It’s raining in London (are you seeing a pattern here), TC is huddled with his iPhone (BTW I’ve concluded that 74.8% of men with iPhones are gay or wanna be gay) calling me from under a street awning. Nothing like a wet pup. He’s miserable and yelling at me how he needs to go on the ship, get on with his life, take care of himself. “Sounds like a plan”, I conclude, “off you go matey”. His tone changes, he doesn’t like that option either.
He goes on to explain that he’s not a woman who can get married to me and climb up under my umbrella and live out his life, protected from all things bad. But the reality is THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT HE WANTS! He’s just a big brown girl.
What he’s not saying or focusing on is that he’s not sure he can depend on me long term to provide this shelter. Now that make sense. There is no such thing as ‘gay’ alimony and clearly TC needs to protect himself, I’m supportive of that theory.
TC is hoping that some miracle of unknown proportion will happen to shed a clear light for the path he needs to follow. Today, there are two distinctive paths, to either follow his heart or take a colder logical approach.
What TC isn’t seeing is that he’s young enough to afford a few more mistakes so he can take a greater risk and recover should the worse happen. Either decision he makes has some heartburn associated with it, it’s a question of what medicine he dislikes the least.