I’m sitting on the toilet seat in a pub in South East London on New Years Eve. Plans A, B, C, D & E never happened and I’m on plan F. That’s COVID for you!

I face a feeling of defiance and also deep loneliness. I just want to connect. To something that isn’t recovery, isn’t drinking, isn’t listening to the the hard reality of peoples lives, isn’t related to my preferred sexual position, the size of my dick or “hole”, how sleazy I am or what I think of extreme fetishes. That isn’t gossip or politics or family troubles.

Right as we sit here, waiting for the fireworks to go off and for a new future to happen.

And I am alone.

I don’t know what it is I’m feeling. My thoughts tell me that I’m just not a social person, that I deserve this, that this is all to teach me a lesson.

The reality is my intention is to connect, to dance, to not be alone. That may not be what this is right now. It may be hard to stand up at the bar not smoking, not drinking, not talking, not part of anyones group.

Maybe this is my own fault for not be social, friendly, chatty, kind, thoughtful enough. But I also know; I don’t have to think that; I can think I am enough.

As my history in this place reminds me, drunken follocks, eyes glaring and fazing all over the place in my past . The pulling, the Grindr, the unwanted approaches. I am still right now. It’s all history.

And I am hoping that here in my glittery shoes, that at least tonight I can dance. I won’t have to be alone, that as a minimum this will only be for another couple of hours.

If this is a lesson it is cruel. I’m not in danger. I just want to shrug it all off and dance the night away.

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