Last night all I wanted to do was write in my diary. I am so used to its therapeutic properties, I hardly knew what to do with myself when my efforts at self-expression were stymied simply by lack of internet access. And when my lack of internet access occured simply due to lack of funds. And my lack of funds occurred simply because I loaned the money to a roommate to buy a camera she no longer even needs.
Frustration.
When I got home from work, all I wanted to do was curl up by myself somewhere and read my book. Union-worker-roommate was there already, and he badgered me until I agreed to go out with him. "If Art-Student-Roommate called, you'd go out with her. You're one of my best friends ever and you never want to do anything with me." Because more guilt is what I need right now.
Frustration.
We go to a local bar. I spend the entire visit alternately sighing over the looks of the preppy boys playing pool, or sighing over the comments of the homophobes sitting next to me. All I wanted was someone to pull close to me and kiss right in front of all of them, if for no other reason than to make them shut up about how Mike Piazza is a fag, and how nobody trusts him in the locker room.
Frustration.
Afterwards, I go alone to my local gay bar. I was there much earlier than usual, arriving at 10 pm last night instead of my customary 2 am. A whole different crowd was there, but as I am completely incompetent when it comes to starting up conversations with people I think are attractive, I left after one drink, having only spoken to the bartender.
Frustration.
I get home and flop on my bed, where Art Student already reclines. We have a conversation in which she reiterates Union Worker's comments that I should date Tallboy, because I would just "get used to" the whole HIV thing after a while. The problem is that it is not a problem I want to get used to; it is not a problem it is safe to get used to. It is not a situation I am comfortable dealing with, and I am tired of people telling me that they "understand" why I would be uncomfortable. Their tones suggest that while they understand, they think I am being unreasonable, and I am tired of dealing with that kind of censure.
Frustration.
Then she makes the observation that I need to do something "totally self-serving" to make me feel better. Something completely selfish. The most selfish thing I have done in recent memory is bought myself hair wax that I do not let anyone else use. I thought about what she said, and it occurred to me that she is probably right. I spend my entire day doing favors for people. Do you have something inconvenient you need done? Ask me! Want someone to pick up your laundry? Ask me! Want someone to pay all of the bills? Ask me! Want someone try to sleep while you play music on their computer? Ask me! Want someone to put their plans on hold for you? Ask me! I am deathly tired of being that guy, but if I ever stop being that guy, I would have to invent an entirely new persona, and I do not have the time or energy.
Frustration.
Not, mind you, that nobody ever does favors for me. I have been broke many a time and relied on friends to lend me money until my pay day. And not that I do not on occasion enjoy being that guy -- I like that people think I am nice. I am just venting at the moment, waiting for a more agreeable frame of mind to present itself to me. In the meanwhile, as I sat on my bed, thinking that I wanted nothing more than to keep laying there unmoving, Art Student asked me to get up and get her pet rat because she was too tired. Of course, I did it.
Frustration.