06 – Tad & His Tomorrow
Home at last, that’s all I can say, home at last. Two days and two nights of utter debauchery and although I took a few lashes to the soul, I managed to make just enough cash to ensure it’ll be at least a couple months (or never again if all goes well) before another guy’s mouth rings around my cock at three-hundred a pop.
Naked in the bathroom I study myself in the mirror. Neck down everything is impeccable – all one would expect from an aspiring actor who takes care of their body – which I do and then some. Apart from having close to zero discipline in the worlds of career advancement and all those simple tasks like paying bills and having insurance and all those other staples that make a citizen normal – when it comes to my appearance I’m completely focused, determined, and methodical. My diet is specifically tailored to my needs – loaded with protein and almost void of any carbs. For breakfast it’s always exactly three egg whites – no seasoning. For lunch and dinner – which is actually one meal around the time lunch is just turning into dinner – I cook two chicken breasts on my Foreman Grill and eat them above a bed of iceberg lettuce. No dressings. No salts. No bullshit. Throughout the day I keep hydrated strictly by water alone – filling up a two gallon jug from an arrowhead dispenser I pay for monthly as many times I can. And during my meals I replace water with a gallon of green tea as I’m told it’s not only good for the heart, but the skin as well.
For the most part I like to work out three times a day – focusing on three separate areas of my physique. In the morning its sit-ups, I don’t know how many as I like to just keep going until I can’t stand it any longer, and this usually takes up about an hour of time – sometimes more if I have enough time to keep The Secret playing on background for inspiration – I’m a big fan of positive thinking and the power of attraction. Before my lunch/slash dinner, I’ve developed a custom workout that depending on how I use the apparatus (a thirty pound steel bar covered in padding) works on a specific part of the body, being either my upper-legs, upper back, or the sides of my stomach – this all depends on where the pole is positioned throughout the routine. And on those few nights I actually get to sleep in my own bed, I like to go into the stairwell of my building and work on my legs for about thirty minutes by way of either leg-lifts or simply climbing up and down the stairs. As far as hygiene goes, forget about it. For my hair alone it takes thirty minutes. After soaking my head in the tub for a moment, I run a dime-sized amount of Nioxin all throughout my scalp – digging hard – which I then cover with a Chicago White Sox beanie cap Donnie Ramo gave me back in the days we used to hang out. This is to let the Nioxin do its work at my roots and insure any hair loss I may encounter is minimal. Usually while my hair is sitting I’ll do push-ups or depending the time of day may prepare my chicken. Once then Nioxin has set for long enough, I wash it out very carefully and repeat the routine only now with the cool-blue Nioxin Scalp Therapy Gel – this is to further reinforce the strength of my hair and again, further insure minimal amounts of hair-loss. Once the hair is washed I put on a proper shower cap and take a very quick shower. After the shower I towel-dry both my hair and body, followed by a very intricate application of Avacor to make my hair appear thicker and fuller. I conclude my routine by washing out my mouth with a peroxide-based whitening mouthwash followed by a quick brush with baking-soda based toothpaste. Finally I focus on my face by first applying lip-balm (yes lip balm) to my cheeks, cheek bones, under my eyes, and forehead – an unorthodox yet extremely effective way of keeping the face clear, soft, and oil free – easily turning the face of my life-clock back ten years. After the lip balm (and this is only on an as needed basis) I apply cover-up to any blemishes or bags under the eyes I may have procured from the night before by way of drugs, alcohol, and no sleep. All and all the entire routine takes a little over an hour and whenever I can, I like to do this twice a day. All the while (especially in the mornings) I like to blast my favorite music from the eighties like Journey or Foreigner or Duran Duran. Anything upbeat. Start the day off right.
For this routine I plan on listening to Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet, an immortal classic and inspiration to me since my first exposure as a teenager in Buffalo. And although my body is weak and trembling and hardly fit for a shower right now, somehow I manage to muster enough strength (both mental and physical) to push myself over that ledge. I need to shower, no matter how much I may not want to, it’s imperative. I have to cleanse myself of all the dirt I’ve rolled around in the past two nights, let it flow down the drain, and prevent any traces from injecting themselves into the serenity and security of my home.
Taking one last look at my reflection before beginning my routine, I’m haunted by the contrast staring back at me. Again, given the attention paid to my appearance, from the neck down I’m maybe two grades bellow Christian Bale (who I’m told over and over again I favor), suggesting a strong-minded and determined individual; while the neck up tells an entirely different tale.
The bags under my eyes would tell one without doubt I chose paper rather than plastic, while the eyes above them – strained red from hard-partying and no sleep – fit only for the junkies and street deviants found on the Boulevard. The crows-feet at the corners of my eyes, whispering subtle secrets of my darkened past – all these small elements fitting together like a mosaic with the overall image being that of a broken and lost boy in the body of a man.
How in the hell, I wonder to myself, can I be so disciplined in certain aspects of my life while in others (usually the important ones) I fail to stay strong – and worse yet – true to my word.
Holding back a not uncommon urge to shatter the mirror before me I drag a very exhausted and drained skin-shell into the shower where once inside, I use the last of the strength I can muster to turn the hot water knob on full blast. No cold water this morning, gotta be certain whatever sickness is crawling atop my skin will be destroyed.
I can’t have another morning like this.
And thanks to the horrors of the two previous nights, financially I should be secure enough to prolong one of these sessions for at least two months… that is of course provided I stay on task and actually follow through – otherwise I’m sure to repeat another one of these purge-sessions… and scariest of all, I doubt I have another in me.
This has to be the last. Things have to change.
The water is close to boiling as it bounces off my pecks and although I should add a little cold water to the mix, I lack the will to do so. Let it burn me, I think to myself, remind me that I’m still alive… still human… because after the last two nights which subsequently bled into two days and two nights, I’m seriously beginning to wonder if I’m even human any longer. Or merely a shell fueled by pipedreams destined to one day shut down and fade away, no different from the day I popped out the womb. A baby hiding behind the body of a man…
… And a man is the last thing I am.
Men don’t do the things I do just to survive… and as post-script, a man surely wouldn’t take an innocent kid along for the ride like I had done to Andrew – after promising to both him and myself that we’d grow together – instead I expose him to the shit covering this city, more than likely not only altering his opinion of me, but of his own dreams as well. As much he kept going on that he was cool and used to this kind of stuff I couldn’t help but to get an unshakable insight that for one reason or another, I had scarred Andrew… and I just can’t forgive myself for that. I owe him.
As much as I don’t want to I wash my hair with some generic store-bought shampoo/conditioner I keep aside for guests as I’m much too tired to do a Nioxin treatment and don’t want to waste it with a simple shower. Running my fingers through my hair I close my eyes and do all I can to block out the memories from last night – at least the little memories still standing the alcohol, ecstasy, and blow couldn’t manage to singe away.
I think back to the night it all began while driving Andrew up the hill and vowing to myself that the tomorrow I’m always telling myself will eventually show is due. Granted it was slated for yesterday but shit happens. And no matter how contradictory yesterday may have been in the pursuit of tomorrow (if that makes any sense), I managed to secure finances to insure tomorrow can very well, without question start today. And as the soap falls down my body pulling down the dirt and grime of two nights out on the job, and as I watch the drain below swallow all the suds-and-scum – I place a great deal of significance on this very moment. This shower. This cleansing.
Although deviating from my routine, this very shower represents something greater than cleaning off two nights of hell – but rather cleansing my body from a dark and dirty past that’s been long since overdue to end. I work the soap roughly all over my body, not wanting to miss an inch, as I symbolically take it upon myself to label this very moment as my saying goodbye to yesterday and hello to tomorrow… today.
I’ve exhausted all my excuses. Last night and the night prior I see as no more than my last hoorah, my last goodbye, and as much as I hate myself for dragging Andrew along for the ride, I’m able to justify it all. By exposing him to the world I made for myself through my mistakes, I’ve spared him having to endure them himself, while at the same time show him that these things do exist in a city that invented spin, special effects, and trickery by way of creating a false image.
With the horrors of last night, the night before, and so many others throughout so many years falling down the drain at my feet I feel a genuine sense of optimism – the real kind – not that bullshit substance free deluded optimism that managed to get me as far as I have – but the real deal.
All the shit I’ve put off dating back to the Clinton administration is at top priority now. No more fucking around. I can easily revert back to the old me and my old ways of thinking and tell myself today I’ll rest and tomorrow I’ll get cracking but then all of this will mean nothing. Today is tomorrow and today I’ll change my life even through the most miniscule and seemingly meaningless act – like finally getting around to buy those clear envelopes I’ve been putting off for years to send my headshots in – whatever it may be, day by day, starting here and now as I near the end of my cleansing, today will always be tomorrow… and god willing, I’ll never feel this way again.
At long last able to dig a semblance of hope from a hopeless situation contributing to what I once thought to be a hopeless morning – easily able to bleed into a hopeless day, week, or month depending on the choices I make – I feel reborn. Healed. Enlightened.
Sometimes we have to endure a lot of hell, just for a small taste of heaven.
Nearing the end of the shower I make way to my cock which is sore to the touch – the resulting pain serving as a memory I have to face. A reminder if you will of all I’ve sacrificed of myself for the sake of a better tomorrow… for today.
And with that pain throbbing on a cock I’ve had chaffed by god-only-knows how many men’s mouths, I can’t chase away a question that’s tortured me since the first day I stepped under that shadow – what kind of person chooses what I had as a means of survival? How does someone become capable of enduring not only the action itself, but all the baggage to follow?
I get myself through every time no matter how raunchy or depraved through my mantra—
I’m not a fag, I’m just acting. This isn’t who I am; it’s what I do…
Simple and to the point the mantra may be, at times I wonder late at night how much water it really holds. Are these words genuine, I wonder? Or merely a defense mechanism of my own design with the sole intention of comforting just enough to chase away any other questions to follow. Questions such as— what kind of person allows another man to suck him off or (in only extreme and rare occasions) actually allow themselves to get fucked? How with so many options out there, does one choose this vocation? Am I wired different? Or worse yet, is it possible I may not be acting?
As hard as it may be to chase away these questions panging the integrity of the ship of my soul – with the ferocity of the most unforgiving of asteroid belts – I manage somehow to veer my way to safety – basking in the comforting light of a nebula, a dying star that once gone explodes into a million fragments creating life after death.
With the end of one fading star, we’re gifted with millions of new lives. With millions of new possibilities.
Today (my tomorrow) marks the death of the nebula of an over exhausted past heading nowhere but to this exact moment in time. And as hard as it may be to accept the death of so many years past, comfort lies under the calm light these newborn stars. New worlds. New fates. And above all, the greatest blessing I could have ever asked for—
At thirty-two I’m offered a second chance…
And with the dirt down the drain and an Andrew at my side I’m now presented with a phase in life many endure but never truly appreciate…
… the opportunity to start from scratch…
… to do it all over again…
And even with Andrew blowing me off for a lunch with that Rachael-chick who more than likely will get him nowhere, I’m not going to allow this to prevent me for making the right steps for us today. I’m on a mission, now more than ever, and once I’m toweled off rather than sleeping off the last two nights, I’ll force myself to get out there and start our first step today…
An actor needs to be committed to their art one-hundred-and-ten percent – day in and day out. No room for days off.
Today is my tomorrow. I can manage without Andrew no problem.
Today is his day off. For him the journey begins tomorrow.
Besides, with all I put him through the past two days, he can use a day off…
