The Hot Gates
I woke up this morning with a feeling I have not had in a long, long, long time now. Sure, I talk about wishing I was still running, bitching that I am not, yada yada yada... but this morning I felt it... more than just a thought about wanting to, but an actually urgency, a drive inside to actually DO it.
Of course, these types of epiphanies always come to me in the morning, and after eight hours of work my will is usually crushed. But, it was a big step none-the-less. I've been in a pit for quite some time and I haven't wanted to do much more than ruminate. Is the depression briefly lifting? Dammit, I never did name "it" did I?
My inspiration was not in small part due to the b-day dinner I went to last night for Rockwell. We were all sitting on the back patio of Halsteds when that barback from Sidetrack showed up with the Egyptian tattoos all over him. Everyone in Chicago knows who he is. I met him through a friend four or five years ago, don't really know him now. But, I love looking. And, for whatever reason seeing his rippling biceps made me really want to have rippling biceps of my own.
I know there are people that don't get it, because of their misunderstanding of me or because of their own esteem issues... but, I love to look. Sure, it's partially sexual. But, it's as if my libido is actually an art critic. And it truly appreciates and adores something beautiful to focus on and study. Hello, even my self-esteem is in the toilet and half the guys I look at, on the inside I am saying to myself "why don't you look like him, you're a hideous beast compared to him".. but looking makes me feel young and alive... it hearkens back to the carefree days when I was just out and 21, and after a lifetime of suppression I was actually able to say, "Hey, I think that guy is hot" and not give a shit if it disgusted someone.
I like looking at the guy, so what. I find him physically fascinating, and think it's fantastic that not only is he pretty, but he's into history. He's not just some body sculpting gym bunny, he has a brain. What's not to like about that.
So, if I get my life's motivation from some inked barback with an Egyptian fetish, what different does it make? I am just happy that I am not over 80% fucking miserable today. The question is, how soon will Miss Managed get here and ruin it all by asking me every ten minutes what I am working on. If you're reading my blog, you should already know!
I am going to race to Best Buy tonight. I am picking up '300'. I am going home, putting my leather underwear on, greasing myself up with baby oil and watching it. TONIGHT I DINE ON THE SOFA!
Addendum: She just called. My mood just plummeted to the floor. She's going to be here all fucking day. It's amazing how one minor thing completely and utterly destroys my whole fucking day. Someone kill me. Please. I am serious. Just do it. I am ready for this to all be over.
Of course, these types of epiphanies always come to me in the morning, and after eight hours of work my will is usually crushed. But, it was a big step none-the-less. I've been in a pit for quite some time and I haven't wanted to do much more than ruminate. Is the depression briefly lifting? Dammit, I never did name "it" did I?
My inspiration was not in small part due to the b-day dinner I went to last night for Rockwell. We were all sitting on the back patio of Halsteds when that barback from Sidetrack showed up with the Egyptian tattoos all over him. Everyone in Chicago knows who he is. I met him through a friend four or five years ago, don't really know him now. But, I love looking. And, for whatever reason seeing his rippling biceps made me really want to have rippling biceps of my own.
I know there are people that don't get it, because of their misunderstanding of me or because of their own esteem issues... but, I love to look. Sure, it's partially sexual. But, it's as if my libido is actually an art critic. And it truly appreciates and adores something beautiful to focus on and study. Hello, even my self-esteem is in the toilet and half the guys I look at, on the inside I am saying to myself "why don't you look like him, you're a hideous beast compared to him".. but looking makes me feel young and alive... it hearkens back to the carefree days when I was just out and 21, and after a lifetime of suppression I was actually able to say, "Hey, I think that guy is hot" and not give a shit if it disgusted someone.
I like looking at the guy, so what. I find him physically fascinating, and think it's fantastic that not only is he pretty, but he's into history. He's not just some body sculpting gym bunny, he has a brain. What's not to like about that.
So, if I get my life's motivation from some inked barback with an Egyptian fetish, what different does it make? I am just happy that I am not over 80% fucking miserable today. The question is, how soon will Miss Managed get here and ruin it all by asking me every ten minutes what I am working on. If you're reading my blog, you should already know!
I am going to race to Best Buy tonight. I am picking up '300'. I am going home, putting my leather underwear on, greasing myself up with baby oil and watching it. TONIGHT I DINE ON THE SOFA!
Addendum: She just called. My mood just plummeted to the floor. She's going to be here all fucking day. It's amazing how one minor thing completely and utterly destroys my whole fucking day. Someone kill me. Please. I am serious. Just do it. I am ready for this to all be over.