Bitter On the Vine in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I know it’s not really clear from how I write, usually I zoom in on a specific topic and mention only the specifics (or talk around the specifics), but I’ve made a lot of changes lately. However, I’m hesitant about mentioning those changes publicly. I hate when people post about things in forums such as Twitter or Facebook or Instagram because it seems like boasting so much.

I just read this whole article, read it here, about how parents discuss their children’s lives in front of them as if the children cannot comprehend that they are being discussed. I thought this was incredibly precise only because I was like that as a child. I hated when my mother talked about me and shared information about me. As an adult, I am completely paranoid whenever people know things about me. (It’s not just my mother’s fault, it also stems from the fact that so many kids gossiped about me in school.)

Whether it’s good or bad, I’d just prefer to not be the topic of conversation. I still get extremely angry with my mother whenever she shares anything about my life. She was surprised when I became furious at her earlier this year because she was telling someone that I had graduated from Cal Poly. I know, it seems completely irrational, but I was absolutely livid and I didn’t speak to her for two weeks. (I know someone is going to write about how ridiculous it is, but I have some kind of social disease that prevents me from seeing conversational interactions as idle chit-chat. In my mind, there is always malicious intent involved, no matter what.)

I was talking about changes I’ve been making, but this isn’t one of them. I don’t even know how to characterize the shifts I’ve been making. They are all things I knew I’d do eventually. It’s a long list of stupid things like exercise, readjusting my diet to take further account of my phe levels, and going to bed early. (Plus, I’m in the midst of switching jobs.) But the truth is, these choices have left my artistic life and school life floundering. It seems like I’m only creative and brilliant when I’m strung out, loveless, smoking two packs of cigarettes a day and perpetually hung over all the time. These are not conducive to an examined life.

In just 10 days, I will be thirty-two. Now, I gave up on the world’s meanings on age around the time I turned twenty-eight, but I can’t help but think that, despite the fact that I accomplish things at what others seem to consider a leisurely pace, I should have a little more control over the resources that I myself bring to the table.

Last night, I took a Lyft home from the gym and was picked up by this guy David who used to be a friend of mine. The last time I saw David was when the two of us, plus his boyfriend/fiancé, best friend, neighbor and my friend were all involved in this crazy orgy. We’d been friends for a year, but he stopped talking to me after that. I thought it was either because of the orgy or because I had to go back to Los Angeles and didn’t really come back for years.

We somewhat reconnected, and when we exchanged numbers to hang out again (he still had my number in his phone), all these memories flooded back to me. David’s fiancé/husband is this incredibly hot Persian guy and I just fucking melted and got incredibly horny when thinking about him naked and all the nastiness we got up to. The truth is, I haven’t felt very sexual in months, I attributed it to the stress of life since June, but in reality, there’s been a frightening shift away from sex as a priority. But the memory of that situation made me rev that engine all over again.

I know what you’re thinking, how can someone who hates being talked about willingly participate in such provocative behavior and then become angry when it’s discussed? I don’t know. All I know is that for the last year, my priorities and values have been shifting away from what they have always been, and they aren’t veering toward anything remotely close to the “family friendly” shifts that people have been telling me would come in my thirties.

I’ve become more angry, more racist, more sexist, more hateful toward things that only provided me minor irritation before. Even though I no longer wish to participate in sexual deviancy, I champion it more now than I ever have.... and gays like David, who give tacit condemnation of me and my choices become the new enemy.

Before I threw the hot hippy out of my house a few weeks ago, I said the most hurtful thing I could to him. I’m not becoming sweeter or more palatable, I’m becoming more miserable and more unwilling to give the feelings of others consideration.

I’m becoming my grandfather.