The worst thing I could do for myself in way of becoming productive will be installing a bath tub in the house.

And yes-

Bath tubs and Kindle are not likely pals.

While career wise I seem to be doing okay, my personal life seems to be coming out at seams.

A few days ago a young oiler’s mother died. She was 45.

This afternoon the Cook got the news that his hundred year old father died.

“I’m gay” he declared. 

It is sort of pathetic how sex deprived I am. 

Do I dare in Liverpool?

Father of the Bride

Watching the movie after so many years I realised that maybe my life isn’t so happy after all. I never felt this way before. It was one of my sister’s  favourite movies. I lost her. The one person who could be the solution to all the problems in my life. I never thought I’d have anyone in the family die so early. I never thought I’d know HIV so closely either. I’ve had both in my life now. Happiness seems an impossible dream. 

Hollinghurst

I have read the end of The Swimming Pool Library already. After reading his The Line of Beauty I was afraid it might end badly too. Especially about HIV. I remembered reading his commentary where he says he wanted to touch the topic of the disease in TLOB because he had not done it before. But I wanted to be sure.

When I look at the last year, I came across HIV in The Line of Beauty, Breaking the Surface (Greg Louganis’ autobiography) and the The Normal Heart. Was it all a coincidence? A forewarning? I’m afraid to read anything serious anymore. I’m not reading that award winning book on cancer. Call me superstitious. I was skimming through The Normal Heart yesterday and even the make up pulled me down.

He started the medicines last week. It made him itchy all over with acute acidity. The itching has got better now but the other thing continues to wake him up in the night. The doctor told him that these meds might cause rashes in future. He also showed him pictures of patients who have that typical skin we associate with AIDS patients- with spots and moles. We had seen one such guy at the Red Cross, the first day that we were hunting for some/any help. Looking at him had scared us terribly. We had turned back and out of the place. That is when we called the HIV Foundation. How horrible that day was. It was cloudy so the awful sun wasn’t there. Even in a foreign country we were ashamed standing in front of the RC HIV clinic-will someone associate us with HIV? Hopefully we look healthy enough. When I think of that day I want to be with him. He alone in that country, dealing with it all. How thankful we were when the doctor from the foundation came to receive us at the busy market place, we were not able to find the Foundation. He had cried a bit when talking to the doctor. 

Decisions

I believe I am almost decided. 

• Immigration at my age and stage of career does not appeal to me. I have a budding business and an independence looking at me in the face. I can’t start all over again. I’ll make my little cottage with a library with a fireplace. He’s always welcome to join me. I can’t keep consideration for others keep determining my fate. That’s exactly what I advised the third mate. Time to take my own advice. I need to tell Him. That’s only fair. Can’t keep Him hanging. If He wants to try and apply on His own He should not lose time. 
• I will run the school. Holidays, except for the summer camp, will be his.
•  I need to figure out how I will afford two foreign vacations in a year without my sea salary. I’ll need to take up additional odd jobs. The guest lecture job that the younger uncle was offering seems to be one such option. Then there are odd audits one can do for the company although they need two years in command. But there might be other freelance jobs too, right?
• I am to start working with a non-profit which works for patients with HIV. If there’s none in my city I have to start one.
• I might adopt a child. I know it’s one of my fantasies but I wish I could adopt a child who is poz. No better ambassador for awareness. But I don’t know how it works though. Is one supposed to tell others about the child’s status or is it to be kept hidden. It sounds bad like I’m using this child as a trophy. I know in the end it’s the child’s life. It’s not my secret to tell. But all I want to do is create a base for Him to come back to. 

The Swimming Pool Library

While reading a novel, especially by a gay author, one feels the job is easily done. One does deign to accept that his novel may not have the Oxbridge brillianceof Alan Hollinghurst but one hopes to be able to tell the story almost as well. So with much enthusiasm one sits down to pen his autobiographical first novel…only to be faced by the devil that lurks on the blank page. 

There’s simply no story to tell. Does one write about his childhood-quite unremarkable and boring actually. About pangs of coming out-with unrelinquishing parents that story is not quite finished yet. About the bipolar boyfriend-how does this end-happy?sad?-nope. One really wants to write a funny story because that’s the kind one likes to read-a complete lack of a funny bone that’s an impossible task. 
How about imagination, why not make up a story-if one had any wouldn’t he be writing that story instead of ranting on a blog post?

He starts his meds today and he seems to be falling apart already. 

I hope this one is the kind that gives wings instead of breaking him up.