Weary Mnd

When I lay me down to sleep;
It's to the gym my thoughts do creep.
With grunts and groans, my muscles ache;
My stomach growls; I want a steak!

I toss. I turn. I can not sleep.
I think, "Might try to count some sheep."
One Sheep; Two Sheep; There's a lamb.
My stomach growls, I want a ham!

Barbell, Dumbbell, Kettlebell and more!
They haunt my mind. This is a chore!
One more set. One more rep.
Bigger; Badder; I want a bicep!

Get up and try a pushup or two.
I swear an oath; "trainer, I will sue!"
Low these many sleepless nights I find;
No rest for my subconscious mind.

Training

The other day, a friend asked what body parts I was going to exercise in the gym.

I corrected him. I said I was going to Train my chest.

He asked if that wasn't simply the same as exercising my chest and I said "no."

To me, exercise is what an old lady does in front of the tv to a Jane Fonda video in hopes of working off a piece of cheesecake.

Training, however, involves commitment and a plan. I train. I meticulously track every set and chart progress. I look to see where I'm improving and where I'm lacking.

Training holds the expectation of improvement; a much higher expectation than mere exercise.

I accept that I may ache for days after, but still go in the next day to make another part of my body better.

Training means sacrificing time, sacrificing money for high quality food, staying hungry to cut to last few pounds of fat off the midsection.

Training is a lifestyle.

September 10

September 10 was my mother's birthday and I've been thinking about her a lot 
lately. 

 When I was about 13, she told me she was leaving my father. Their relationship 
had been rocky for years and it was obvious that she was unhappy. 

But there were signs much earlier...

When I was 7, she "ran away from home;" with me in tow. She went to Carolina 
Beach, rented a cottage, and we stayed there for a few days. 

I remember clearly eating hamburgers and instant mashed potatoes while she cried 
a lot and didn't talk. 

 Even at my young age, I think I saw the end of my parents relationship. I 
wondered if I'd live with my mother or my father. I didn't know which would be 
worse. 

 But they got back together after a few days. She used a pay phone to call my 
father. From the car, I watched the tears and her mouth form words that I 
couldn't hear. 

 The next morning, my father showed up and drove us home; my older brother 
driving my father's car. 

 But they didn't divorce when I was 13. Soon after the talk, the doctors found a 
tumor for which she had surgery. 

My father stayed by her bedside and waited on 
her diligently while she recovered. 

 Soon after, he went for a routine physical and the doctor found what he thought 
might be cancer. He went into cancer treatment, which kept him alive for years.

 My mother couldn't leave him after a cancer diagnosis. She was very concerned with how things looked 
and she couldn't leave a dying man no matter how much she despised him. 

 I know this sounds calloused and I shouldn't paint such an ugly picture the day 
before the anniversary of my mother's birth. 

 But I've been thinking about her... 

The Worth of a Man

I'm a man, just like millions of other men.

I'm blood and muscle. 

I'm a tool that my government would exploit. 

I am taxes to the IRS. I am property taxes to my city.

Am I worth more to my country paying taxes or am I worth more sent to other countries job killing other men? 

I'm a brain.

I prostitute myself to my employer to put crumbs on the table.

I am productive and can continue to earn my wages as long as I make money for the man that owns the company.

I'm a penis.  I am a sperm factory churning out millions of the little cells a day. 

I am projected  2.5 children that keeps society at zero population growth but is enough to keep humans in existence. 

My life has value; to my government, my employer, my society.  

But the only one that gives a damn whether I live or die is me because there are millions of men just like me.

The Talk

"Hello?" 

 "Mom?" Walt spoke into the phone. 

 "Hi, Walt. What's going on?" his Mother replied. 

 "I was wondering if I could drive down and see you today." 

 "Sure; I'd be happy to see you anytime. Nothing's wrong; is it?" 

 "No. No. Nothing wrong. I'll see you in a little while." 

 Walt, a 30 year old man with an athletic build, hung up the phone with a great 
deal of apprehension.

He dressed and hopped in his truck to drive the 70 miles to his Mother's house. 
The long drive would give him time to practice what he was going to tell her. 

 *** 

 Walt thought it best to just blurt it out; short and quick. Like ripping off a 
bandaid. 

 After arriving at his Mother's house he knocked and upon entering, made small 
talk for a few minutes. 
 

"I have something to tell you," he started. 

"What's wrong?" his Mother inquired. 

"No. It's just that I've met someone and we are talking about moving in 
together, but I wanted to talk to you about it before I did." 

"Well, these days living with a girl before marriage isn't that big of an issue. 
Your brother lived with his girlfriend for years before marriage. What's her 
name and when will I meet her?" 

"It's not a girlfriend," Walt stammered a bit. "It's a guy and his name is Ray." 

 Walt's Mother looked perplexed. "I don't understand. You're getting a roommate? 
Aren't you too old for a roommate?" 

"Not a roommate. Ray is my boyfriend. We've been dating a good while now and I 
love him." 

Walt's Mother didn't say anything and just looked more confused. 

Walt blurted 
out, "Mom, I'm gay." 

With those words, Walt's Mother stared to cry. "If your Father weren't already 
dead, this would have killed him." 

The cruel words slapped at Walt, but he continued. 
 
"This isn't something I can change. I've been seeing a psychiatrist for several 
years now and I've learned to accept this part of myself." 

"Where did you two meet?" 

"We met in a gay bar." 

A torrent of tears flowed from his Mother. 

Walt felt terrible and relieved all at 
the same time. 
 
"This doesn't make me any different and I don't want to hide this part of my 
life from you. I have to be honest with you. 

Walt continued, "Ray is a really good guy. You'll like him." 

"If you get AIDS, I want you to tell me," his Mother muttered. 

"I'm not sick. I've been tested. I'm healthy as a horse." 

His Mother had a surprised look on her face. 

"Is this your first?" 

"First?" 

"Relationship. Your first relationship?" she clarified. 

"No; not my first relationship. The first where I want to move in with a 
fellow." 

"This doesn't make sense. You've always had girlfriends. Girls always loved 
you." 

"I've had friends that were girls. There's a big difference," Walt replied 
patiently. 

"Look, this is new stuff for you. I've had years and years of therapy 
to sort this out. It's hitting you all at once." 

His Mother grabbed a tissue. 

"It will be alright." 
 
Walt went over and hugged his Mother as she continued to cry. 
 
"I love you. I just couldn't lie to you." Walt continued to hug her. 

"Is there anything else you want to know before I drive home?" 

"Don't tell the rest of the family," was all she said. 
 
"If that's what you want." 

 That was a promise that Walt wouldn't keep for long. Once that closet door 
swings open, it's hard to close it again.

It's been a while

I've posted 4 articles in 3 years. 

My bad! 

Seriously, I thought I had more time to write here but there never seems to be enough time. 

I've change jobs since starting this blog. People have left the new workplace leaving us short staffed with no plans to replace them. I just learned that my department is getting transferred to a new institution and going to be responsible for 2 divisions without an increase in staff. What fun! 

All this without an increase in pay since 2007. Are other companies screwing over employees like my company? I hope not. 

Anyway I hope to do better about the blog. If you have an idea that you'd like me to address, feel free to comment. I'll do what I can. 

Thanks for your patience 

Role Model

When I was a little kid, I thought I was different from other boys.



I didn't know exactly why I felt that way, but I did.



I was a sickly child so I stayed home a lot with my mother watching daytime TV. There was an early talk show that was hosted by Mike Douglas. On one of his shows, he had a guest who warned mothers not to baby their sons or they'd make them effeminate.



I didn't understand all the man said, but I knew he was talking about me. Warning mothers not to make sons like me.



Luckily, my mother was busy doing her house work and wasn't really paying attention to the TV show.



This was the mid-60's and there weren't a lot of gay role models back then. I'd watch Bewitched and hope to see Paul Lynde's character, Uncle Arthur.  Somehow, I thought I would be like him when I grew up.



I didn't particularly like Paul Lynde, but he was the only person I saw that I thought was similar to.



But Lynde was ok because he could do magic. Maybe, when I grew up, I'd do magic too.



I know, but I was very young.



But about that same time I saw Truman Capote flounce across the TV screen to promote a book. Truman appeared in a floppy hat that looked like one my mother wore on the rare occasions she went to church.



Even at that young age, I was repulsed by Truman. I didn't want to grow up to wear floppy hats and talk like him.



I would have given anything to have had a positive role model when I was a kid. The 70's were a little better.



I watched Match Game every chance I could. There I saw Charles Nelson Reilly who was so funny. Ascots aside, he was a great role model; biting wit and smart.



Now, I look back and wonder "what if there had been a gay athlete that I could have looked up to when I was a kid?"



I'm not bitter but so thankful kids have a greater variety of role models to look up to and emulate.