Fear and Self-Loathing in Point Pleasant

Give me wide berth.

I'm in a foul mood. I went to bed last night with a little sing-song of self pity and malice running through my head. When I woke up this morning, it was still there. Here's an attempt to exorcise it. Here's how it goes...

I hate not having any money. I hate that I won't be able to go to Inferno this year but I'll have to content myself with Delta. I hate that after five months here, I haven't been able to meet one single local guy to date. I hate those vapid, stupid men who fill the Raven. I hate that the men I have met who spark my interest live an hour and a half away. I hate that I have no one to go to the movies with. I hate that even if I did have someone to go to the movies with, I probably couldn't afford to go. I hate the cold weather. I hate having to keep the wood box filled. I hate my father's paranoia about the weather. I hate that Baron von Philadelphia spends most of his time not in Philadelphia. I hate that the Baron doesn't own a cell phone, so tracking him down is just about impossible. I hate the fact that I'm totally stuck with writing my book. I hate the fact that something so simple like a long weekend in Fort Lauderdale is totally out of reach. I hate that I have no place to set up a dungeon. I hate the fact that I have this great cage built for me in Rhode Island, but it's out of reach because I need to make a final payment of $275 that I can't afford, and give up a precious weekend to go fetch, and even if I were to bring it back here, I have no place to put it. I hate the fact that being gay at work causes me stress. I hate that I have no one to talk to except my father. I hate that I'm almost forty years old and I live with my dad. I hate that I'm starting to feel trapped here. I hate the fact that my life pretty much remains in boxes out in the garage. I hate getting home from work and having to hear a report from my father of all my creditors who called during the day that I can't afford to pay. I hate not having any vacation time from my job. I hate that there are no homos at my gym. I hate that my brother didn't say it was okay for me to go to his house and use his jacuzzi when he and his wife left for a three week trip to the Adriatic Coast (today, they're touring Dubrovnik). I hate that the disk drive that allows me to transfer pics taken by my digital camera to my harddrive is weirdly missing. I hated realizing that here in Bucks County, my luxuriant moustaches might hold me back in getting a job. I hate dirty, sad, crime-ridden, lame-ass Philadelphia. I hate this feeling that I just have to let a few precious years of my life go swirling down the drain before I get on with the business of enjoying life and being where I want to be.

There.

Feel better?

Actually, no.

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