Well, friends, this month I was going to write a truly brilliant column about how the morals and beliefs of children are not being usurped by the gay community but rather by the prevalence of what I call "part-time parents", but I don't really feel like writing about that. Mostly because I'm not feeling too brilliant lately. Maybe next month.
I'm going to college at the end of this month. College. God, I feel old. I mean, do you remember being kids, and being so awed and impressed that our baby-sitters were graduating and would be leaving their moms and dads to go to that faraway place called college? To go to school? By choice? And now I'm one of them -- granted that I don't baby-sit, but the basics are still there.
And as I grow up, I realize more and more every day that I don't really know who I am. It's funny. I mean, I've lived with myself pretty much every day for more than nineteen years, and I still don't really have a clue about who I am. And as a result, I haven't got a clue what I want to do with my life.
I started to think about this when I got my acceptance letter to the University of Illinois. I told people where I was going, and their first question was "What's your major?" For a while I just said "Uh... I think I'm going to teach English." But after I realized that teaching is not for me (I have no patience whatsoever, and I figure that such a quality is required in an educational career), I simply started telling the truth: I don't know.
And that led to me examining my life. And I came to the conclusion that nothing about me is honest. For my entire life I've been consciously changing myself to please other people. I dressed the way everyone else dressed, instead of the way I liked to dress. When someone commented on how my voice was a little too nasal, I spent hours adjusting it and ended up talking an octave or two below my natural speaking voice (which did wonders for my vocal range, but nothing for my self-esteem). In school I always made sure I held my books the correct way: under my left arm, hanging down by my side. You couldn't use your right arm, because that meant you were gay. You couldn't hold books to your chest, because only girls did that. Yes, I'm serious about this.
So those are only a couple examples of things I changed in my life -- I could give you one for every subject, I believe. And so I thought about all these changes I made so that I would be sure to be acceptable to other people, and it occurred to me that by changing myself so much, nothing original remains. I'm 100% false. It's like I'm not really me -- just a plastic shell that can be changed at any given moment.
So I wonder; can I regain my soul? Is there anything that exists of the Davy that was supposed to be?
I believe so. I believe this because I have some proof that I'm still myself. I'm gay.
My coming out was a tremendous relief for me, and it was because for a tiny second I let something out of my soul that was purely me. It wasn't censored, it wasn't changed to please the masses. So if that was still in me... then I think that everything else about me is still in my soul, hiding, waiting for the day that I throw off the plastic.
For you Tori fans... I'll show what's Under the Pink, so to say.
So this is my plan for college: from day one, I censor nothing. I want to buck the trends. I want to be different. I want to be me. Granted, I'll use some common sense and keep myself out of trouble... but beyond that, I'm going to find myself - and, as a result, know what I want to do with my life. And figure out a major so I can give some satisfying answers to those people who keep asking, "What's your major?"
In my life...
There's a new poem by me in the Arts & Entertainment section. Go check it out. 10 points if you can figure out what it means.
In the obligatory Tori-related news... the choirgirl songbook is a travesty. Go buy the Under the Pink one instead.
And for you voyeurs... I discovered a site called Sean Patrick Live! (http://www.seanpatricklive.com). Very interesting. It's a webcam, set on this guy named Sean Patrick, that is on 24-7. And he's pretty cute too. <grin> Check it out.
Over and out.
The warden says that I can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org Visitation times are 24 hours a day, at http://members.aol.com/agelfling