bullet - severed heads

the single worst thing about the building i'm working in, has to be the rabbit-warren shape of the place. built on the founds of a seventeenth century dwelling-place, the architecture follows the original curves - no matter how eccentric-seeming - of what was there before. this means there's no shortage of priest-holes and hiding-places. which means, statistically speaking, anyone who's worked there for any length of time has probably overheard someone talking about them.

i've been doing a lot of thinking about the conversation i overheard. the one where i'm "rock hudson gay" as opposed to "john barrowman gay".

not that it bothers me, but how many of them actually believe i am gay? and, more importantly, am i going to have a problem with one of these?

i was thinking about this; about the operating levels of homophobia here, when my phone vibrated my leg. hoping for Her - but expecting elaine - i checked it. tam.

here's me wondering how you explain you aren't gay to someone trying to cover up their boy-on-boy feelings through queerbashing. my phone goes - and it's the bear in drag.

there'd been one or two texts from elaine earlier on, but these had petered out as our respective jobs dragged us under.

tam'd got his mojo back it seems, following last week's armageddon and that shone out of his texts.

oh yeah.

and he'd met someone.

actually, from the tone of the texts he was sending, he sounded a lot like me - happy as larry while still looking for the catch. is that endemic? something we A/all do?

we bounced texts off each other most of the afternoon. his enthusiasm was infectious and soon we were matching each other in cheerfulness.

and i almost forgot - i had what i hope is my last cigarette at lunchtime. it's almost six and every time i think about lighting up, i re-read tam's texts, lock onto that enthusiasm, choose life and all that other shit.