Samedi sous la pluie

I have a single “date” on my calendar for the entire month of November: I see my eye surgeon on the fifteenth. I have twenty-nine days with absolutely nothing to do except to take fifty-eight dog walks. 

It’s obviously time to repair my ladies but I, who loved projects and could work endlessly and obsessively for days on end, am unmotivated. I realize my projects were “cries for attention” and I don’t have any desire for attention any more—hence my intention to present my ladies, if used by the arts council, as the work of someone else.

It seems clear my lifelong need to create is over or hibernating. It’s limited now to the development of my property and all that, now, happens when the warm weather is here. The pattern of life here is one of extremes: There’s absolutely zip to do in the late Fall, Winter and early Spring, and then there’s endless daily work and lots of outdoor distractions to enjoy when its warm and sunny.

I knew this winter was going to be a challenge—definitely not an insurmountable one, but a bit of a challenge all the same. I wonder what it takes to get through six months spending most all my time alone. I wonder if there’s a difference between me “wanting” isolation and my condition “causing” a need to be alone. 

I think I’m going to have to undertake some little trips.

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A long-time acquaintance—a gay man—is going into assisted living and our mutual friends are angry with him.

S. has been plagued with significant symptoms for a long time; they’ve provoked us to ask questions but he’s never given a name to his affliction. In the absence of a diagnosis, our mutual friends conclude he’s suffering due to his bad habits (smoking; drinking) and doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve been as shocked by the reaction of our friends as I’ve been by his decline.

We moved in a common circle of acquaintances. And as I thought about us all, I couldn’t help but conclude that many of us have “issues” from growing up in the closet and being ashamed of ourselves. 

Many of my peers are suffering, as am I. Gayness plays a factor in my condition: I never spoke up about the abuse I endured because I felt I deserved it. The church, TV and my friends at school taught me that being gay was the worst of sins.  

Thank God that in the cities, at least, social attitudes have changed and today’s gay youth can avoid being similarly afflicted.

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It was lovely to walk Sheba this morning. It’s still so warm that the grey skies don’t matter. Then, as the rain commenced, I went shopping for some supplies and came home to read by the fire. I absolutely lovehaving a fireplace and heating with wood.

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Just: Holy Fuck! Rosamond Pike as famed war correspondent Marie Calvin in A Private War coming out. What an incredible actor she is! Here’s a link to the trailer on YouTube.