Saw Ski last night at the big ‘ol Wednesday meeting (aka Show of Shows, aka the New Wednesday Night Lesbian Meeting). I’ve been a little reluctant to call him since I got back. Partly it’s because I haven’t called anyone much since the New Year and partly it’s because I know I’m still infatuated. I hugged him outside and he smelled good and I wanted the embrace to last longer than it did. Later we smiled at each other across the room a few times. Darnit. No matter how much time elapses, that one still gets me. I asked him about his Dad after the meeting as he, the Tattooed Monk, and I walk into the Castro and he said that the tumor came back and grew twice as large in only 6 weeks or so, and that they’ve pretty much given him 1 to 6 months left to live.
I don’t exactly know what two grieving people can do for each other. Grief seems to be something you just ride out, alone. You can have companions on the ride, but the grief itself is your own, nobody carries it for you. Yeah, I’d like to take care of him, and yeah I’d love to be cared for in return, but the kind of affection I feel for him may not be mutual, and of that I’m simply scared. So I do nothing, hoping that if I somehow make it through these endless days of anticipatory grief, I’ll somehow be rewarded for my trouble. But I know that’s not how it works.
Appropriately enough, I have tenative plans with Michael tonight, but I haven’t heard from him since Sunday. I called him last, so… (so JUNIOR HIGH, dork)
I’m full of fear today because I need some dental work (actually, I need thousands of dollars worth of dental work) and due to bad childhood teeth and my years as a practicing speed addict, I am paying now for the past. Anyway, I need a dentist ASAP, so I’m looking into it. Maybe I can find someone through my doc who specializes in treating people with HIV. Wish me luck.