Afternoon Phone Call

Rikki's picture

I got a phone call this afternoon. Mom: Your an uncle now. And you have
now have responsibilties and such. Me: Wha?

Paraphrased for your convenience, of course. Yeah. I didn't like how that
was phrased. And I really don't know what to think about it either...

Things have been kinda... soggy lately. Like you could just go to sleep
and nothing really matters. Like that tired feeling you get on the weekends
when you have nothing to do and you could just sleep. But that feeling has
been hovering around all the time.

I'm still trying to find my name. Nothing I've found has that feel. Like
a key in a door. That. Pop! It works. That's me. The key to who I am.

My sheet of notes is filled so I suppose I should start another.

That's all. I guess.

Comments

Fabian Anderson-Smith's picture

hi, rikki - i have to say

hi, rikki -

i have to say that your last few posts really hit home. I think I am about to enter a similar situation - I'm still in the closet, and pretty much certain I'm gay following an incident with a certain Dutch tourist at the restaurant where I work. But I haven't come out, this solely due to a lack of bravery and independent financial means. So I'm off to varsity in a small town, far far away.

The search for a name is essential. I changed my name as soon as I could, legally, as my parents didn't see the point in it - which says a lot. This is the Age of the Label, and my name, perhaps the only label that could have a deeper meaning and an attachment, was my father's, and very commonplace. So I changed it to Fabian, after a boy I knew when I was quite young, only for a day, whose memory has stuck.

That is what you're trying to do, or am I off at a tangent here? That wouldn't be unusual, altho your journal posts have a same vagueness my poetry does, and people can not wring sense from the latter.

anyway go well

F A-S 18 m RSA

Rikki's picture

Name

I hate my name. It's like the dog collar on the rabid dog wants to rip your leg off. It's like adds insult to injury. You don't want to know the dog is named Spot. Like an unneccesary gender reinforcement. I look in the mirror. I can't stand what I see. I don't like looking at myself. I have this kind of mental image of who I am. Like a picture in my head. I just have to find my name now. I don't know what it'll fix. It's just something to keep me going.

I don't know how to explain it. I'm trying to figure out who I am and my name is part of it. If that makes sense.

Sorry if I'm vague though. There are parts of myself I am not sure I should even talk about here.