Wallowing in Poo

Two things have me backed up right now, and I spent last night considering whether I suck so badly that I should be excised from the universe. I don't feel quite so despairing this morning; I simply feel numb and pointless, like a tumor on existence. My intent is to record things here as they really are, with as much of the dramatic black paint scraped off as I can manage; perhaps things will emerge from the process of palabrazation a little clearer.

To begin with, I seem to have made the mistake of investing myself in somebody who doesn't quite want it. I may just be making this up so that I can feel bad about it (when given the option of inventing an explanation for something, I inevitably lean toward the tragic), but my experience is that he doesn't feel about me the way I do about him. I think to myself, therefore, "Why did you you jump in and get all poetic when he's just another kid who doesn't know what he wants?" He has much going for him: he is sincere, open, emotionally accessible, doesn't spook easily, hasn't insisted on jumping into the sack, and--wonder of wonders--keeps his word. This last item absolutely blows my mind; it has been my experience that when a guy says he will call, it is anybody's guess whether he will or not. Not so with Nathan: so far he is batting a thousand. And did I mention that he's beautiful? Honestly, he's a work of art. Now for the bad news. An acceptable relationship status for most gay men is "dating a few people." Perhaps I'm narcissistic, but it simply doesn't work for me to be one of a few people. My experience is that Nathan wants to play, to be dating a few people. I don't fault him for this; most people go through a phase of playful experimentation, but I am done with mine and insist on a man's full attention. It seems that he's afraid to settle for my company, which is a rather highly prized commodity, on the slim chance that something better is waiting out there. I am not asking for him to settle down in the sense of buying a house and adopting a himalayan orphan, but I do ask for him to trade "what if?" for what is. It boils down to this: either he will step up to and through his fear, or he won't. I don't feel compelled to judge his decision as good or bad, but I insist that he either poops or gets off the pot. And perhaps I will be left alone again.

The second item that has me backed up involves my career. I have been offered a job that pays approximately twice what I'm currently making, along with the opportunity to make a difference in the functioning of my native city. My current job has been eating my soul, and now I am being asked to work Sundays, to sacrifice something that has become the highlight of my week: worship in the choir at church. This new job would solve both problems, and help me out of the financial hole that has been filling up around me even as I try to extricate myself. The catch is, I percieve that this new job is one of the most difficult I have ever imagined, and I am scared shitless. Honestly, I have seen this job devour several people, and I am highly comestible. But I know that if I chicken out, my soul will hate me for sucking so badly. So I am left with the option of taking the scary job, which may be a door out of the boxed life in which I quickly becoming cramped, but may also be another nail in the coffin of my self-worth, or selling out on my soul and continuing to disintegrate in a flourescent-lighted hell. I want to crawl under my desk and hide, until somebody else makes the choice for me. Again.

Don't be surprised if this is the last post in this blog.