another one bites the dust.

yes and yes. those are nihons in kimonos and that's me on your left.

last night i waited for a phone call that never came, which was a convenient excuse to spend another saturday night at home. i'm getting old, so making myself pretty and standing in an itaewon alley to stare at other homos isn't as fun as it used to be.

but one perk to rising early on sunday mornings is to see my typically rambunctious neighborhood sleeping. the secular koko hit saturday hard and don't arrive home until after sunrise. the jesus lovers are inside their brick towers feeling guilty or faking it. the upshot? restaurants open late and my shinchon streets are empty.

twelve hours prior i would have predicted that i, too, would wake up late with a headache. last night me and mankub were in a bar attempting closure to our 2-month shenanigans. he was angry and uncharacteristically trying to provoke me while i was characteristically emotionally removed and wondering how i should react.

but sure enough buttons were pushed and a tight wad o grief escaped my gut, rose up my throat and spilled forth from my eyes, nose and mouth. damn those tiny single-ply korean napkins! after a few years' drought, the emotional vomit felt good. i coulda woulda should let it all go, but i didn't deterioriate into diaphram convulsions. i didn't want to ruin the jolly bon voyage party next to us and our teary, sullen faces had allready sullied the background of their photos.

so i've escaped once again, still forsaking companionship for the safety of drifting alone. thankfully, i have two ladies in my life to remind me that shit is ubiquitous. from my cousin: "everybody's shit stinks." and from my sister: "...we all have shit, and that's part of the package, and i deal with their shit too."

part of getting older seems to be taking responsibility for your condition and actions. once an "issue" is identified, we choose to confront or avoid it, and should take responsibility either way. the past 2 months confirmed my suspicion that for now, even mr. wonderful can't cajole me into working out some heavy underlying shiz. the inevitable outcome makes dating seem selfish, but like sissy says, their packages got shit in 'em too.