I know you’re excited.
Yes, it’s another entry in my “Drunken Thoughts” Series – where I say too much after drinking too much.
Sometime tomorrow I’ll fight the urge to delete this entry. Instead I’ll merely fix the grammar and correct the spelling so I’ll appear more cognitive than I really am. (And better with tenses.) I apologize if you read it before then.
Today I revisit past tragedies with all new characters. All new except of course, one. This is my blog after all, so they’re always about me.
As usual, there is alcohol involved and it is set in a sleazy bar.
It’s the same old plot though: Boy meets boy, boy likes boy, boy leaves bar with other boy.
Hint: I’m not the other boy.
I’m not upset with him though. I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed in myself for getting my hopes up so quickly again.
Again, I felt stupid.
I walked home from the bar, my frustration and self pity shrinking with each step as the men of P Street disappeared behind me.
Walking, I wished I was able to move from guy to guy each night like so many of my friends, passing on one as another seemed more likely — I’d probably feel more in control. I’d feel less stupid.
I wished I was one of those guys but I am glad I am not.
I’ve wasted too much energy on this already, now if you don’t mind I have some cats to cuddle.