I’ve got a killer idea for a Halloween costume. How about Sexy Hitler? I don’t think it’s been done before. For good reason.
I’m in a state of perpetual anger these days. I know the feeling. I’ve been here before. It’s what it feels like when you think you’re getting a bit too comfortable, and are stumped as to what you should do in order to take your life to the next level. They seem to like me at the coffee shop. Given time, I might be able to save up enough money from that job to move back to New York, although I don’t want to get ahead of myself. The manager keeps stressing that they need to get me ready for the holidays, as those are the busiest time of the year. That’s fine. I’m just trying to figure out why blog traffic has stalled lately. It experienced a slight revival over the past few months, then dropped back down again. If this keeps up, my total page views for 2013 will not equal my total page views for 2012, which is saying a lot when you consider that I didn’t start blogging until late February of 2012.
I don’t always get along with my father, but he said something years ago that I found helpful. When I was frustrated at my lack of success at canvassing despite being talented and driven, he said that talent and drive do not equal success. I might be brilliant, but so what? I’ve met a lot of people who seem to think that convincing themselves is as good as convincing me. They lay out their argument, which is so riddled with holes that a toddler could refute it, yet has a perverse kind of logic, then present it as indisputable fact. Um…I’m not you, jackass. That I did not explicitly tell you that you are wrong is no reason to assume I agree, and in some cases, I have told them that they are wrong, and they ignored me because they hear selectively. I’m not interested in their rationalizations. Anytime you tell me that I just didn’t hear you and need to accept that I know, deep down, that you’re right, you lose every bit of respect that might have had for you. But whenever bigots are called out on their bullshit, they backtrack, pretending they said something different that is not that different. It’s annoying. Usually, I just stop talking to them. The only leverage that I’ve got is my presence, and as long as they have that, they’ll still think they’ve won.
As regular readers might know, I have a fascination with gay YouTubers. They’re kind of an incestuous group, to tell you the truth. Yes, they seem like nice, supportive people, but it seems almost too easy to make friends with them. Basically, all you have to do is be gay and make YouTube videos. It reminds me of this one LGBT group that I was semi-involved with for about six months the year after I got my B.A. They were about as friendly and welcoming as you could imagine, but all they wanted to do was talk about gay stuff. (Understandable, sure, but there’s a whole lot more to life than that.) That lifestyle starts to feel very enclosed after a while. Yes, being queer is an essential part of who we are, but why does everything have to be filtered through that lens? A lot of these people strike me as people who came out, then never got over the terror of coming out. You have to move on, and that means accepting your sexuality as a larger part of your own identity. I don’t want to come down too hard on these guys. They’re nice. If I met them, I’d probably get along with them. I’m just saying I don’t want to be one.
If it looks like there is a lot of overlap between these posts in terms of subject matter, it’s because I’m having trouble condensing my thoughts into 1,000 words or so. I can’t just post cat pictures like some people can. I’d say this is my diary, but a diary is a tell-all, and believe me, there is a lot of shit that’s getting left out. It feels like my fears and insecurities have been compressed into a diamond in my chest and I wish I could just rip it out, but I have to chip away at it, piece by piece. I spend much of my time trying to decide what to do next.
I hate it when people say that it feels like childhood was just yesterday. I’m in my mid-twenties, and looking back, I think a lot of crazy shit has happened since then. The one respect in which nothing has changed is that I have much the same problems now as I did then. It sounds like whiny teenage bullshit, but too many people just don’t get me. They may mean well, but so what? That doesn’t help me. So I turn the same events over and over in my mind again and again, trying to figure out how to let go, how to let the person that I once was inform the person that I am today, but I can’t tell if I’m dwelling on past mistakes or actually making progress. I guess at a certain point, it doesn’t really matter.
Really, I’d settle for being able to sleep a little better. My memories are packed together in my brain like files in an accordion folder, and every time I lie down, they spill out onto the floor, with people I met in elementary school and haven’t thought of since then mingling with high school crushes and fictional characters I admire. It’s pretty crazy, and it happens every. Single. Night.
I don’t have a conclusion, so I’ll leave you with this. Wish me luck. I’ll just keep hanging on.