Sometimes I'm Jealous...

Okay, I have struggled with whether or not to write this down. On one hand I don't want to sound like a whiner or a looser and I really don't want to make anyone uncomfortable around me. On the other hand, I have found that sometimes writing out what I am thinking helps me to release it and move on. So I suppose this could be the draft e-mail you never send, and maybe it will be. If I choose to publish it, then I hope that the two people who read my blog will understand what I mean by it. 

I am jealous today. I don't know how else to put it; I can't think of some other term. I should be very happy, my life is okay, I leave for Paris in four days, I have a job, I have a home I love, and I have the best friends you could ask for, but I am jealous. 

I have been told I shouldn't be, relationships, even ones that succeed are a pain in the ass, and yet I am jealous. I don't understand my life sometimes. I know I am a nice guy, I am even handsome. I have been told I am sexy too. And yet, I rarely get past the first date. It puzzles me. 

I wonder if I do something wrong. I wonder if my not coming out till I was 37 years old, handicapped me somehow. Do I miss the signs? Do I not know the "code"? 

It is ever so difficult for me not to compare myself to my piers. It is what we are socialized to do,  particularly as men. I guess I should just go forward, without expectation. I should just live my life, and love myself. But I am selfish, I want more. 

I want someone to cling to, cleave to even, when I have a week like the one just past. I want to come home and have a man call and say, hey let's get together and grab a bite and sit on the couch and make out. I want a man want to come spend a couple of days with me in SF or for me to spend a couple of days with him in ______. I want to have a man to share my joy with, to travel with, to raise my daughter with, so that she knows that I'm not a freak. I want to find a man to spend my old age with. 

And yet no man comes. My friends get dates, so I know it's possible. I believe there is a man out there, somewhere, maybe even in San Francisco, who will love me. But when? 

It is difficult to not be jealous. It is hard to keep believing. And yet, I must go on.