Writing the occasional letter to Bruce has reminded me what it was like to keep a journal, and makes me think that perhaps it's time to try that again.
Of course, the whole idea stirs up some very bad memories--cloudy though they may be. After all, it was Dr. Tanhoger who encouraged me to write down my most private thoughts, only to use them to bring down B. It's hard for me to write a word without wondering who's going to read it and what they will do with the information they discover.
And yet, I just feel the need to keep some kind of record of everything I've been going through since I came down here. I feel like a witness to history, and I'm not even sure I could find the words to express all that I've seen. Perhaps I should leave that to actual historians and journalists and write what cannot be said out loud. I've worked hard to put my past behind me, to find some way to undo the awful things I did not so very long ago. That job will occupy me for the rest of my days, but at least I feel, in some incremental way, like I am doing good.
And, if I may say so myself, I am having some pretty damn hot sex in the process. Oliver is an unbelievable lover--so confident and direct, and unabashedly masculine. He's a lot like Bruce, I admit, if Bruce were about a hundred times more secure in his sexuality. (He's also a lot hairier than Bruce--that goatee just drives me crazy! And let's not even get into that fur on his chest and forearms...)
On the other hand, he's every bit as eccentric as B; maybe even more so. It's hard as hell to get him to spend the night, since he's always getting up and heading out at the strangest hours. That part is a little too familiar, but I'm thankful for any time I get to spend with him.
He's used to life on the road--he hasn't told me much about his past, but I do know that he's got a long history of travelling from town to town. Years of it now, I'd bet. I think he might have been married at some point, and there may be a kid in the picture, but that's just a hunch. On the other hand, I'm convinced he spent some time as a priest or monk of some kind, judging from the books he carries around and the frequent references to various religious traditions he peppers his speech with.
One thing is certain: his politics are a hell of a lot closer to mine than Bruce's. But what am I doing, anyway, constantly comparing him to B? I guess it just shows I still feel something--okay, a lot--for the guy who changed my life forever.
Who am I kidding? Of course I'm still in love with Bruce--it's just all screwed up. Maybe forever. Oliver is here, and he's amazing, and neither of us has any illusions about the future. In this kind of setting, amidst this kind of devastation, illusions are impossible to maintain, anyway.
So I do the work I'm here to do, and I sleep with this hot man almost every night (or most of the night), and then I get up and begin all over again. The work is hard, and the romance is easy, and there's nothing else to occupy my mind in between. It's not the life I imagined for myself, and I know this period won't last forever, but while it's here I'm going to make the most of it.