There was a group of us who used to hang out at Changes. We considered ourselves the gay male equivalent of the Golden Girls. Jeffrey was Sophia (‘picture it, Sicily, 1933’…), Carl was Blanche (‘who’s that cute guy, and what can I do to get him into my bed’), John was Violet, Rose’s dumber sister (you really don’t want to know), and I was Dorothy, the voice of reason in a world of insanity.

Yesterday, I almost lost it completely and became Dorothy’s evil twin. For those of you who don’t know me, I tend to be a very private person. I don’t share much of myself unless I really know you and trust you. Heck, Jeffrey and I have been together almost 17 years, and there are still things about me that he doesn’t know.

When something happens, I tend to bottle it up and process it later. This blog is one attempt to overcome some of that.

I don’t know why, exactly, but yesterday I reached the breaking point.

I’m supposed to be the strong one. I’m there when everyone else needs a rock to lean on. That can be a good thing, and I have some great relationships with people just because of that quality.

But what happens when the rock everyone relies on needs a shoulder to cry on?

He pretty much breaks down into a quivering, sobbing, fetal curl, and doesn’t want to come back up.

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I’m the oldest of the children, so I have to be there for my younger siblings, and one sister is royally pissed at me because I called her on her bullsh!t. Being the oldest, I also have to be there for the parents when they need me. I’m the only male, so I have to uphold the family name and honor. Being gay, no kids unless we adopt, so that’s another stress factor. I’m the computer expert everyone comes to, even though most of their problems are self-inflicted, and it’s MY fault if I can’t fix their issue. I work from home, so naturally I’m more flexible than Jeffrey for dealing with this whole moving and buying a new house business. I’m working a full eight-hour day (or more) to keep a steady income; I’m trying to take care of three dogs and a cat, trying to keep the house clean, dealing with laundry, grocery shopping, dinner menus, and most things domestic.

Even though we got a pre-approval statement for the house we’re trying to buy, now that we’ve put in an offer, we’re finding that the financing may be a problem.

Plus, we’re still living out of suitcases and boxes, since almost everything is in storage. Our intimacy is almost non-existent, since we have no real expectation of privacy.

I wish it were as simple as the old TV commercial. “Calgon, Take Me Away!”

So, I grin and bear it. I’m there for hubby when he’s freaking out. I deal with the day-to-day domestic crap. I keep the animals happy and feeling loved. I cry, alone and in silence, when everything gets to be too much. I keep on keepin’ on. I don’t have the piano to pound out some Rachmaninoff on. All of my escapist literature is in boxes in the storage facility. So I vent on this blog.

Gawds, I need a vacation.