own this, Ronald, you did this to yourself, Ronald.”
“It’s better than crying.”
Billy’s in Comportment class. He believes all that shit. To be fair to him, that “you gotta own this” was me digging at some of the stuff he comes out with. That stuff pisses me off. In fact right now, everything pisses me off. Right now, it’s like my guts are twisting and I want to go break something.
Comportment says you’ve got to own the fact people don’t like you, own the fact you got fat hips, own the fact you’re no good in math, own the fact that glacial lakes are collapsing onto Tibetan monasteries. Comportment says hey, you’re complaining about the Chinese treatment of Tibet, but what have you personally done about it?
It’s like: we’ll make everybody who has no power feel it’s their fault if stuff goes wrong, so the big people don’t have to do anything about it.
My mom hates me being a homo. She likes being a big tough lady even more. So she, like, doesn’t get all upset or cry or even say much about it. Being a tough lady is her way of feeling good about her son being an alien plot.
Billy is too focused on being Joe Cool-and-Out to cut me any slack. His stab at being sympathetic is “You should have just told her straight up, like I told you.”
I say back to him in this Minnie Mouse voice, “I acknowledge that you are absolutely right.” That’s another line he’s used on me.
He’s silent for a sec and then says, “Well, don’t be a bitch with me about it.”
“It’s my authentic response to an emotionally charged situation.” Still sounding like Minnie Mouse.
I’m mad at him. I’m mad at him because he just won’t unbend. Nobody unbends. It’s bad comportment.
Billy comes back at me. “This is just you going back to being a baby. Only you don’t have tantrums, you just whine.”
“Billy. My NeoChristian Mom now knows I’m samesex. Could I have some sympathy?”
“Who’s died, Ron? Anybody dead around here? Did you lose any limbs in the detonation? Or are you just getting all significant on my ass?”
“No. I’m looking for a friend. I’ll try and find one, you know, someone who likes me and not my dick?”
And I hang up.
Like I said, I’m so mad.
I’m mad sitting here right now. I got my stupid kid brother who’s been giggling all day, like it’s such an achievement he likes pussy. I got my Mom doing the household accounts and her shares and her rollovers, and she’s bellowing into the voice recognition and it’s like: look at me having to do all the work around here. I’m realizing that I’ve probably screwed up my relationship with Billy and wondering if I really am the incredible wimp he thinks I am.
It’s like everything all around me is Jell-O and it’s setting into lemon-line, which I hate. I’m out. My brother knows and will try to give me a hard time, and if he does I’ll slug his fat face. My Mom is being hard ass, and so I’m going to be hard ass back. I’m not an athlete, I’m not Joe Cool-and-Out, and I’ll never go to Mom’s Neo seminars.
I’m just sitting here all alone thinking: how can I win? What can I do?
I’ll never be able to be a good little boy again. That is not an option. I’m not interested in being political about who I sleep with. I don’t sign up to anything, I don’t believe anything, and I don’t like anybody, and I don’t think anybody likes me.
Hey. A fresh start. Happy birthday.
So, twenty-six today!
I got up at 3:00 A.M. and holoed over to the Amazon to say hi to João. He looked so happy to see me, his little face was just one huge smile. He’d organized getting some of his sisters to line up behind him. They all waved and smiled and downloaded me a smart diary for my present. In Brazil, they still sing Happy Birthday.
Love conquers all. With a bit of work.
I called João later and we did our usual daily download. His testosterone levels were through the roof, he’s getting so stimulated by his
“It’s better than crying.”
Billy’s in Comportment class. He believes all that shit. To be fair to him, that “you gotta own this” was me digging at some of the stuff he comes out with. That stuff pisses me off. In fact right now, everything pisses me off. Right now, it’s like my guts are twisting and I want to go break something.
Comportment says you’ve got to own the fact people don’t like you, own the fact you got fat hips, own the fact you’re no good in math, own the fact that glacial lakes are collapsing onto Tibetan monasteries. Comportment says hey, you’re complaining about the Chinese treatment of Tibet, but what have you personally done about it?
It’s like: we’ll make everybody who has no power feel it’s their fault if stuff goes wrong, so the big people don’t have to do anything about it.
My mom hates me being a homo. She likes being a big tough lady even more. So she, like, doesn’t get all upset or cry or even say much about it. Being a tough lady is her way of feeling good about her son being an alien plot.
Billy is too focused on being Joe Cool-and-Out to cut me any slack. His stab at being sympathetic is “You should have just told her straight up, like I told you.”
I say back to him in this Minnie Mouse voice, “I acknowledge that you are absolutely right.” That’s another line he’s used on me.
He’s silent for a sec and then says, “Well, don’t be a bitch with me about it.”
“It’s my authentic response to an emotionally charged situation.” Still sounding like Minnie Mouse.
I’m mad at him. I’m mad at him because he just won’t unbend. Nobody unbends. It’s bad comportment.
Billy comes back at me. “This is just you going back to being a baby. Only you don’t have tantrums, you just whine.”
“Billy. My NeoChristian Mom now knows I’m samesex. Could I have some sympathy?”
“Who’s died, Ron? Anybody dead around here? Did you lose any limbs in the detonation? Or are you just getting all significant on my ass?”
“No. I’m looking for a friend. I’ll try and find one, you know, someone who likes me and not my dick?”
And I hang up.
Like I said, I’m so mad.
I’m mad sitting here right now. I got my stupid kid brother who’s been giggling all day, like it’s such an achievement he likes pussy. I got my Mom doing the household accounts and her shares and her rollovers, and she’s bellowing into the voice recognition and it’s like: look at me having to do all the work around here. I’m realizing that I’ve probably screwed up my relationship with Billy and wondering if I really am the incredible wimp he thinks I am.
It’s like everything all around me is Jell-O and it’s setting into lemon-line, which I hate. I’m out. My brother knows and will try to give me a hard time, and if he does I’ll slug his fat face. My Mom is being hard ass, and so I’m going to be hard ass back. I’m not an athlete, I’m not Joe Cool-and-Out, and I’ll never go to Mom’s Neo seminars.
I’m just sitting here all alone thinking: how can I win? What can I do?
I’ll never be able to be a good little boy again. That is not an option. I’m not interested in being political about who I sleep with. I don’t sign up to anything, I don’t believe anything, and I don’t like anybody, and I don’t think anybody likes me.
Hey. A fresh start. Happy birthday.
So, twenty-six today!
I got up at 3:00 A.M. and holoed over to the Amazon to say hi to João. He looked so happy to see me, his little face was just one huge smile. He’d organized getting some of his sisters to line up behind him. They all waved and smiled and downloaded me a smart diary for my present. In Brazil, they still sing Happy Birthday.
Love conquers all. With a bit of work.
I called João later and we did our usual daily download. His testosterone levels were through the roof, he’s getting so stimulated by his
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