I'm leaving in just a few minutes to join thousands of NY and NJ area gays for an evening of dancing, eating and mass consumerism, with roller coasters, as we descend on Six Flags Great Adventure theme park.
Group outings still make me very nervous, which is why I'm going. This is mitigated by the fact that I'm riding up and down on a luxury coach bus with members of SIN. So it's not just a group of gays but a group of HIV+ gays. With snacks. And drag queens.
Which will hopefully make it an enjoyable outing. As an aside, I have very little experience with giant theme parks. Never having been to Disney anything. Neither Land nor World. So as a result I have a certain amount of fear about getting on all these newfangled roller coasters and such. Which is another reason I am going.
There will be pictures.
UPDATE:
While I did manage to conquer my fears and get on a few coasters, I couldn't get muyself on the big ones (Superman, Nitro, Kingda Ka). I was pretty much rolling on my own and I probably would have worked up the nerve if I had a "partner". But I did good, bought some T-shirts, watched a pretty elaborate drag show and saw scads of hot boys. Had fun.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, September 24, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
And We're Back
A month without blogging. It wasn't my intent. I admit, I had been getting tired of keeping up on the blog. Plus, I discovered the magic that is Facebook and that seemed to satisfy one of the main reasons that I kept up blogging, long after I felt as if my original reasons for creating and maintaining From The Ashes had run it's course. I said that I wanted to give people a glimpse in to the life of a middle aged HIV+ person, and I did that. And while I still have things to say and work that I'm doing related not only to my own life as an HIV+ individual, the nuts and bolts, as it were, of my illness have pretty much been worked out. I'm in a maintenance mode that finds me pretty damn healthy, and no reason to think that will change anytime soon.
I also obviously (in retrospect) had a lot of other "issues" that needed working out too. Many of them, as it turns out, were linked in some way to alcoholism and all of the emotional and psychological damage that causes. But I've been sober for 3 1/2 years now and a lot of those issues have been resolved as well. No more panic attacks. No more General Anxiety Disorder. No more roommate troubles. No more surrounding myself with addicts and enablers. I finally feel balanced, relatively sane and at peace. In other words, I feel kind of boring.
And a boring sober middle-aged gay man doesn't necessarily have all that much to write about. At least, that's how I've been feeling. I didn't write 'cause I was happy. Which I guess means that the last 7 years could in fact be viewed as one long primal scream. In a way, I guess it was. I was lost. I was alone. I was confused. I was scared. And I poured all of it out on the page. Eventually I also poured it out to a couple of competent therapists and several hundred AA members in the last several years of meetings. Slowly, I got better. Things settled down. And I felt like I had less and less to say.
The last year maybe, certainly the last few months, I felt like I was struggling for posts, and struggling to find content. And I certainly thought about shutting From The Ashes down. I suppose I still might. But I'm not ready to walk away from it yet. And I think that this blog still has a purpose. For me, it's a creative outlet. and one that I need. I do love to write. It's only the struggle I couldn't identify that had turned it in to a chore instead of a pleasure.
So I took some time off (that lasted longer than I intended) and let things percolate for a while. I thought about what I wanted, what I had to say, and where I wanted this blog to go. I have no idea if that's what will actually happen. That's the thing about creating something from nothing - it frequently becomes something else. To me, the end of the journey is not what's important, it's the road you take along the way.
I definitely plan on writing some longer postings. Stories from my life, my childhood, as well as a chronicle of the 20+ years I've spent finding my way in a city that allows you to constantly, repeatedly reinvent yourself. Ultimately, that's what From The Ashes has always been about. I have loved the story of the phoenix from the moment I first heard it.
Rebirth. A new life rising from the ashes of the old. Renewal. Redemption. A fresh start. It's where we are today.
In the future, we'll see where it takes us. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
Let's go.
I also obviously (in retrospect) had a lot of other "issues" that needed working out too. Many of them, as it turns out, were linked in some way to alcoholism and all of the emotional and psychological damage that causes. But I've been sober for 3 1/2 years now and a lot of those issues have been resolved as well. No more panic attacks. No more General Anxiety Disorder. No more roommate troubles. No more surrounding myself with addicts and enablers. I finally feel balanced, relatively sane and at peace. In other words, I feel kind of boring.
And a boring sober middle-aged gay man doesn't necessarily have all that much to write about. At least, that's how I've been feeling. I didn't write 'cause I was happy. Which I guess means that the last 7 years could in fact be viewed as one long primal scream. In a way, I guess it was. I was lost. I was alone. I was confused. I was scared. And I poured all of it out on the page. Eventually I also poured it out to a couple of competent therapists and several hundred AA members in the last several years of meetings. Slowly, I got better. Things settled down. And I felt like I had less and less to say.
The last year maybe, certainly the last few months, I felt like I was struggling for posts, and struggling to find content. And I certainly thought about shutting From The Ashes down. I suppose I still might. But I'm not ready to walk away from it yet. And I think that this blog still has a purpose. For me, it's a creative outlet. and one that I need. I do love to write. It's only the struggle I couldn't identify that had turned it in to a chore instead of a pleasure.
So I took some time off (that lasted longer than I intended) and let things percolate for a while. I thought about what I wanted, what I had to say, and where I wanted this blog to go. I have no idea if that's what will actually happen. That's the thing about creating something from nothing - it frequently becomes something else. To me, the end of the journey is not what's important, it's the road you take along the way.
I definitely plan on writing some longer postings. Stories from my life, my childhood, as well as a chronicle of the 20+ years I've spent finding my way in a city that allows you to constantly, repeatedly reinvent yourself. Ultimately, that's what From The Ashes has always been about. I have loved the story of the phoenix from the moment I first heard it.
Rebirth. A new life rising from the ashes of the old. Renewal. Redemption. A fresh start. It's where we are today.
In the future, we'll see where it takes us. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
Let's go.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Ouch
Just wrote a check for the tax man for $933. I guess I will focus on how fortunate I am to be able to write that check and not what I would rather be doing with it.
Sorry the video I posted over the weekend about NYC bike messengers got pulled. It was full of scruffy, scrappy, cute young men that spend their days defying gravity and dangerous NYC traffic.
My diet went a little off the rails, as I've been juggling three part time jobs and not getting nearly enough sleep. I'm determined to start getting to bed by 2 am at the latest and getting back on a regular exercise schedule. I still want to lose 10 more pounds.
I've also been neglecting getting in more than one AA meeting a week. I can totally feel a lot of misplaced aggression and more than a few obsessive behaviors creeping in. I'm not worried about drinking, but it's not enough to be not drinking. I need to maintain sober thoughts and a mentally healthy life. That's what the meetings give me, and that's what I feel slipping away.
Time to get right-sized.
Sorry the video I posted over the weekend about NYC bike messengers got pulled. It was full of scruffy, scrappy, cute young men that spend their days defying gravity and dangerous NYC traffic.
My diet went a little off the rails, as I've been juggling three part time jobs and not getting nearly enough sleep. I'm determined to start getting to bed by 2 am at the latest and getting back on a regular exercise schedule. I still want to lose 10 more pounds.
I've also been neglecting getting in more than one AA meeting a week. I can totally feel a lot of misplaced aggression and more than a few obsessive behaviors creeping in. I'm not worried about drinking, but it's not enough to be not drinking. I need to maintain sober thoughts and a mentally healthy life. That's what the meetings give me, and that's what I feel slipping away.
Time to get right-sized.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Why All This Blogging?
Queerty.com ran a little squib about being HIV+ and open about your status on the 'Net. It was actually pretty much just a link to a larger article that ran in HIVPlusMag.com that was about HIV+ bloggers and vloggers and the various ways we are using social networks and digital communication.
But I found myself compelled to respond in the comments at Queerty about my own reasons for blogging, and why I ultimately decided to be open about my identity:
"I started blogging right after my HIV diagnosis 7 years ago. It was a way for me to document what I was going through and most certainly it was cathartic. At the time, I felt that I had no one else to talk to and poured my heart out in the blog. As time went on it became much more therapeutic in general and I was able to recognize that I needed to make some major changes in my life. 3 years ago I finally got sober.
I wasn't always completely open about my identity, until another "blogger" and horrible soul decided to post my HIV status and name without my consent. It was then I decided to go ahead and start being completely open about being Positive, and I have since encountered many instances where there is still quite a bit of stigma, even from other gay men. That just makes me more determined to live out loud and in the open. My goal is to see the time when HIV+ people are treated just as you would anyone else with a chronic and survivable illness. No different."
It's always a crapshoot what kind of a response you will get when you post in these open forums. But I actually only got one response:
I wish I didn't have to ask this, but I hope that when you write about your experiences as a HIV+ person, you also take the time to remind your readers to do everything in their power to avoid ending up in your place.
Now on the surface, I suppose it was an innocuous enough comment. But something about it- the tone of it- I found instantly a little irritating:
"I'm not sure how I feel about your characterization that I have "ended up" anywhere. While I certainly don't advocate becoming HIV+ or engaging in reckless behavior, my life has become richer and more fulfilling in the last few years than it has been for decades. Far from ending, I feel my horizons have expanded and my options are limited only by my desire and ambition to continue to grow.
And like it or not, as Dennis said above, while I try not to limit my writing to HIV or HIV+ issues only, my first concern is to try and help myself and others to navigate a difficult, but by no means tragic, road. If negative men get a prevention message out of that, that's fine too."
And actually, I am sure how I felt about that characterization. That is exactly the kind of attitude many HIV+ people encounter, both from straight people who don't know any better and gay people who should. As if the HIV diagnosis is the end. The end of the story, the end of planning for a future, the end of your sex life, the end of your dreams.
Almost as if I no longer have a right, or an expectation, to any of it.
Which would only be true -if I let it be.
But I found myself compelled to respond in the comments at Queerty about my own reasons for blogging, and why I ultimately decided to be open about my identity:
"I started blogging right after my HIV diagnosis 7 years ago. It was a way for me to document what I was going through and most certainly it was cathartic. At the time, I felt that I had no one else to talk to and poured my heart out in the blog. As time went on it became much more therapeutic in general and I was able to recognize that I needed to make some major changes in my life. 3 years ago I finally got sober.
I wasn't always completely open about my identity, until another "blogger" and horrible soul decided to post my HIV status and name without my consent. It was then I decided to go ahead and start being completely open about being Positive, and I have since encountered many instances where there is still quite a bit of stigma, even from other gay men. That just makes me more determined to live out loud and in the open. My goal is to see the time when HIV+ people are treated just as you would anyone else with a chronic and survivable illness. No different."
It's always a crapshoot what kind of a response you will get when you post in these open forums. But I actually only got one response:
I wish I didn't have to ask this, but I hope that when you write about your experiences as a HIV+ person, you also take the time to remind your readers to do everything in their power to avoid ending up in your place.
Now on the surface, I suppose it was an innocuous enough comment. But something about it- the tone of it- I found instantly a little irritating:
"I'm not sure how I feel about your characterization that I have "ended up" anywhere. While I certainly don't advocate becoming HIV+ or engaging in reckless behavior, my life has become richer and more fulfilling in the last few years than it has been for decades. Far from ending, I feel my horizons have expanded and my options are limited only by my desire and ambition to continue to grow.
And like it or not, as Dennis said above, while I try not to limit my writing to HIV or HIV+ issues only, my first concern is to try and help myself and others to navigate a difficult, but by no means tragic, road. If negative men get a prevention message out of that, that's fine too."
And actually, I am sure how I felt about that characterization. That is exactly the kind of attitude many HIV+ people encounter, both from straight people who don't know any better and gay people who should. As if the HIV diagnosis is the end. The end of the story, the end of planning for a future, the end of your sex life, the end of your dreams.
Almost as if I no longer have a right, or an expectation, to any of it.
Which would only be true -if I let it be.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
What Have You Been Up To?
That's the question I get from a lot of the Facebookians that have popped back in to my life as a result of my finally deciding to go over the cliff. Unfortunatley, many of them I haven't seen since 1980 or so, which makes trying to encapsulate three decades of "life" rather daunting. But I tried. Here's what I sent to the wife of a teacher I was very close to in High School. Pretty much sums it up I guess:
Woooo ... that's a can of worms. Well I didn't just move to NYC as much as I ran away from home. I had done it several times when I was much younger but this time I had money and a way to book a flight. Not that I didn't have big plans for NY but mostly it was really about getting away.
The other thing I hadn't counted on was that I was running right in to the epicenter of HIV/AIDS in America, and at that time, people were literally dying in the street. I always said that if I had been alive in 1945 I probably would have rushed out and rented a condo in Hiroshima. So it was scary and confusing, and I had a lot of emotional baggage that I needed to sort out. I knew a lot of what I was taught wasn't true, but the real truth took me quite a while to uncover.
Of course it probably took significantly longer as I spent a good part of the last 20 years soaked in alcohol. I was either drunk or recovering from being drunk almost every day. Towards the end I started throwing lots of different pills in just to complete my entire homage to Neely O'Hara (Valley of the Dolls).
The entire time I was working full time, running some of the biggest , busiest venues in Manhattan, first as a bartender and then as a manager. There was no time (or desire) for auditions as my life pretty much consisted of drink and partying with other alcoholics I met through work. We would lose touch when the place ultimately closed and repeat with new people in a new venue. I bounced around Times Square, Greenwich Village, South St Seaport, whichever neighborhood was hot at the time.
I did manage to create one cabaret show that I wrote and performed at the Duplex on Christopher Street, but by then my confidence was shattered and I actually wrote a part towards the beginning of th show where I mix a martini for me to drink on stage. It was real and I needed it. I had developed awful stage fright and figured I was done performing.
Of course, mixed in to all that are disastrous love affairs (I would run, RUN! towards a cute drug addict with a hot butt - so I could save him!), friends and co-workers getting killed in accidents or murdered by lovers, losing my sister mysteriously and unexpectedly until I really became a walking Lifetime Television for Women script.
And of course it includes recovery and redemption. In 2002 I decided my 40th B-Day was a good day to give up my 2 pack a day smoking habit, and about 3 years ago I went to AA for help and got sober. So far, it stuck. I've had a few rounds of short-term therapy and many many walks and bike rides all over Manhattan convincing myself it was OK to stop running away. Finally. And I've met a lot of people just like me who give me encouragement and strength when I can't find it inside myself.
So it's not all that surprising that I was finally ready to resurface after 30 years and re-connect with a pretty happy time in my life. Because I'm at another very happy time, where I have found a measure of peace, and a large swath of contentment in a life that I feared for a while was going to end in a whimper, all alone.
I don't have that fear anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't have much fear at all anymore. I'm in a good place, and I'm thrilled to talk to you and ### again after all these years.
Woooo ... that's a can of worms. Well I didn't just move to NYC as much as I ran away from home. I had done it several times when I was much younger but this time I had money and a way to book a flight. Not that I didn't have big plans for NY but mostly it was really about getting away.
The other thing I hadn't counted on was that I was running right in to the epicenter of HIV/AIDS in America, and at that time, people were literally dying in the street. I always said that if I had been alive in 1945 I probably would have rushed out and rented a condo in Hiroshima. So it was scary and confusing, and I had a lot of emotional baggage that I needed to sort out. I knew a lot of what I was taught wasn't true, but the real truth took me quite a while to uncover.
Of course it probably took significantly longer as I spent a good part of the last 20 years soaked in alcohol. I was either drunk or recovering from being drunk almost every day. Towards the end I started throwing lots of different pills in just to complete my entire homage to Neely O'Hara (Valley of the Dolls).
The entire time I was working full time, running some of the biggest , busiest venues in Manhattan, first as a bartender and then as a manager. There was no time (or desire) for auditions as my life pretty much consisted of drink and partying with other alcoholics I met through work. We would lose touch when the place ultimately closed and repeat with new people in a new venue. I bounced around Times Square, Greenwich Village, South St Seaport, whichever neighborhood was hot at the time.
I did manage to create one cabaret show that I wrote and performed at the Duplex on Christopher Street, but by then my confidence was shattered and I actually wrote a part towards the beginning of th show where I mix a martini for me to drink on stage. It was real and I needed it. I had developed awful stage fright and figured I was done performing.
Of course, mixed in to all that are disastrous love affairs (I would run, RUN! towards a cute drug addict with a hot butt - so I could save him!), friends and co-workers getting killed in accidents or murdered by lovers, losing my sister mysteriously and unexpectedly until I really became a walking Lifetime Television for Women script.
And of course it includes recovery and redemption. In 2002 I decided my 40th B-Day was a good day to give up my 2 pack a day smoking habit, and about 3 years ago I went to AA for help and got sober. So far, it stuck. I've had a few rounds of short-term therapy and many many walks and bike rides all over Manhattan convincing myself it was OK to stop running away. Finally. And I've met a lot of people just like me who give me encouragement and strength when I can't find it inside myself.
So it's not all that surprising that I was finally ready to resurface after 30 years and re-connect with a pretty happy time in my life. Because I'm at another very happy time, where I have found a measure of peace, and a large swath of contentment in a life that I feared for a while was going to end in a whimper, all alone.
I don't have that fear anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't have much fear at all anymore. I'm in a good place, and I'm thrilled to talk to you and ### again after all these years.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Low Battery
I slept until almost 1:00 pm today. Haven't done that in probably a year or more. But it is very cold and very dark and very rainy today and I was under the comforter with the shades drawn and Riley underneath the blanket at my feet. I woke up many times to hear the cars running across the rain-slick road and just rolled over. I didn't think it was almost 1:00 however. But I have been working every day and interviewing for work almost every day, as well as all my other "things to do". As they say, I must have needed it. But now I'm off to work with only this blog blurb to show for it. It will have to do. There may be news on the full time job front. Fingers crossed.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Way Back When?
Here's something new. I've decided to horrify or delight you (you pick) with some pictures that no one has seen for decades. This picture is me from a production of The Lion In Winter, where I played King Phillip. Oh, she loved her faux fur collar and big puffy sleeves.
This was when I still lived in Western New York, and according to the bio in the program, I was a student at SUNYBuffalo at the time, which would make this about 1982-83 or there about. Here is the Wikipedia description of the King Phillip character from the play:
(Male, 18) He has been King of France for three years. He is not initially as accomplished as Henry in manipulating people, but seems to acquire greater skills at this during the play. He is impressive and handsome without being pretty.
I have always loved this play, and if you ever get the chance to see the movie version, it's wonderful, with exceptional performances by Peter O'Toole and Katie Hepburn. It was nominated for 7 Academy awards including Best Picture.
The reason I even have the scrapbook out is because I'm trying to decide if I should join the lemmings going over the cliff and get a Facebook account. I recently found a Facebook page dedicated to my upcoming 30th High School reunion, but I can't decide if I want to go or even to contact the Facebook page with my info. And then just the other day I stumbled across a Facebook page dedicated to a nightclub revue called Bravo Broadway that I appeared in during my early 20's. The cast rotated in and out periodically as did the band members, and I occasionally look back on those days with a wince and a smile.
Part of me wants to reach out and re-connect, even if only through The Internets, with some people, but part of me is afraid to find out just how much, and how many of them, I really don't remember.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
12:30 AM
Usually at this time Riley will begin whining to go out. His last walk of the night is around 1:00. Sometimes later if I'm working or I get caught up killing zombies and lose track. Sometimes he is very patient and other times I get really irritated because he's been non-stop quietly whining in the background for 1/2 hour and he knows it drives me crazy. I know it sounds like I'm a bad Daddy making him wait, but Riley has figured out he doesn't need to whine when he has to go out, he does it when he wants to. I can walk him at 10pm and he'll start the whine at 12:30 because "it's time". How he's knows it's almost 1:00 is beyond me. Dog secrets.
In the summer, that last walk is sooo nice, because even though it's NYC, my neighborhood is relatively quiet that late. Except on weekends. I love to take Riley all around the neighborhood. Sometimes we walk for blocks. On recycle nights we (I) look for good furniture being thrown out. I rarely take anything home, I just like to have a look and think about what I could turn it in to. Possibilities. Late at night, all alone with your dog, they are endless.
In the winter that walk can be downright painful. It is usually decidedly shorter. Maybe once around the block if it's too cold. We're all business. Pee and poop. Let's git 'er done. But unless I am deathly ill we always make that last walk. Even in a cold winter rain. I can't sleep if I think about him having to go out all night. I can't relax. It's become part of my routine. I need to brush my teeth. I can't go to bed without brushing. I need a couple of big gulps of cold water. I need to pee.
And I need to take my dog for his last walk of the day.
The financing I thought I had in place fell through. 100% because my credit is totally fucked. It's a holdover from my days of active drinking, and it's something that is taking forever to dig out of. I may never get out from under it. And it seems like every time I get a glimmer of hope that the mountain of debt isn't looking quite so horrific, something happens to set me back. This time, it was Riley's operation.
I scraped together whatever cash and credit I had left and then borrowed the rest from my brother. Humiliating. Worse than getting him to co-sign a credit account. But I guess in the end, the universe decided I did not, in fact, need another credit card to pay off. Just a family member.
Riley is recovering, although the after-affects of the operation have made him queasy and slow to want to eat. But I expect he will be coming home tomorrow. Mostly because I can't afford another night of hospital charges. Hopefully, he'll be feeling better and I'll have him back by late afternoon. We may or may not make our regularly scheduled 1:00am walk.
But it will be nice to know that we will. Soon.
In the summer, that last walk is sooo nice, because even though it's NYC, my neighborhood is relatively quiet that late. Except on weekends. I love to take Riley all around the neighborhood. Sometimes we walk for blocks. On recycle nights we (I) look for good furniture being thrown out. I rarely take anything home, I just like to have a look and think about what I could turn it in to. Possibilities. Late at night, all alone with your dog, they are endless.
In the winter that walk can be downright painful. It is usually decidedly shorter. Maybe once around the block if it's too cold. We're all business. Pee and poop. Let's git 'er done. But unless I am deathly ill we always make that last walk. Even in a cold winter rain. I can't sleep if I think about him having to go out all night. I can't relax. It's become part of my routine. I need to brush my teeth. I can't go to bed without brushing. I need a couple of big gulps of cold water. I need to pee.
And I need to take my dog for his last walk of the day.
The financing I thought I had in place fell through. 100% because my credit is totally fucked. It's a holdover from my days of active drinking, and it's something that is taking forever to dig out of. I may never get out from under it. And it seems like every time I get a glimmer of hope that the mountain of debt isn't looking quite so horrific, something happens to set me back. This time, it was Riley's operation.
I scraped together whatever cash and credit I had left and then borrowed the rest from my brother. Humiliating. Worse than getting him to co-sign a credit account. But I guess in the end, the universe decided I did not, in fact, need another credit card to pay off. Just a family member.
Riley is recovering, although the after-affects of the operation have made him queasy and slow to want to eat. But I expect he will be coming home tomorrow. Mostly because I can't afford another night of hospital charges. Hopefully, he'll be feeling better and I'll have him back by late afternoon. We may or may not make our regularly scheduled 1:00am walk.
But it will be nice to know that we will. Soon.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
New Years Par-Tay!!
At the laundromat. At least that's how I spent the early part of my New Years Eve. I didn't want to start the new year with a big old mountain of dirty clothes so I ended up doing laundry (and I wasn't alone) until around 8 pm. After that I got caught up on my email sorting and did some cleaning around the apartment. I think I was playing Left 4 Dead when the New Year actually happened. Nothing says Happy New Year like slaughtering zombies.
I also made it to a Gay-A meeting during the afternoon, and while I planned to make one on New Years Day, I honestly wasn't feeling the need. Holidays are hard for some alcoholics, but (I assume) because I spent so many years behind a bar, I kind of see that the pressure to spend a holiday drinking is really something that people put on (or let other people put on) themselves. I mean, when did celebrating Christmas become synonymous with getting drunk? Even if you ignore the religious aspect to it, Christmas for me is about spending time with friends and family, being kind to people and all that crap.
And even before I got sober, New Years was traditionally a day I made a point of NOT waking up with a hangover. I spent far too many years looking across a bar at people absolutely desperate to get drunk. Almost like they were trying to erase all memory of the year that was, while insuring they would start the next one in misery. Not for me. Even while I was still drinking, I tried to make it a point to at least start the new year feeling good. After that I would still get drunk every day.
I also started on one of the projects I had mentioned in an earlier post, because as expected, there is precious little work. My bedroom is in serious need of a paint job, and while I am at it, the whole room needs to be re-thought. As the years have gone by and I needed storage space or shelving I basically bought whatever I could find/afford and threw it up on some available wall space. The result is a mish-mosh of shelving units located at random all around the room. I also have a queen sized bed, a dresser, a fairly large closet, my desk (PC, printer, scanner) and all the accompanying paper and books and magazines that go with it in the room. Also this is hangout central for Riley.
I've been feeling a little cramped. Getting around the bed to water the plants, open a window, or fetch a T-Shirt involves a sideways shuffle or a leap over the bed. I guess it's a good thing I'm terminally single, as another person in the bed would have to climb over a body and a dog in order to get out.
So I've pulled everything out of the room except the bed (no space). That will be covered with a tarp and as soon as I patch all the walls I will be spending the next couple of days putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Then before I put the shelving back up I will try to come up with a better use of the space, while giving all my "stuff" a good sort and a merciless purge.
And I only have three days to accomplish it as we are getting a new (temporary) roommate that will be moving in this week for a three month stay. One of my boys has gone to Prague for a semester abroad and has rented out his own room (with my approval, obv.) in order to have it when he gets back. Which is either flattering or a testament to how valuable a cheap apartment is in this town. Probably both.
I also made it to a Gay-A meeting during the afternoon, and while I planned to make one on New Years Day, I honestly wasn't feeling the need. Holidays are hard for some alcoholics, but (I assume) because I spent so many years behind a bar, I kind of see that the pressure to spend a holiday drinking is really something that people put on (or let other people put on) themselves. I mean, when did celebrating Christmas become synonymous with getting drunk? Even if you ignore the religious aspect to it, Christmas for me is about spending time with friends and family, being kind to people and all that crap.
And even before I got sober, New Years was traditionally a day I made a point of NOT waking up with a hangover. I spent far too many years looking across a bar at people absolutely desperate to get drunk. Almost like they were trying to erase all memory of the year that was, while insuring they would start the next one in misery. Not for me. Even while I was still drinking, I tried to make it a point to at least start the new year feeling good. After that I would still get drunk every day.
I also started on one of the projects I had mentioned in an earlier post, because as expected, there is precious little work. My bedroom is in serious need of a paint job, and while I am at it, the whole room needs to be re-thought. As the years have gone by and I needed storage space or shelving I basically bought whatever I could find/afford and threw it up on some available wall space. The result is a mish-mosh of shelving units located at random all around the room. I also have a queen sized bed, a dresser, a fairly large closet, my desk (PC, printer, scanner) and all the accompanying paper and books and magazines that go with it in the room. Also this is hangout central for Riley.
I've been feeling a little cramped. Getting around the bed to water the plants, open a window, or fetch a T-Shirt involves a sideways shuffle or a leap over the bed. I guess it's a good thing I'm terminally single, as another person in the bed would have to climb over a body and a dog in order to get out.
So I've pulled everything out of the room except the bed (no space). That will be covered with a tarp and as soon as I patch all the walls I will be spending the next couple of days putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Then before I put the shelving back up I will try to come up with a better use of the space, while giving all my "stuff" a good sort and a merciless purge.
And I only have three days to accomplish it as we are getting a new (temporary) roommate that will be moving in this week for a three month stay. One of my boys has gone to Prague for a semester abroad and has rented out his own room (with my approval, obv.) in order to have it when he gets back. Which is either flattering or a testament to how valuable a cheap apartment is in this town. Probably both.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Shrink My Head
Up early as my calendar is rapidly filling up for December. I frequently have multiple appointments that end with me having to work a shift at my low-wage part-time job.
Today I am starting with a lunchtime appointment to start a new round of therapy. You get a certain amount of counseling paid for (thanks ADAP!) as part of all the great stuff you get for free after you become HIV+. I did tell you about the big screen TV and the 200 free Netflix rentals didn't I? It's true, you get them both delivered to your house right after your T-Cell count drops below 300.
This round of therapy will be (I think) 16 weeks. I'm not going because I have fallen in to some kind of crisis. Far from it. Things are much improved since the last time I saw a therapist over three years ago.
The hated roommates have been replaced by two messy straight boys that don't give me a lick of trouble.
I no longer suffer from panic attacks, and the anxiety disorder I was taking medication for? I stopped the pills for that last month.
I got a dog and he died. I got another dog and he ate my bed, but was nice enough to continue living.
I got (and stayed) sober, attended regular AA meetings but so far have failed to find a sponsor.
I got a job and then lost it when one of my employees murdered a customer.
I entered a photography contest and got serious about art.
I sold 4000 comic books for pennies on the dollar as I slowly went broke. Again.
I joined a community advisory board at the local health center, and am now heading up the committee that publishes our newsletter.
I became a licensed foster parent, but still have no kid to show for it (that's another post).
And I am generally and overall a much happier, profoundly more peaceful person.
So why go in to therapy? Well, first of all, why not? I am a firm believer in taking the time to pick up the box and give it a good shake now and then. You need to find out what's inside. And as good as things have become, I am still feeling like a lot of things from my past, and a lot of the choices I made as an adult, are unresolved and unexplained. While I have no trouble (now) making conversation and casual connections, I still can't seem to figure out how to make and keep some real friends. And I have pretty much given up on ever having a boyfriend or babydaddy. I'm still a pretty solitary figure. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around all tortured by that. I'm not bemoaning the fact that I buy a half-carton of eggs and prefer to sit in the single (handicap) seats at the movies. But if I am the type of person who feels better, or at least more comfortable as a party of one, I would at least like to know how that happened.
There's more, and the therapy will most likely dredge some stuff up I may or may not enjoy dealing with, but I am confident the outcome will be positive. My last round of therapy pretty much got me sober.
On another note, I am BROKE BROKE BROKE!! The plane ticket home is paid for and I will have enough money and available credit to get a few Christmas presents to bring with me, but beyond that, we will be starting the New Year with maxed out credit cards and a woefully depleted checking account. I absolutely need to find a better (better paying) job, either part time as a bartender where I can make real tips, or as a manager where they need someone who is pretty good with numbers and computers, and can be trusted not to get drunk on duty and always balance the safe.
That's it. Gotta go. Busy busy!!
Today I am starting with a lunchtime appointment to start a new round of therapy. You get a certain amount of counseling paid for (thanks ADAP!) as part of all the great stuff you get for free after you become HIV+. I did tell you about the big screen TV and the 200 free Netflix rentals didn't I? It's true, you get them both delivered to your house right after your T-Cell count drops below 300.
This round of therapy will be (I think) 16 weeks. I'm not going because I have fallen in to some kind of crisis. Far from it. Things are much improved since the last time I saw a therapist over three years ago.
The hated roommates have been replaced by two messy straight boys that don't give me a lick of trouble.
I no longer suffer from panic attacks, and the anxiety disorder I was taking medication for? I stopped the pills for that last month.
I got a dog and he died. I got another dog and he ate my bed, but was nice enough to continue living.
I got (and stayed) sober, attended regular AA meetings but so far have failed to find a sponsor.
I got a job and then lost it when one of my employees murdered a customer.
I entered a photography contest and got serious about art.
I sold 4000 comic books for pennies on the dollar as I slowly went broke. Again.
I joined a community advisory board at the local health center, and am now heading up the committee that publishes our newsletter.
I became a licensed foster parent, but still have no kid to show for it (that's another post).
And I am generally and overall a much happier, profoundly more peaceful person.
So why go in to therapy? Well, first of all, why not? I am a firm believer in taking the time to pick up the box and give it a good shake now and then. You need to find out what's inside. And as good as things have become, I am still feeling like a lot of things from my past, and a lot of the choices I made as an adult, are unresolved and unexplained. While I have no trouble (now) making conversation and casual connections, I still can't seem to figure out how to make and keep some real friends. And I have pretty much given up on ever having a boyfriend or babydaddy. I'm still a pretty solitary figure. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around all tortured by that. I'm not bemoaning the fact that I buy a half-carton of eggs and prefer to sit in the single (handicap) seats at the movies. But if I am the type of person who feels better, or at least more comfortable as a party of one, I would at least like to know how that happened.
There's more, and the therapy will most likely dredge some stuff up I may or may not enjoy dealing with, but I am confident the outcome will be positive. My last round of therapy pretty much got me sober.
On another note, I am BROKE BROKE BROKE!! The plane ticket home is paid for and I will have enough money and available credit to get a few Christmas presents to bring with me, but beyond that, we will be starting the New Year with maxed out credit cards and a woefully depleted checking account. I absolutely need to find a better (better paying) job, either part time as a bartender where I can make real tips, or as a manager where they need someone who is pretty good with numbers and computers, and can be trusted not to get drunk on duty and always balance the safe.
That's it. Gotta go. Busy busy!!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Priorities
This afternoon I had a lunchtime meeting as a member of the Community Advisory Board for Callen-Lorde. A bunch of monitors from one of the state HIV/AIDS funding agencies were in the area and they wanted to meet with members of the CAB, as well as health care providers, administrators and other clients to get a read on where the money is going, how it can be better spent etc. So they buy us sandwiches and Snapple and ask us a bunch of questions regarding the services we use, how we like them, where we can suggest improvements. Kind of a dog and pony show, as I'm sure that they have to generate these reports to secure the funding, and the agencies have to issue these reports to justify getting tax dollars every year. Still it's nice to be able to participate in the process.
After that I was bicycling back across town, planning to stop off at the gym before heading home. I am due at work in New Jersey late this afternoon. As I was enjoying the blue sky and warm breeze, it occurred to me that considering it's late October and the trees have already started to turn color and shed leaves, we may not have another sunny day in the 70's for a few months, and perhaps going inside to the gym would not be the best use of my time.
I've been feeling a little guilty lately as I feel like Riley needs a lot more activity than I've been able to provide. When I take him for a walk he frequently bursts out of the front door, off the porch and down to the sidewalk. His walk usually consists of him tugging me back and forth along the sidewalk, him hunting for scraps of food or the occasional live mouse. Once in a while I am able to get him out to the basketball courts across the street, providing school isn't in session, and we have a nice game of catch, not to be confused with fetch, as Riley doesn't bring the ball back. He chases it down and then waits for you to come and retrieve it. To his credit, he does easily give the ball up to start the process again.
So today rather than spend my afternoon inside the gym I biked back home and picked up a ball and Riley. We walked down to Tompkins Square Park and spent about 45 minutes playing with other rambunctious pooches and having a nice session of catch. I came home in time to write a quick post, change my clothes and grab a quick snack before I have to peddle back across town to the PATH to NJ. Riley is sacked out on the couch, sound asleep already.
Time well spent.
After that I was bicycling back across town, planning to stop off at the gym before heading home. I am due at work in New Jersey late this afternoon. As I was enjoying the blue sky and warm breeze, it occurred to me that considering it's late October and the trees have already started to turn color and shed leaves, we may not have another sunny day in the 70's for a few months, and perhaps going inside to the gym would not be the best use of my time.
I've been feeling a little guilty lately as I feel like Riley needs a lot more activity than I've been able to provide. When I take him for a walk he frequently bursts out of the front door, off the porch and down to the sidewalk. His walk usually consists of him tugging me back and forth along the sidewalk, him hunting for scraps of food or the occasional live mouse. Once in a while I am able to get him out to the basketball courts across the street, providing school isn't in session, and we have a nice game of catch, not to be confused with fetch, as Riley doesn't bring the ball back. He chases it down and then waits for you to come and retrieve it. To his credit, he does easily give the ball up to start the process again.
So today rather than spend my afternoon inside the gym I biked back home and picked up a ball and Riley. We walked down to Tompkins Square Park and spent about 45 minutes playing with other rambunctious pooches and having a nice session of catch. I came home in time to write a quick post, change my clothes and grab a quick snack before I have to peddle back across town to the PATH to NJ. Riley is sacked out on the couch, sound asleep already.
Time well spent.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Now In HD
So I bought a new 32" HDTV.
And I managed to bring it home under the $500 limit that my dad's gambling largess would allow. I did let the salesperson move me off of the model I had picked out to another brand that was $50 more, with the promise of a higher contrast ratio. I have no actual idea if this is really that important, nor if it was verifiably true. But I repeatedly refused his multiple offers to sign me up for "insurance", and while I found it amusing, had he asked me again or tried a harder sell I would have crossed over in to annoyed.
What was annoying was when he repeatedly tried to sell me an HDMI cable. Now to tell the truth, I had no idea what kind of cable connections it would take to hook up my system, although I was aware I might have to buy something to make the system work. But I've done enough research and bought enough new tech to know not to buy the extra "junk" the salesman is trying to push on you because you may not need it, and you can probably get it cheaper elsewhere. HDMI cable runs in price at the store I was at from $40 to $200. Do you want to bet he wouldn't have shown me the $40 package?
When I got home and hooked the TV up, it became clear that my digital cable box would need to be switched for an HD DVR, as the picture was just a standard square display and nothing special. The next morning I had an hour to run out to Time-Warner and get the new box. Whereupon they handed me the FREE HDMI cable that the salesperson at the TV store tried to get me to buy. And considering he knew that I was a Time-Warner customer I would have to say he was trying to sell me crap I didn't need.
In any case, after I hooked up the Hi-Def cable the screen displayed at the full 31.5" and HUZZAH!, angels began to sing as glorious big-screen (for me) TV began to air throughout the land. Or my living room. I wept a little as I had leave for work when all I wanted to do was fiddle with the color settings and watch a movie.
But here's the thing about this whole TV upgrade. I am excited about the new TV and very thankful that mom and dad were generous with their windfall to make it happen. But I also took the opportunity, as long as I was running cables and moving furniture, to re-arrange the living room and run all the cables from my desktop in the bedroom, along the baseboards and behind all the furniture in the living room. Then I clipped them up with cord clasps, and wired them all together with Velcro twist ties. And as much as I am enjoying my new TV and my HD DVR, the highlight of the whole operation was the fact that all my cords are now running out of sight, all together along the baseboards, and I managed to reclaim about 2 feet of living room space in the process. I also swept up about a pound of dog hair.
And that's probably all you need to know about the real me.
And I managed to bring it home under the $500 limit that my dad's gambling largess would allow. I did let the salesperson move me off of the model I had picked out to another brand that was $50 more, with the promise of a higher contrast ratio. I have no actual idea if this is really that important, nor if it was verifiably true. But I repeatedly refused his multiple offers to sign me up for "insurance", and while I found it amusing, had he asked me again or tried a harder sell I would have crossed over in to annoyed.
What was annoying was when he repeatedly tried to sell me an HDMI cable. Now to tell the truth, I had no idea what kind of cable connections it would take to hook up my system, although I was aware I might have to buy something to make the system work. But I've done enough research and bought enough new tech to know not to buy the extra "junk" the salesman is trying to push on you because you may not need it, and you can probably get it cheaper elsewhere. HDMI cable runs in price at the store I was at from $40 to $200. Do you want to bet he wouldn't have shown me the $40 package?
When I got home and hooked the TV up, it became clear that my digital cable box would need to be switched for an HD DVR, as the picture was just a standard square display and nothing special. The next morning I had an hour to run out to Time-Warner and get the new box. Whereupon they handed me the FREE HDMI cable that the salesperson at the TV store tried to get me to buy. And considering he knew that I was a Time-Warner customer I would have to say he was trying to sell me crap I didn't need.
In any case, after I hooked up the Hi-Def cable the screen displayed at the full 31.5" and HUZZAH!, angels began to sing as glorious big-screen (for me) TV began to air throughout the land. Or my living room. I wept a little as I had leave for work when all I wanted to do was fiddle with the color settings and watch a movie.
But here's the thing about this whole TV upgrade. I am excited about the new TV and very thankful that mom and dad were generous with their windfall to make it happen. But I also took the opportunity, as long as I was running cables and moving furniture, to re-arrange the living room and run all the cables from my desktop in the bedroom, along the baseboards and behind all the furniture in the living room. Then I clipped them up with cord clasps, and wired them all together with Velcro twist ties. And as much as I am enjoying my new TV and my HD DVR, the highlight of the whole operation was the fact that all my cords are now running out of sight, all together along the baseboards, and I managed to reclaim about 2 feet of living room space in the process. I also swept up about a pound of dog hair.
And that's probably all you need to know about the real me.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Totally Random
The mail brought some surprises, one expected and one totally not. I got sent a copy of Monster, a book by John Dunne recounting the period when he and Joan Didion were writing a screenplay based on the life of Jessica Savitch. It should dovetail nicely with my just digested helping of Magical Thinking. Which, by the way, now that I finished I recommend highly if you haven't read it. She's a no-nonsense writer, so I was surprised to find out she was born and lived for most of her life on the west coast. I would have guessed New England based on her economy of words. I have found that west coast writers are usually more decorative. The book was the expected surprise.
Last week I was having a conversation with my father in which he related he had a bit of a windfall courtesy of the Casino Niagara. It wasn't a life-changer, but somewhere in the neighborhood of 3K. Which is a neighborhood I rarely visit. Of course, I immediately asked where my cut was. I was joking, he laughed and we moved on. So imagine my surprise on Friday when I opened the mail and found a card from the parents for no apparent reason. Inside was a check and a note:
"This check is from Dad, as your cut of his winnings!! He wants to make sure you buy your TV with it."
I had related to my father on several phone calls that I have begun saving money for a new TV. My old TV works perfectly well, but it's one of the bulky older ones and only 20". I've been feeling TV deprived, and now that a decent sized LCD flat screen can be found for well under $500 I thought it was finally in my price range. My dad decided to speed up the process, claiming that he would have ended up giving it back at the casino if he didn't give some to me. Not a gesture I'm accustomed to from my parents, which of course made it even more amazing. I did briefly consider getting completely caught up on all my bills with the money, but if dad is going to make a grand gesture and tell me to buy a TV, then by god a TV is what I'll buy!
And in keeping with the theme of today's post, yesterday I left my house to get some brunch and a newspaper. As soon as I walked out my front door, who did I spot strolling by but Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon. We had a moment. Our eyes locked. Our non-verbal conversation went something like this:
"Hey, it's Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon!"
"Yes, it's me, and I see that you know it's me but it's Sunday afternoon and I'm just walking by like normal."
"I understand, Susan Sarandon, I won't bother you or stop you for an autograph. Mostly because I don't ask for autographs. I think they're stupid."
"OK then."
"OK bye, Susan Sarandon."
And with that we both went on our way.
Last week I was having a conversation with my father in which he related he had a bit of a windfall courtesy of the Casino Niagara. It wasn't a life-changer, but somewhere in the neighborhood of 3K. Which is a neighborhood I rarely visit. Of course, I immediately asked where my cut was. I was joking, he laughed and we moved on. So imagine my surprise on Friday when I opened the mail and found a card from the parents for no apparent reason. Inside was a check and a note:
"This check is from Dad, as your cut of his winnings!! He wants to make sure you buy your TV with it."
I had related to my father on several phone calls that I have begun saving money for a new TV. My old TV works perfectly well, but it's one of the bulky older ones and only 20". I've been feeling TV deprived, and now that a decent sized LCD flat screen can be found for well under $500 I thought it was finally in my price range. My dad decided to speed up the process, claiming that he would have ended up giving it back at the casino if he didn't give some to me. Not a gesture I'm accustomed to from my parents, which of course made it even more amazing. I did briefly consider getting completely caught up on all my bills with the money, but if dad is going to make a grand gesture and tell me to buy a TV, then by god a TV is what I'll buy!
And in keeping with the theme of today's post, yesterday I left my house to get some brunch and a newspaper. As soon as I walked out my front door, who did I spot strolling by but Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon. We had a moment. Our eyes locked. Our non-verbal conversation went something like this:
"Hey, it's Academy Award winning actress Susan Sarandon!"
"Yes, it's me, and I see that you know it's me but it's Sunday afternoon and I'm just walking by like normal."
"I understand, Susan Sarandon, I won't bother you or stop you for an autograph. Mostly because I don't ask for autographs. I think they're stupid."
"OK then."
"OK bye, Susan Sarandon."
And with that we both went on our way.
Friday, September 04, 2009
A Mother's Anguish
But the phone call that Thursday morning wasn't from Matt. It was about him. When the man on the other end of the line announced who he was, an emergency-room doctor from Ivinson Memorial Hospital in Laramie, I went numb. I don't remember what he said, or what I did next. I'm not sure whether it was the ringing phone or my subsequent gasp that startled the still-sleeping Dennis. Whatever it was that woke him, Dennis took the phone from me and then, after a seemingly endless silence, made a noise—a sort of helpless and mournful groan—that I'd never heard before and haven't heard since. Coming as it did from my husband, a man whose reserved manner is as typically masculine and Western as his Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots, the moan confirmed my worst fears.
Matt had been attacked. He had sustained injuries to his head that were so critical, his chances for survival were nearly impossible.- excerpted from The Meaning of Matthew: My Son's Murder in Laramie, and a World Transformed (Hudson River Press) Judy Shepard
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
And Updates
I didn't get to a Gay-A meeting and I didn't get to a gym because I picked up more work yesterday today and tomorrow. Which was totally unexpected because usually there is very little event or banquet work the week before a big holiday weekend. And lest I be accused of not liking to work, I happily accepted all of these jobs and wisely opted to jump on some shifts and try and put together a couple of weeks of decent paychecks. It's possible that the agency I work for is being a little nice to me because I let them know I got screwed six ways to Sunday last week, or maybe the Universe is just giving me a little yang to go with my yin.
I had no idea how much I had grown to depend on the now defunct Blooming House Farms until they unexpectedly closed. Yesterday's routine was a series of fits and starts as I wasn't able to run next door for a coffee and newspaper, or chips to go with my sandwich, or V8 and a bagel, or an end of night ice cream bar. Even Riley seemed confused when I didn't stop and tie him to the parking sign out front. I mean, it's certainly not the only place in Manhattan I can buy those things, but it was literally just right there. I had practically worn a path from my front door by now.
I'll adapt.
I had no idea how much I had grown to depend on the now defunct Blooming House Farms until they unexpectedly closed. Yesterday's routine was a series of fits and starts as I wasn't able to run next door for a coffee and newspaper, or chips to go with my sandwich, or V8 and a bagel, or an end of night ice cream bar. Even Riley seemed confused when I didn't stop and tie him to the parking sign out front. I mean, it's certainly not the only place in Manhattan I can buy those things, but it was literally just right there. I had practically worn a path from my front door by now.
I'll adapt.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Busy Bee
How can I only be partially employed and still busy as hell? I woke up today with a "To Do" list that's a mile long.
I already went to the pharmacy to drop off a script and ask for a refill. I need to order new contact lenses from the eye doctor. I have to have all of my work clothes dropped off at the dry cleaner, and one of the pants needs a fastener repaired. I need to stain treat all my white work shirts and then do all my laundry. I have to drop off my resume at a bar/club about to open on 14th street, when I'll probably go back to the pharmacy to pick up my order.
As an aside, I've been thinking lately about how even though HIV has become a manageable illness (that's assuming you are lucky enough to have or qualify for health care, and it's also assuming you actually go see a doctor when you are sick and don't wait until you need an emergency room, at which point you can be so ill from untreated HIV that you die) you still have to spend an awful lot of time actually managing HIV. It seems that although I don't have to visit the doctor nearly as much as I used to (it's now four times a year) I am constantly running back and forth to the pharmacy or to the Community Health to get prescriptions and pick up refills. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for all the medical care I receive, but this myth that HIV is now just a pill a day and that's that is just not true. At least for me.
In any case I also want to get to the gym today, if for no other reason than to stretch out my tired legs and get some ab work done, and if there's time (not looking likely) I want to visit a free acupuncture clinic that one of the hospitals offers for me and my blood brethren. And I need to go the Greenmarket and fill up on fresh fruit and vegetables.
I also absolutely have to get to a Gay-A meeting. I will probably go to a night-time meeting I discovered last Monday. Not only was it full of new and interesting (new) people, but there was a stunningly beautiful 40 year old Latin man there. He had gorgeous big brown eyes and the most amazing copper colored skin. I wanted to trace the outline of his arm tatts with my tongue for the entire hour I was there. Not that I became obsessed with him or anything.
In other news ... Mr. Riley has gotten a clean bill of health. All the icky parasites got pooped away with his medication, and he is totally up to date on all his shots. Somewhere in that list he will need a couple of long walks, as the extreme heat and humidity that has gripped the city all week has finally broke. Good thing since I'll be out walking all over the East Village today.
I already went to the pharmacy to drop off a script and ask for a refill. I need to order new contact lenses from the eye doctor. I have to have all of my work clothes dropped off at the dry cleaner, and one of the pants needs a fastener repaired. I need to stain treat all my white work shirts and then do all my laundry. I have to drop off my resume at a bar/club about to open on 14th street, when I'll probably go back to the pharmacy to pick up my order.
As an aside, I've been thinking lately about how even though HIV has become a manageable illness (that's assuming you are lucky enough to have or qualify for health care, and it's also assuming you actually go see a doctor when you are sick and don't wait until you need an emergency room, at which point you can be so ill from untreated HIV that you die) you still have to spend an awful lot of time actually managing HIV. It seems that although I don't have to visit the doctor nearly as much as I used to (it's now four times a year) I am constantly running back and forth to the pharmacy or to the Community Health to get prescriptions and pick up refills. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for all the medical care I receive, but this myth that HIV is now just a pill a day and that's that is just not true. At least for me.
In any case I also want to get to the gym today, if for no other reason than to stretch out my tired legs and get some ab work done, and if there's time (not looking likely) I want to visit a free acupuncture clinic that one of the hospitals offers for me and my blood brethren. And I need to go the Greenmarket and fill up on fresh fruit and vegetables.
I also absolutely have to get to a Gay-A meeting. I will probably go to a night-time meeting I discovered last Monday. Not only was it full of new and interesting (new) people, but there was a stunningly beautiful 40 year old Latin man there. He had gorgeous big brown eyes and the most amazing copper colored skin. I wanted to trace the outline of his arm tatts with my tongue for the entire hour I was there. Not that I became obsessed with him or anything.
In other news ... Mr. Riley has gotten a clean bill of health. All the icky parasites got pooped away with his medication, and he is totally up to date on all his shots. Somewhere in that list he will need a couple of long walks, as the extreme heat and humidity that has gripped the city all week has finally broke. Good thing since I'll be out walking all over the East Village today.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Goodbye Bill
Ever since I moved in to my Castle High Atop Second Avenue (20 years ago!) there has been a tenant on the first floor named Bill. Bill was the victim of a traffic accident up in Harlem just before I moved in to the building. He was struck by a mail truck and suffered permanent brain damage. By that I mean that he was in a coma and on life support and then spent many many months in recovery and rehab. He emerged with his faculties recovered but had quite a bit of physical challenges. Bill had to use a walker to get around, and he had limited use of his arms.
20 years ago, you would frequently pass Bill on the first floor as he was slowly but deliberately (without the walker) making his way towards the front door. Once he got the heavy door opened he would hang a plastic bag on the doorknob. Then he would retrieve his mail from the box and place it in the bag. Because of his limited motor skills, this was how Bill would get his mail and carry it back to his apartment. As the years passed, he would make the same trip with his walker, which he would leave inside the door while he went out to pick up his mail. Bill would sometimes remind you to take care if you were leaving the building while he was in process, as sometimes people would carelessly sweep out of the building and get his bag caught on the other side of the door. These people are what's known as assholes, and I would always take great care to make sure I didn't inconvenience Bill any further. After I got my rambunctious dogs, I would frequently circle the block to give Bill time to do whatever he was doing and get back to his apartment, rather than chance having a dog jump up and knock him off balance.
I was informed yesterday that Bill had died unexpectedly. He was in the bathroom taking a shower, and when it went on uncharacteristically long his home aide checked on him and found him dead. That explains the night several weeks ago when I took Riley for his late walk, and found several police officers in the building and an ambulance parked outside. At the time I thought Bill had fallen or needed to get to the emergency room.
As Bill's friend and longtime neighbor informed me of his passing yesterday, we stood for a time discussing his life, the building, the landlord, how the place can sometimes be a shit-hole, and losing friends and family unexpectedly. And like every New Yorker who has lived in this city long enough, a city where you have to recognize opportunity and jump on it fast lest you lose out to someone faster, I couldn't help but let my mind wander a bit and consider:
I wonder what that street-level apartment is going to rent for?
20 years ago, you would frequently pass Bill on the first floor as he was slowly but deliberately (without the walker) making his way towards the front door. Once he got the heavy door opened he would hang a plastic bag on the doorknob. Then he would retrieve his mail from the box and place it in the bag. Because of his limited motor skills, this was how Bill would get his mail and carry it back to his apartment. As the years passed, he would make the same trip with his walker, which he would leave inside the door while he went out to pick up his mail. Bill would sometimes remind you to take care if you were leaving the building while he was in process, as sometimes people would carelessly sweep out of the building and get his bag caught on the other side of the door. These people are what's known as assholes, and I would always take great care to make sure I didn't inconvenience Bill any further. After I got my rambunctious dogs, I would frequently circle the block to give Bill time to do whatever he was doing and get back to his apartment, rather than chance having a dog jump up and knock him off balance.
I was informed yesterday that Bill had died unexpectedly. He was in the bathroom taking a shower, and when it went on uncharacteristically long his home aide checked on him and found him dead. That explains the night several weeks ago when I took Riley for his late walk, and found several police officers in the building and an ambulance parked outside. At the time I thought Bill had fallen or needed to get to the emergency room.
As Bill's friend and longtime neighbor informed me of his passing yesterday, we stood for a time discussing his life, the building, the landlord, how the place can sometimes be a shit-hole, and losing friends and family unexpectedly. And like every New Yorker who has lived in this city long enough, a city where you have to recognize opportunity and jump on it fast lest you lose out to someone faster, I couldn't help but let my mind wander a bit and consider:
I wonder what that street-level apartment is going to rent for?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Am I Too Old To Get Hired?
As my job search enters the middle part of what seems to be another fruitless week, I find myself grasping at straws to try and explain away the sobering and frightening reality that may be to come. The one where I run out of unemployment insurance checks and still haven't found a job and need to seriously consider giving up my apartment of 20 years and moving back to Buffalo with my dog and my clothes to live with my now elderly parents.
I am also starting to wonder what exactly I am doing or not doing or what energy I am not creating or blocking that is preventing me from not only landing a job, but even getting interview calls. Which is not to say there haven't been any, just that they have been few and far between.
I certainly feel like my age has something to do with it. While nobody has outright mentioned that as a factor, and indeed it would be illegal to do so, I did have one interviewer express surprise upon meeting me, expecting someone "out of college". I never bothered to ask how he inferred that from my resume, but it made me self-conscious for the rest of the interview.
On the one hand, I'm 47 years old, and I know I have at least 20 years if not more before I would be retirement age. Somewhere between 70 and 80 is more realistic, assuming I live that long. But to be honest and equally realistic, many people that work in bars and restaurants are younger, if not much younger than I am these days. I have interviewed with people obviously 20 years younger than I am. My last boss was 20 years younger. In that case, his complete lack of competence in running a business ultimately led me to my current unemployment. But that may have been because he is an idiot, not because he's young.
On the other, 47 is not particularly old to be in restuarant management. Unfortunately, that's only true of the "higher end" restaurants. Where age and experience count for something. Like it or not, I have most of my experience in high volume, turn and burn, slap the burger and the check on the table and move 'em up and out type venues. I work at music and live entertainment clubs with high tech computers and plasma screens and loud music and so my experience isn't "real". I supposedly can't do fine dining. Like I eat at home with my feet and don't know the first thing about what a nice meal or good service entails. But that's the perception I work against these days. And most of the people in my field are much younger. They stay up late and still do drungs and drink until dawn. I don't really fit in that world anymore either.
What's a not as young as he used to be recovering alcoholic supposed to do to earn a living in this town?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Checking In
Sorry I haven't posted all week, but I've been kind of sort of mildly stressed about the (lack of) job situation, and I haven't been in much of a mood to share. I spend part of every single day scouring the Craigslsit ads and checking in at the New York Times help wanted and trying to register with various headhunters that are recommended to me as well as Jobs.com and their ilk.
The discouraging part of all that is that I hardly ever get so much as a phone call or e-mail as a response. For someone with my experience, not getting even a passing interest is pretty unusual, and very hard to deal with. A couple of times I have sent duplicates of my correspondence to my Gmail account, because I occasionally start to doubt that my regular email is functioning.
Logically, I know that this is a whole different economy I am playing in now. Jobs are scarce, and the people that respond to any job posted I'm sure measure in the hundreds. It's not surprising I get lost in the shuffle. But I have a good resume, I've written a great cover letter that I sometimes tailor to the individual job posted, and I don't think I'm being egotistical in assuming that my writing at least makes it pretty clear that I'm reasonably intelligent. So when I get absolutely no response day after day ( now week after week) it starts to get pretty demoralizing.
One of the things they try to teach you in Gay-A is the need to give up trying to impose your will on how your life will unfold. On the surface, it can be viewed as a pretty passive response, one where you simply throw up your hands and leave everything to "God's will". I don't see it that way, at least not entirely.
I think what they are trying to say is that it's kind of useless to spend all your time worrying about the outcome of a situation, particularly after you have done all you can to to address the issue. I can't make people open my email and read my resume. I can't force people to respond. And sitting at home obsessing over my powerlessness gives me even less power than if I just get on with it and leave it up to "The Universe". And it goes without saying that getting drunk or high or otherwise trying to mitigate how uncomfortable I feel by altering my emotional perceptions won't serve any function either.
And that, I think, is what they mean by giving up your will. I understand the concept. I'm just finding it difficult to keep in practice as I live day after day on $10 or $20 bucks. To which, were I counseling someone else, I would reply:
Think of all the people in this world who don't have that...
The discouraging part of all that is that I hardly ever get so much as a phone call or e-mail as a response. For someone with my experience, not getting even a passing interest is pretty unusual, and very hard to deal with. A couple of times I have sent duplicates of my correspondence to my Gmail account, because I occasionally start to doubt that my regular email is functioning.
Logically, I know that this is a whole different economy I am playing in now. Jobs are scarce, and the people that respond to any job posted I'm sure measure in the hundreds. It's not surprising I get lost in the shuffle. But I have a good resume, I've written a great cover letter that I sometimes tailor to the individual job posted, and I don't think I'm being egotistical in assuming that my writing at least makes it pretty clear that I'm reasonably intelligent. So when I get absolutely no response day after day ( now week after week) it starts to get pretty demoralizing.
One of the things they try to teach you in Gay-A is the need to give up trying to impose your will on how your life will unfold. On the surface, it can be viewed as a pretty passive response, one where you simply throw up your hands and leave everything to "God's will". I don't see it that way, at least not entirely.
I think what they are trying to say is that it's kind of useless to spend all your time worrying about the outcome of a situation, particularly after you have done all you can to to address the issue. I can't make people open my email and read my resume. I can't force people to respond. And sitting at home obsessing over my powerlessness gives me even less power than if I just get on with it and leave it up to "The Universe". And it goes without saying that getting drunk or high or otherwise trying to mitigate how uncomfortable I feel by altering my emotional perceptions won't serve any function either.
And that, I think, is what they mean by giving up your will. I understand the concept. I'm just finding it difficult to keep in practice as I live day after day on $10 or $20 bucks. To which, were I counseling someone else, I would reply:
Think of all the people in this world who don't have that...
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Look!
On Saturday I finished my 10 weeks of parenting classes and got my certificate. As you can see I am now eligible to become a foster and/or adoptive parent in New York State. Now I need to turn in my application, have my fingerprints filed, registered and checked (which takes about a month), have my home study completed (I am already ahead of the game because I have a separate, furnished bedroom all set), get a land line phone put back in my apartment (It's a rule...) and, oh yeah, find my kid.
But none of that can happen until I get a job and have a regular paycheck coming in as well as get caught up on rent and bills.
DO YA HEAR ME UNIVERSE? TIME'S A WASTIN'!!
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