Kick Drum Heart

You know that statue of a guy in a slouch, with his head on his hand in a thinking pose? That’s me.

Except I’m not a guy, and I’m not marble or whatever. And I’m not naked, and I’m pretty sure that statue is (or maybe he’s wearing a toga).

Regardless, he’s me. Pretty much. I think all the time. About everything. I can be playing a game made to make me mindless and stop, but the gears are  still whirring, click-click-clicking along inside my head.

About what? Everything. But mostly about what I read. I swear to God, if I was illiterate, I would be a box of rocks. I wouldn’t even function. I might not even eat. What’s the point of snacktime without something to read?

I finished the seventh Harry Potter book today. Then I read the novel Rainbow Boys, which is about exactly what you think. Three gay kids in a public high school. I don’t know what made me check that book out of the library. I read the blush on Mrs. Ciminesi’s face as she scanned it for me.

I’m not questioning my sexuality (I like boys, of all varieties), but I had seen it on the shelf once or twice before and something in the back of my mind poked at me, like wiggling a tooth. Check it out, it said.

Well, I did, finally, yesterday. I finished it in three or so hours. It wasn’t emotionally moving, although I did burst out laughing a few times. From an ex-homophobe’s perspective, the narration was quite comfortable. I wasn’t uneasy, and generally I get a little jumpy, considering homosexuality isn’t something I’ve been exposed to a great deal. But this book was almost pleasant, in that I wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

But so, yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. And that ties into Harry Potter because Dumbledore was gay (possibly with Grindelwald). Possibly one of the top three greatest wizards of all time, and a queer.

And so what. Before JK Rowling had said anything about it, no one gave a crap. After, there was all this talk about corruption and the rumors sprouted about Snape being a vampire, and…

Well, whatever, I’m digressing. But the fact remains that I’m thinking. About the parallels that Harry Potter reflects relating to the Holocaust, and persecution (Muggles=Jews). About how that kind of narrow-minded pursuit of those different leads to incredibly violent controversy.

And, finally, the deep wrench that comes with admitting you are who you are. On a personal level, I feel like I should be thinking and dwelling on that, in particular. That there’s something I need to admit to myself.

I don’t know what it is, yet, but I’ve done some soul searching throughout the past few hours and have found a number of possibilities. Probably all of them combined would have  the same bombshell effect on my family, were I to admit them to my family, as coming out.

Not that I will ever be coming out, since (ironically) that is the one massive life-altering announcement I will never have to make. Boys are by far my favorite gender.

But that’s going to have to be all for tonight. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure I’ll be up mulling over more as the hours drag on before I fall asleep. That’s one of the stupidest parts of being sick (or having serious allergies, as my recent symptoms suggest): I lay there fretting about how I feel like crap and thinking, rather than getting the excellent eight hours.

And that’s enough rambling for one night. Yepo.