Pissed, proud, moved, exhausted.

After all the drama and emotional upheaval of the last two weeks, I am a little frazzled and rough round the edges. For this reason, I’m going to keep this short.

Pissed. Last week I received an email from my Sister informing me that there was a public talk being held shortly about homosexuality and the church. I know the speaker; he’s a tool. A hypocritical tool no less, having preached chastity while having a boyfriend (figure that one out). And Sister knows that I feel this way about him. I tried not to let it get to me, but this didn’t last long. Soon I was well pissed off so I just clicked the little red X on the email, certain that if I replied to her I would likely say something I forget. So I’m not in a hurry to resume contact any time soon. What annoys me the most is that she has gotten to me, but I really don’t want her to know it. I don’t want my disenchantment at her to be mistaken for any disenchantment with regards to my beliefs.

Proud. However this week it is Pride week at uni; and there’s nothing like a little bit of fairy dust and spray paint to liven a boy’s mood. The pride week program is pretty full on, there’s definitely something for everyone. On Monday there was a self-defence workshop, and while I didn’t participate a whole lot, but in light of Lance’s concerns I made the effort to go to allay his fears. Last night we had “Coming out by candlelight”, an intimate evening of funny, touching, sad, and poignant coming out stories in good company (in a room whose capacity was well and truly ignored so it was a little muggy… and the melting plastic cups weren’t pleasant either, but you over look these things). This was followed by a trip to the graffiti tunnel to paint slogans and pictures on the walls with bright colourful gay paint. Good times.

Moved. On Monday night the drama society at school put on a special showing of The Laramie Project as a joint launch of Pride week and the Laramie Project. All I can say is “wow”. We saw one act, and to be honest I don’t know if I’ll make it through the whole thing when I see it next week.

Exhausted. And now I’m lying in bed with a fucken back brace on. Yes, my friends, you read that correctly. There’s nothing like a back brace to inhibit physical freedoms like, for example, being able to twist at the waist or bend over without crunching your stomach on straps. On the flip-side, there’s nothing like it to make my stomach look like I’ve been working out slavishly under my shirt. My back is fucked and I’m tired. Hopefully it passes soon.