Damn Night

When I made a habit of going to sleep at four or five in the morning, two or three cups of coffee from a pot I brewed at 10 pm didn't really affect me too much.

But now that I'm on a bit of a normal schedule that finds my head hitting the pillow 'round one or so, the same two and three cups of coffee from a pot I brewed at 10 pm seem to coarse through my veins with much more Irreverent Fervor. As the green colon on my alarm clock flashed on and off with each second, I lay awake, refusing to write or read. I was certain I would fall off to sleep any minute. After 108 of those passed, I decided to turn on the television and watch the episode of ER I recorded. Bad move. After Weaver lost Sandy on the operating table, my stomach developed knots.

And watching her scream after her kidnapped baby, I was not only wide awake, but now I was stressed out. That is some serious drama. Timely, of course. I'm interested in seeing where the storyline is headed. I knew something was up when Sandy's family showed up at the hospital and Weaver didn't seem to have a close relationship to them. This scenario scares me. I don't see myself having children at all, but the fact that this is possible and I'm sure goes on is frightening. The only rights Weaver has to their child are moral in nature and the law doesn't recognize morality.

I find it interesting, then, that the arguments against gay marriage, the ones coming from the religious wrong, are mired in a shortsighted reading of a couple of verses from a great literary work. It's immoral, they say. It's inhuman, they say.

In a sad article from the Chicago Tribune, 23-year-old Mr. Miller says "If we allow gay marriage, it will dehumanize people and they will be no different than some kind of mechanized cog." This same idiot said that "homosexuality and same-sex marriage is a sin that goes against God's command." The same southern town from which Mr. Miller comes is going to have a festival situation that apparently promises to draw gays from around the country. Listeners of a local radio station who called in to voice their opinions about the event, according to the article, "promised that visiting gays would be met with violence."

Yeah. Moral.

I lied in my last post when I said I didn't have any stories to regale you with. I totally forgot about an exchange that Olga and I had at work. I'm so used to it from her that I simply overlooked it. Despite the rain and slight chill that fell over New York this afternoon, I wore shorts. It was sunny when I left my house. And it was even warm at some point. Olga and I sit right next to each other at the job, you may remember from past stories. And as I walked back to my seat at one point today, I saw her looking at my shorts. And I knew something was coming:

Olga: When are you going to where a dress?

Me: Halloween at the earliest.

Olga: (smiling) Have you ever worn a dress?

Me: Yeah, every day for eight years to school.

Olga: What are you going to do for job interviews?

Me: Wear clothes.

Olga: But you have to look nice.

Me: I will.

Olga: What will you wear?

Me: Nice clothes.

She smiled again and forced herself to be satisfied with my non-answers. She then told me that one of her classmates is working on a design project about people who wear other-gendered clothing. She told her about me and asked if I'd be willing to talk to her. I said yes and gave her my e-mail address. I actually, believe it or not, have rarely thought about the reasons why I dress the way I do. All I know is that I'm comfortable. I forced myself sometimes because I felt I had to fit in. But that's bullshit, of course, and I've spent a lot of time thus far fighting against that. Long-time readers may remember the picture of me as a four-year-old with a hat on. That was me. It started early and it's all I know. If I could have been clothed on my way outta the womb, I definitely would have had a Spurs hat on backward and whatever combination of boys clothes that would have best impressed the nurses. Period.

So I haven't thought about it and I don't think I will have anything really intelligent to say about the matter. Now when I'm discussing the whole society-made-me-feel-like-I-had-to thing in my thesis, I'll speak intelligently because I'll have a film to back me up and maybe some theory. But in my head, it's never been a question. It's just been home.  It's five now. I have to be up at nine. So I can go to work for six hours and then return home to sit at my computer for another bunch of hours to resume work on chapter two.

Right before I went to bed, I articulated in note form a good transition into the chapter that will be my running argument throughout. I was a little worried about that and so I kind of managed to shy away from it for the last five days. But it came out tonight/last night/whatever and I have something to start with tonight. The one good thing about my insomnia was that I checked my e-mail. I'm going to go read a message that put a smile on my face. And then I'm going back to bed. Good morning.