Same Old Lang Syne

I just saw Chris for the first time in two months. It was weird, especially since I wasn't expecting him. He came by the house to give me some money toward cat care and a peace offering of weed. We sat down and talked a bit even though I couldn't stop shaking and could barely look at him, mostly because I still love him even if I'm no longer in love with him (not sure about this), and it killed me to see his familiar, beloved face in the context of a near-stranger's. Our conversation was friendly, but he did confirm that he moved out largely because, after 22 years of living with me and knowing I find it almost impossible to have people in my space, he decided he needed to be able to have his friends over. There's more to it than that, but ... I'd almost rather he had fallen in love with someone else. Just coming right out and admitting that he chose a bunch of shiny new friends he's known for a year or two over me and our cats and all our history ... that was hard to hear.

But there are so many sides to this story. It's true that I never felt very comfortable with most of the Green Goddess crew and assorted hangers-on, and that must have hurt Chris, because to him it's this wonderful supportive group of freaks he created. And it's true that I started seeing Grey well before Chris moved out, though I wouldn't have done so if Chris had paid me any romantic attention over the past two years. And then there's the whole transition thing, which I don't even want to get into right now. So much guilt, sorrow, and confusion. So many loose ends that may never be tied up. But I saw him, and I didn't fling myself at his feet and sob, and I didn't kill him, and I didn't die. So I guess that's progress.

Ever since he left in January, I've been thinking off and on of Robyn Hitchcock's sad and lovely song "Linctus House." I expect it will be in my head for the rest of the day.


You know I used to call my baby up
and we'd get real close
just like the telephone was a sofa
and our thoughts would mingle
and we'd leave our minds wide open
like a big window in the evening air
and we'd say,
'hey baby, come on in and help yourself to my soul'
'hey baby, come on in and help yourself to my soul'
but these days, even saying, 'hello? how are you?'
'I'm fine, how are you?' takes a lot of sweat
ain't that a shame
ain't that a shame
but in Linctus House
in my flesh hotel
I don't care anymore
you know my baby and me
as kimberly would say
we'd curl up like two dogs
in front of a fire
and our eyes would reflect each other
in the warm long heat of love
yeah, the warm long heat of love
and I would hear the rain falling
on the leaves outside
I couldn't stand to close the window
'cos I'd shiver if I left her side
but now I'd shake if we should meet
and I spend most of my time in the bushes
ain't that a shame
know what you're doing
ain't that a shame
know what you've done
but in Linctus House
in my flesh hotel
I don't care anymore
'I understand how everything sometimes
turns out to be nothing,' you say
but I wonder if you do
and if we understood each other
there'd be no need to talk
but even that, even talking is out of reach
should I say it with flowers or
should I say it with nails?
I'm not the kind to push you around
but I don't want to make myself vulnerable
and if I was on my knees
you'd have a pretty good view of my skull
and I happen to know you're carrying a chisel
but in Linctus House
in my flesh hotel
I don't care anymore
no
in Linctus House
in my flesh hotel
I don't care
ain't that a shame
know what you're doing
ain't that a shame
know what you've done