A-LISTS living positive by paul montero
My poor, poor car. I haven’t gone out for an oil change or check-up in quite some time—mainly because my two jobs, a final round of school and the dying breaths of a social life monopolize every waking second. Plus, I don’t like the way the auto repair shop’s sticker on my windshield judgmentally declares my car inoperable once I reach a certain mileage. It’s basically calling me a bad motorist whenever I look at it. I don’t buy into concepts of absolute extremes like “good” or “bad”…”naughty” or “nice.” They rigidly segment behaviors and force us to make snap judgments with no information. But for brevity’s sake, we’ll just say I’ve been a
I’M JUST THAPOZ
I’M NOTBAD T WAY
very naughty boy this month. Hear me out. I can see the value of loosely adopting an elementary set of right-and-
wrong principles based on the societal structure in which one thrives—at the very least to keep free of said society’s prison system. But in my experience, adhering to my own personal truths has nearly always worked best. And in the four years since contracting HIV, those self-composed guidelines have become much clearer. After all, doing things our own way helps us to better define our ideal happiness—and the journey to that personalized nirvana has been the primary force that has kept me alive. Well…that and my medication. But in an effort to maintain emotional balance, I’ve formed the simple habit of
figuratively “checking my oil” every once in a while. Those of you with dirty minds, hold that thought. You’ll get your chance to make fun later. Remember all those plodding lectures we got in middle school about making adult choices? I’ve managed to sift through the BS and develop my own way of analyzing everyday decisions. Only instead of dissecting each questionable turn and kicking myself for stumbling over it, the goal is to examine—always with an open mind—how the choice and its immediate conse- quences made me feel. If it bogged me down and left me emotionally vulnerable, then I attach that same pit-of-my-gut sensation to the act itself—decreasing the likelihood that I’ll repeat it in the future. So in lieu of sticking a two-foot metal rod down a sticky aperture, performing this conveniently quick check-up every couple months seems to do the trick. Though if I notice that ambient happiness levels have been yanked down- ward by a surging upshot of crankiness, I may need to service myself more frequently. See? Told you that you’d get your chance. So what have I done to warrant the label of “naughty” this year? Well, once again, I
use the term only to summarize. If I have to break down my choices into two opposing categories, I’d have to tag one “beneficial to my happiness” and the other “detrimental” to the same. For instance, the overwhelming bustle of my schedule has swept certain things clean from my radar—like remembering to take my meds. Yes, I’m THAT busy…
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or deficient in attention span. Whatever. The point is that I’ve gauged the effects—both emotional and physiological—of that involuntary lapse in memory (which many overpaid shrinks will argue was a voluntary choice in itself ). Upon hearing the news that the virus had taken a foothold on my health as a result of it, I naturally experienced fear and grief. But I also felt a jolt of perspective, which I’ve since used as a Pavlovian prod. Now, every time I look at a clock (which is rather often in both of my professions), my immediate response is to ask myself how long it’s been since I’ve swallowed my last dose of salvation (I’m talking about meds, you pervs). Am I sliding slowly across the pole from “naughty” to “nice?” Well that depends on
your definition of “naughty” and “nice!” …and I guess “pole” as well. But if becoming more responsible about my general well-being is what’s associated with the “nice” end of the spectrum, then I suppose I am. In that case, I’d better keep it consistently nice across the board and keep my naughtier habits in check…like neglecting my car’s maintenance, pushing the boundaries of sex far beyond the current laws of the land or gossiping about semi-celebrity sightings at my local clinic. In any case, if the holidays and the new year are a chance for any sort of reboot, I hope
that all of you find a meaning of happiness that is more true to you than to anyone else. Here’s to another year lived to its fullest!
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RAGE monthly | DECEMBER 2011
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