At first I thought it was just a touch of blogging boredom, but I now recognize it for what it is...Spring Fever.
I don't want to be at my desk. I don't want to work. I don't want to be in this building. I don't want to talk on the phone.
I want to be outside.
I foresee this condition getting much worse as the week progresses. 60 degree temperatures are predicted for the weekend. By that point, I'll be looking forward to an unbridled romp on, I mean, with my boyfriend.
See what I mean?
Cold as it was last weekend, I could sense spring in the air. On our way out to dinner last Saturday evening, I stopped on 11th Street to admire a group of Snowdrops blooming in a tree well. As I loomed over them under the street lamp I could hear Tim ahead of me muttering "Mad Russian", and shaking his head.
The next day, as a I walked across town, I took a floral inventory of the Callery and Bradford pears starting to bud, the Iris Reticulata in full bloom, the Snowdrops, the Pansies. Yep, nature and I were pretty much in synch.
Of course, I forgot all about the flora when I got to the Dugout, which was surprisingly full for an Academy Awards night. Years ago in San Francisco, Tim and I headed out to all the local haunts normally packed on Sunday afternoons, and watched as the crowds dispersed and frittered off to watch the awards show. Soon, it was just us and the bartenders wherever we went. I know now to check the calendar when making travel plans.
Sunday, I had a conversation with a friend whose relationship of some years seemed to be drawing to a close. I know how difficult it can be, especially in your 40's, to pick yourself up out of the wreckage of a failed long-time relationship, and get on with your life. My friend was doubly upset, as he also felt that he his life as a gay man was over. I asked his age, and then pointed out that I was 10 years older.
Ageism is so profound in our uh, community. It's always startling to find it cropping in our media, in our bars and clubs, in our gyms, on our blogs, in fact just about anywhere one turns. I suppose as the current generation ages, this will change. As we know, there's not much of an existing generation of 50-65 year old men who are out and about. Role models are few and far between. But time stands still for no one, and the new crop of soon-to-be-middle-aged men will have the opportunity to examine and possibly rectify the situation. One can hope, anyway.
It saddens me that someone can feel their life is over at 42. It just gives me more impetus to head out there and let people know you don't have to lay down and die. I'll be the fucking torch-bearer for the cause, if I have to. Dammit.
Anyway, it was a pretty nice evening, all in all. I got compared to George Clooney (remind me to get a haircut, please) and met a handsome red-headed Aussie, whom I ran into again at Big Lug on Tuesday night.
Spring Fever indeed.