You Asked For It

(December 17, 2002)

Were you living with Hub and now are not? What happened to make you move out, and are you still friends?

The straight jack is yes, I moved out. The...uh...wavy jack is the "why." What I mean is, this isn't easy to summarize, and I guess I am going to end up sounding frighteningly pragmatic and/or heartless. But here goes. The heavy discussions Hub and I have been having for a year are about sex and privacy and money. You have to realize, we've lived together since 1992, and have known each other as intimate friends since 1989. There's nothing we can't talk about, and nothing that could happen that would sever the bond we have. However, there's realities, at the heart of which is this: Hub and I had a deal, having to do with money and our lifestyle, and that deal went bad. He'd been going to school and working on research projects (working at home) for what feels like a million years, ostensibly toward an end that would have him bringing in some money, enough so that I, who'd been the one with the huge paycheck all this time, would be able to quit the soul-sucking day job and give writing a shot. 2001 rolled around and that still hadn't happened, and it doesn't look anywhere near close to happening. The other stuff we had been hashing out, the sex stuff and privacy stuff (dudes, he works at home-- I'd leave in the morning and he's there, come home at night, and he's still freakin' there) just added to the general sense of "I gotta get out." I guess the short version is, I was not happy. Time was simply up. I am a giving person, with a great capacity for love and generosity. But I need to spend some time on myself now. Hub is a wonderful man-- caring, loving, handsome, honest, a million other unbelievably excellent qualities, PLUS he loves me, and I will always want to have him in my life in one way or another. I do love him, but love isn't always enough. If I don't try some other things right this minute, I never will, and I'll die wondering. That would be a horrible thing indeed. Are we still friends? Absolutely. Where will we be in a year? I honestly don't know. Stick around and see what develops-- that's what I'M gonna do.

Gen X? What's that about?

Well, we are who we are, right? You can't escape what goes into your earhole and eyehole throughout your formative years or escape that which makes you a product of your generation. This is a "Gen X" diary because it's mine, and I'm so freakin' textbook Gen X it's not even funny, as are most of my American-born peers. The young ones say stuff like, "What's the big deal about Duran Duran?" and the older ones don't remember Clara Bell at all. The fact that, at my Halloween party last year, I could turn to Lisa and say in my best high-school valley girl trill, "Dude, I've had like three wine coolers..." and she could come back with "Me too, GAWD, I'm SO wasted!" even though we went to high schools in totally different states...come on, that's some defining culture, don't you think?

What happened with the mammogram? Are you okay?

Thank you for asking, that's sweet. I'm going to make you some beef stew that you'll never forget, because you're a stand-up individual. Well, I went back for the follow-up. They took two more screens of my right breast, and then they decided they wanted an ultrasound. I am a fairly unflappable person, and I'd been thinking, "If I have a cancerous lump in my breast, I will have an operation and all the other treatment to remove it, because that is what you do." But in the ultrasound room, when I looked up at the X-ray light and saw my beautiful breast with a very noticeable white area...it was alarming. "Hm," I thought. "I think this gut flutter is what's known as panic." When I finally spoke to a doctor, she gave me a prognosis of "probably nothing, but come back in six months." She said that she really didn't think it was anything other than the harmless fibrous cysts they'd found last time, but because they'd only taken two screens then instead of four, she wants to be sure: in six months, if anything looks changed, then we can officially worry.

What is your favorite word?

Beautiful.

What is your least favorite word?

Can't.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

You know what really really does? When I meet someone who gets me. No snap judgement, no suspicion, no dismissive disregard or scornful misunderstanding. Especially when I take a chance and reveal some of myself, and that person says, "Yeah. I know that, too." Especially when it's about music or dreaming or love or sex or imagination. Or Mike Meyers. Or George Harrison.

What turns you off?

Arrogance.

What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck.

What sound or noise do you love?

Water.

What sound or noise do you hate?

Kids fake-crying for attention. Freakin' brats.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Rock star.

What profession would you not like to do?

Factory worker.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

"Nicely done."