Baching It

So ya see, the classes my job is running are held on Tuesday and Wednesday this week. These are the openers, and they're really dry. Devoted to safety. Taught by an old rummy with a liver the size of a Christmas goose who somehow manages to keep Old Grandad in his larder by being out workplace safety consultant. Tonight, he ran out of material. And so we got off early. I was expected home at 8:30, and here I was walking in the door at 6:04 pm. My father had gotten dinner for himself, and preparing to settle in and watch Gone With The Wind on cable. So my Get Dinner On The Table responsibilities for the night were fulfilled.

This gave me a night to myself. I fixed dinner for myself, putting a nice steak in the broiler. And had a quiet evening at home.

It was really sweet. It reminded me of those nights in my apartment in Jersey City. Or my nights in my apartment on First Avenue, many years ago. A night alone. To unfold as I see fit.

I'm good at nights like that. I've never had much problem being alone. In fact, I once considered writing a book about that. A book to which I gave the working title of 'Baching It.' Added to the heap of ideas I've had that could have made me rich Rich RICH (as it was long before 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy' was even in pre-production), is 'Baching It.' The book was a sort of How To guide for single men. How to take care of yourself, and have a rich, full life, even though you're not in a relationship. Maybe, even, because you're not in a relationship.

Look at the little blurb at the top of this web page. 'My commitment to bachelorhood.' See those words? I used to believe in that. That used to be my goal. "I will lead a rich, full life as a single man."

That being the case, how did I get into this sorry state? Sitting here pining away after farflung suitors? Wishing I was anywhere else but here? This... this... fuck I'll admit it... this loneliness.

Well, there wasn't any pining going on tonight. Just me, a nice steak, some leftover sweet potatoes, a cigar, a book, and a glass of wine. Quiet contentment. The good life. What it's all about.

Perhaps, in part, it's my father. Taking care of him, being here with him, can suck up my energies. And I guess there's the Pee Wee Herman effect, too. (Remember when Paul Rueben, who created Pee Wee, had his career derailed by getting caught in a dirty movie theater? Because he was visiting his parents. Contact with one's parents when you're square in adulthood is a potent aphrodisiac. It makes you crazy. That's the Pee Wee Herman effect.)

Whatever.

I gotta remind myself: I do fine on my own. I do great, in fact.

And I guess I just needed a night like this to remind myself of that fact.

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