March 18, 2003
The White Cliffs of Wales
I had a dream last night that I was staying in a hotel on the coast of Wales. It was some sort of resort with a hotel on the cliffs. (I've never been there so I don't know if they have cliffs in Wales.) The room had four full-sized beds, and it was only me in the room. After I fell asleep, in the dream, I heard a knock on the door, and then I heard two drunken people stumble in and fall into two of the other beds. I looked up and there were Prince Charles and Camilla. I was freaked out. I pulled the blankets over my head and prayed that they wouldn't talk to me. What could I possibly have to say to either of them that wouldn't sound silly or patronizing? Besides, I don't really like her that much, from my limited point of view. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up and followed Camilla, or rather I shadowed her like a private detective, to Paris where she walked the streets looking for the mayor of Paris. I was stunned to find this out. I ran into an office building where I found Dame Judy Dench sitting at an enormous wooden desk. I told her that Camilla was having an affair with the mayor of Paris, and she was thrilled to find out this news. How bizarre.
So, tomorrow I leave for my trip to Seattle, if the skies are safe enough to fly that is. I'll probably have to get to the airport three hours in advance, depending on whether we start bombing foreign countries. I am travelling up there with a girl / woman / co-worker who I've worked with for the last four years. (I'll explain my indecision in a second.) We've travelled together quite a bit in those four years, to England, Ireland, France, and throughout the US, on business. And now that we're working together at the small startup with limited funds, we were going to share a hotel room. We've never done that before, and I don't see why a lack of company funds should change that. So I booked my own room this morning. I know it's not that big of a deal, really, but last night I was upset that I would have to sacrifice my privacy like that. We get along, really we do, and though we're both quite opinionated, it shouldn't be a problem. It's just that it is a problem, so I've fixed it. "We're all a family," the boss says. "We've been through thick and thin. It'll be fun roughing it" at the Seattle Hilton. Oooh, that hurts all right. Just thought I'd share that.
So my indecision on how to refer to her is something that I have to come to terms with, and not just this particular person, either. I don't see myself as an adult a lot of the time. I am, and I'm mature enough to realize that I'm not a kid anymore, but I rarely refer to myself as a man. I'm a guy. I am a male human being. It's just odd to call myself a man. And that's not because I doubt my masculinity, either, because I know that I'm a man, and I like being a man, especially a gay man. And when I refer to her as a woman, it sounds weird to me. I don't want to call her a girl, because she's not. I don't want to sound condescending, like I don't honor her as an adult. We are the same age, and for some reason calling her a woman just makes her sound older than she is. Does this make sense? Like the only women in the world are my mother and aunts and grandmothers. Like the girls that I went to school with never grew up, and will always be girls in my mind, even when we're in rocking chairs at the old folks home. It's very weird how my mind works.
Ok, enough of that. Happy Tuesday.
