This might be the first entry that I’ve written before noon. It’s a little after 10:00 Sunday morning. I just got back from getting bagels and the papers. I get a call from Bill as I walk back to the apartment. He’s on a bus with his mother going to church, I’m on the street.

We’re talking about various trivial things, when Bill mentions that he went to see Slumdog Millionaire with his old friend, Fred. Bill’s known Fred for almost 20 years he says.

And as from what I wrote yesterday, I wanted to see Slumdog Millionaire. It’s not so much that Bill saw Slumdog Millionaire with Fred, it’s more that I have to be content with 5 minutes a day with Bill if I’m lucky.

I have to be content with Bill running off trying to further his acting career. Going to readings and practices, rehearsals and auditions while I sit at home hoping that he gets home safely, and by home I mean Stuyvesant Town. I support Bill in these endeavors, but just wish we could spend more time together.

The phone call on the street ended rather abruptly and I sent him a text saying that “I’m hurt and pissed”. His reaction? He called me, ‘Well you saw the Wrestler at Pedro’s house and I wanted to see that with you’. I explained that it was at a party and there were other people involved.

‘Well you could have said that you didn’t want to see that. You could have asked for another movie’ I explained again there were other people there and it wouldn’t be right for me to say, ‘Hey I want to see this with my partner, perhaps we could watch another movie?’

That night in Otisville we watched a boxing match, Gran Torino and The Wrestler. You could tell by the testosterone in those viewing choices that a romantic plea would not have gone down well. I did tell him when I got back that I would like to watch it with him but no plans were ever made.

‘Well you do things on your own. You go to art galleries on your own.’ I tell him I go to art galleries on my own because he’s rehearsing with his band, or has voice classes or whatever he does on Saturday afternoons that I am not privy to. And I would rather go to the galleries with someone.

I was surprised that he was upset with me because I was pissed off. He also told me he went to see The Wrestler on his own anyway. I do not like going to movies by myself. In his mind I think he feels I should be happy to be able to see him when I see him for those fleeting minutes.

And in those fleeting minutes, when I am on my way home, bundled up for the winter weather, he comes out in office wear, no coat, maybe a hat which when he goes out to see me is not enough to guard against the cold weather. So I only get a few minutes.

We don’t make the time to do anything together anymore. He has his things to do, sometimes for his career, sometimes just for a lark and I hear about it the next day. He seems to think that I want to monopolize his time and I certainly do not.

I just want to find time that might last for a few hours rather than a grouping of seconds. To his credit, he did offer to see Slumdog Millionaire with me but I told him no, that it was tainted. Plus to see movies nominated for an Academy Award is fun for me at least, but after the fact it sort of loses it’s cache.

I suppose I could wait for it to come on cable, but who knows? I’m not interested anymore really.

It’s not about the movie, it’s about the time spent.