The thing that makes tumblr so great is that it’s different things to different people. Sometimes, it’s different things to the same people. Some of us use it for masturbatory rituals at bedtime. Some of us share our deepest thoughts and internal processes. Some of us do both….and various other things.
The problem with tumblr is us. We take a limitless product and box ourselves in. We get in a ritual, or we get busy and forget our initial goals (for it and ourselves). It sometimes becomes an afterthought, much like toys at Christmastime. So we have to find other sources, and the process becomes a vicious, tiring cycle.
In any event, this is my attempt to shake off the dust and put in some new batteries. I’m sure in a few days my gAyDD will kick in and focus will move elsewhere. I seem to always find something new and shiny. There’s probably some symbolism in that statement. But it’s been a busy week already, and that isn’t going to change any time soon. So now that I’ve made my bed, I’m going to go lie in it.
Take that how you will.
Playing volleyball, or most sports for that matter, reminds me of the “glory days” of my latter teen years. Back then, the world was new and I was waiting for it to discover me (unlike now, when I’m mostly happy with the world I’ve seemed to discover). I was sporty, hot and spicy, and only cared about wowing the world (or at least those watching) with my athletic prowess. I’m a lot less cocky and naive, but I still care a lot about that. I mean, because of those early years as a jock I’m more agile and athletic than I appear.
Playing sports reminds me of that. Well, rugby didn’t. It just made me feel old. I guess what I’m saying is that I typically feel most beautiful when that sexy jock shines so brightly buried beneath all those layers of fat. Sports is where I seem to be most comfortable, especially inside the multifaceted gayosphere. Well, that and dancing. I mean, it’s not my fault ABBA wrote a song about me.
For those that don’t know, the last half of last year wasn’t the best. Sure, there was the break-up. I’m sure that was the biggest part of it actually. I mean, I was sick too. But I mourned longer for the broken relationship than I wanted/expected to.
More so than the funk that happened afterwards, the biggest side-effect of the break up was the financial aspect of it. I’ve mostly been playing catch up since (which is part of the decision for moving into a cheaper apartment). Thankfully, I have found one that could be permanent..or at least until the next failed relationship starts. Still, it will take a while to catch up.
While I believe the break-up was the best thing for the relationship, I miss it lately. Not HIM. IT. Maybe it’s because I’ve become more selfish and I just miss being taken care of from time to time. I was his whole life for a good portion of the relationship. He invested in me, and made me better.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still better. I feel stronger and more vibrant than I have in 10 years. I feel far less broken than I did before I met him (but I’m not giving him credit for that…and not just because he might be reading).
But nights like tonight, I miss the relationship. When things are highly stressful or exciting, I miss having someone to sit in the silence with me until the anxiety dissipates. On those nights when it’s way too dark and you can’t find your way, I miss having someone swoop in and turn on the light switch.
I’m not saying I’m lonely. I’m not lonely. I have lots of love and support in my life. Probably more than I deserve.
It’s just been a long day, and mentally exhausted. It’s been a long eight months and I’m ready for something good to happen. And it will, in slightly less than 60 hours. Now, if I can just figure out how to keep the lights on until the sun rises on Thursday morning.