Hainsworth's Journal of Thoughts and Feelings: Tuesday, 16th March

I see we've already failed at our assigned task to complete one of these everyday. It is good to know that ALL my therapeutic attempts at self-improvement are doomed to failure. I thought perhaps that as this one was entirely self-motivated and controlled I would be better at it. But then I wasn't. Almost immediately. There isn't even a good explanation for it.

Previous rationalisations for ceasing helpful activities have included: 1) The counsellor is not gay; 2) The therapist is not gay enough; 3) That is really far away; 4) The pool is too chlorine-y; 5) I'm sure the guy on the front desk at the gym looked at me funny.

A Second Attempt at Sticking to Task:

1. Better coffee is now available on campus. This is definitely good timing, as - why do I never see it coming? - the campus is once again filling up with students. Millions of them, making queues for said coffee interminable, borrowing books that I need, filling up space and making noise... And one of them gave me such a *look*. An up and down kind of look. A scoff-lesbian-scoff kind of look. I see that they are indispensable for the running of the institution, I just wish they were small and quiet and studious. And maybe invisible.

2. A Republican Senator with an appalling voting record on GLBT issues was caught drink driving on his way home from a gay dance club. Please, tell me he had a man in the car with him. Why yes! Yes, he did.

Senator Roy Ashburn (oooh, look at that face! I am going to pinch his cheeks) models himself on the grand old "tradition of Ronald Reagan ... a true reformer and a champion of openness, accountability, and bi-partisanship." He has, of course, been attacked by both the right and the left. So now, instead of enjoying the moment of righteous irony that attends most of these stories, I'm having a bout of empathy for him. Damn it. I don't like hearing conservative commentators call for his resignation, or claiming that because he was divorced a few years ago he "chose homosexuality over his marriage." So now my opinion is sliding... not towards him exactly, but certainly away from his critics. Crap, now I have to have a 'complex' response to the case, rather than just enjoy the revelation of hypocrisy and the satisfaction of seeing someone who took (several) stands against GLBT rights be dragged kicking and screaming out of Narnia.

Then I read out-gay mayor Chris Cabaldon's comment on hate crimes against gay men outside of a club in Sacramento. He pointed out that Ashburn has "voted against laws that would protect them. But he’s going there with a reasonable expectation that he will be safe.” And then I swung all the back again, to being pleased and slightly smug. Privacy vs Hypocrisy? Hypocrisy wins. Out you come.

3. I've been noticing that every morning when I go down to start my scooter (his name is Sascha) a spider web has appeared in between one of the rear-view mirrors and the handle-thingy that makes the bike go faster. A perfect triangle of web, appearing as if by magic. Now, I realise my arachnophobia is pretty extreme (see previous post), and thus my corresponding level of denial has the potential to be equally extreme. But I never really believed it appeared by actual magic. Here is the story I have concocted in my head to explain the phenomena (which has being going on for about 6 months):

Every evening when I park my scooter, a spider that lives nearby (not too nearby, probably next door or across the street) sees me do so and thinks, 'Hey! That looks like a great place to set up my web!', then he trundles over from his permanent place of residence to visit. Like discovery a perfect weekender - not somewhere you'd ever want to live, but nice to visit. He works hard, spreading silk between mirror and handle-thingy, creating a perfectly formed little net to catch his fill of nocturnal insects. I imagine him playing, kitten-like, with his reflection in the mirror, or maybe just sitting on the seat, making little ‘Rrrrr! Rrrrr!’ engine sounds. Then the sun rises, and he, feeling exhausted from an evening full of building and eating, trundles, a little fatter, a little happier, back to his home with the knowledge of a job well done.

So every morning, I get rid of the web, secure in the knowledge that he’s back home, fast asleep. And thus I am able to drive off, my hand on the throttle, completely arachnid-free. Today however, crumble, crumble goes my little narrative. I parked at university for six or seven hours, and when I went to drive home I was surprised (marvel at the level of denial going on here) that an exact replica of my little friend’s web had been made in my absence.

Of course, I have known it all along, that this is not really typical spider behaviour, and far more likely is the fact that I do not have a nocturnal visitor, but a permanent squatter. The discovery that the web reappeared in the daytime, at another location entirely, shattered my happy denial and forced me to acknowledge that the spider lives INSIDE my scooter. All the time. Probably tucked safely away inside the body of the bike, right next to the throttle. Where my hand rests. And I have been driving around in blissful (forced) ignorance of the fact that at any moment, whilst driving, a spider could emerge from his hidey-hole, and climb directly onto my hand. The hand that drives the bike. The hand that controls acceleration. There would be screaming. There would be flailing. There would, almost certainly, be crashing.

But look at how I change and grow! Instead of catching a bus to the supermarket, purchasing a can of insect killer, catching a bus back to uni and going on a little killing spree, I started the scooter. I got on. I put my hand on the throttle, and I drove home. I have no idea why I was ok with the idea of a spider actually living in Sascha when usually the idea of a spider even looking in my bedroom window will throw me into hysterics. But I was. And I am. Perhaps if I was to see the spider this would all change, but for now, in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, I have named him Henry, and think only with fondness of my hitchhiking spider friend.

4. Panda and I watched ‘Mrs Dalloway,’ and ate huge bowls of freshly made vegetable soup. We both decided, at the exact same moment, that we needed to get a poster-sized picture of the scene where Sally kisses Clarissa.