Gay Geezer Getting Up After a Big Bad Fall

Even when I feel weak.

So, a therapist. I could use one. Pissed off about the injury and the fucking long recovery and of course other stuff. So, a therapist recommended by G, whose opinion I thought I could trust. I sent her a zoom link and emails, and she said she couldn’t find them. I checked them in Sent Mail, and they had been delivered. Session #1 she didn’t ask me a single question about myself, but talked nonstop. So far, I am so underwhelmed. Maybe give her one more chance? Disappointment.

IT WAS GOOD

I am not worried about how these entries are written since no one is reading my blog, so it’s a diary. MT was over Friday. A quiet voice, so quiet that my lousy hearing made me ask him to repeat too many times. We talked about religion, of course. I don’t understand what the point of one’s religion is if there’s no magical thinking. A good Episcopalian, he said he had no idea what would happen after he died and a few other theological tchotchkes he wasn’t so sure about either. What about those streets paved with gold and all that other cool stuff? I kind of sort of envy my sister and her husband with their fundamentals. My sister has had such a shitty life. She has had to have a tight, constricting belief system to survive. LS came over Saturday with a luscious pizza. He stayed with me much of the afternoon. He got me down the scary garage stairs, and I walked in the sun. Thank you so much, sweet sweet man. So kind to others. God, please let me have good boundaries and never ask him for too much. Sunday, C & J, then B, and then phone convo with D. C & J always look so glamorous. They brought along their dog, who is clearly a deity. I tried, not very successfully, to engage J in the conversation. It is annoying to him when C and I talk about academialand. B, such a scared little girl. She reminds me of myself, which is probably why I was not always nice to her in the past. I am trying to make up for it now. I was an empathetic listener! Yay! And D. I like him. And wow, he is so totally into himself ! I don’t think he ever hears what I am saying. I have learned (finally) that with some people it’s enough just to listen, and not to formulate in my mind the next thing I will say. Gratitude yes Gratitude

I talked to two people yesterday. To my sister, of course, a daily check-in, and then to D, my dissertation adviser. Honest to God, he was demon possessed, even meaner than my father. We fought all the time. But after I was finally done, he became an advocate, writing glowing congratulations when I published another article.

We zoomed, and there was his face again. Why did I want to talk? Because E, also one of his students–easily the most brilliant–a force of nature, controlling a huge program at a very prestigious university and an internationally recognized scholar, has died…of cancer. She was a tough lady, and she kept my lazy brain working and productive. Relentless. Focused. When she found out that I had retired and was no longer doing research, I never heard from her again. It was still shocking that yet another of my age cohort is gone.

And so D. 90 years old, but still pissed about something. This time, at the rector of his church, whom he is planning to tell off before leaving the church permanently. “He is completely into himself,” says the man leaving behind three wives and six (or is it seven?) children. The last wife, I met. She was lovely, and somehow able to tame the savage beast. D’s words were contrite. He talked about alienating much of his family and the many violent arguments he had with E. Yet everything–even the bitterest regrets–was said in a monotone. The years have left their marks, but he mostly looked the same. What a strange little man.

God help me to wake up. Slept most of the day. My head is mush right now.

I never know which partner is going to show up. Today, it was the man I love. He apologized with tears in his eyes, which I’ve seen him do maybe twice in the eleven years we’ve been together. But I know that hurt, scared, angry little boy will always be back.

My man. When he’s good, he’s good. When he’s not, he is the worst. He’s bought me cars. He’s taken me on fabulous trips . Eleven years now, but I still don’t know what he is going to do next. Why so dreadful now? Here’s what I think: his partner of 43 years died of COPD. A horrible and slow death. My D, always wanting to be independent, nursed him. A terrifying moment at the end, which is not to be said or written about. Trauma and double Trauma. His beloved sister was dying of cancer the same time. After these deaths, D mourned for a year. That’s when I showed up. Two sources of anxiety: death and finding someone to take care of him when he got old. Sorry, honey.

Opioids cause major traffic jams in the gut. Had a hospital visit that should have been a TikTok video. The nurse said (Graphic description warning) We have to work together on this. Tiny little plastic toilet to aim in. so here comes the enema. I hold it and two grain elevators come out. Constipated today. I hope we can handle it at home.

The metal brace. The pain is intense. Trying not to groan now, Annoys the hell out of my man. Poor baby.

Arrived at the surgery center at exactly 5:15 am. I’m sorry. I don’t see you on the schedule. Oh it’s tomorrow (Thursday the third). oh fuck etc. After the oh fuck gd it, my 82-year-old (as of yesterday) D has been in the sweetest mood. Cuddling last night. He got in the shower with me, held me up and washed me. That mahogany warm body next to mine. And his caretaker voice. R and N were transformed into nurses yesterday when the pain overflowed. I love and desire so much the warmth of friends, but I must remember and remember that it’s my path.