I think that, to carry a metaphor way too far, I think that the arches of my feet are simply getting too sore to bear.

All this fucking tiptoeing around. Like I'm all sneaky and shit.

New flash: I'm not sneaky. Everyone sees me. Everyone knows what I'm doing. Everyone is laughing at my fumbling attempts to pretend that things are normal. That I'm normal.

I'm just getting sick and tired of it. My tiptoeing is not fooling anyone, and so it serves no purpose except to spotlight a failed attempt at deception.

I hate doing this, I did it, for a long time, because I thought it was necessary. The right thing to do. And maybe it was the right thing to do, for a while. But that time has passed.

A lie of omission is still a lie.

---

Also, because I don't want to forget this, and also because I thought it was funny, I had myself a gay cheeseburger tonight.

What's that you say? You didn't know there was such a thing as a gay cheesburger?

Well, I didn't know it either, but I was wrong. As were you.

So I went to Wendy's and, as usual, I ordered the #2 meal plain with a Diet Coke. Then I stepped aside to wait for my order to be prepared.

I guess the burger guy was a trainee or something, because the manager chick had to explain to him what "plain" meant. She said that it should have just cheese on it. He didn't understand, so she said it more clearly. "A plain cheeseburger should have meat, cheese, bread, and nothing else on it," she said.

"Well that's gay," the burger guy replied.

For the record, my gay cheeseburger was very good.

It was weird, though. I had the strangest urge to go dancing after I'd eaten it.