A post in which I dine with an old friend

Well if you can call eating at the East China Buffet dining, anyway. But strappin' on the feedbag is usually quite good enough for yours truly. Hell, usually I eat dinner in my underwear during the week, so this was practically formal dining.

I wasn’t sore today, amazingly. Stiff yes, but not sore. The residue of frustrated desire lingered in the back of my mind like the smell of burnt sugar though. I really don't like myself when I feel like I'm being the Creepy Gay Guy. It reminds me of how close I am to being a Dirty Old Man. Sometimes though, I just seem to be overcome by longing that manifests as desire, suddenly and quite without design.

I signed on to Facebook today, since apparently everyone in the world is on it but me. It’s pretty much as dildonic as I expected, but I can reference Michael’s page now. I kind of feel like I should, since he checks in on my blog from time to time.

I talked to Terry today. He had called me a couple of times, but I hadn’t sorted through the several phone numbers I had for him (Terry changes phone numbers like most people change socks) to call him back until today. He sounded OK. He is still fighting with John, and relayed the latest salvos in that conflict. He’s in Ohio with his family, and debating staying there. I’d be sorry if he did, but I would understand it.

The more I think about it lately, the more leaving here makes sense. I’m resisting it, because I’d have to overhaul my whole life to do it, but it seems more attractive than it used to. In a way, I kind of envy the fact that Terry cast off all ties. He’s free to do whatever he wants. I don’t even want to think about how hard it would be to sell the house right now though. There are three on my block for sale right now that have been on the market for months, and one that the owner finally just rented out. I did get an interesting letter in the mail though, from someone offering to buy my house. It was just handwritten on legal paper. I thought it was weird at the time, unless they wanted my specific house, but really there isn’t anything that makes mine that terribly different than any of the others in the neighborhood. I stuck the letter in my briefcase and forgot about it, but ran across it the other day. I thought about just calling and naming some outrageous price, but my inherent caution has ruled so far.

I worked out (no weights today), and headed home, did the turnaround, and met Rhonda for dinner.

It was really good to see her. Rhonda and her ex, Jaimi, were really close friends of me and my ex, Michael, when we were still together. They broke up about a year before we did, and we were devastated. I think their breakup kind of sped up our relationship, which was limping toward a conclusion.

Rhonda and I just picked right up where we left off, which is how good friends do. I caught her up on all that had happened with me this Spring/Summer – it’s been a most eventful year. She caught me up on the latest on her son Tony, and her and her lover Sabrina’s problems with trying to buy a house.

By the time I caught her up on BB and Poppy dying, me getting my heart broken, the Spring Camp Out, and SELF, it was about 10. We had adjourned to my place to sit on the front porch, smoke, and talk. It was a really nice evening. Being with Rhonda again is like having a little scrap of my old life back. I have missed her.