This is not a “poor me” post — I just need to get some shit off my chest before I either say the wrong thing to someone or fucking explode.

First, as I have stated here numerous times, I love Halloween. So for the last couple of years, I’ve been heading to Chicago for the Halsted Street Halloween parade. The costumes are fantastic and the atmosphere is friendly. And all fucking year, Thad and I have been planning to go. What was going to make it even better was this year, I was going to go for a few days and take in CAGED DAMES at the same time. Halloween and a women in prison musical! Did I die and go to fucking heaven?

But then at the beginning of the month, Mama M came down with a serious ass staph infection. No problem. A parade and a play pale in comparison to someone’s health. Not to sound all pompous but I did what I always do, I stepped up and fixed shit.

I got Old Boy’s son to put his ass in a senior home for a while then I brought the worst patient in the world home and learned how to administer the antibiotics myself. Which turned out to be unbelievably easy. Even for a needle-phobe like me.

So, Mama M was feeling better and I started looking into the options of going to Chicago overnight on two seperate nights. I’d be gone a total of 18 hours each time. 10 of which she would sleep. And miracle of miracles, it looked like things were going to work out. A friend offered to come over and learn how to give the meds to my mom and Thad was all jazzed about going to the parade.

Yeah, I know…too fucking good to be true.

Last Thursday, the plans started to get a little hinky.

First up, Thad’s super hunky travelling businessman boyfriend, James, gets the week off and calls to let him know. At the same time, another of his friends is in town for Halloween and needed a place to crash. And while Thad had been planning on my coming up, the prospect of 4 guys in the condo — even for a night — seemed a little too much like treading on Thad’s good will. Especially since I know how seldom those two fellas in love get time together — I’ve been there and pretended not to hear the bedroom acrobatics coming from the other room once before. So I told T to enjoy his time with J and I would make other arrangements.

Cue a voicemail from Michael.

“Halloween is next week and I know you love the parade so I was thinking if you need a place to stay…well, there’s always room for you here.”

It’d been a while since I’d heard his voice, and I have to admit it made me a little nostalgic. We parted on good terms and so I thought, why not? I still care for him; we just differed in what we wanted from the relationship. As far as I am concerned we’re still friends.

So I called him back and left a voicemail saying I would like to take him up on his offer and would get into town Tuesday afternoon about 1 and would be leaving at 7 the next morning.

I got this voicemail on Saturday night:

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us — about what you want — and I’d like to sit down and talk about things.”

Now, I know some of you have opinions regarding our relationship and I am not blind to its many faults either, but you aren’t with someone for nearly two years and just turn the feelings off. Or at least I don’t. So I call him and we arrange to have an early dinner before the parade. Sounds good, he says. So I bought a train ticket for Halloween morning.

Sunday night I got this message:

“Dirk, look…the place is a mess, I have a lot going on right now, and I won’t be able to be a good host. Why don’t we wait until sometime between next week and Thanksgiving when we can enjoy a couple of days together and you don’t have to rush back home the next morning?”

Okay. That sounds reasonable. Except for the part where there won’t be a fucking Halloween parade next week. Okay, no worries — I already have my ticket, I’ll just get a room when I get up there.

Then Monday rolled around. While I was in the shower, the game of phone tag took another turn:

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it and we can get together or not get together. I don’t mean to sound like I don’t care, I just have a lot going on. The place is a mess and I am embarrassed to have you see it like this. But you do what you want.”

Well, what I wanted to do was go to a parade and enjoy myself. Hold the fucking drama, please.

Meanwhile, I had called my friend to make arrangements on Saturday to show him how to adminster my mother’s meds. Saturday wasn’t convenient. Turns out Sunday wasn’t either. Oh, and Monday was really busy. Tuesday morning was the last chance before my train which was leaving at 10:30am.

Well, after calling 3 times that morning and getting no answer, I realized my plans were shot all to hell. 10:30am came and went and so did my train.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset I missed the parade because I of my mother. I’m pissed off that a friend I have done everything but bleed for fucked me over like that. I have loaned him my car for days, loaned him money (some of which he has never paid back), taken his ass to the airport on a moment’s notice, and watched his dogs and kids more times than I can count. All I asked for was him to administer the meds on Tuesday night and the home health care nurse would take care of the Wednesday morning dose when she came to take blood. It would have been less than 30 minutes out of his day, trip to and from the house included. And if he hadn’t offered, I would never have asked on my own.

At 1pm, my friend pulled up at my mother’s house where I was raking the yard.

“I thought you were going to Chicago…”

“Well, I was, but you never showed up to learn how to do the meds and I wasn’t comfortable leaving you to do that without instructions,” I replied.

“Dirk, I’d have figured it out. You need to get away. You still going on Thursday?”

“I’d like to. Do you have time to learn how to do the meds this afternoon or tomorrow morning?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I have some stuff to do today…” And with that he was gone.

So my favorite day of the year — which I originally took vacation to enjoy — was spent raking leaves, pondering the mystery of what Michael wants to talk about, and, because I had nothing else to do, going in to work for a few hours after all.

What’s that?

Halloween will come again next year, Michael and I will eventually have that talk of his, I’m lucky to have a friend at all, and I’m a big fat stinky diarrhea butthead pussy-boy whiner?

You’re right.

Thanks for helping me put things into perspective.