So I’m at Angelo’s again, after midnight, just to order a pitcher of beer and write in this journal.
What the heck is going on? I have no idea! I don’t believe I just got off the phone with “S”* and that she actually told me she was having sex with her boyfriend. She called at just the right time, too, while I was watching a movie on TV about sexual experimentation during college. I guess she’d tell me eventually. I just never wanted to believe it. Why did I never think it could happen, would happen, to “S” and me? Were we immune, at least in my mind? Obviously not. And I just talked to “E” last night about her sleeping with this someone new. While I thought imagining exes sleeping with somebody else was difficult-—try imagining your sister!
I don’t think I know totally what I’m doing. I think that’s partly why I’m doing it. How rash you can be. Spontaneity’s one issue, being stupid and jumping in too deep is another. I told my class this morning that I was in love. Of course, I was kidding and told them so. But was I? Could I just totally forget about “L”? Do we ever totally forget?
How can I forget, when everywhere I turn around, I’m reminding of my possible homosexuality? I had just got done yesterday writing a note to the leader of the GLB Discussion Group, expressing my interest, when I returned to my apartment and see a new sign for—the GLB Discussion Group. I go up to my room, turn on the TV, and watch an episode of Frasier—about a gay station manager…
I really need to study. I don’t care what sex I’m after, I’m not here, ostensibly, to chase women or men! But I think about “L” a lot. Too much, probably. I keep wondering why he is seeing me and what he sees in me. This is all so new. Yet it feels so natural.
There’s something invigorating about being with him, sort of like the tingly feeling I get when I take a sip of coffee. Making out with him is a lot different than with “P” (too long) or “E” (too tender). It’s most like “J” (spontaneous and forceful). But even more so.
My face feels hot. Did I blush last night? At the theatre? On “L”‘s futon?
I wish my mother would stop asking me whether or not I’m dating anyone. Of course I am, but I can’t let her know that. And then she adds things like “Secrets aren’t good, especially for families” or “Pray for your sister, because I know she’s living in sin.” And I have to answer “I know” and “I am, I will.”
I told my sister about my date. I used a male pronoun. I know she knew what I was saying. But we were arguing about something else, and she let it drop.
* My sister.