This modern love
This past weekend was so busy it crashed right into this week and has been like a shadow upon it. Usually these vacations of sorts allow me to recharge and attack the daily infringements on my personal life known as work with vigor. I am a damn tiger. A tiger who is brilliant and sexy and all the things that I am while maintaining the aspects of a tiger that are appropriate for this analogy, specifically vicious killing abilities as relates to my job of course, not actual killing abilities, although if I were to find myself in a situation requiring them, I wouldn't be surprised to discover that I have those also. But there was just so much, I hardly got any sleep, which I absolutely must have and I've been struggling to catch up since.
Anyway, I could just go on and on about the wedding and the reunion, but I hardly have the time to go over every little detail, especially since many of you were at one or the other. I'll do the highlights. The wedding was just beautiful. I'm sure it was even more beautiful for everyone who attended because they got to look at me. The reception was beautiful too. I threw caution to the wind and allowed all the single boys to dance with me until my feet hurt. All the men know I don't need to wear four inch heels to look good, but when I do, watch out! After the wedding we all went out to the Chimes where I drank more and probably would have sneaked a cigarette if they hadn't changed the law there. Some poor boy tried to chat me up, but I couldn't even hear what he was saying. Really. I was out with my friends, I had half a mind to put him in his place and send him home with his tail between his legs, but weddings put me in a good mood, so I just turned my back on him and acted like he wasn't there. Eventually we closed the place, and the day was over.
On to the reunion. It was not how I imagined it would be. Somehow I thought so many would have gone on to the greater things perhaps not equaling, but modestly approaching, that which I have, and that I would be amongst peers, but in truth a small town school has small town students and the lives most seem to be leading remain so very small town. I had to endure repeated--I don't know what else to call them--assaults upon my chastity by undeserving men, who, believing that being in the same room as me had somehow given them a chance with me, pursued me despite whatever obstacles they might have set up for themselves: poverty, marriage, children, poverty, previously claiming to be gay, etcetera. It seems I mentioned poverty twice which really does make me look somewhat shallow, but really, one just doesn't interact below their station. I have people for that. It really was just awful, although there were one or two men who, perhaps in a fit of nostalgia, I didn't quite so mind the attention of.
One, Quentin, confessed, rather haphazardly I thought, that he'd always worried that he'd grow up and fulfill his namesake's destiny and commit suicide, dying a romantic, because of separation anxiety from me and he was so glad I'd come as he might now be able to go on another ten. I'm sure you can imagine it isn't the first time a man has thought a life absent of me isn't worth living, and as silly as it sounds those words perhaps because of there literary basis did not go unrewarded. Of course, it would be entirely inappropriate to say just how those words were rewarded, but to all the men out there, if, and for most of you that is a very unlikely if, the moment ever did come, would you be ready? I don't know what its like to be you in your inferior vessels, but I do know there must be something you can do about them. That's not an insult to poor Quentin, who obviously takes very good care of himself. Its more of a philisophical question.
The truth is poor Quentin's eyes begged and begged for the night to never end, but thats what they do and though his outward expression was one of confidence, as I require, those eyes gave him away. Poor, poor, Quentin. I hope I haven't irreparably spoiled you too much.
Anyway, I could just go on and on about the wedding and the reunion, but I hardly have the time to go over every little detail, especially since many of you were at one or the other. I'll do the highlights. The wedding was just beautiful. I'm sure it was even more beautiful for everyone who attended because they got to look at me. The reception was beautiful too. I threw caution to the wind and allowed all the single boys to dance with me until my feet hurt. All the men know I don't need to wear four inch heels to look good, but when I do, watch out! After the wedding we all went out to the Chimes where I drank more and probably would have sneaked a cigarette if they hadn't changed the law there. Some poor boy tried to chat me up, but I couldn't even hear what he was saying. Really. I was out with my friends, I had half a mind to put him in his place and send him home with his tail between his legs, but weddings put me in a good mood, so I just turned my back on him and acted like he wasn't there. Eventually we closed the place, and the day was over.
On to the reunion. It was not how I imagined it would be. Somehow I thought so many would have gone on to the greater things perhaps not equaling, but modestly approaching, that which I have, and that I would be amongst peers, but in truth a small town school has small town students and the lives most seem to be leading remain so very small town. I had to endure repeated--I don't know what else to call them--assaults upon my chastity by undeserving men, who, believing that being in the same room as me had somehow given them a chance with me, pursued me despite whatever obstacles they might have set up for themselves: poverty, marriage, children, poverty, previously claiming to be gay, etcetera. It seems I mentioned poverty twice which really does make me look somewhat shallow, but really, one just doesn't interact below their station. I have people for that. It really was just awful, although there were one or two men who, perhaps in a fit of nostalgia, I didn't quite so mind the attention of.
One, Quentin, confessed, rather haphazardly I thought, that he'd always worried that he'd grow up and fulfill his namesake's destiny and commit suicide, dying a romantic, because of separation anxiety from me and he was so glad I'd come as he might now be able to go on another ten. I'm sure you can imagine it isn't the first time a man has thought a life absent of me isn't worth living, and as silly as it sounds those words perhaps because of there literary basis did not go unrewarded. Of course, it would be entirely inappropriate to say just how those words were rewarded, but to all the men out there, if, and for most of you that is a very unlikely if, the moment ever did come, would you be ready? I don't know what its like to be you in your inferior vessels, but I do know there must be something you can do about them. That's not an insult to poor Quentin, who obviously takes very good care of himself. Its more of a philisophical question.
The truth is poor Quentin's eyes begged and begged for the night to never end, but thats what they do and though his outward expression was one of confidence, as I require, those eyes gave him away. Poor, poor, Quentin. I hope I haven't irreparably spoiled you too much.
2 Comments:
You're harsh turning your back on that young man.
Really, who is the victim here? Sure he's deprived of viewing what is probably the prettiest thing he will ever see, namely myself, but what right does he have to gaze into such beauty? None. Honestly, I can't be expected to suffer the conversational clumsiness--I swear I think he was talking about socks--of anyone who gathers up enough courage to come in for a closer look.
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