nope. They end abruptly because that's the way I live my life. A martyr complexed knitter and her friends ask me to pick up my life and move to Pieceofshitdeserttown, I do it, despite my comfortable life and my friends' protests. When, five months later, I am broke and miserably unhappy, I take what I can carry and head home, leaving many of my Earthly possessions behind me. And when Scott accepted my invitation to Nantucket, that was it, we were going. Even though I didn't know him very well, and what I did know I didn't particularly care for.
It was my fault as much as his that the weekend sucked so incredibly much. I couldn't postpone the trip but I could have invited someone else, an old friend, CSB, Tommy, someone I would have enjoyed spending time with regardless of sexual activity. But I'd chosen Scott, and now we were two slightly frustrated gay men who had to spend one more night sharing a bed.
When I learned that he'd taken money out of his account to buy the books, and put some of it aside to take me out for our last lunch before we went home, I disliked him a little less. Plus, he had brought me orange chicken.
We didn't talk much that final night. There was no "coming to terms" with anything, no animosity, just nothing really to say. I woke up, showered, and was pretty much packed before he woke up.
"Morning." He said after a healthy yawnstretch.
"Yes it is."
By the time we made it out of the room, it was noonish. We put our bags down at the front desk, and went downtown to find a nice restaurant. I don't remember what we had, only that it was incredibly good (though not as orgasmic as lobster ravioli). After lunch, we headed back to the hotel, picked up our bags and called a cab. We had about a half hour wait before our plane left. We both read with our headphones on while we waited.
I didn't have any urge to push him out of the plane on our flight back to the mainland. Rather than have my mom pick us up at the airport and risk having to throttle Scott, we took a cab to her parking lot. He offered to drive me to the bus station, but I decided to toss my bags in my mom's condo, and wander around my old neighborhood.
And that was it. Apart from a rather terse Thank You e-mail, I never heard from Scott again. There was something comfortably familiar about that.
original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/90960.html
No comments:
Post a Comment