No night time cig last night, no patch today, and I. am. on. edge. I do alright as long as I keep moving. Having food in my stomach also helps. It's when I have to stop, stay still, and function that things get a bit tense. I haven't snapped at anyone yet. Or at least, anyone who didn't have it coming.
And I'm looking a bit ragged, too. I don't know if it's real, or that I'm projecting. Either way, it's par for the course. I'll look [or think I look] rough for two weeks, and then when the nicotine has drained out of my system I'll suddenly notice that my skin has cleared up a bit and that some of the lines have decreased and I'll look [or think I look] ten years younger. Just got to make it to that point.
I'm meeting Dawn in a few minutes for First Friday. I want to wake up early tomorrow and hit the surf - some chicks online wanted to learn - so probably won't stay up late. Pupus, wine, and bed.
Tomorrow is the big Hawai`i Kai Party. I'm not sure if I'll make it, which is rough - this is one of the major gay parties of the year. If not The Party. At least ... it's The Party of the ones I actually get invited to. Not that I get invited to this one. I crash it. As do a couple hundred other guys. There's a pool, plenty of liquor, go go boys, lots of men - toutes le monde.
... sans moi. I volunteered to work security at the Christmas Parade. Yesterday I was wondering why more gay men don't volunteer in the wider community, why it's always either AIDS or art that seems to get most of our attention.
And now I know. It's because we would miss all the fabulous parties.