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April 2011


my (our) books

Fool for Love When You Don't See Me

Someone Like You I'm Your Man

He's The One It Had To Be You

The Mammoth Book of New Gay Erotica Best Gay Erotica 2007

Best Gay Love Stories: New York City Best Gay Love Stories 2005

Three Fortunes In One Cookie The Deal


If you have any of the above books and would like them signed, mail them to:

P.O. Box 131845, Houston, TX., 77219.

Please include three dollars for return postage.

Send email to timothyjlambert@gmail.com

Warning: This blog may contain homosexuals which in the states of California and Maine have been alleged to destroy the sanctity of marriage. Read at your own risk.


recommended courses of action

Scout's Honor Rescue is an all-breed, no-kill, Not-For-Profit 501(c)(3) animal rescue organization committed to bringing courage, character and compassion to Houston's homeless pet population and making a positive difference in the lives of these stray and abandoned animals and the Houston community as a whole. 100% of every dollar donated goes directly to saving the life of a homeless animal.

Scouts Honor Rescue Inc.

locally known


maine AIDS alliance

global AIDS alliance


AIDS foundation houston

bering omega community services

frannie peabody center

Timothy's hair by Larry Henderson Hair Design.

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the trick is to keep breathing

On Thursday, February 5th, I was sitting on an operating room table when a doctor asked me what happened and why I was in the emergency room. I replied, "I was watching videos on YouTube and had to pee. Basically, I made the mistake of standing up."

"There wasn't any accident?"

"No. I was in pain, but I managed to get to the bathroom in time."

I hadn't been in a car wreck, or shot, or fallen from a great height. It was another spontaneous pneumothorax; my lung collapsed again, for no apparent reason. One minute I was fine, minutes later I was clutching my chest and wondering if I was having a heart attack or if my lung had collapsed again.

Just like last time a tube was shoved between my ribs and I was hooked up to an atrium to re-inflate my lung, drain fluid and remove air from the chest cavity. However, this time my thoracic surgeon recommended a procedure to lessen the chance of another collapse in the future. While I was unconscious, several of the blisters on my lung that were releasing air into my chest cavity were removed, then part of the lung and chest wall were scarred and fused together, providing a support system, and a second drainage tube was added. Afterward, with the tubes puncturing my ribs and the various IV needles in my hands and neck, fueled by drugs, I thought, This so Saint Sebastian-like. I wish I could take a self-portrait right now.

The surgery was deemed a success. Luckily, my lung remained inflated afterward, because if it hadn't, they would've had to do the whole thing over again. Chances are good that this might not happen again--I forget the percentages they quoted me on it happening to the same lung or the other one in the future--but to sway the odds even more in my favor, I stopped smoking the day I was admitted to the hospital. Everyone keeps saying, "As if you had a choice in the matter." Dude, I'm an addict. If I'd wanted to, I would've found someone with cigarettes and smoked them, tubes in my chest and all. In fact, I had cigarettes with me the entire time, just in case I "had" to smoke while I was in there.

But, I've been wanting to stop smoking for a long time now and this hospital visit was the kick in the chest that I needed to get my act together. Unfortunately, I love smoking and have loved doing it for a long time, so it's going to be a hard habit to break. Getting past the chemical addiction was the easy part, but the psychological addiction is proving to be difficult. More difficult than when I gave up drugs and drinking, I think. I've been wanting to beat my head against the nearby wall the entire time I've been typing this entry, in hopes that doing so might stop the itchy feeling inside my head. I keep stopping, distracted by visions of myself reaching for a pack of cigarettes, opening the pack, pulling out a Parliament Ultra Light, lighting the cigarette, the feeling of it between my lips as I inhale, and how great it would make me feel to smoke again. Then I have to distract myself from these thoughts and remind myself that, no, I don't want to do that. What do I want to do, instead? Look at your hands. What are they doing? Why, they're reaching for something. They're reaching for that bottle of Vicodin. Abort! Abort! Why is that there? Take that back downstairs later. Reach for the glass of water, instead. Drink it. Much better. And, no, it wouldn't be better if that was vodka. Water is better for you and your lungs. Remember that. Now what were we doing? Oh, right. This stupid LJ entry. It's nothing like how I wanted it to read when I started, which frustrates me. Which makes me want to smoke. Oy vey. I don't care about this right now. I want to take a nap. Napping is good for me and my lungs.

So, yeah, that's what's been going on.