… hello darkness, my old friend.

I had just gotten over the fact that I would neither see – or hear – from him this weekend when my phone beeped telling me there was a message waiting. There they were: another variation on the words I’d heard all week. “Hey sexy sorry I have been so distant had lots to sort out and now to bed. Sleep tight.” And the weekend of trying to forget the angst bubbled again like cheap champagne and he was all I could think about. But instead of obsessing like I had the week before I accepted that I was lower down on his list of priorities that I might like to be and carried on downloading music.

Fast forward a week later and I found myself at the gates to his complex with the large chicken-tikka pizza, a bottle of favourite white wine and a bag full of goodies that he asked me to pick up for our date. The only thing missing from this party was the host. Intuitively the feeling started in my stomach the moment I tried to call him on his mobile phone and it was off. 30mins later when it still wasn’t on I knew that he wasn’t going to show up to his own house. I had put myself so far out there on the ledge that when I looked around I was alone. He called with an excuse but it was the last I wanted to hear.

Desperate not to be alone I phoned my fuck-buddy and asked if I could come over. Arriving at his place with a cold pizza, flaming temper and a wounded ego we sat watching Queer as Folk munching away. Somewhere between our last fuck-fest and tonight he had developed morals and said he wouldn’t fuck me since I was in ‘relationship’. Rejected by the 2nd man that night I wondered off to the spare room at the first sign of drooping eyelids and tried to fall asleep surrounded by unfamiliar noises and linen. Barely sleeping, I woke up in the early hours with thoughts of my bête noir.

As it was still dark and the middle of the night and desperate for a distraction I read every magazine in the room, including FHM (the Jerry Springer of magazines) only to find a copy of Spud to peak my interest. For some reason I had always avoided this novel but now as I started smack bang in the middle of the story line it seemed interesting. In fact it was damn funny and the hours flew past and before I knew it dawn had broken, my fuck-buddy had overslept for a meeting, and I had almost forgotten being stood up the night before.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, another episode of Queer as Folk and a cold cup of coffee later I left for home. The feeling of loneliness had passed and I was enthusiastically preparing myself for the comfort of my own bed, starting the novel from page 1 and snoozing the afternoon away in the rain that had come overnight and threatened to stay the week. There is no describing the smell of the country after the rain. I realised that even though it’s a pain in the arse living so far away from my old life there is no reason why my new life can’t be a happy coexistence of the two.

Happily devouring the 300-odd pages of the novel it left me feeling a little overindulgent and remorseful. If only I had paced myself the brilliance of the novel could have lasted the rest of the weekend. It could have seen me through a bleak and cold Sunday and into the start of a new week. Instead of atonement I bought the sequel to read as well. I’m most likely going to hell for being a fag anyway so what’s adding another deadly sin to the list of greed, ego, envy, lust with gluttony? I did one disturbing thing though: I’m using a photo of the Squirrel as a bookmark. He’s an alumnus of Michaelhouse after all and helps put a face to the character. Okay it’s a 36yr old face on a 15yr old boy but that’s only clouding the argument with facts and I will not have it!

So here I am: 2nd week into my new job and facing a litany of advertisers without contracts to cover the current edition, the promise of a new relationship in tatters because I refused to lower my standards even though I lowered my pants, a prediction of rain throughout the week along with as yet to be scheduled power-cuts, and a tiny voice in the back of my head telling me to prove something to someone somewhere. I think it’s a great start in the run up to the Easter weekend. But I’m learning and making the mistakes as I go along. That’s all I can do right now … 

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