boy-vomit

andy pink, placetown, new mexico —

from the basin at your local starbucks — forgive me floor if not door — it was a roar —

this morning, i made the mistake of throwing up at starbucks. i made it to the bathroom and i think it is very possible that no one heard it, it happened around 6:30 this morning and besides patrick and a few others there really was no one else to notice. he made me physically sick — which has already happened once — but this was even more acute, it is extremely lucky that i was able to make it to the bathroom in time, i was able to quietly meander to the bathroom — a bit hunched over, as usual — it is unclear to me how loud the sounds were, i firmly believe that throwing up is one of the more violent of bodily malfunctions and it seems to me that it is much worse than any kind of thrusting malfunction during sex. i obviously can’t have sex with patrick (and don’t want to) but i would like to take care of him for the rest of my life. the feasibility of such a plan is questionable, what would it take? he now strikes me as perfectly and happily heterosexual, and i think the event of my vomiting — which i attribute to his presence — is perhaps not a good sign for our future courtship. more to, it seems to indicate an impending divorce even before he forces the pre-nup.

the vomit itself was very watery and i think this is probably an indication that i am drinking more water and/or not eating and/or bulimic. this was the other thought: maybe patrick is making me want to be bulimic. i would say i’m too thin and am actually trying to put on a few pounds, but maybe i am trying to erase my body in the face of him. my other thought is that he is not at all attractive and that i have somehow made a mistake. i suppose it doesn’t matter that i have perhaps chosen an average joe at a cup of joe to make me vomit — but if i enjoy returning to the bench pretending not to notice him, i should say, good show, old boy, you will get nowhere. he did try to banter with me pre-vomit this morning and i was simply unable to respond. i really don’t know why that happens. it seems to me like this is a recent development — boy-vomit — and i am prone to blame the parnate which i do not actually take. there was the logic to travel home by tip-toe and clean myself — possibly shower — and then return to the starbucks, but it seemed to me like to flee and then return would implicate me in all sorts of shameful ways. of course, there is a real question here: why am i vomiting? i have no doubt that it is psychosomatic — but i’d also say the effects of parnate are of the same ilk — i don’t particularly feel inadequate in the face of him, i feel a bit jealous of his manual prowess, he is better looking than me in a way but there are also probably ways that i am better looking than him; he does seem kind and genuine (service put-on) — though possibly not, but i think i’ve seen him — but in many ways i am not kind and not genuine, i can be dry and witty and absurdist, but in the endgame, as my therapist said yesterday, my persona is “bemused distance.” while i took this as well as i possibly could given what it was — i sense that i am so vulnerable that i can’t imagine that i come off as either bemused (which sounds exclusive and alone) or distanced (i am warm).

that said, i feel very strongly — absolutely — that i have had sex with patrick, that our relationship is violently intimate, and that to speak with him further is to separate us to a distance — unbemused — that would burn the coffee grinds. i shall not talk to him again, perhaps take some kind of antacid before i depart for starbucks in the morning, and perhaps stay out of view of him. i will stick with my circle, close it, never look back, and be sure, for myself, that i am still having sex with all of them, an ejaculation that never ends, a completion that never comes, a tension that only forever climbs, there is no need to make it wrong when i can forever wait to make it right. the other possibility is that i got sick from the blond roast.

i can no longer relate to men and mostly don’t want to. i only feel happy when i write. my pants are wet.

from all of us here in the diner car, we implore, don’t forget —

party tricks are for those who actually know how to play cards!

as a friend of mine once said of himself — “i’m not a card player” — but what if, we’re stuck in vegas during a hot spell without a hotel room?

it would be enlightened to start thinking of vomit as one of the body’s sexiest juices.

andy pink

for those who manage to read my entries, i’d like to ask whether you read me as coming off as — “bemused distance.” i find it difficult to identify with such a description, and i turned it around on my doctor, as i would say “bemused distance” nicely describes him — “bemused” because i am charming in session; and “distance” because he must remain a bit out of reach per the structure of our relationship. my greatest fear would be that my writing makes it seem like i dislike you. i always think of myself as deeply vulnerable but perhaps that is not visible to those who surround me in anticipation of my bile. such is!