Samia, my ex lover, would describe the people she had least respect as ‘limited’. It’s a jolly good word to describe those we cannot be bothered with.
I love writing my blog. Just as I loved writing my diary.
Some blog posts get particular public attention. The most popular being listed to the right of this page. Kristian Digby‘s Funeral in particular gets as many hits per day than any other post on this blog and cumulatively is the most read post on this site. It heartens me that so many people leave messages for him there. Sweet, kind, sad messages from people whose lives he touched.
I am so lucky to have been his bf for a few months. I am so happy that it didn’t end in recrimination or bitterness. I am just lucky that I have had the opportunity to know so many wonderful people.
I wish I could pick up the phone and call you Kristian. I needed you these past few months. I really did.
I am in a sparkling good mood this morning.
Oh my God!!! Such dark days! Such misery! Such a BORE! Coming to an end. Well, I still have to deal with my balls.
My balls ache. My back aches. Let’s get this testicular party started. I am sure that by the end of this surgery episode you will get tired of listening to me bleating on about the operation. Apparently the penis gets quite bruised when they operate. Black, blue and yellow bruising in the groin department.
Perhaps I should have it inverted and become the ugliest transsexual ever. I am not likely to be using it recreationally any time soon.
I feel free to leave now. What has been holding me back is finally resolved. Perhaps having a vagina would solve my problems. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a cunt. Ha ha ha.
My poor doctor in the UK despairs of my hanging around here. She thinks time is of the essence. She tells me that I am risking my life. She will be pleased to know that I am leaving soon.
Back to wintery London. I wonder where I will stay?
Listening to really loud music. Elsie de Witt is here, she’s singing along with Simon and Garfunkel. The Bad Baby is sleeping soundly. I hope she doesn’t wake him.
The sun is shining. I spent more time yesterday fixing the spa. The light is working. The air jets are fixed. It’s a real spa! I think I might heat it today and sit in it with my friend. Under the stars.
A huge weight lifted from my shoulders.
Tim had his triple by-pass. He’s only a few years older than me. My old drinking companion Tim Willis. His book is doing good business back at home.
Paula Dubois, Kristian Digby‘s Mother, outrageously threatened to disrupt the Memorial Service to be held for hundreds of her wonderful son’s friends and family next week at Southwark Cathedral.
As a result the cathedral will no longer hold the service.
The indignity of it all, that the love he had for so many and they for him could not be felt by his own mother.
The news infuriated me. It totally ruined my day. That this so called ‘mother’ who bore such a beautiful, kind-hearted boy seems so determined to destroy any attempt his friends have of getting together and remembering him.
I am confused. I am sad. Mostly I am angry.
I killed a snake this week, a five foot rattle snake in my garden. I chopped it’s head off with a shovel. I felt bad doing it. Terrible. This beautiful serpent that had as much right as I did to live in my garden. In my canyon.
I will write more about it tomorrow but in the mean time here is a picture to whet your appetite.
The beautiful boy/man remains sleeping in my bed but he is off to Italy on Tuesday for two weeks and so that I might not feel any pain (the pain of separation is the worst) my head is already elsewhere. We had dinner with his best friend last night which I always hankered to do with NYC man but never did.
I was so nervous.
The Spanish restaurant where we had dinner was expensive and ghastly.