Saturday, 11.11.2017 - 11:26 am.
Nothing has changed regarding my worries about traveling or not traveling in December. I spoke to Brother #1 and we ruled out me going to my home country, it’s too expensive to buy a ticket now. My dad is, thankfully, out of the hospital and I spoke to my mom on Skype. Brother #3, ever so supportive, suggests that I ditch the guilt and stay in England with my closest family (Andrew). I’m tempted to do that, but I’d feel guilty about wasting that Trans-Atlantic non-refundable ticket *skull emoji*.
This week, on Tuesday, I went to my first Bi Social. It was hosted by the Bi rep of the LGBT+ committee at my university. I’ve felt too old and privileged to get involved but I said, fuck it, let’s go; it’s more likely than they’ll welcome me rather than question me. I learned about this event thanks to my friend Eric, who’s getting involved in a bunch of social events. So I met the bi rep and other bi students, including a trans girl that I’ve seen at other events, from undergrad to PhD levels. I had coffee and cake, and we talked about stuff with tiny awkward silences in between. I’m looking forward to meeting fortnightly.
Andrew seemed to be angry at me for a couple of days this week, or maybe he was just moody in general. That was from Sunday to Wednesday. He did not ask me about the Bi Social at all, so I don’t know if he was uncomfortable that I went, which seems unlikely, or he was preoccupied with whatever was making him mad and forgot I went to that. I shed a few tears in bed on Monday or Tuesday, because he just didn’t talk to me that night, he just turned around in bed with his back to me and fell asleep.
I feel desperate when he’s like that, and many times I told himself to stop fearing confrontation and just ask him if he was mad at me about something. We’d had an awkward sex encounter on Sunday, and I did hate that I took the blame afterwards, when it was him who suddenly switched in mood and gave me a “I just don’t know to touch you” line, which is just bullshit because he does know. For some reason, as we were fooling around, he turned either lazy or spiteful, and I could tell the moment his face reflected this change. Ok, I was mad, too, at his lack of honesty if he didn’t feel like continuing. Tell me you’re not in the mood and we stop, instead of touching me like a sloppy predator to force an orgasm neither of us will enjoy.
I do get mad when he’s mad. Either (a) tell me what I’ve done wrong, if you’re mad at me; (b) do some fucking emotional labor, like I do, and keep me out of your range of anger if I have nothing to do with it. So I guess it’s a cycle in which he thinks I got mad first, but I’d tell you if that was the case. I have no trouble holding myself responsible for my own bullshit, and sometimes I even take more than my own (like me apologizing to him for the half-assed sex encounter).
In these situations, I know I should confront him, ask openly what’s wrong, put out there my own version of the events. I’m quite a coward when it comes to being vocal about my feelings, and he’s terrible at talking things through, so I wouldn’t expect much of a satisfactory answer. Though at least I wouldn’t let him get away entirely with being a moody brat. I mean, I know the benefits, I know what I should do. I just don’t dare to do it.
What happened in the end was, as it usually goes, that the situation resolved itself. It’s not like we stopped interacting those few days, however scarce and stiff those interactions were, so by Wednesday while riding the bus, we were holding hands and wishing to get home and relax. All was forgotten and the next morning we had nice early morning impromptu sex and all was well.
PhD news: things are picking up for now, I got a new wave of participants from a charity newsletter, bless these people. I’m also taking a couple of courses on academic speaking and thesis writing, which take up a lot of my time but I’m getting a few solid lessons out of them.
On the writing front:
– A short story of mine was published in a digital anthology, which isn’t noticeable because it’s a small Central American publishing house and merely a PDF, but hey.
– I’m preparing two of my short stories to submit to the literary magazine of my university. I was rejected once but maybe they’ll like these two. I’m only translating stories I already wrote, and improving them a bit. It turns out I really like them.
– Someone asked Victor, one of my best friends back home, if I had written anything on bisexuality, because their students on a clinical psychology course thought bisexuality meant being confused. This is huge for me, that someone -I still don’t know who, other than it is a colleague- is asking this about me. So far, I only have my half-assed coming out story in the London newspaper, cheeky tweets, and one bi character in my Simeon comic strip. Speaking of the latter, I should do a comic in which I state the word bi. I will.
– I’ve changed my mind about the novel I submitted to the contest. I want to win. I HAVE to win. The novel talks about being bi, and sexual abuse, and a sense of impending doom, and finding your family after losing it, and other things that are going on right now. It’s not me being fashionable! It’s not me being topical! I’ve been writing this story for ages and I’m so angry that when it comes out, if it ever comes out, it may be looked down like a derivative work on topics that will be old news by then. Like fuck they are. My life, and bits of other people’s lives, are in that book. What looks like a “in style” topic for some is a years-long burden for others. Jesus Christ, that book has to be published soon. But I can’t pitch it anywhere until January, when the results of the contest are announced.