Oh Christ

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You've got to know who you really are to be happy, so I'm told.

It's a strange notion, because even if there is a 'real' you buried underneath the 'false' you that you and everyone else thinks is the real thing...if you're confused about who you are, isn't that confusion part of the real you? And what happens if you find the real you and you don't like it?

Anyway, I think I now know a bit more about the real me. I'm a fag hag. For christians. A christo-bitch. A godbotherer-botherer. A soteriological vampire.

If a fag hag is a straight woman who hangs around gay men because she's both attracted to their sexual non-threateningness, and simultaneously wants to destroy it by seducing them...

...then I'm a skeptical man who hangs around jesus sunbeams because I'm both attracted to their happy simple-mindedness, and simultaneously want to destroy it by making them doubt.

You see what I mean about not liking one's real self.

It would be nice to believe in something mystical. I spent much of my 20s trying to find something mystical to believe that wasn't also preposterous - which is a little like searching for cakes to devour that aren't also fattening.

Most of my boyfriends were christians - and some of my christians were also, erm, eager to be persuaded. But no, like one of those wonderful straight women who attach to gay men, I can't be one, and even if I could...I wouldn't really want to.

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