The "Dame Edna" Experience

I went to see the Dame Edna stage show last Thursday night. I didn't want to go alone, so I decided to invite the masseur I mentioned previously. He hasn't gotten any easier to talk to, and this is the guy who made me cry a few weeks ago and smash my phone in a rage. (I threw it across the room and against the opposite wall. It was glorious!) I should mention, in all fairness, that he was only a minor catalyst. He set me off, but the roiling rage that boiled over into madness was all me.

The show was hilarious, and we had a nice time. During the second act, I worked up my courage and put my arm around him. He leaned in close and rested his hand on my knee. That was an incredible experience for me, and the main thing I love about living in the social bubble that is Los Angeles. I certainly couldn't engage in homosexual public displays of affection back in Memphis without expecting to get bashed by some fucking redneck.

Same Shit, Different Day

After a brief respite, my depression and axiety have come hammering back down upon me. For a few weeks after I managed to get myself off of narcotics after my last bender, I was enthusied and positive (relatively speaking) and energized by the smugness of virtue and the vain hope that I have any power to change my life. But it didn't last. Through most of March I've been extremely lathargic and defeated under the cloud of depression and obsessing about HIV in the whirlwind of anxiety.

As time has passed, the effort needed just to get through the bare minimum of my day has broken my will. I haven't been going to the gym or doing my cleaning or keeping up with my finances or any of the things I was supposed to be working on. I also broke my Lenten promise forgoing alcohol and drank last Friday and also the Saturday before. I could use the same excuse for Saturday night, but I have no excuse for Friday night except the sin of self-entitlement. This weekend I've been feeling the occasional spark of resistance and the desire to fight against my handicap. But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a big part of me which doesn't want to bother to even try. There is a quiet, comfortable little corner inside of despair, a place where a fellow might get some peace.

"So what are you gonna do now, Michael?"

Now I'm gonna finish up my workday at the store. Then I'm gonna force myself to go to church. Then I'm gonna force myself to go to the gym for the first time in a long time. Then I'm gonna force myself to do a load of laundry and get ready for the day tomorrow. Maybe it won't always have to be forced. Viva la Resistance!