Scourge of the boys of Thin-o-pia

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Ill-wishing
I guess I've thought of it but it never really sank in until multiple sources (unsolicited) have mentioned it.
My Aunt (any family member, really) - hasn't seen me for a few months now, and commented on how slim / thin I've gotten. Now this is truly usual for the Chinese chit chat where children are often too thin for their own good.
Its just not prosperous.
But this coincides with other commentary from several people, friends actually. I'm losing too much weight. And here I go thinking that I've goten slightly more weight or at least my metabolism has slowed down and gained weight. - well, oops.
Something probably in here that begins with 'Unheal' - and ends with 'Thy'.
Is there something I'm overdoing at work?
Is work ethic killing more than my soul?

The Touch
Its my perception but not too far from the truth, that I've been treated like some sort of twinky asian boy porn actor recently. Crap.
I'm starting to look like those twinky slim thin boys on the tops of those Japanese young men. This is NOT what I intend to ever look like or be treated like. At least never thought of it that way, and so NOT the liking it at all. Skin and bones, I say
Well, throw in the sleepless, overworked, black-eyed induced look and there you have it.
This sucks.
Trying those workout-with-whatever-you-have-at-home on a limited time, which is pretty much between getting home really late and slamming into my bed, only seems to have slimmed me down more. Trimmer, slimmer, and maybe lean. Yea, thats not helping.
I'm not ripped by any means, I'll be the first one to tell you, but if I were - I think I'd be MORE put off by myself.
... but ranting long enough about this also makes me reconsider.

Turnabout is fairplay
Maybe I should just milk this.Well figuratively for now.
Just embrace that fact, that this is one aspect of male beauty and move on. That I may be suffering from self-inflicted or delusional body myopia which inflicts most men (particularly in western cultures) - where big and muscular is never enough until you're bigger and more muscular. Size .... definition ... gym rat .... gym bunny ...
And I've read about this, I've done my research, am I being an informed idiot about this by rationalizing like an ignorant intellectual?
Do I care?

Play & Tell
Time constraints, actualy physical effort and juggling too many things at once.
Not only is it my busy period for my day job here - I've been roped in (let's just say with a strong WINK, suggested into by my boss) to help in the Director-in-TRAINing's play.
The one we've settled into a working relationship because there's too many things about her personally right now, that I don't and can't give a fuck about before losing all respect for her, as a friend and professional. I'd like there to not be a this unspoken conflict though I may have spoken more about it than necessary.
Whatever the case, with her current behaviour and working routine, its a source of frustration for me which i've learn to LET GO!
... until now. I'm reeled back in. Friendly boss and all that. Reitirate.
Friendly boss who thinks the direcotr-in-training is doing a pretty decent halfway job so far. Reality: the people she's working with ARE doing the decent job, she's doing the pretty and halfway there part.

Reeled in
I digress. Work + Play : Overstressed.
its even the lead role ... bah - for something a role I probably wouldn't have auditioned for , tho I like the play, enough to want to direct it myself.
Which BOILS down to the fact.
I've having trouble finding a producer.
So I have to tell myself, if I can't find one by the end of September: my WORLD AIDS DAY CHARITY 2007 might have to go bust.
Fortunately, its enough time to actually being to find people to help my out in my June project next year for GAY PRIDE MONTH short short plays Visitation 2008.
It actually hurts, chest palpations and all, to say that.
but its true - if I can't find one, December is ... well, we'll see.

Strange but true
In the midst of all the new plays in a few weeks and working piling up. I've yet to receive my confirmation letter.

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Prose

Jigsaw

It wasn't irrational to believe that it bore more than its weight in the crisp brown envelope that the postman dropped today. I can even believe the red and black striped marks zigzagging the postage and address all over the paper form, that was telling me something.
Someone's heart was in there.
Mine.
From someone who posted it to me, where I lost it almost a decade ago.
Its been returned to me, piece at a time and although I know somewhere in my mind what I won't say because it might be true, it will never be fully returned. Never to be a whole heart. But I wouldn't want it that way.
I want a piece of it to be left behind there. That will make him continue sending the pieces back. That is what he'll remember.

Its a techno-trance-pop CD this time.
Because he liked the music, because he loved the band, I feel surrogate and full. In my hands are the words he will never say. Between every line, is the head-shaking beat thump of his head in the earphones that he wants to share with me. Each pitch is the raising of his hand as he waves hi to me in the crowded club many years ago. Flashing blue and purple and red and yellow and pink.
Its seems to be fate that the CD was named 'Blue', the colours of the back of the CD was a myriad of gloss-refractive rainbow hues on a silver plate.
I can imagine him browsing the store to get me an exact copy. His enthusiasm as he found it, his thrill at knowing I will get it in four to six weeks.

I cried when I listened to it. It lies tucked neatly with the others gifts he's shared with me in the later years using the secret cupid postman. Lying beside the pieces of my heart are the aged and lightening envelopes they arrived in, folded and placed orderly. In the mess of my room, my desk and my mind, this is always be clear. A speck of order in my living chaos.
Secret laughter stirs in those pieces. Bells I can only hear and feel conflicted when I want to share them with others. Music that should be mine only.

Maybe he'll hear my silent words everytime I'm feeling downand outdated. Maybe the secret cupid postman will bear them on his wings of addresses and postmarked dated stamps. Maybe I'll hear the words in his voice one peculiarly fine day.
As the rest of my life passes away into obscurity and drudgery, I will wait for these envelopes. In the mean time, I look softly at the shadowed cases, wrappers, CD's, all neatly tucked in my hollowed heart shaped chest and wait for the pieces to lay in - to be whole and so very far apart again.

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ps: I'll be posting just the prose and poetry at GreaterDispel.Blogspot.Com Its just really gonna function as a archive for my written creative work. Since my good friend likes reading it at the end of each of my posts.
pps: still in discussion whether I still owe them for the misprint :(