So It Wasn't Me After All.

From the Fucking Cartier Pen, from 4:08-4:46 pm:

Much to my surprise, Justin called me last night. I had figured that since his parents were visiting, he wouldn't call me. But he did, and the first thing out of his mouth was "I want to disown my father." This is not the first time he said this to me, but I asked him for details.

It turns out that he wanted to introduce Ronnie to his parents, and although his mother was game, his father made every excuse imaginable as to why they had to go back to their hotel. Since Justin can't say thing to a person's face, he sent his father a text message saying that he can't accept having a gay son, and that sort of thing.

This all should seem very familiar to anyone who knew what was going on in my life last summer. Ol' Larry, as you recall, was slapped in the face with a big hunk of reality last June when he barged into Justin's bedroom to find me sitting there in a t-shirt and underwear. And now that I have exited his life, I'm guessing that the last ting he wants is to face that reality once again.

That, and Larry is a big jerk. Imagine what he would think if he knew that I am still in touch with Justin. It is also a relief to know Larry's venom was directed less at who I am and more toward what I represented: the reality of his son's homosexuality. It is also a warning to Justin that his father is not going to change, as long as he dates men.

Of course, if Justin wants to drive the reality home even further, he should send him the photo that he sent me back on 9-11-09. That might send him right to the loony bin.

So once again, I am killing time by writing. I have about 2 1/2 hours left, which is usually the time that I pick up my pen (Fucking Cartier or otherwise) and jot down whatever I am thinking about that day. And this has been on my mind since last night, at least until 9:30, when I fell asleep. For some reason, I keep going to bed entirely too early. Am I tired? Or just depressed? I guess that as long as I'm asleep, I can't eat to excess. I can just dream of junk food--the calories don't count.

And we are now composing new text for the evening. I have eaten about 1800 calories today, and had 1600 yesterday. I just wish I could keep the momentum going for more than two days. Let's see what tomorrow brings; I have absolutely no reason to eat too much; I have to work on Sunday, and I went to the kabob place on Wednesday (followed by the natural progression to 7-Eleven for donuts). So I hope to control myself.

Today is Cleo and Julie's fifth anniversary. Cleo has written in his blog that it was the "greatest day in his life." HA! This is a photo of Cleo and me that was taken that day. Let's start with one fact: Cleo's fake smile does a crummy job disguising that he acted like a condemned prisoner that morning. Most people who saw this photo thought we looked more like a couple than he and Julie did.

Then there is the other horror: I actually looked like that five years ago (and would get even fatter in the year that followed). If you hadn't seen a fat picture of me, now you know why I am so bothered by any weight gain, and that I wish I could get my eating back on track. If I don't, I could very well wind up in those clothes again.

I think I am going to do some crunches and puke up my dinner now.

Eric Out.