Monday, July 18, 2011

The best way to fight the heat

Should I try to write something, before I become too tired to write anything? Today is such a strange day – I woke up feeling like yes, this is the one, the day when I feel okay and suddenly I can do all these things I was thinking about doing before, and maybe even things I wasn’t thinking about doing, but then. You know. I crash. As soon as I eat. Not so strange I guess, since this always happen, but still it feels stranger today, more pronounced.

I’m thinking about the different kinds of people who walk around with their shirts off, on a hot day like today, maybe the hottest one yet, since I’ve been here. There are the butch muscular guys, showing off sculpted bodies. A few skinny skaters with pants pulled down low, no boxers in sight so you can only imagine that they’re showing off their asses. Or, that’s what I imagine, anyway. And then there are the guys who have given up at passing as anything other than masculine. Maybe a few people who are just too damn hot, warm I mean, sweaty. And then, guys coming from the pool, in this building.

I’m thinking about what I’m afraid of – because I want to go downstairs to lie in the sun in the grass, just across the street, and it seems like a waste to wear a shirt, because then I’m going to pull it off and then I’ll be too sweaty to put it back on before I come back up. I experiment with the idea of a sweater, just a thin cotton cardigan, because then I could just unbutton it instead of pulling a tank top over my head, much easier, but no it’s way too warm on a day like today.

Somehow I’m worried about walking around with my shirt off – I mean I did it the other day, on the way back from the grass across the street, I’m sure the city of Denver calls it a park because they talk about over 400 parks here and you know that means they’re counting every blade of grass, that’s for sure, like this little area in front of an office building. But anyway, what is the fear, exactly? Part of it is that I don’t know if I like my body, and then everyone staring – already they stare at me because I’m a faggot, because I’m a queen, because I’m a freak, so why do I care if now they might look at me like I’m trash?

Good point – so then I’m out on the street, on my morning walk with my shirt off, which feels kind of nice actually. I can’t tell if people stare more or less, if it’s different people or the same -- I’m just a little more uncomfortable, but also more comfortable. I worry about male privilege, but I’m not sure that shame has ever accomplished anything. A female jogger smiles. I notice that the 16th Street Mall is much more crowded on weekdays, at least at this time of day – not just for tourists, I guess, but office drones too.

I get to the grass, lie down and put my shirt over my face, the one that was in my back pocket just for this purpose. Within a few minutes, my whole body feels like sweat, like I’m in a steam room, sweating out toxins, must be good for me, right? The best way to fight the heat is with the heat. Only 15 minutes I guess, but it feels like I’m in another world, body more present too or looser, because of sinking into the hard ground I think, back scratchy from all the poison they probably put on the grass but I’ll keep sweating for a few minutes anyway and then back inside to the laundry room where people think I’ve just come from the pool.

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