Daily Log

I woke up at midnight last night to deliver Best Friend his birthday present. It was required that he get it the moment he turned 21. I had made sure to get his mother into the 'day he was born' story months ago. The exact time was 01:06. His alarm at me standing outside the window of a second floor bedroom was outstanding. The scream could have gotten me a third round of questioning for the week. 

I don't really know what to write about yesterday. What happened is still a mess in my head. 

The party is tonight, I am sure Elliot will be there. With his girlfriend. I hate parties. I only ever want to talk with one person at once. Parties just complicate things.

Mitchell, who will be forever immortalised by me as the gun-weilding-glass-head, is fine. The bar tender called the police as I walked out. Another patron took the gun away. Somehow the glass I threw at him didn't leave a scratch. Apparently, in his bag was a letter; explaining his mission to rid the world of a few fags; himself included. In some insane bout of reasoning, he had come to the conclusion that he would be rewarded for suicide and murder, instead of being punished for his gayness. How he got the gun is still baffling the police.

Instead of talking about the night, the councillor I got at the station ending up laying the story of her last boyfriend on me. Before I left she hugged me and agreed that she would say no when she wanted; from now on. The two officers questioning me ended up confessing their undying love for each other within the first hour. They left, blissfully grinning, only to be replaced by a senior officer with a gay son.  Again instead of questioning me about the incident, he went into a  soliloquy about his understanding of gays. Without a word from me, he talked himself through a rather complicated sequence of reasoning. He admitted to being curious as a boy. Then decided to 'ease up' on his boy.

I got a phone call at four o'clock asking me to come back to the station. My interviews had answered none of the required questions. But none had been asked. I suggested it be conducted over the phone. Ten minutes in, the more-senior officer was in tears about not speaking with her sister for years. I muted the phone. When I came back to check it, after an hour, she was still sobbing and mumbling about their adventures as kids.

If this whole week could be explained by astrology, the only thing I would accept is that retrograde Mercury had collided with retrograde Venus. 

I am on a journey to accept who I am. Again.

The gay journey was just a dress rehearsal. In my current series of unfortunate stories, I elicit life affirmation and acceptance with whomever I encounter. I can fight like a monkey-maddness warrior. And guns misfire at me. I always feel like it is time to wake up. But if I wake up, I won't be alive anymore.