Pride weekend was cool, great, fantastic, and brilliant! And yet ....
On Sunday evening, after a fun time on Church St., I was just about to go into my apartment building when this weird guy came up to me and said point blank: "You know, right, that you'll only last nine more years ... maybe seven." I could feel his eyes boring into me; his hatred and distain of me were almost palatable.
I wanted to spell out to him, "Fuck you! How dare you say such a terrible thing to me! You don't know me at all!" And yet, I couldn't because Amy was talking to a friend of mine.
And then the jerk just walked off.
This whole incident makes me feel three different things: Hurt and angry that this shmuck looked at me as if I were a drain on society. Scared and superstitious because so many bad things have happened to me with the number nine. And, terribly sad that I don't have my mom and Rob around to comfort me.
I can hear them now. Rob would have said, "Point him out to me so I can yell at him and tell him he only has nine seconds left." And mom would have said, "Don't listen to him, you're going tp live to 99!"