It seems almost incredulous to write it in a Blog but I’m a writer…No really I make my living by writing words that people read. I can’t say I’m particularly good at it. I just do it for the almost no bucks and the chicks. There’s an endless rush of young lovely women that fight one another for a piece of this. Nothin’ drives them to a sexual frenzy faster than a fat old married guy with no money. You can just watch them lusting at me with their eyes thinkin’ to themselves “oh yeah I’d like a piece of that” Who needs hot young guys when you got all this comin’ at ya. Alas, at least I have no money to go with it.
Sex…. I don’t even remember the last time I had sex…
Even if I could trick, drug or coerce a beautiful young thing into…well couch.. the wife got the bed…what could I offer…” I guess I’ll just content myself with internet porn and try to remember what I used to do when I watched it.
Love. What’s this thing called …love?
I can’t say I know for sure. I can live with the Biblical explanation “God is Love and he who abides in Love abides in God and God in him” But beyond that I have no idea. I’ve been married twice and probably would have married the one in between but I still struggle with the notion of romantic love. I understand the science of attraction, pheromones impinging upon the neuron synapses causing changes in serotonin levels creating a sense of addiction and longing. But I have no idea what if anything is left after the laws of attraction give way to practical pair bonding.
I know I live with the contempt and loathing of my darling bride. But lets face it she just wants to feel loved. Somewhere down deep she still believes and just wants someone to make her feel good about herself. No one will because no one can. Sadly, what she wants can only come from within…and the only way to access it is to be the best person you can be…. I’m not blaming her since that would be hypocritical… she didn’t sign on for the 20 years of poverty, hell and misery that we have experienced.
Back when we first got together, I almost had a life and goals. I was running a company; preparing for Anglican Priesthood and looking for redemption for the emotional destruction I caused my first wife. The man wife 2 got was like a frequently unemployed Dr. House. If House and Kevin Smith had a baby…it would be me. I say pussy when I mean vagina and I study people and even inflict emotional pain just to see how they react. My wife didn’t deserve that. She was a simple farm girl and I made her a victim of intellectual curiosity combined with an almost debilitating shyness that often prevents me from having any semblance of life.
It’s my monster, I made it, so we live with it because misery is the only company we keep. I can’t imagine a world without her, albeit unintentionally, sucking the joy out of everything we do. Could I still write? Would I still be the fucked up funnyman who pours every ounce of himself into his work because it’s the only safe place to be? I don’t know.
They say life is too short to live in misery. But dont people in misery generally live the longest? Except in children’s books you never hear of anyone living a long happy life. The good die young…the fucking miserable live forever. I’ve got to admit though I guess I really would like to live the fantasy. The woman between the 2 wives came close to fulfilling that allusive dream. In fact she came on everything and with everything…I dont know what love is but, I got lust all figured out. She was amazing and I think if sex hadn’t been our only focus, we probably would have been friends. She fancied herself a writer too so the commonality to build a pair bond was there but we literally screwed it up. Sad?
It’s not that I never had infatuations. In fact I’ve had more than my share and probably yours. They have ranged from odd to really weird but ultimately just fleeting glimpses of something different that could never happen. When old fat and married is the reality… no amount of fantasizing can ever change that. So I content myself with my work.
I work in radio. It’s a strange world of low pay, overwork and underwork, crazy deadlines and unquenchable dreams of fame, recognition and avarice. Once in while we get to hob-nob with the famous and eat in actual restaurants but sadly most of that is really lost on us. We’re entertainers, sketching visions with word and sound in hopes that you will see what we want you to see. Other than this it’s the closest thing I have to outlet my creativity….so think of that next time you’re listening to a radio…..Till next time Happy Fry-Day!!!
Fry Days 