Wish

If I could have anything right now, it would be a lap to lay my head in and someone to stroke my hair and tell me it will be alright.

Oh, for the love of...

OK, so the fact that Mother Catholicism doesn't WANT gays among her shepherds is no great news. But yesterday the the Vatican issued a directive which explicitly says that spiritual directors and confessors in seminaries "have the duty to dissuade" any candidates "who show deep-seated homosexual tendencies" from joining the priesthood.

Really.

What exactly ARE deep-seated homosexual tendencies, hmm? Liking Judy Garland too much? A lisp? Never having had a girlfriend? Seriously, what constitutes a "deep-seated" homosexual tendency? And how does that differ from a shallow homosexual tendency? Is that someone who's only a little bit gay? Maybe someone who's donated to HRC, or who's attended a pride parade (but of course never marched in one...)? Someone who had a little guy on guy fling but has "gotten past it"? Maybe it's someone who's Bi?

I think the real issue, though is in "the duty to dissuade." Isn't the call to serve God one of those things that isn't for man to interfere with? Y'know, "not my will, but God's will"? And doesn't the Church revere saints who fought against the odds, and even died, to serve God? Yeah, I thought so.

Well, apparently that's not good enough for Mother Catholicism. It seems the Church thinks that homosexual priests "find themselves in a situation that seriously obstructs them from properly relating to men and women." HUH?! How in the WORLD does a celibate GAY man relate less well to men and women than a celibate STRAIGHT man? I mean, most women I know would say that, on a non-sexual basis, gay men relate to them FAR better than straight guys do. Doesn't that tell you something?

Maybe the Church's really problem is a fear that the gay priests won't be able to do the celibacy thing. After all, those gayboys, they're MANIMALS! They just won't be able to keep themselves from hitting the bathhouses and turnpike reststops. But here's my thinkin': the guys who go for gloryholes, are NOT the kind of guys that become priests, y'know? Anymore than straight guys who hit the bars and pick up chicks are the guys that become priests.

Moreover, priests know about the celibacy thing when they sign on the dotted line; it's not like it's some big surprise. Anyone signing up knows that what's expected of them. So where's the problem? If he ain't gettin any ANYWAY, what does it matter that he fantasizes about men instead of women? Is it OK that straight priests jack off to thoughts of women (and yes, they DO jack off)? Even if you DO think fantasies of gay sex are wrong, isn't that really between the priest and God?

Earlier this fall, in anticipation of the publication of the Directive, the Vatican ordered a year long inspection of seminaries and theological schools in the U.S. to look for "evidence of homosexuality" and for faculty members who dissent from church teachings. Apparently it reflects the concern some higher ups had about the church's child-molestation scandal.

Now let's analyze this last paragraph shall we? OK, so we got a year long inspection of seminaries to look for evidence of gays in the ranks. Hm. Whaddya suppose they're looking for? Copies of 'Out"? Anal lube? Or is it just that they're going to talk to people, and suss out the gays that way? Y'know..."Welllll Fr. Fredrick over there seems a bit mincy and whenever Stone Phillips is on he gets a faraway look in his eye..."? Seems REALLY McCarthy-esque. Or, perhaps more a propos - inquisitionesque.

THEN we have them looking for evidence of homosexuality IN THE U.S. Because, dontcha know, gayness only happens in America. We are loose, LOOSE people, we Americans. Except that in terms of acceptance of homosexuality, America is near the bottom of the list of the industrialized nations.

Finally, they're weeding out gays as a response to the pedophilia scandals. OK, is there anyone who doesn't know that taking gays out of the picture won't do a goddamned thing about the child-gropers? Seriously, raise your hands! Because every legitimate fucking study of child molestation says two things: one, it's most likely to be done by a family member, and two, the perpetrators are overwhelmingly straight men . But, hey, research be damned! You gotta have SOMEONE to blame, right? And honestly, this keeps the Church from having to deal with selecting out the pedophiles.

Damn. Just when you think the world is taking a few steps forward, it jumps a half mile back.

And people wonder why I left the Church.

Abortion Soapbox

It is a common view among the anti-choice crowd that women seek abortions because pregnancy and parenthood are "inconvenient."

I recently had a discussion about this with a guy I know, as we were driving down the highway. He said, "I'll be fine with abortion when I am allowed to kill someone simply because they inconvenience me. That guy who just cut me off? He inconvenienced me. I should be allowed to kill him."

I tried to explain that women don't seek abortions on the basis of convenience: many don't have health insurance, are not psychologically or financially prepared to become a parent, are in abusive relationships, are in school. He said, "Inconvenience. Inconvenience. Inconvenience." You get the idea.

Losing your car keys is "inconvenient." Having your hot water heater die is "inconvenient." Having to go to three different stores in order to get the item you want is "inconvenient."

But a situation that requires you to alter your eating, sleeping, and movement habits for nearly a year, that requires you to face the very real risk of physical harm and possible risk of death, that permanently alters your body, and that irreversibly changes your life is a good bit more than "inconvenient." It's pretty damn momentous, and to suggest that it's anything less evidences a total disregard for the experience of childbearing, not to mention a chilling distain for women.

February 14th , 2003

I was willing to try. Up until that night, I was willing to try. I would have gone to counseling, tried to work things out with him, given it my best efforts. And it would have succeeded - at least for a few years. But it all died for me that night.

Two weeks earlier - February 2nd - I had just gotten home from a dinner out with my mama-friends, when he confronted me, saying he knew about C & me. It was dark in the kitchen where we were sitting; there was a small stove light on, and some light from the spots in the back yard, but that was it. But I could see his face clearly. He looked squarely at me, with very little emotion showing.

My first thought upon hearing this was, "Duh... of course you did." My second thought was "You've got to be kidding me. You HAD to know." My third thought was, "Oh shit, you DIDN'T know." What I said was, "Oh." That night lasted forever, and most of the details have been lost in the weary mess that is my brain. I do recall saying that I would go to counseling with him, if that's what he wanted; that I would do whatever it took to fix this. In retrospect, there was no fixing it; leaving was the only solution. But of course I didn't know that then.

So for the next two weeks, we sat. We talked. We cried. We yelled. We tried to figure out what to do. I had been serious about seeing a counselor, but things in our house never moved quickly -- always so much analysis before doing ANYTHING - so no referrals were ever gotten, no appointments ever made.

Still, I was making an effort. I think he was, too. It was tense and painful, but I hadn't lost hope. And then came Valentine's Day.

It fell on a Friday that year. I knew that it was going to be low key. After all, this was the worst pain our relationship had ever seen, and even in good years, Valentine's Day was never a big deal (I tried to believe that, anyway). And we didn't have a lot of money, so even HAD things BEEN good between us, it still wouldn't have amounted to much. It's not like he ever thought to save up to surprise me, or anything. BUt that's another story. So yeah, I wasn't expecting much. I wanted to do SOMETHING, though - if only to mark the fact that it was also the anniversary of when we started dating. That Valentine's Day made it 14 years.

So I planned dinner for us: Coquilles St.Jacques, bread and salad. Wine. Something for dessert. I made sure that everything was done in advance, so that when he came home, I wasn't up to my elbows in breadcrumbs and vermouth. All I had to do was pop the dish in the oven. I also made sure there weren't a bunch of dishes for him to have to do afterward. I got the house cleaned. I had the kiddo in bed. It wasn't a romantic overture, although I did put candles on the table. I t was just that I wanted to show him I was making an effort.

Everything was ready by 6:3o or so, and I got the girl to bed right around 7, the time he usually got home by. Then I sat down to wait. The TV was off. The house was quiet. There was neither chaos, nor coldness. At 7:15, I poured myself a glass of wine. At 7:30, I thought, "OK, Friday night rush hour, busses get tied up. Not unusual. And maybe he stopped to get flowers."

He walked in right before 8. He put his coat and umbrella down, took off his shoes, and said "Sorry, the freeway was a mess." And that was it. Nothing else.

We ate. He made small talk. I think he made some comment about all the men in his building getting hosed by buying flowers from the expensive florist in his building's lobby. I felt smaller and smaller.

At some point he asked me what was wrong. So I told him. I felt like an ass for making the dinner, for putting out candles, for even trying. He told me I shouldn't, that the dinner was fine, and he appreciated it.

"Gee thanks," I said. "I go to the trouble of doing this, and you walk in late, no flowers, not even a card. I see I'm not worth the expensive flowers from the florist in your building, but for God's sake, there's a fucking grocery store across the street. "

He replied that he COULDN'T have gotten me any flowers because - get this - I told him not to use the debit card until the 15th - when his check was direct deposited. I just stared at him. He knew full fucking well that when the 1st and 15th fell on weekends, his checks were deposited on the friday before. And since he saw all those men getting hosed for flowers, he knew it that Friday was the 14th.

I asked him if he'd even thought using his credit card. He hadn't. But I knew that, already. I wasn't worth the thought. I wasn't worth planning ahead for.

After that night, I withdrew from him almost completely. We barely spoke a word to each other until the night, two weeks later, when I told him I didn't think there was any progress to be made.

Would flowers have saved my marriage? For a time. But it was inevitable, our break-up. What I needed, it never occurred to him to give - he was unable or unwilling to see outside himself that way. And I felt so guilty about what I needed that I couldn't just ask.

Fucked up, huh?

Tired.

My shrink wants me to up my Lamictal dosage. She says I sound depressed.

SIGH.

Dammit, I don't want to be depressed anymore. I don't want to have bipolar anymore. I want to be normal. I'm really tired of feeling low. Yes, on a minute to minute basis, I'm OK. But shit falls in my path, and i don't skip over it any more. I stand and contemplate it, trying to figure out why it fell in my path. Did I do something to cause it to fall? Then I look behind me and see all the other things that have been in my path, and I suddenly feel tired and resentful that there is YET another thing to deal with. And I poke and prod at it, trying to move it outta my way, trying to push it off to the side so I don't have to deal with it, trying to deconstruct it so that it's just dust. In the end, I just edge around it. It would be so much easier if I could just climb without thinking, like I used to.

Yeah I'm tired. And sad. And tired of being sad. Tired of feeling like I never get cut a break. Tired of never being able to cut myself a break. Tired of feeling like a shitty parent. Tired of feeling like a shitty student. Tired of feeling like a shitty girlfriend, and sister, and daughter, and friend. Tired of feeling old and fat. Tired of having to put on a happy face. Tired of recursive thinking. Tired of PMS. Tired of the pain in my body.

Dammit, I was doing SO well for a while.

And I have no one I can share this with. Over the past year or so, I've laid too much on the people who care about me, and I can't afford to see my regular therapist. My shrink is mostly for meds recommended by my therapist. The one (non-paid) person I could share this with is tired, too.

Oh well. This is how it goes. Maybe the boost in meds will help.