2004-04-23

-lated bemoaning

not sure where this will go, other than graphic as the inspiration for writing this came from my loins. actually, I don't feel like writing anything. just 'cause I massaged myself with release in the shower at work doesn't mean I have to write about it. the hours-later afterglow doesn't make for good writing, and even less-interesting reading.

typing these words is just a continuation of the many hours of procrastination I've accomplished on a Friday afternoon. I told myself I'd leave by 4pm today, since I came in early. as my departure time approaches, I realize how little I've done at work and I'll stay "just a bit" longer to get enough done to make me feel productive.

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earlier this week, I had considered writing about ma and pa and their anniversary and my need to manipulate their lives to make me feel better about mine and the desire to fix the endless complaints of pa's broken life/dreams. there never seemed to be enough time or a fully-crystalized thesis. today, a belated birthday present arrived, a beginner's book on Bonsai.

I feel bad for not calling them on their anniversary Tuesday (Hitler's birthday and the 5th anniversary of Columbine). because I now have the savings, I want to fly them out here as an all-in-one, multiple-year, make-up birthday/anniversary/mother's/father's day present. something to make me feel like I'm not a horrible son. something to make me feel like they love me, as they haven't found it in themselves to visit after I moved West eight years ago. something to make up for the fact that last December was the first xmas in 30 years that I didn't wake up under their roof (although I did visit in October and at least mom came to NYC in November).

is it rational, therapy-like thought or just selfishness that makes me think that I shouldn't try to buy their affection with this trip? count my losses and let the relationship be what it's going to be? give up on my desire to have them see me as an adult, visit my house, see me on my terms?

sounds pretty compelling, not to mention an undercurrent of homophobia as the possible source of my dad's resistance. it is, after all, all him. she'd be out here in a heartbeat. but then I forgive him when I remind myself of how much he's grown, how he's human too, how wonderful he was at my first IM, followed by his incredible tranformation in 2000. for all that he frustrates me, somewhere down deep he's reaching out in attempts to connect, even if it feels like his slamming me up against a wall or throwing rocks at me.

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enough... it's 40 minutes later. I can't believe I started out with my penis and testes and ended with a paternal testimonial.

earlier - later