Spurs Tonight

Elizabeth nailed me the other night. What is it about wanting to save people. For fuck's sake. Save me, someone, please. It's all good. Moving on. My hot therapist extraordinaire is headed to Russia in a couple of weeks to speak at a conference of therapists over there. It seems that, although gays have been "around" for a while, it's just not starting to hit the surface, coming out as a way to achieve a sense of self. Are gays running amok over there? Perhaps. But the therapists are interested in ways to handle the tough "coming-out" process. So my homegirl was tapped for her input, straight though she is. I talked to her about that, telling her it was interesting that she's going over there as a hetero to discuss homos. "Because I'm straight?" Dammit. While my deep, deep, deep wish that she is, in fact, a roaring dyke who has a mighty love for me has always been pretty unvelievable, this question of hers put all that to rest. I think she appreciated the conversation, though, during this session that I had no idea how to fill. I had no stories for her. But, yes, she appreciated the Russia talk, which lead to a discussion of identity -- doesn't it always with me. She's taking a piece of me with her, presenting my case, as she called it, as well as part of my thesis. Nice. I wrote it to be read. Game three starts in just over an hour. The best road team vs. the best home team. Should be interesting. My jersey is hanging nicely, safely, in my closet: they seem to lose when I wear it.