Goings on

I very nearly had a "hetero moment" on Thursday night. It was, alas, not meant to be: the fates saw fit to prevent it by providing sub-standard bedding.

But I am getting ahead of myself here.

Compared to the marathon day I endured on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were considerably less exciting or blog-worthy. They were spent, for the most part, simultaneously watching The OC with Lala and drooling of my favourite bad-boy, Ryan.

On Wednesday we made a trip to the plaza to get Lala a new top and pants to wear to the big day out (just call me the Queer Eye of the relationship). I won't deny that it was a long and arduous trip; we were both glad to get back in the car and see the back of the plaza in the rear-view mirror as we drove off. I borrowed a motor-scooter for the first time. That was an experience. I'm still undecided as to whether I prefer using a wheelchair or scooter in the plaza for each has its own pros and cons. The wheelchair is more compact and thus easier to manoeuvre however it either requires someone to push me (meaning I have no Independence whatsoever, which isn't great because I hate not being in control of where I am shopping) or that I wheel myself around (which is great from an independence perspective but leaves my arms fairly lifeless for several hours after). The scooter, on the other hand, reeks independence. It lets me go wherever I want to go at the push of a button. It is, unfortunately, large, bulky and unmanageable.

One thing I've noticed is the sharp contrast in the way I am treated by staff and members of the public. When in the wheelchair, staff go out of their way to help me: they get items of shelves and talk in a kind voice; other shoppers move out of my way and smile in that "I'm looking at you but not for too long so that you don't feel self-conscious" kind of way. In the scooter staff are either impatient or totally ignore me when I ask them to get items off high shelves; other shoppers do move out of the way but they do so with an air of "this is such a chore and you're lucky I'm so helpful, aren't you?" kind of way. Obviously the different behaviour is rooted in their perceptions of my life, formed in the instant they see an otherwise young-and-healthy and mildly attractive (lol) man in a wheelchair/scooter. Wheelchairs conjure the perception of a finite limitation: either I am in the chair all the time (which they perceive to be a terrible hardship) or I am in the chair for this shopping expedition, not to get out of it until I return to the car. Scooters, on the other hand, conjure a perception of something less finite. At one end of the scale, they may perceive that I am a total faker and don't deserve their help and/or compassion because I obviously don't deserve the scooter and should just get up, walk, and stop making a nuisance of myself. On the other end of the scale, I am not as crippled as your average wheelchair user as I am obviously able to walk to the customer service kiosk to hire the thing in the first place. This is all conjecture on my part, but it reflects the reactions I've got when using both modes of transport.

We ventured into General Pants Co, Lala on her two legs and I in my skooter. She looked at tops, I looked at their rather limited range of wallets. Once Lala had chosen a top that she wanted to try on, I scooted over to the general vicinity of the dressing rooms. I became "parked in" by a few customers and a staff member (who, incidentally, looked ridiculous: she had brown, black and blond hair, in a pony-tail, with a very bouffant teased fringe and all the hair on the right side shaved off, compete with very large black triangles painted below her eyes with eyeliner). I had to back out and said "excuse me" but no-one moved. I tried reversing and, after a rather grueling 10-point turn, managed to turn around and get the hell out of the shop. I didn't think too much of it until I was told by Lala that she saw the ridiculous-looking girl roll her eyes when I said excuse me. I wonder why? (and I say that in all seriousness; I have no idea whatsoever. It's just plain rude.

On Thursday I had the house to myself as Cal and Lala went to the Big Day Out in Sydney. Roxie and I enjoyed a morning of madly cleaning the lounge room, followed by the two of us curling up on the sofa to catch up on all my friends' blogs that I have neglected to read while away (I am almost up to date). I snort laughed and startled Roxie, she barked in her sleep and startled me.

At 3 or so, Liz and Aramis arrived. Liz had some stuff to do on the coast and was staying with us at Lala and Cal's that night. We hung out, played monopoly (I won: very rare) and watched as young love developed between Aramis and Roxie. They were totally gaga for each other, although I suspect Roxie was slightly more gaga for Aramis than vice versa. I tried to explain the concept of playing hard to get to her but she either didn't understand, or chose not to follow that particular ethos of relationship ethics. The picture shows the two young lovers.

Night fell and Liz and I decided to go out for dinner. After a very delicious Thai meal we returned for more of the Aramis-Roxie courting ritual. It was exhausting to watch. We went to pick Lala and Cal up from the station and they promptly went to bed upon arrival in the house. Liz and I stayed up to watch a movie, Final Destination 3, before retiring ourselves.

This is where the almost-hetero-moment comes in. Lala and Cal have a double futon that I had been calling home for the past three weeks. I was to share it with Liz as there are no other beds in the house. Being that Liz and I have a very much brother-sister relationship, despite what some may think (although why they think that is totally beyond me, I am gay after all), the decision to share a bed was merely one of logistics. I admit I was a little excited at the prospect, simply because of the novelty value of being able to blog about "sleeping with a girl for the first time". But, as I said, it wasn't to be.

Liz got changed into her pjs while I had a smoke. I walked into the bedroom to see her lying on the bed frowning. "Do they have any other bedding?" she asked. I thought she was referring to the fact that I had made the bed with a sheet and a blanket only and that she was enquiring because she thought she might get cold in the middle of the night. "There's a quilt around somewhere," I said, "but it's a winter one and way too hot for tonight." She frowned further. "No, it's not that, I was thinking I'd sleep on the lounge because we're going to keep rolling into each other and my back is already starting to hurt anyway." I was a little disappointed to not be able to say I slept with a woman. But, being the gracious and hospitable host that I am, I obliged, content to be able to say that I almost slept with a woman. If I was ever to sleep with a woman it would be you, Liz.

On Friday we travelled home. There's something totally depressing about the end of a holiday. Especially the point where you start to recognise landmarks as being part of home. I didn't want to go home despite a strong and inexplicable feeling of homesickness. I guess I'll just have to deal with it. At least until I win the lottery and can buy a place up there with Lala and Cal.

The big day out

They say that beginning university study, particularly enrollment day, is a big adventure. I think that the powers-that-be may have gotten something lost in translation when predestining my day.

Today I left the house at approx 6,40 am. I got home at approx 6,40 pm.

I caught the 7,07 am train from Gosford to the city to enrol in uni. I met Sister at Central and headed to uni at about 9 am and after several hiccups I left, fully enrolled, at 11. When I got to the enrollment hall I went to the front of the line (as prearranged by the Disabilities Unit) and asked to see someone (also prearranged). This someone took me to the faculty office--pausing briefly to ask if I had gotten my forms and promptly shaking her head when I said "no, I was told to go to you first"--to enrol. I followed her through the labyrinthine halls of the arts faculty and filled out the form for a guy who was way too disinterested for his own good. That bit went without a hitch. He showed me out and I discovered, to my dismay, that the woman had led me around the block to get to the arts faculty when she could have taken me down a lift that was next to the hall.

Once that was done I was sent to get my student card. I handed my forms over to a semi-cute guy who read them, furrowed his brows and asked his mate (much less cute) a question. Then Semi-cute stamped my forms. He stamped a transport concession form too. You beauty I thought. Less-cute said "he's not entitled to that because he's only part time". Fuck you I thought. (One is only entitled to transport concessions if one is a full-time student. However students with a disability can apply to get that requirement waived if they are part-time solely because of their disability). I explained all this to the two guys and Less-cute said "oh, are you disabled?", glanced at my walking stick and suddenly looked embarrased. "Oh well if you're going to get it anyway then you may as well do it now". So I took all my forms to the next room.

The next room was set up with several little computers each with their own screen and webcam thingy to take photos for student cards. I sat down and after having explained the whole part-time-yet-entitled-to-transport-concessions bizzo my photo was taken. The computer froze. The IT guy came and furrowed his brow and said it would be best if I went to another workstation. Again I explained the transport situation, again my photo was taken, again the computer locked out. Third try and I got my card.

We went and grabbed lunch in the QVB and headed to Town Hall station where I read on the notice board "All North Shore, Northern, Central Coast and Newcastle trains terminate at Hornsby due to bushfire. There are no road busses due to road closures. Passengers should postpone travel until the rail line is reopened". This is where my day really started to go pear-shaped. I called Cal for advice and he said I should get a bus to Palm Beach and then the ferry over to Ettalong and he'd pick me up and drive me the rest of the way.

It appears that everyone else had the same idea.

After a lot of running around trying to find the bus-stop (I had called the info line and was told to go to the corner of George and Bathurst Streets, but she neglected to tell me precisely which of the eight possible corners this could be), I boarded the bus. "There's a three hour wait for a ferry at the other end" the driver said. Fuck it I thought. The bus was packed. It's only saving grace was the three gorgeous guys sitting in front of me. Thank God for sunglasses is all I can say. As it pulled into the ferry wharf there everyone groaned as one. The line was at least 100m long. At least. I was dying for a cigarette. My legs were killing me. I very nearly cried.

I did the only thing that a man in my situation could do. I had a smoke, bought a bottle of coke, took some pain killers, and pushed in the line. With the walking stick in one hand and the cigarette in the other I had no spare hands for the bottle of coke so I put it in the pocket of my shorts. When I got to the line I sat down and opened the bottle. I was tired, sore and now sticky and brown too.

Allow me to digress for a second to berate Cityrail. The trains were shut down yesterday at around lunchtime and remained so all night. This morning they opened the line long enough for all of the commuters on the Central Coast to go to Sydney and then promptly closed it again at 10am or so, effectively trapping thousands of commuters. For those unfamiliar with the Central Coast and/or Sydney regions there is, for all intents and purposes, one road and one train link between Sydney and the Coast (there are a few other roads but they are so totally and ridiculously out of the way that they don't bare mentioning). The only other less ridiculous link between the two is the Palm Beach-Ettalong ferry. This is why there were hundreds of people lining the foreshore. If Cityrail had have kept the rail line shut for those few hours the none of this would have happened! Many other passengers I spoke to agreed with me.

I made my way down the wharf and stopped about a dozen people short of the boat, which was now full. I waited another half hour and boarded the ferry. Thirty minutes, a pleasant ride and $4.50 later, I was on the Central Coast. During all this, my phone battery ran out so I had to have it turned off until the eleventh hour. This also meant no music.

I was tired, sore, pissed off, brown, sticky and musicless.

I called Cal but he didn't answer. He finally called me back and picked me up. I could hear the alleluia chorus in my head as he pulled in to the carpark. We walked through the front door almost 12 hours after I'd walked out.

All this for two hours' worth of enrollment. I wonder what the actual course time will be like?

Tax file woes

Big news! I received an offer for a BA at Uni of Sydney. I'm really excited. I'm going down tomorrow to enrol. I can't find my tax file number. I'm really stressed.

None of this would have happened if I was out to my parents and sister.

My tax file number is locked in my filing cabinet, in my bedroom, at my house. The key is with me. I am not at my house so I'm sure you can see the predicament I'm in. The cabinet is locked because it has all my DNA magazines, SSO newspapers and Queer as Folk DVDs. If I was out to my family I wouldn't have to worry about locking it. If it wasn't locked I could call my Dad and ask him to get the tax file number for me.

I hate being in the closet.

I'm going to have to call the tax office tomorrow morning on the train and ask them really nicely to give it to me over the phone. If they won't, I'm going to have to go to the tax office in Centrepoint in Sydney and ask them really nicely if they'll give it to me. If they both say no, I'll have to go home and get it then come back and enrol the next day.

I really hate being in the closet.

One down

Me: There's something I want to talk to you about.
Tía: Oh yes, what's that?
Me: Well I've been dancing around the issue for a week now, and I know you have your suspicions anyway, but I want to share it with you now before you hear it from someone else.
Tía: What do you want to share?
Me: Well what I want to share with you is ... I'm gay.
Tía: Darling, I thought you might be.

That's how I started the whole "I'm gay" conversation in my head.

Me: There's something I want to talk to you about.
Tía: Oh this sounds--
Me: I'm gay.
Tía: --interesting.
(silence)
Tía: Oh right.

That's what actually happened.

I had it all planned out but I was so anxious to get it over and done with that I just blurted it out. Although she was already suspicious, my sudden revelation took her quite by surprise.

Tía: How long have you known? Do your parents or Sister know?
Me: Well I've always kinda known, but it wasn't until about a year ago-no more like a year and a half-that I accepted it and came to terms with it. And no, they don't know. I'd like to tell them soon though, but I just don't know where to start.
Tía: Well don't do it like that; don't just blurt it out!
Me: I didn't mean to, I swear, it's just that if I didn't say it right away I would have piked out and gone to bed and kicked myself.

I had to get it out. I was so anxious; my stomach was turning all evening. Bee told me that Tía had asked her on Monday "Do you think Daniel could be gay?"--"I just don't know." she replied. This was after our weekend away up north. I had already decided to tell her before I knew of this conversation but once Bee told me I had my mind made up for me. I was determined.

To be honest, it wasn't as awkward as I expected it would be. Until ...

Tía: So this is like a journey I guess. So is this it for you? Or are you still working it all out? Or ...
Me: No. This is it. I'm gay.

Me: I know you suspected that I'm gay; Lala and Bee told me that you have asked them about it.
Tía: Well there have always been little things but I didn't want it to be so I pushed them aside.

Me: I think the reason that it took me so long to tell you is that I didn't know what your reaction would be.
Tía: You mean because of my faith?
Me: Yeh. But then Lala and Cal and everyone talked me into it and told me it would all be ok.
Tía: Well as far as I'm concerned, nothing has to change. It's not my issue or problem; it's your problem--if it even is a problem for you--it's between you and the Lord.
Me: I can deal with that.

Maybe I'm reading a little too far into that last statement. But I always knew she would have trouble with it. I always knew that she has a moral objection to homosexuality. But I also know she loves me. Obviously much more was said than I've reproduced here; on the whole it went pretty well, all things considered. I guess I have to wait and see what happens over the next few days. My ex-English teacher said to me "remember that their reaction is not your responsibility." I have to remember that I've had years to deal wth this, she's had hours.

I know it will be ok in the end.

I've still got sand in my shoes

I got home late last night from a holiday up the coast with Tía, Lala and Cal. Here's something I wrote on the beach on Sunday:

I’m writing this while sitting on the beach, using a notepad and pen—talk about nostalgic—while waves crash on one side and cicadas shriek on the other. Lala and Cal are out swimming and Tía is here with me reading and holding onto Roxie’s lead—Roxie is on heat and Lala isn’t ready to be a grandmother yet.

There’s something magical—for want of a better word—about beaches. I’ve always been mesmerised by them; to me they represent the epitome of God’s creation. Beaches bombard all the senses at once. I love sitting on the sand, watching the waves crash, smelling the briny air, feeling the warm breeze on my chest, hearing children laugh, tasting the salt spray.

I’ve been here, at Cal’s parents’ beach house, since Thursday night with Tía, Cal and Lala. It’s been so great to leave the banality of the everyday behind me and be in a new environment. With the small exception of forgetting to take my tablets on Saturday morning and consequently feeling like crap, it’s been a blast.

We set off at 6,30pm from Lala and Cal’s place—Cal and I in his ute; Lala and Tía in Lala’s mirage with Roxie on Tía’s lap. We made a quick stop at Maccas fro dinner—the perfect start to any holiday—and ate in a small reserve by the freeway. Tía ordered from the Deli Choices menu and was thoroughly impressed by her meal; Lala and I, on the other hand, were thoroughly underwhelmed with our pint sized burgers. Friday and Saturday were spent either at the beach or in the house watching DVDs and hanging out. Cal worked all day Friday but was able to take a break on the weekend and join in. Lala cut my hair on Friday and put some blond in it so I now look like a real surfy guy—if I only had the body to match I’d be perfect. On Saturday we journeyed north to Forster for lunch at the local club and some shopping. Today we spent the day at the beach swimming (I didn’t swim, I hate saltwater), reading, chatting, taking heaps of photos and covertly checking out the guys.

Today, Monday, I'm at Tía's place. I am so sun burnt. We all are. Lala looks like a tomato; Tía is so embarrassed after all the litanies she has given us about watching out for the sun our whole lives; Cal's back is red-raw; I'm burnt everywhere except where my boardshorts covered me. In our defense, it was cloudy and we were duped.

On the ride home from the holiday Cal and I talked about my coming out to the family, among other things. He thinks it'll be ok with Tía once she's given some time to process the information. We actually talked about quite a lot of things. I made a comment—"Sister probably won't talk to me once she knows, man"—which got us onto an interesting tangent. We were talking about how people either tend to have a moral objection or a stomach objection, the difference being that a moral objection means the person thinks homosexuality is morally wrong whereas a stomach objection means the person doesn't think it's wrong, but simply gets uncomfortable at the thought of two guys going at it. In Cal's own words, "I don't mind kissing or holding hands or whatever in public, like you should be able to do whatever straight couples can, but anything more than that ... (shudder)." So he falls into the latter category because it's simply that gay sex makes him uncomfortable although he doesn't see anything wrong with it—as long as he doesn't have to witness it. That was comforting and made me respect him more. Not so much because he feels that way (although I'm glad he does), but because he was honest enough to tell me.

I'm hoping to tell Tía that I'm gay this week. I'm very nervous about it, but at the same time I do feel a kind of peace. I'll let you know how I go.

I'm feeling the post-holiday letdown at the moment. After a weekend away with the crew I always feel life has less of a lustre about it than it did while we were away. It usually takes a few days to abate but I should be back to normal in time to go home and feel it all over again.

I'll post some funny pictures I took while we were away tomorrow. Until then, sleep well and WEAR SUNSCREEN!

Goals and resolutions #2

Goal #3: To make more art. Lately I haven't done much painting beyond presents; I haven't made anything for myself. I want to make some more artworks that are just for me. I'm actually 1/4 through making a self portrait using the photos on my blog profile. Once I get it going again I'll post some photos of the work in progress.

Goal #4: As Lou said, find out what the K in K-mart is. That has bothered me for a while now.

I'm going away with Lala, Cal and Tia in half an hour to the north coast for a long weekend away, so I'll write more when I get there; so much has been happening!

The photos accompanying the next few posts are courtesy of Lala, who spent the other night downloading pictures of guys I like so that I can use them in the blog. What a gal huh?

Untitled

I've been meaning to write this post all day but life got in the way. A good friend of mine, one whom I've only known a short time, will undergo surgery tomorrow to have a tumour removed from his brain. It is, thankfully, benign but still inconveniently positioned. We're chatting now as I write and he told me about three shoutouts he got today. I just hope he knows that I'm not doing this because others have.

It's hot today and I'm sweating profusely and I'm really not in the literary mood, so I'll leave it at this humble statement:

"I'm thinking of you and praying for you mate. Stay strong and I'll talk to you next week."

Ten things I hate about ...

I hate having to walk to the end of the platform to smoke where there is no cover. Although I realise the inherent benefits to everyone's health-both to the non-smokers who don't have to breath in our disgusting fumes and to the smokers who have to walk a little extra each day to support their disgusting habit-my tired feet were unimpressed.

I hate farting in public without meaning to. While waiting at Strathfield I decided to go down to the end of the platform and have a quick smoke. As I squatted down my insides decided to play a joke on me and let one rip. There were two people standing there smoking also. I hope that they didn't hear me.

I hate needing to fart in public and not being able to, while on a train for example.
Today I on the train to the Central Coast, between Strathfield and the Coast, I needed to fart the whole way and couldn't because of the many people in the carriage with me.

I hate making schnitzels when your finger tips get covered in a mixture of flour and egg, which eventually forms into a sticky substance the strength of which is unparalleled in all of human existence. I made some tonight and after three hand washes and a shower I still have bits of that gunk between my nails.

I hate my toenails.

I hate smelly feet, particularly when they are attached to me. There is no escape then.

I hate it when public restrooms have no toilet paper, particularly when I have just done a massive direar and not looked for paper before I did it. This has actually happened to me; I had to use my underwear. I now travel everywhere with a roll of toilet paper in my backpack.

I hate people staring at me walk with a stick. Although it does irk me somewhat, I give children dispensation because I know that children are naturally inquisitive creatures who often lack the appropriate social skills to not stare. Adults have no such entitlement. This also goes for people who stare at me parking in disabled spaces. Just because I am young and they are old gives them no right to judge me.

I hate reformatting computers. They always seem to lull you into a false sense of "this isn't going to take as long as I thought" … until midnight hits and you realise with startling clarity just how much work is left.

It goes without saying that I hate homophobia, racism and bigotry of all kinds; rape, murder, grand-theft-auto and the like; dial-up internet and reality TV.

(Due to being on dial-up internet, there will be no image in today's post. I regret any inconvenience this may cause.)

Goals and resolutions

Ok so I've been tagged Drew to blog about my new year's goals. He pointed out that goals and resolutions are two completely different things, which I totally agree with. I've always hated new years resolutions. To be fair, I've never made any of them myself; I've never seen the point. Why make a resolution just because it's the beginning of the year? But I guess now is as good a time as any. I don't really have many goals this year but I may as well spell out the ones I do have.

Goal 1: Attend uni two days a week and knock over half a full-time year's worth of study. It would be a little ambitious at this juncture to go to uni full-time (four days) but I think I can handle half a full-time load. Before I can plan this whole uni business any further, I have to wait until the 17th of January to get my UAC results. For those who are unfamiliar with the Australian tertiary system, here's a crash course: rather than applying to each individual school, you make one application to a central agency with a list of course preferences. In NSW, the central agency is the Universities Admissions Centre (UAC). They then make offers to you based on your preferences. So I have listed four courses at three different unis and have to wait until the 17th to find out what I've got.

Goal 2: To get the pain in my legs under control so I can take less pain killers. Presently I take a lot of pain killers. I don't like it, I can hear my liver scream at me every time I take some, but I wouldn't be able to function much without them. So hopefully with the help of trusty old Dr KHS I can find some other way to get it under control and finally get off the pain killers.

Resolution 1: To eat better. Despite my aversion to resolutions, it isn't really a goal to eat better since I don't really need to loose any weight so I can't really say "loose X kilos" etc. But I need to stop eating things that make me sick (all dairy) and cut down a little on gluten products which can at times mess up my stomach and I also need to eat more healthy foods so I have more energy to reach goals 1 & 2.

That's about it for now. I should revisit this in July, make some Financial New Year Goals or something.

Happy new year

I've been meaning to write something for the last week or so, considering my last post was written on Christmas day, but for some reason I couldn't get motivated. I was actually going to post on New Years Day but I was in such a foul mood so I thought it seemed best to let it wait until the foulness subsided -- how mature am I?

So this will be a bit of a stream of consciousness post I think.

New Years Eve was quiet. I went over to Liz's place and we had a DVD night of Lano and Woodley and Who Framed Roger Rabbit. We paused briefly for the fireworks and then went to bed by 1.30am. Liz had been up since 7am; I was just tired. I wanted to watch John Tucker Must Die, since Jesse Metcalfe has his shirt off quite a bit in that movie and I am a huge fan of the shirtless (or the not-shirtless for that matter) Jesse Metcalfe but we were too tired. I do love Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I hadn't seen it since I was a little kid and it was just as good as I remember it. Jessica Rabbit is hot. For a disproportionate cartoon female anyway. I've always thought that Kate Hudson is the spitting image of Jessica Rabbit and the other night only confirmed that for me. Look at the image and you'll see what I mean. For any straight boys or gay girls (if there are any who actually read this) this will be one of the few images of a woman to feature on this blog so make the most of it.

While I'm talking about new year's fireworks, I'd like to say for the record that I hate them. They cost an absolutely sinful amount of money and really aren't that different from the previous year's ones anyway. I was amused when Gretel and Dan were saying "The diamond on the bridge will do something won't believe at the end!" and it turned out to be that it shimmered. A fluoro light with a dud starter does the same thing. Big deal.

I had one and a half glasses of champers on New Years Eve, and that was my downfall for New Years Day. Since starting the new drugs for the pain in my legs I haven't drunk much alcohol at all since I don't know how it will affect me. I already know that I can tolerate a little (and I do mean a little) alcohol with my anti-depressants but the effect of the painkillers was unknown. I know now that it makes me cranky. All day on the first day of the year I was in a shitty mood all day and I didn't know why.

I called Lala and she said she'd call me back and she didn't and that made my shittiness worse. Normally this wouldn't bother me since she does this all the time, not because she's being mean or anything just because she gets busy and forgets. To be fair lately she's been really good at calling me back, which I take as a very high compliment since she rarely calls her own father back--partly from forgetting and partly from not actually wanting to--and I know that it pisses him off. He has said to me "I don't know why I leave messages for her, she never calls me back!" and I think "take the hint then" but obviously don't say it. I don't blame her, I avoid calling him too.

She called yesterday, the next day, and apologised profusely. She and Cal are at his family's holiday house on the north coast--"Blueys"--for the new year period. They headed up there on the 28th of December and were soon joined by 20-odd of their friends, including one totally vexatious girl who Lala can't stand, to celebrate. This is why she didn't have time to call me, she was too busy being Mrs Hostess. All the friends headed home yesterday, leaving Lala and Cal with the house to themselves, leaving Lala time to finish Holding the Man and to cry her little eyes out like I knew she would. She was so upset on the phone, it was kinda cute actually.

In other news, I've been scanning old photos from Pop's place, with the eventual goal of getting them all on CD to distribute among the family. I've been buried waist deep in photos since the 30th (when I went down there to collect them). It's been kinda fun, in a very repetitive way, to scan them all. I've also been restoring the really old ones which has produced many a FIGJAM moment. Check out the one on the right... How good am I? It's been a little bit of a sad experience seeing photos of Pop and Grandma as young adults, getting married (when they were younger than I am!), and seeing them so full of life and joire de vivre--so much as one can see these things in a static 2D image anyway--and then remembering how they ended up. But on the other hand, it shows they had a good life before the treachery of old age hit them.

I also got a reply from my high school english teacher from the letter I wrote her. I won't reproduce the entire thing but there were two parts that I wanted to share:

Congratulations on doing so well in your bridging course. I was glad that you said 'I know I am a good student' for I certainly agree with that!

How is that for an endorsement of my abilities from someone who should know!

Stay strong Daniel in your acceptance of your sexuality. Continue to be proud of your values, your relationships and your goals. Remember you have nothing to be ashamed of.

And despite the fact that I already knew I had nothing to be ashamed of, it was nice to be told so by someone I haven't seen in so long. I've given her the link to this blog so hopefully I get an email saying what a brilliant writer I am. Or, at the very least, that it was an interesting read.

And to finish up, I've been tagged by the ever-beautiful Drew to blog about my new year's goals. I was going to do this anyway, so please do not labour under the false impression that the following is owed entirely to Drew and his tagging. I'll do this in a separate post I think.

Adios for now and happy new year everyone.