Thread Bare - I Can't Hold On (A song lyric of mine)

I have been in an increasing turmoil and what occurred to me to be the psychological equivalent of a flood; holding onto any random object not being flushed away by the currents. The result, quite by accident, is this rough draft of a song. The music is quite good and appropriate for the theme. The ideas are all being expressed but I do not know if I consider this the finished form. Nevertheless, it is my work and I claim rights to it. It is entitled "I Can't Hold On."

When life rages cold,
A relentless storm;
And you cling to what holds
As you're wearied and worn -
You know to hold on
And adjust your grip.
But your strength fades too soon
And your grasp starts to slip.
Then you wonder how long
'Til you'll resign and let go.
If it's right or it's wrong?
Only then will you know

And I can't hold on
No, I can't hold on
No, I won't let go
But, I can't hold on

I've stayed in this place
Against all of the odds;
Tried to finish the race
Run on broken glass shards.
I've done all my bleeding
And I've pushed past the pain.
Now, I've lingered past feelings
And nothing remains . . .
Those with no answers
Still struggle for words.
(I've argued far better
For their point than I've heard)

And I can't let go
No, I can't let go
No, I can't hold on
But, I won't let go

I imagined my funeral
And the few that would care;
And, wondered what honor all
Would contrive for me there?
They'll pay their respects -
Do the best that they can;
Through their grief and regrets
To portray me a man.
They will find from their heart
Each a fond memory
and remember from parts
The man I never achieved.

And I can't hold on
No, I can't hold on
No, I won't let go
But, I can't hold on

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A New Wrinkle - Facing the Unexpected and Unrelenting.

I am writing this as I await the end of the rinse cycle on all of my earthly vestiges. I have an appointment, tomorrow afternoon, that I would love to miss; but, such a choice would result in an even more unwelcome visit by a Sheriff or other state law enforcement official.

A Sheriff awoke me, approximately two weeks ago, and greeted me with a summons. That was awful but these now less than twenty-four hours until I stand before a judge are incalculably worse. Hence this post. I have stopped trying to measure "Worse." I have ceased to weigh the heft of "Bad." I no longer imagine lifting the burden of "Set backs," or try to wrap my arms fully around "Dismay." I am beyond grasping the immense magnitude of my circumstances. I am not at all inclined to bother trying any longer. I have run on well past the twist in the road whereby I lost my bearings and now I am exhausted and do not much care about finishing the course, much less claiming any victory - even a personal one.

I have an image of myself as down on one knee and still being beaten across the back of my shoulders. Everything inside me should seek relief from resisting . . . yet, I insist on trying to stand up. It might be argued that, more than figuratively, I have nothing else to lose and all to gain. People mean well when they express optimism that my lot in life will improve. I have more than reasonable doubt to the contrary. I do have something incredibly valuable left to lose - my freedom. Tomorrow, if things go extremely unfavorably, I could lose that.

My freedom has been slowly and methodically stripped away from me over several years and whoever might be my phantom foe, one thing is sure: their zeal to incarcerate me is now accelerating as the stakes become precious. First, I lost the freedom to be found acceptable to several employers. Then, I found myself deemed unacceptable as a spouse. I then found myself bound to accept conditions that have never eased and are the cause of my court appearance, tomorrow. I have lost my fiscal freedom, my occupational freedom, and, my freedom to participate and associate with my children. (My children and former spouse left the country, too bad for me and my visitation "rights") I have lost the freedom to function as a "normal," and "productive" member of my society. I am excluded from job interviews because I am discriminated against by the only remaining filter not prevented by law - credit history. I am discriminated against by the failure for anyone to prove I have a detectable medical condition, as well - yet, I am not cleared and approved to return to work in one of the few occupations that makes a living wage without scrutiny of my financial blemishes. Not having any fathoming of how or why this has transpired I also have no idea how to fight back. And, this is obviously when one must fight to procure and protect the liberties supposedly provided under the law of the land of which I was born and am a citizen.

There is a serious issue, however. I am not of the special groups for which special care, special provision, or special interest is in vogue. I am (was, for some aspects) a white, middle class, male. My function in my nation is to be the source of revenue and sustenance for all other component elements of that people that comprises these United States of America. That is not a thing I have ever resented or felt put upon in being expected to provide, by the way. Paradoxically, now that I find myself in the position of no longer paying for the multitudes from my wages I face the odd quirk that I am disqualified or ineligible for all assistance programs to which twenty-five years of my employment have contributed. I find myself with no help but the struggling efforts of my friends and family to try to sustain me. And, for what I must ask?

Indeed. Tomorrow I will be asked why I have failed to meet my child support obligations. I am hoping that the explanation that I have been unemployed for nine months, scratched out piece work and small bid projects, and barely subsist on the charity of family and friends will have a favorable weight rather than just an additional millstone about my neck. One can not be certain if the judge may still feel compelled to "make an example of me." And. Yes. I am very much afraid. I have so far been denied unemployment benefits, denied welfare, denied any hope of a job earning a sufficient wage to meet such obligations as my child support and tomorrow I may be denied my liberty. I dare not ask what may yet be extracted from me but the idea of any mercy or favor was spent long ago. The one rest from all of this - to not awake is the only offer in compromise I am not being offered.

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Am I Squinting For or Wincing From the Light?

Years ago I moved far away from my family, friends, and the familiar environment that had incubated my social development, career, and contentment. At the time of that departure I ventured out on a path described by circumstances and the intent of pleasing someone other than myself. I had a new wife and an opportunity to sacrifice my comfort and convenience for the love of seeking to fulfill her ambitions, hopes, and desires. There was no coercion or pressure from her at all. I acted independently, swiftly, and without regret. I also acted carelessly, too dependently, and without realistic consideration. The latter three became the hallmarks of my marriage and all other conduct as the man defined by those actions. I still have no regrets for the decision I made. I have no regrets for the leaving of all I knew behind. I especially have no regrets for having been married to the person with whom I then lived in a world completely removed from my preferences and own dreams and ambitions because I loved her – will always love her – and had counted the cost of discontinuing investment in myself to be a price worth paying to have her in my life.

My failure to invest myself and in myself has left me in a deficit from which I may very sincerely never manage to recover. I am so keenly interested in time, now. I am not interested in the time I have remaining as a positive influence but as the unwelcome reminder of a debt still owed and in collections. Time is not a healer but a compounding of that negative interest and the yield is exponentially wearying. I do not look forward, but, only backward in order to recall happier times. The exercise is not bitter or sweet. It is the checking of figures in a ledger and simply acknowledging that the accounting is accurate. There is nothing on reserve or left to be deposited that will enhance the balance. There is no funding underway for any hopeful or ambitious endeavors. I am made ever sadder by every moment I live. It raises the bar just that much higher beyond my grasp. I am alone to face a future that is certain in its urgency, sparse accommodations, and empty solitude. I am without currency and it is pay-as-you-go.

I am expressing this as a sort of pressure relieving valve and as a cautionary tale. Perhaps someone may feel resonant vibrations. If so, you are urged to tune to another frequency and lower or heighten the pitch of your life to something richer and resplendent with harmonious complements of something fundamentally fulfilling. I have always enjoyed the Blues but never was inclined to pay any sort of metaphoric dues to sing them from my soul. That said, I am on some sort of installment plan, apparently. The words sound familiar but the tune is something I am finding that I groan more than hum. I do not wish you to follow the trail of wasted years I am recollecting. When that journey away from all I knew and had never expected to be removed from came to be it was launched with a going away party. I never anticipated that all of me was to go away. I only expected there to be distance and difficulty but never permanent loss. I have come to experience more loss than any gain in my life here to fore. The first indication of that loss was at the party, in fact. My dearest and closest friends parted with good wishes and warm handshakes and hugs. I have all of them in my life, still. I did not lose them. Had I lost them I would not be here to write this. But the curious thing I took away was what caused tears when it was left behind. That which I cried over and those that cried over me in those goodbye moments were made of incomplete and unresolved stuff. The remorse was in the regret of opportunities not taken, friendships not deepened, and lives not interwoven. I am trying to remember that sting so that I do not live in this coma where all that remains to me are the tears of loss and no hope of gain.

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To Whom It May Concern.

I still suck.

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This End Up

When reason and emotions have failed is there a third alternative? Or, why limit the possibilities? My self restricting limitations seem to be the undercurrent running over, under, through, and even, permeating the stuff of which I am. This is essentially the “riddle of the ages” question of labeling and identifying “ME.” I am pondering all of this as I am alone with my own thoughts and feelings entirely too much for my liking. And, people keep asking me how I feel with seemingly more intent and interest these days. I am really not all that concerned with how I feel. My feelings are not reliable indicators or even necessarily associated with anything of substance. That, I suppose, is the real rub for me. I do not feel connected, involved, or, engaged in anything other than consequence. I have had nothing to be about doing and nothing of any importance to say for a very long time. I do not even have busy work to distract me from the banality of my daily routine. So, what am I all about?

Besides the age old question of “Why am I here?” and “What is my purpose?” comes the more direct question of ”Why Bother?” I have the “opportunity” to reinvent myself, yet again. I really don’t want to. While I actually don’t have the chance to be anything I’d like to become I still have occasion to be many other things than what I have become. But? Why? All of these sorts of exercises are supposed to be for self benefit and be because they are the things that I want for myself. In reality, all such efforts are to placate detractors, dissenters, and well-wishers alike. I am simply tired of it all, tired of myself, tired, tired, tired. The thrill is gone. My life is endless drivel.

The entire quest of the past six months to return to my latest career (and reinvention of self) ended in an all too expected but entirely undesirably protracted way. Had someone merely decided they were going to abandon and then dismiss me months earlier I could have made different plans and pursued another course of action. Now, I am dazed and angry; disenfranchised, stunned, and immobile. I have no luxury of capital at my disposal to be selective and must take on some very unappealing work to try to extract myself from the muck and mire in which I find I am sucked under. How do I feel? Please refrain from asking such questions if you REALLY care about my well being. Also, add the following other attempts at concern for me to the list of topics to avoid; in fact . . . let’s list them all:

1) How are you feeling?
2) What’s new?
3) What have you been up to?
4) Has there been any news?
5) Why aren’t you rich?
6) How come you’re single?
7) How are your children?
8) Have you got a social life?

I’m sure there are others but those nine pretty much test the limits of my civility in not going blind with dismay mingled with rage and screaming unpleasantries at the person who has asked them. The reason I get so testy about those questions is that (in some cases every day) I have to remind the same people how much I despise those questions and have repeatedly asked them to refrain from asking. So, I suppose the truly frustrating aspect for me is the general indifference and lack of attention I am paid by my friends. That alone keeps me mostly occupied so that I do not extrapolate the data to the logical conclusion that if my “concerned friends” care so little to oblige my requests then how vastly uninterested in me does that make everyone else? Right? If the sympathetic souls – aren’t ??? Never mind.

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Out, Out Damn Spot - Plodding Along

I am totally devoid of describing how I feel, right now. I am at a loss for words. This is seldom the case for me so I am forcing myself to write something – anything. I really just have too much empty space: in my day, in my life, in my heart, in my head. I am purposeless and pointless. It is a painful place to find one self. Yesterday, I was enjoying conversation and expectations. I was involved and engaged in trying to live. I had some lively interaction, but most importantly, I felt alive because I had a person that encouraged me to live again. In less than a day that person has experienced too much and has retreated. I can not criticize their decision. It is the right one from a practical standpoint. I am weary of practicality. I am so weary.

Nothing terrible occurred and no bridges were burned. Simply, feelings ran high and hearts sank low with the acknowledged fact our worlds must not get intermingled. Those bridges spanned the chasm of isolation and despair for me. Now, that road will not be on my possible paths of future hope. I was packing for a journey which I will never get to take. Those bags seem so heavy, now, while my anticipation feels so meaningless. Every other thought causes actual pain. My heart slows and I wish it would cease to beat altogether. I have had enough of being. I no longer care to exist. I have no way out. I have no way forward. I have no way through. I have no way at all.

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Hampered - Is It Time To Trash This Blog?

This is going to ramble and wander all over the place. I watched some television last night. It’s not that I am above sitting in front of the tube it’s only that I get seven channels (three stations clearly enough through the static) as I’m not in a financial position to afford cable and when I get cleared to return to work I won’t be here to enjoy it so why pay for it. Anyway, I watched David Letterman (variety talk show for parts of the world where that name means nothing) and I watched an episode of Frasier.

There are very few celebrities that make me notice. I was never a guy that had posters of the super models or TV stars on the wall. It’s just not something that draws me. But, every once in a while I do take note of a personality and I hope that I can distinguish the difference between the real person, and a character portrayal that I fell in love with, if that person were ever in my world. It is interesting that I’m about to mention two names where their acting is quite good but I have never been attracted to them for that reason. I am pleasantly engaged by their real-life personalities. Back to Letterman. The first of those two women for me is Julia Roberts. I find her real and incredibly quick on the draw and last night she was both of those things and I was so wistfully wondering why I never had anyone like that in my life. I immediately thought of the other woman that I have incredible respect for – especially because she has had her fair share of adversity and has not been beaten down by it. That would be Nicole Kidman. Both redheads (although only Nicole is a real redhead) and I hope happily and permanently married with wonderful children. That’s all I ask for in this world are women with spirit, character, poise, brains and grace exhibited under pressure. Those two “do it” for me. I left the end of that broadcast . . . happy.

Then, I left the television on while I thought about composing a blog post and Frasier came on. There is history with that show and maybe that was where the first clouds started forming. My wife and I watched that show, and laughed, together. It was one of the few sweet memories I have left. I am so uncomfortable with Frasier, now, for the loss of that bond and especially for the fact I too easily identify with his pompous character, pretentious nature and total self-deceit as well as conceit. While others may enjoy the show and wonder what it would be like to know such a person I watch and wonder what it would be like to not be such a person. The episode I viewed last night hit me hard. Frasier had just broken up with an ideal woman and was on a binge of trapping his family and friends in a room where they couldn’t escape and pontificating about his woes. His father made the poignant observation that Frasier would always fail to keep a good woman. That sent him on a road trip to a secluded camp site where he intended to clear his head. Along for the ride, however, came the emotional and mental baggage of his first and second wives, a lover who had jilted him for another, and, his dead mother. The first discovery for him was that all had left him. All had abandoned him. I don’t have the mother complex. I never saw my mother as anything but my mother. She was never the model for all other women and she has never been my ideal. She was the first of a string of enablers but all that shows is I’m manipulative – nothing about anyone else. But what I couldn’t run away from and couldn’t turn off the TV to escape were the rest of his conclusions. He was so determined not to have women reject him and to be left alone that he made certain women rejected him and left him alone. Ouch. The second conclusion was that he never actually left any of those women. They were with him all of the time and influenced every past, present and future decision and especially his relationships with any new woman. No woman was ever allowed to stand or fall on her own merits in his life. Triple ouch.

I was absolutely devastated by that program. I didn’t actually get to sleep until around four, this morning, because of the demons that dialog awoke.

I am in a very inflexible and confining time of life. I have all of the guilt, debt, and responsibilities of all of my life from before to the present without any of the good things to make it bearable. I am afraid to meet people I know. I have not contacted my children in months because I fully expect to blurt out something like, “Your father is a failure and a fraud and it would be so much netter for you to treat me as if I were dead.” The love and trust of my children and their total belief in me is too painful. I can’t align it to fit into any part of the reality I am enduring. I have gone since February without a paycheck while waiting to be cleared, medically, to return to work. I have applied to and been rejected by menial jobs from gas station clerk to fast food restaurant help. How is this possible? As a consequence I have lived off the charity of family and friends. I can’t wait to get back to work to take that additional burden of daring to love me off of them. It is something I consider all of the time that I should finally surrender; just give up any last vestiges of hope and drop out to join the homeless and hopeless and forgotten. I'm not far from that at all. I am terrified of the fact that I fit the profile. I could be living in a box and engage the hapless passerby in a knowledgeable discussion of world events or Quantum Mechanics. I simply doubt I am able to continue to function on the level necessary to remain even on the fringes of society. I am isolated and alone and I am now chasing away and discouraging the few who have stuck by me. I am so ashamed and really scared all at the same time.

I lost my previous comforts and crutches and I haven’t recovered. I found a job that pays well but offers no other reward. I took that job for the money and it had just started to give me the means to settle old obligations and even to contribute in meaningful ways to my children whom I have not seen in three years. This month, June, was going to provide me a vacation where I expected to visit them and at least demonstrate I was functioning. My nine year old son actually worries that I have no place to live and no food. How can I live with the knowledge a child is deeply worried his dad is suffering? I hope he doesn’t comprehend where my real suffering is occurring. But, my health crisis in February has taken all of that away. I’ll have no vacation until another year passes, at least. It will then be a minimum of four years since I have hugged my children or heard their voice while looking at their faces. My daughter is thirteen. My sons are nine and seven. I don’t even have a recent picture of them to know what they look like and how they’ve grown. My children were literally wrenched from my arms at an airport five years ago. I have those memories of a three, five and nine year old being dragged away crying and screaming to stay with their father in front of me everyday. All they have known since is disappointment and broken assurances and promises.

So, if the tests which I am taking next week are good I will finally be going back to work. I will be driving a tractor-trailer across the country. That is the last thing I ever anticipated doing occupationally. As I said, it pays the bills and does so better than most other available legal means. That I will get caught up on my bills and obligations will be a relief but the life will be worse. Right now, I sit in an unfurnished apartment. I take advantage of an unsecured wireless router to have the internet connection that I use to post these blogs. But I hear the children play outside and the noise of people going about their day and I am still somehow connected. You – whoever you are that read these things – are my only contact with the outside world. There have been two women that have regularly commented on my posts and I have had some wonderful email traffic back and forth with them, as well. They are young, rightfully enthusiastic, energetic and busy. One shares my passion for writing but she is doing something about it and things are starting to happen for her. And, they should. She is a dynamo. The other is a scientist and appeals to all of the technical and professional things which satisfied me as a younger and ambitious man. They have both tried to prop me up. That has to stop. I can not let my manipulative ways use these two women as additional enablers in my Frasier psychosis. They also are experiencing and sharing things I can relate to in their posts. They are seeing things from the start when such things are new. I am seeing them when they seem as if they’ll never end and all things are old. One has longings and desires for both her art and her family and I believe with my whole heart she will find fulfillment in both. The other is studying her own behavior as well as that of the world around her and although she has struggled with bouts of isolation and frustration, hers have known beginning and end dates and she may look forward to known relationships in professional and private life that are secure and stable. I have none of that. I have been waging this war for decades. They have not. I wish them better success than I have had but I haven’t much fight left. They are also women. Not as fragile on the inside as I am.

I have friends and family that claim to be impressed by how I bear up under my current struggles. There is nothing there for me to take credit. I simply continue to breathe under the crush of consciousness. There isn’t any fight left – only a superstructure that has yet to yield and buckle. I am on one knee trying to catch my breath and as I continue to get beaten down I am asking why do I keep trying to stand up? My adherence to my spiritual and moral and ethical beliefs will not right the wrongs of this world. I am not some heroic figure that has the hopes of mankind in his care. When I ultimately collapse and finally fail for the last time I will go out with probably not even a whimper. Beethoven, was in a coma for the last ten days of his life. He awoke from that condition during an intense thunder storm, said, “This comedy is over,” and died. I will have no one recording anything I say now or at the end. I have not brought beauty or light. I am slipping into the ugly dark.

When I am in that truck I will be in a mobile prison. Truck driving is like solitary confinement. You are alone and alone with your own thoughts. I will be given a few minutes a day “in the yard” to get out and exercise my legs and visit with some of the other inmates and try to avoid some others. One of the first misconceptions I had to alter when I began driving was that truck drivers were the loner types who like the independence and freedom from family and normal job responsibilities. No. That’s not really true. That’s the exception and not the norm. A great many of the men I’ve met have stories similar to mine. They had families and other careers. Divorce, financial troubles and other hardships and heartaches brought those men into trucking just as it did me. I have heard stories to make my misery seem trite. But, because there is no release or escape from yourself as a driver the few moments of contact with other human beings are strained affairs. Too much or too little is said. Crazy thoughts and ideas get argued while you eat and plan your next stop. Between the racist garbage and conspiracy theories are the bragging rights and political arguments and the resolution of all the world’s problems over a glass of iced tea. The waitresses are often worn and more tired than just from a long shift. It is sadder for me to see women in the company of men like us and know they’re having it hard, too. Then there are all of the half-hearted attempts at flirting and choked cries for affection and attention from the men at the counter. And when you’ve had your fill of that there is the hollow sound of your boots to keep you company on the way back to your truck. If you aren’t wired with a TV and a laptop and a wireless broadband connection you are in for more solitude – just enough to chase you to seek refuge in sleep. The next time you awake the cycle starts all over again. There’s always that knock on the glass of your door by the pretty little drug addicts selling themselves to the drivers with money and nothing else. Depressed, yet?

Well, here’s where all of this is going. Soon. Hopefully, very soon I will be at least earning a paycheck and trying to remove some of the debt hanging like a vulture over my carcass. I do not have a television or a laptop or a broadband connection in my truck and I will be on the road away from “home” (my little apartment with the stolen wi-fi connection) for typically three weeks at a time. Despite all of that there is limited internet access while on the road but it is only sufficient to check my empty email inbox. I will not be able to post other than the two to five days I will be home per month. I am seriously thinking to let the bills continue to wait and use my first influx of cash to purchase my new lover – a laptop. Even so, I am looking at the world through an even narrower lense, at the moment, and wondering about the fate of my blog. This blog is my digital head. I am carrying all of the baggage of my unresolved and disappointing issues around and putting it on display as an attention seeking device. If I pull the plug I am in essence removing my own life support. I’m just wondering if that isn’t what needs to happen. I have an audience that has far more voyeurs than those volunteering to contribute their thoughts. What do I need that for? It is now the time to reflect on just what I am trying to do and say in the blogosphere and why I should continue, what I should continue, or if I should continue at all. I thought I was releasing things – letting go and moving on. I’m not so sure anymore. I’m tired of being kept company by only my own thoughts and the minuscule contributions by others are insufficient to make a life-altering impact. Where is the stimulating conversation I anticipated? Where are the me-changing discoveries? When will this comedy be over?

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Winner of the Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pissed on, again. It's a gift, really . . .

I have had yet another of "those" weeks. They are now far too common for me. And, just when it seems like external forces have conspired more than enough to keep me down I volunteer to finish the job myself. I really am my own worst enemy.

I am out of touch and out of step with the world. I already knew this but hope springs eternal. Such hope, in fact, that I found myself particularly low and thought I'd give an old friend a try at a conversation.

In fairness to them I really went for the gold and went way overboard to try to get a response. I sent off an email (my emails are like my blog - too long) and left that person at odds as to how or to just what to respond.

Now, I've probably scared them away and won't hear from them at all. So, I'm back at the keyboard broadcasting my distress signals to no one in particular. And no one in particular is replying. I am so not a part of the current "scene" that I wouldn't know where to insert myself geographically much less socially in a conversation. I was never the club kind of guy and to try that now would make me the cliché'd old guy. Forget that.

So, I'm pacifying my urge to be a part of the group somewhere while I write to imaginary readers. All of these little messages in bottles that I'm just tossing out and waiting for the winds and currents to change and help me reach out to someone.

I guess when you are on the losing end more often than not it 's supposed to make winning all the more sweet. Well, at least I've got this T-shirt . . .

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I'm Estrogen Free! Ask Me How!!!

I have way too much time alone. Others would happily try a day or two, and perhaps longer in my place. But, I have never been the typical guy in looking to get away from it all. In fact, I generally look to get into it all. Besides, those looking on are not gaining the experiential knowledge of my circumstances. For example - when I have time then I have no money. When I have money then I have no time. Worst of all? When I have both time and money then I find myself depressed and I have no interest. The really "awesome" days are (you guessed it) when I have no money, no time and no interest. I spend a lot of those moments in asking what am I really living for in light of all this. My current life consists of seemingly wonderful attributes which many men have admitted to envying. These would include:

• I am single and not involved in any romantic relationships.

• I work in an industry where I travel all but about seventy-two days a year and am never in the same place more than a day.

• As long as I meet the deadlines my company ignores me.

• I earn a good income - My overhead and expenses are roughly one third of my monthly gross.

• Most people have no idea where I live and if my email and cellular telephone accounts were canceled I would be untraceable.

• My ex-wife lives thousands of miles away and contacts me very little.
  

On paper, I live an idealized lifestyle. What is neglected or forgotten to be mentioned whenever my friends review these "benefits" are the following:

• I am single and not involved in any romantic relationships.

• I am never anywhere long enough to enjoy a social life or make plans to even lounge around and watch a ball game.

• From my divorce, bankruptcy, and foreclosure AND IRS tax lien I am still in a financial hole with no tangible assets and nothing to call my own.

• I have two, male friends and my mother as the only remaining human beings that call me to take a vested interest in my well-being. I occasionally get a call from my children (whom I've not seen in nearly three years) but that's so depressing let's not delve into that any further.

So, for my friends who are wistfully dreaming to take my place I always ask them revealing questions such as, "How's your wife and the kids?" "What are you doing, tonight, when you get home? This weekend?" Or remind them that I can't work on any hobbies or much other entertainment as not much is portable to travel with me in a duffel bag. And I commiserate when they are struggling to figure out why their relationships are difficult sometimes without trying to always remind them that at least they have one to work out.

Then there's the sex thing. Even men have commented on the looming shadow my libido has always cast. One friend described my drive as, "a large house with a three car garage." Women who were merely acquaintances felt compelled to comment on several separate occasions that I would never need to worry about old age diminishing my interest. Sadly, they were all correct. But, that house hasn't been on the market for a while and it looks like I'll be the only one living there in my golden years.

And that brings me to the ego grinding elements of this situation. My pride has really never been comfortable with the whole "Man Needs Woman" thing. Maybe because I'm living in denial that it's primarily true but I think more because of the socially upheld insinuations that men are weak when it comes to women. There's plenty of supporting evidence but I refuse to be the poster child. Also, I very much resent the verbal slaps and inferences that whatever went wrong must certainly have been my fault and the vulture-like hovering of those waiting to watch me wither and die simply because I don't have a woman to save me. It is incredible how many women are slack jawed that I can take care of myself, prepare actual meals and basically appear to function like an adult human being; All while working without a net or the requisite feminine influence, apparently. For their sakes, and their psychological stability, I do improvise masculine sounding faux pas for seasoning when I tell them how I'm doing. Any woman that resents the stereotypes of the damsel in distress needing to be rescued by a man because she is helpless to help herself had better understand why what I'm describing offends me. While some of my favorite songs have a man professing his undying devotion to some heartless bitch who doesn't even notice what lengths he's willing to go to for her so he's compelled to spell them out - crawling, begging, working himself to death - whatever. - I'll be damned if that's going to be me. But, that doesn't mean I'm not damned already.

I think wanting a woman is a far more powerful message than needing one. I am not a player. I'm not after conquests. I don't have an agenda for collecting women for any reason from massaging my ego to any other part of me. I want to love one woman and I want to be married. That's it. From the time I was five years old that has been my ambition. Love is not a matter of chemistry, gamesmanship, bait and deception. It isn't a romantic wet dream. Love is an act of will. It is entirely volitional. I dare you to find anyone willing, however.

WARNING: I'm about to bore you with reminiscences of my life experiences with women. I'm doing this as a man that believes the last chapter has nearly been written on this subject for me - so humor me.

My history with women has been the catalyst for enjoying life but if you want to piss me me off you may ruin it by quoting, "Behind every successful man is a woman" and I might just smack you. (Show of hands - how many just wrote me off as having "issues?"). I was only five when I made the journey into my pursuit of happiness - girls. I grew up in the Northeast, in a major city during the 1960's. You could still safely walk to school, which I did in about twenty minutes depending on what caught my interest along the way. It took longer to walk home, after school however, because my kindergarten class had nineteen girls in it and I needed to escort each one to her door and give her a kiss. To think back now on what a curious sight this must have been really makes me smile. Also, the fact that as I arrived at each door that the other "Ladies in Waiting" would cluster together and await my return from the departing girl's front stoop is just so full of mysteries. That I thought nothing odd about this and that girls were so willing to wait their turn, as it were, is just amazing. There's a fascinating study in psychology and all sorts of other "ologies" bundled up in that. Needless to say it established a precedent that never caused me to pause and give much thought. I simply showed intent and they responded in kind. Only one of them took things a little too far. I still vividly recall the look of my teacher glaring at me while, Sherri, hugged and kissed me during story time . . . Sherri then sent me a Christmas card and I had no idea what tic-tac-toe X's and O's had to do with signing a card until my uncle explained it to me. I shrugged that off and a few years transpired where girls were the other creature that took up space in the classroom and of no other use until about third grade. There was A girl. Even to this day she is the stuff of wonder. Her name was Thordice Olafson and we called her "Disa." She had an older sister, Inga. They were from Iceland. She had a wonderful accent to her English and I was smitten. As you can tell she hardly left an impression on me at all. I barely remember any details about her . . . She probably set the archetype for my preference for brunettes with brown eyes. Sigh. She very sweetly told me she was not interested in me and her family moved over that summer. Thus opened my fascination with the irritating, whispering, giggling things with long hair and knowing smiles. I spent lunch with the girls and let them fight over me - well, more whatever candy or snack was in my lunch. I learned how to sit and observe and listen to all the gossip and "secret girl stuff" and I learned how to be funny and ate up every bit of attention they gave me. That's when I began drawing and writing and probably anything else that girls noticed and appreciated. I was addicted.

Junior high school was not as awkward as it should have been. Circumstances thrust me into a small, private school and I became popular because I had no competition. I started finding the few hidden "dirty books" my dad had in his closet. Found a copy of Masters and Johnsons and discovered not only was I not the first person in history to have an orgasm but about all sorts of strange and curious "practices." I had my first real girlfriend and she is another, like Disa, who makes memories about women nothing but sweet. The girls always initiated and opened the doors to new territories. I was just a willing participant and a quick study. My junior high girlfriend taught me about French Kissing and how exciting holding a woman is. She also taught me that a girl can convince herself and you she is madly in love with you one minute and be totally over you the next. Wish I had committed that knowledge to memory for future reference. My classmates were all reading romance novels, though, and I was too distracted by being told about their lusty dreams about me to learn any valuable lessons for life.

High school was in a different state with different rules of engagement. I was a nerdy guy with a big mouth who was on the fringes from day one. I transferred into the model for every high school angst movie that would be made in the 80's starring Molly Ringwald. It was a small population of very wealthy, ignored children of the leaders of American industry. I was a sophomore that no one knew and so was dismissed as a freshman with way too much attitude. It was a slow climb out of social leprosy and an even more glacial progress toward the female student bodies. There were so few opportunities for me to date that my father actually sat me down and asked me if I were gay. It didn't help that I had gay friends among the artists and intelligencia (of which I was unaware until they started professing their love to me) or that the few girls I did approach left no doubt they wanted nothing to do with me. I had one wonderful friend that had all of my same interests, was super sweet, filled out fuzzy sweaters like no one else and had long strawberry blonde hair. We wrote poems and shared our collective pangs of unrequited love. She was my greatest supporter and kept everything I ever wrote, convinced that I would be famous. We would show up at parties, alone, and ultimately find each other and spend most of the evening snuggled up in a chair consoling each other with promises that one day would dawn where our pining for someone to love would be over. We cuddled, maybe kissed but never pursued anything further. It is quite possible I was just too stupid to realize she was making herself painfully available to me. I couldn't. I loved her too much, if that makes any sense.

And, other girls finally started taking notice and I was too busy trying to take advantage to reflect on what might have been. The drought was finally over and I suddenly had some sort of grass roots reputation spreading that was making me a desirable product. The only thing that set me back after that was the fact I wanted to remain a virgin. A high school age guy that wants to be a virgin defies logic or rational explanation to almost everyone. I know. That's why I'm not even going to defend it. Suffice it to say that not every guy is after just one thing just like not every guy can't live without a woman.

No, Dad. I'm NOT gay.

This choice of mine caused two schools of thought and response. The first school was a group of baffled girls whose only experience prior to me was, "That's what you do. A guy takes you out and you put out, in trade." Some of these girls had been so deprived of any trace of love and only known the physical act for so long that my refusal short-circuited their wiring. The other school flat out interpreted my refusal to sleep with them as rejection. That, and the expense I would cause them in batteries. See, I was already looking for something that no one else around me at that age was: permanence and devotion.

This pursuit of mine was not something most were looking for as I moved into my twenties, either. It might explain why I found myself dating women mostly five to ten years older than myself as a consequence. I was looking to find my wife just as most women were shifting to the idea that wife equals bad. Being a virgin in your twenties, especially dating women who haven't been for quite some time, makes for very interesting situations. The truly odd dichotomy in my resolve was that I wanted to be a virgin when I married but I did not expect nor require that the woman also be a virgin. Again, I wanted to be a permanently married man and prove I was serious by what I didn't bring with me into marriage.

Did I succeed? Nope.

In another of those familiar situations where I followed along blindly in arrangements made by a woman I lost my virginity to someone who was merely curious if the experience would be any different (better?) with a virgin. Her curiosity being the only thing satisfied from the experience - she was gone.

Was I a victim? Certainly not.

That doesn't mean I didn't feel robbed and cheated. In fact, as I wrestled with my moral failure (during the very event) it was a numbing greeting when she looked at me and disappointedly exclaimed, "That was it?!?"

There it is. I somewhat succeeded yet all at once failed. That's my true history. After the virgin-killer I didn't sleep with another woman until I married in my late twenties. My wife was definitely worth the wait. But now she's gone. I have said in other posts it is not likely that she'll be back. But, just like the want to be a virgin when I married I wanted that marriage to last my lifetime even more. One other curious thing is that almost all of my relationships were ended by the woman and likely because of my inertia or unwillingness to accept its demise but I really don't think those are valid reasons. I found what I wanted by having those women in my life. But, each found that I wasn't enough for them.

I hold loyalty and love above all else.

I have not been with another woman in the over five years, since my wife left. I don't want to say that without a woman I can't function - but, I haven't felt like living since. When other women that I dated left I had a simple policy - "Don't think that you can come back." I meant it. But, a wife is a whole other thing entirely. I believe marriage is not revocable. That's what distinguishes it from all other relationships. For my wife (I mean, ex-wife) the door is always open and the light is always on. That doesn't mean that I am pining away and wringing my hands in her absence. But she's not replaceable and what left with her is conspicuously missing from my soul. If I didn't feel her loss I would seriously have to question my love for her. I just have no answers that solve any of the questions that I know to ask. And I have no idea what the questions are that I should be asking. I made a vow and I see no way that I can break it; even when I am so miserably lonely or turn to share something with her and remember she's not there. As cliche' as it has become, she is my best friend. I'm also not without some serious appetites for demonstrable affection.

There's another ridiculous female accusation for you - "Men are afraid of commitment."

Because of my commitment I am likely facing a life sentence without possibility of parole. I am bereft of the promise of any intimacy in my future. I am very much estrogen free out of necessity. I do not engage women in any conversation beyond polite pleasantries nor spend too much time studying their eyes or smiles because I don't dare do anything that encourages the slightest flicker in them or me. I am a very hollow remnant of my former hopeful self. I no longer have the benefit of my muses and going cold turkey from the influence of women in my life is the most empty thing I have ever experienced.

I wish there were an alternative. I don't know what to do. The vulgar answer would be to simply apply an estrogen "patch" and hope my symptoms abate but that has too many risks and complications. Besides - I won't cheat on my wife.

Read more! Don't question me [click here] - DO IT!!

Do Not Resuscitate

I have had a wonderful life. I've also had a miserable life. I've been extremely fortunate, however, in far more ways than I have not. I am telling myself this more than I am bragging to you. The simple facts are clear that I have been blessed to be me.

Now; Somebody make me believe that.

It's not that it isn't true but my own focus has been so introspective and the gravity of my present situation has been so disproportionately increasing by orders of magnitude as to leave me mesmerized by the vortex which is trying to suck me under. I have no fixed points in time or space to allow me to get my bearings and secure any stability. I secretly LOVE this but I'm trying to be pragmatic and learn from this rather than just experience it. Yet if I were suddenly to die I would be totally fine with that.

Does this make me the eternal pessimist or realist? Am I simply looking for an escape? I know that's a component but there will be no neat and tidy little synopsis that sums up all of this. As far as the pessimist tag with which so many people hasten to brand me - get a clue. Just because I recognize that there is bad as well as good does not predispose me to negativity. I'm actually and genuinely looking to live. I just haven't done any of that in a long time. I wake up with this thought too often: "Damn." As I warm to consciousness the mind rapidly evaluates just exactly what "Damn" encompasses. It's the anecdotal summation to the death of a thousand sighs. Almost without fail I conclude that it means that I am disappointed in finding I am still breathing.

I don't believe in an afterlife - because death is only another turn of the wheel. By that I mean to say that once you ARE . . .you are. Forever and ever. I will not cease to be. The tragedy is that I will not cease to be whatever and whoever ME proves to be and that can be the frightening conclusion after death. So, I am not longing or wishing to die. I would not kill myself as I would not have any means to. That's the cruelest cut. If one believes they will terminate whatever present afflictions torment them by taking their life . . . How? . . . they have no power to cease to be. If one can not cease, entirely, then what is the point?

At first blush you might suspect that I am an anguished soul looking for redemption. I've found that. I am secure in that. That has not been an issue since my childhood. What has been an issue is my ability to observe the follies and glories of humanity but never translate what I have learned into action within myself. Almost all of my activities are a sort of anthropological experiment I conduct, with one exception. Anthropologists strive to be invisible and to observe the culture without coloring it by their presence. I deliberately seed, water and encourage the germination of my influence in social functions. Manipulative? Yes. But I am by no means a puppet master. I get strung along just as easily as everyone else.

So I am not satisfied but not necessarily does that mean I can not find happiness in the midst of strife. However, I am a person that likes to experience the limits of human emotion and interaction. I force myself into people's conversations and lives before I wait for an invitation (because it may never come). I love to be center stage. I am at once both entertaining and frustrating and I know this. I just never shy away from getting to know someone regardless of whether they share my interest.

None of that has been possible, lately. I am in a crucible of solitude. My family, long-time friends and even associates are all physically and emotionally removed from me at this time and I am suffering. I am isolated.

I am going through exploratory surgery without anesthesia and eyes wide open. That's alright. I prefer it that way. I just hope to wake up from all of this feeling whole and surrounded by those I love. Otherwise, if you have any say in the matter: Do Not Resuscitate.

Read more! Don't question me [click here] - DO IT!!