End of September
So it's the end of September, with less than two hours before October begins, and I'm stuck. Not literally, like, "Oh no! I chased that freakin' rabbit, and now I'm stuck with my head in a warren covered in baby rabbits and what I hope is Nesquick cereal" stuck, more in a metaphysical way. Let me explain: I am single, jobless, in a city I'm growing to hate more and more with each passing day, and writing about it on LiveJournal. Is there anything more depressing? I'm starting my third year of Uni next week, and that's about the only thing that's keeping me here. My folder full of bookmarks for cargo companies, immigration specialists, and New York estate agents should give a pretty clear example of where my mind wanders whilst freezing my butt off surrounded by bloody-nosed mice, fair-weather friends, and pancake varnish.
Ok, so the bloody-nosed mouse was a one-off thing, and that's actually just what they do as a self-defense thing when you catch them. As for the fair-weather friends, I'm starting to feel more and more that I am just 'that guy that's there to listen to your problems'. It seems like the only time my phone rings is to console someone who's blatantly unfaithful boyfriend isn't sure if they want to take them back (that's right, I meant it in that context), or to listen to someone whining that it's so hard to be gay in this city, and that they've only had three dates this week. I don't want to seem like I don't care, I really honestly do, and I really do like to be there for a friend in need, but if when the shoe is on the other foot, I know they wouldn't do the same, so I'm left talking doctiloquently about their problems, with little real knowledge of my own. Which brings me to the 'single' thing. Truth is, 'single' falls a little bit short to describe my relationship status...
So I've been openly non-hetro, non-bi, non-queer for over a year now (in truth, more like nearly two years) and I haven't been on a single date, had a single flirtatious encounter, nothing. Nadda. Zip. This isn't out of lack of trying, or because I've not been 'getting myself out there', as some people have suggested, but really, I just don't know how. In theory, of course, I'm the relationship expert, which is why perhaps I attract the advice-needers, but actually, I'm the last person who should give out advice on matter of the heart. Heck, even on matters of the quick lay. Long live the reign of the lonely heart, and all who sail in her. This all leads quite nicely back into my feelings about this city (I use the word 'nicely' with some dubiosity, of course).
Edinburgh is a small town by the mouth of an estury, but because of the fact that it has both the population, and UK requirement of having a cathedral, it is therefore a city. Heck, it's even a capital city, but that doesn't mean that all told, the extent of the facilities for the not-straight population isn't restricted to a handful of clubs, a couple of shops, and a cafe . Now, feel free to divide this estimation by a factor of about 15 if you happen to not enjoy dancing to Kylie in a white vest with your hair straightened/spiked and being oilded like a gladiator. Therefore, what I have to work with is about a quarter of a bar stool, half a rack of t-shirt, and roughly a medium sized cup of coffee. Not that I have anything against that sort of thing, if that's what you like, go oil your self up! Be my guest! But that just ain't me. Add to all this the fact that in the two weeks I spent in New York, I saw actual real gay men wearing actual real t-shirts and jeans, doing actual real creative things, and listening to actual real music, and this happening with regularity, made me realize that maybe I live about two thousand miles east of where I want to be.
Ok, so the bloody-nosed mouse was a one-off thing, and that's actually just what they do as a self-defense thing when you catch them. As for the fair-weather friends, I'm starting to feel more and more that I am just 'that guy that's there to listen to your problems'. It seems like the only time my phone rings is to console someone who's blatantly unfaithful boyfriend isn't sure if they want to take them back (that's right, I meant it in that context), or to listen to someone whining that it's so hard to be gay in this city, and that they've only had three dates this week. I don't want to seem like I don't care, I really honestly do, and I really do like to be there for a friend in need, but if when the shoe is on the other foot, I know they wouldn't do the same, so I'm left talking doctiloquently about their problems, with little real knowledge of my own. Which brings me to the 'single' thing. Truth is, 'single' falls a little bit short to describe my relationship status...
So I've been openly non-hetro, non-bi, non-queer for over a year now (in truth, more like nearly two years) and I haven't been on a single date, had a single flirtatious encounter, nothing. Nadda. Zip. This isn't out of lack of trying, or because I've not been 'getting myself out there', as some people have suggested, but really, I just don't know how. In theory, of course, I'm the relationship expert, which is why perhaps I attract the advice-needers, but actually, I'm the last person who should give out advice on matter of the heart. Heck, even on matters of the quick lay. Long live the reign of the lonely heart, and all who sail in her. This all leads quite nicely back into my feelings about this city (I use the word 'nicely' with some dubiosity, of course).
Edinburgh is a small town by the mouth of an estury, but because of the fact that it has both the population, and UK requirement of having a cathedral, it is therefore a city. Heck, it's even a capital city, but that doesn't mean that all told, the extent of the facilities for the not-straight population isn't restricted to a handful of clubs, a couple of shops, and a cafe . Now, feel free to divide this estimation by a factor of about 15 if you happen to not enjoy dancing to Kylie in a white vest with your hair straightened/spiked and being oilded like a gladiator. Therefore, what I have to work with is about a quarter of a bar stool, half a rack of t-shirt, and roughly a medium sized cup of coffee. Not that I have anything against that sort of thing, if that's what you like, go oil your self up! Be my guest! But that just ain't me. Add to all this the fact that in the two weeks I spent in New York, I saw actual real gay men wearing actual real t-shirts and jeans, doing actual real creative things, and listening to actual real music, and this happening with regularity, made me realize that maybe I live about two thousand miles east of where I want to be.