Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Happiness comes in waves, washing over the boredom, loneliness, and aimlessness that I have been feeling for the past couple of days. It washes over the thing; it does not wash it away. The tide pulls back and it is still there.

Last night, for instance, I was at this bar, the Metropolitan, for karaoke night and, for indistinct reasons, wasn’t feeling it and did not particularly feel like being there. I had thought numerous times about dipping out and going to bed, told myself though that I should at least wait to sing the song I had signed up for. And then a giddiness and a joy took hold abruptly, took hold simply because eye contact, that certain type, had been made with a cute stranger.

After singing this song, Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know,” singing it terribly, I did not dip out of this bar like I had earlier resolved to do, did not want to. I was really happy because there was a boy, same one, at the other end of the bar trying not to let me see him looking at me. I went and talked to this boy and became the person I normally am, happy, smiling, full of giggles, and present. His name, Drew. Brown hair and brown eyes, obviously. But those brown eyes, man! Who wouldn’t be giddy with such things looking at you? 21. Works at Kenneth Cole. Half Persian. These and other basic details exchanged slowly between lots of staring. Each question, each answer, said at a pace that could only be sexy – to talk in such unhurried words and to do so through the hint of a smile is the best form of foreplay, tension there and quieter moments, potential openings for kisses, touches. Simply recounting these things, trying to get back at that experience last night and remembering how I felt, is making me smile, making me feel good – another wave soon to go back to sea?

But to recount these things, to recall the joy I felt, this wave of tenderness toward the world, seems silly, or even masochistic, considering the sadness I felt soon after this lovely interaction. That leisurely flirtatious conversation did allow for touching, kissing. Hands on his thigh, through his hair, along his side. Kisses to his neck, ear. All so lovely and so gratifying in a way I didn’t know I needed, was lacking. Mentally, I had been brainstorming how I would have to kick Rebecca out of my bed and send her to the couch so I could sleep with this boy, how I would still have to wake up early and finish the editing I had still yet to do for this job. I was planning for what seemed a foregone conclusion, sex with this boy I was really attracted to and who, at that moment, seemed to be really attracted to me.

I interrupted my conversation with Drew to run outside and say bye to a friend that had just exited and who I didn’t know was leaving. I came back inside and did not see Drew at the barstool anymore. I watched a friend sing a song and then went out back to find this cute boy. He was not there either. The boy had dipped out without a goodbye, with me never even getting his number. Certain he was gone, this brief surge of joy diminished and the original malaise again appeared, a bit more intensely after the disappointment with this boy.

Today, I masturbated most of the day, watching porn on the Internet, totally incapable of doing the things I kept telling myself I should be doing – leaving the house, writing, looking for work, etc. I finally did make it out of the house and hung out in Union Square with Niki and Rebecca for a bit. That provided some of the spark that I needed. I have since read things I had wanted to read (including that amazing bonobo story, which sparked many, many thoughts in my head about the nature of man and the organization of societies, both ape and human), have a temp assignment for the next two days, and am going to write before going to bed.

Sharon Jones is playing a free concert tomorrow night, which will surely bring a great wave of joy, perhaps one so great as to knock me senseless. Working will probably help alleviate the feeling of ennui that I too often get when unemployed and that manifests itself in me masturbating four times a day. [From the aforementioned article: “Captivity can have a striking impact on animal behavior. As Craig Stanford, a primatologist at the University of Southern California recently put it, “Stuck together, bored out of their minds – what is there to do except eat and have sex?”] And, this just in from the wires: the boy, Drew, has just responded to a missed connection I posted, giving me his phone number! Oh, these waves!

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