11:45 Wednesday night, woke for my approximately midnight whizz, interrupting a deeply satisfying buddy-sex dream (in which hot man-man sex is combined with affectionate friendship), which I hoped to return to as quickly as possible, but even as I was happily urinating, my mind began racing with other thoughts, about moral monsters like Helmet Grabpussy, about brands of masculinity, about my kitchen utensils, and on and on.
I lay back on the bed, but the prospects for a reunion with sleep seemed dim. And then my Apple Music brought me Schubert’s “Trout” piano quintet, one of my favorite pieces of music, beautifully constructed, also full of playfulness and joy (two pillars of my internal world), and I had to listen to it, all the way through, while I contemplated the wonderful humane gravity of MSNBC’s commentator Jonathan Capehart, who happens to be both black and gay, and that led me of course to Karine Jean-Pierre, and somehow to the raw power of Tina Turner, and then I realized I had to whizz some more, and oh crap, I was hopelessly Up for the Day. After only 7 hours of sleep, in the middle of the night, but Up for the Day.
So here I am. About to have breakfast at 2 am. The t-shirt that came up in the rotation for today is my FAGGOT t-shirt, which suggests I need to put on the whole armor of the Proud Queer Warrior, that I might be able to stand against the wiles of a hostile world.
(Meanwhile, all the joints in my right hand are once again in great pain, so that I’m doing whatever I can left-handed. Oh hell, now both hands have gone into minor-league shaking — see previous posting on this affliction — but that will pass away in an hour or two, and I can just work right through it. No bout of nominal aphasia this morning, however.)
Now I await the first of three Amazon deliveries for today, scheduled for between 4 and 8 am. Well, here I am, up and alert.
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