My dream… It was about eccentric wealth and how you have to become part of the scenery and not bring any attention to yourself as you watch the ones with the money play their games and act out their dramas. They flaunt their ideas and behave as they wish and don’t you dare raise your voice or question them or you’re out of the club. You are there for god knows what reason, and you don’t fit in, but you must behave. You must not look out of place, you must not say a word, you must just observe and nod in agreement whenever they request your approval. You’re only there for that reason, you know. To applaud them, to massage their egos, to do their bidding whenever you’re called upon to do it. And if you’re lucky, they’ll throw you a bone.

I could never fit in with the upper crust or even the middle crust. I’ve encountered them at ALA, in Special Collections, and at the Music Library. Donors, Benefactors. VIPs. They expect you to wear suitable attire, above all. Yes, above all, you must be well dressed. That’s most important. If you don’t fit in that way, you’re doomed. It’s all theater, it’s all costume. The less you say, the better. Don’t burp, don’t cuss, don’t raise your voice, don’t laugh out loud, don’t disagree, don’t talk too much, or with food in your mouth,  or too loudly. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Be a good boy and you’ll get further ahead.

Do I need to grow up and be a big boy now? Should I break down and wear my suits and ties and dress shirts and polished shoes now? Can I endure the discomfort these clothes bring just enough to get through this meeting or this event or this day? I have before, but I have a big mouth. I need to keep it closed and speak only when necessary and in a softer tone. Shoot, I know I can do it if I have to do it, but I don’t want to do it. I’m a gay Chicano hippie freak, man, don’t you all get it? I don’t care what you wear, just as long as you are there, my brother!! Ha ha ha. I could’ve been more, I know. I could’ve played the game, and I chose not to, because I’ve always known it was all fake. Maybe it’s because I grew up poor and working class. I never valued high society or prim and proper ladies and gentlemen, those who smile at you while they’re robbing you or stabbing you in the back. I’m a Mexican, after all. A high school counselor once said to me “Whatever made  you think YOU were going to college? You’re supposed to go to trade school and learn construction or be a mechanic or a miner. Not a professor. Not a teacher, Not a mathematician. Not a doctor. Not a lawyer. Nope. You earn your keep by doing manual labor. We don’t need your mind”. Or something to that effect.

I’m bitter and jaded and I don’t know what to do. At this age, it’s a bit too late to try to polish up my act. I feel like the alcoholic character in Barfly who tried to get her act together one day and find a job, only to sink back into her familiar habits after just a few hours trying.

I have to ask myself why I have held myself back? I’ve never felt good enough. I’ve never felt worthy. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the club. God knows I’m smart enough to do this stuff. I’m jaded, however, like I said. Can I overcome my fear? Is it fear? I don’t know. Fear of wealth? Fear of success? Fear of advancement? Fear of prosperity? Fear of rejection? Fear of acceptance? I wish I knew…