TAKE ME - I'm trying not to care what you do with me after that

A Welcome Reception

After my friend’s wedding, I of course, enjoyed the reception. I had such a good time feeling almost human. It’s fun, and I’m told healthy to pretend, sometimes. One of the many highlights of the experience was to meet a friend of the groom’s with whom I had only “spoken” through instant messaging a couple years ago. I was what I still am today and she was not far removed experiencing all of the same pain from the opposite spouse point of view. I had abruptly stopped communication at that time among many of my sincerely stupid moments of smashing what could not be incinerated in my life.

I introduced myself after speculating that the lovely, tall blonde with the handsome man at her side must be the co-worker described to me by the groom. Those two extremely charming people were stuck with me the rest of the night. I latched onto them and they were too nice to shoe me away. They were inundated with a numbingly detailed recount of my past twenty years. Fortunately, there was alcohol to anesthetize them. Talk, talk, talk . . . Blah, Blah, Blah . . . oh, today I feel bad about it but last night there was no stopping me.

Despite all of that I did come up for air occasionally and really enjoyed watching the relationship of “M” and “L.” (Initials have been used to protect the innocent.) “M” is so far down the road from the misery she had experienced those two years ago and “L” was just a great guy. He had gone through his own hell right along with us at roughly the same time. They got a few words in every now and again and I got to find out how they met – all good, good stuff. It was not lost on me that I was enjoying my dream played out by two different couples at the same event. The bride and groom had advanced to the bonus round but “M” and “L” are right on their heels. I can not stress enough how hooked I am on this pair. I hope I get other opportunities to be in their company (provided I have been properly medicated, of course). Either of them alone just leaves you thinking, “Wow! What a NICE person.” When the two are put together it is just remarkable. They were genuine, real, and they loved each other.

So, when I finally had to relinquish my death grip on the two of them and began my drive home the bottom fell out of my emotional bucket; All of these divorced people who had allowed themselves to find new loves – better loves. Then there was me, the stoically constipated dork losing more and more of that warmth I had just enjoyed with every mile of distance from the hotel. That’s what I keep doing; I keep distancing myself from what I really want.

So, I awoke this morning with what to me was a revelation. I had an epiphany. No. There was no heavenly light or choirs of angels only the usual stray headlight beam and hypersensitive car alarms.

I Want To Be RAVISHED.

There it is. The secret longing of my heart is to wake up to find myself being molested by a woman without reservation. I have searched for her forever. Before I was married, while I was married, and now in my solitary confinement I am still searching the classifieds for “Woman Seeking Man to Rape.” Where is the stalker waiting for me to turn on the shower? Where is the mouth to member resuscitation? Where’s the public groper in the red dress?

In an email discussing this with a happily married, curvy squishy bit critter with a thousand insights into my soul her reply was basically, “Duh – Stupid.” Well, she actually was more polite and said, “That's exactly the vibe I get with your blog.” Great, so everybody knows what’s going on but me.

She then concluded that I’m too conflicted to get out of my own way. I know that’s why I want to be sexually harassed in the most graphic of ways. I tell myself that if I were found in the clutches of a sexually secure woman who took all the initiative without any negotiation, bargaining, scheduling, asking, or pleading from me and could claim I was a “victim” that she groped me or took me in the most inappropriate places and at the most unexpected times that I would be ecstatic! I tell myself that a lot because I’m still trying to convince myself. Damn!? I’m pulled in two contradictory directions and I figure eventually I’ll wimp out and succumb to what will amount to a quickie fix (as in "Quickie," and, overdose) that will not fix anything at all. And the longer this nonsense goes on the less secure I become. It absolutely is not like riding a bike. You don’t have to kiss a bicycle. I’m becoming so ridiculously insecure that I couldn’t manage to go in for a kiss so there’s no chance I’m cool with any extra-curricular activities. (Although, not entirely true - those other activities have more tolerance built in for awkwardness.)

I can’t make the leap to man whore that this dilemma seems to deem as necessary. I’m not the dangerous, bad boy type that would make things easy. It’s damn pathetic and these are not the credentials of a man who’s seriously got a chance of getting any. Mrs. Squishy Bits told me I’m too cerebral to operate from my impulses. Well, doesn’t *THAT* suck. I take risks with everything else in my life and am able to self-destruct without a moment’s hesitation but I can’t bed a woman because I’m so morally superior. No I’m not – I just want to be. I am “complex” as my friend loves to quote to me from “The Money Pit.” I am sure he’s right but it’s the complex that I’m developing psychologically that has my attention. Mrs. Squishy Bits also dared to point out that I deny myself the notion I am allowed to have joy in my life. Joy would have to be the name of the man rapist that I’m looking to attack me to have hope of it in my life, now.

What should I do? Better yet, who wants to do it to me?

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we get to where we are by living the way we DO

I attended my friend’s wedding yesterday. It was terrific. The ceremony and most of the reception were outdoor events (located at different parts of the same venue) and the weather was nearly ideal. The first impression feel and ambience was “Happy.” I’d say that “Content” would better describe the mood. My friend was relaxed and smiling, the bride was the usual bundle of nervousness, anticipation, and excitement and she was beautiful. Not that she isn’t, usually, but she just had that glow a bride should. Despite my own less than ideal life I was honored and very glad to be a part of the lives of two people enjoying love and each other.

I got to see some friends and acquaintances I’ve not seen in a long time. It felt good to fit in and belong, again. I tried not to weigh people down with the details of being me when they asked about how I was and what I’d been up to lately. Some of it slipped out but only to a select few. I was deliberately not trying to dwell on me and fortunately with the great location, great couple, and wonderful guests I didn’t have time to think of me at all.

The thought that created this post was while I was preparing for the wedding. Brushing off a suit, polishing some shoes, and actually dressing as a reflection of my love and respect for my friends – both the bride and groom, had me reminiscing about the “me” I see before I look in a mirror. I used to prepare a suit on a regular basis. Now, I’ve worn that suit twice in a year; one funeral, one wedding. The man in the suit was and still is the image of me that is the most natural and real. The opportunity to be that person, again, is nowhere near any mirrors that I pass these days.

So the thoughts running through my mind about my friend’s long nightmare finally coming to an end and his loneliness being replaced by the love of a truly wonderful example of a woman had me contrasting where he and I took different paths. The conclusion that I came to was that it was not a matter of one having chosen better and the other making a mistake. The paths each of us took were certainly the correct ones for each of our situations.

I simply understood that we get to where we are by living the way we do. That may seem underwhelming and obvious but the truth is found where one places their focus. Living is doing. I have not put much effort into the “do” part in quite a while. So, even with my still wrestling with my understanding that if I am sincere in my convictions I must remain single for the remainder of my life my heart is not in it all the way. I am not living because I am not doing anything about that. I need to decide if I’m going to toss out the path of most resistance which would require me to find contentment only in my daily pursuits or if I am going to abandon myself to my passions and desires. Either way I need to do something – anything.

Even saying that . . . here I am. I’ll let you know if I ever do even a single thing about it.

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Fits Me to a "T"

Here I was going along all righteously indignant and mad at the world and one of those curvy critters with the squishy bits got in here while I wasn’t looking. Now the whole plan to hold a grudge and incite riot with my inflammatory posts is in serious jeopardy.

She was here for one afternoon and now all of my stuff is being boxed up and tossed out in the garage. All of my sulphur and brimstone has been reupholstered in pastels and frills. (Is that Fabreze in her hand . . .?)

See what happens when you listen to women? As the bumper sticker so aptly remarked - “God, made Man, and rested. Then, He made Woman and no one has rested since.”

Man, she blind-sided me! She caught me off guard with her feminine wiles by flattering me with a comment on one of my posts. Next thing I know she’s making helpful suggestions about improving my site and I end up spending the next day and a half totally overhauling and renovating the joint. Even put a room addition on, the left margin column with the greeting and labels and stuff to “Let a little light in this place so someone might visit.” She thinks this blog ought to be warm and inviting. The Nerve!!!

You know what I say? IT’S ABOUT TIME!!!

Surely, anyone reading my blog knows it’s a pitiful attempt to get attention. My one friend has assured me my blog will either bring in women to try and fix me or women that really want to kill me. He is very smug in predicting that either result is exactly what I’m after. Of course, he’s right but what’s that got to do with anything? Now, this still doesn’t make the world a perfect place. I am grateful for a friendly feminine touch in my life but my overall lot in life remains the same. The woman in question is going to prove to be a wonderful sounding board for some creative projects and I hope to be the same. But, I’ve still got the “single for life” syndrome to contend with as I try to establish relationships that don’t cross any boundaries or send false signals. Right - Lots of luck.

The problem with the squishy bit critters is they’re so darn hard to ignore. Thank God this is a medium without face-to-face interaction. A smile or tear from one of those double X chromosome things and I’d be lost. If they continue to actually participate in my posts with comments I’m liable to forget myself and write a lengthy entry on how wonderful a woman can be. The thought sets my teeth on edge and makes my spine cringe.

I must remember my mantra: “Women are evil, Women are bad . . .”

. . . Where . . . did this ring in my nose come from?!?! What the . . .?

I’m really losing the battle, now. I don’t know if my heart is in the fight to stay away from them anymore. My friend is getting re-married in two days and I’m more excited than he is. (OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration.) The woman he is marrying is wonderful and I’m equally pleased for both of them. In some ways this will alter our friendship and I will have to suffer the loss of monopolizing his time. You know what? It’s so worth it to see what a difference having her share his life is making. I love that guy and to see him happy, again, doesn’t make me jealous or envious it just makes me glad that the right thing can still happen in this world. I just don’t have a map for the world I find myself in at this time.

So, I keep looking at that pink silhouette on the above T-shirt. Am I not supposed to desire someone standing there with me like that? Is there a reason for me to remain alone, but somehow not lonely? Is there a fit for me with a new love and a woman whose form is only a shadow to me now? I have no answers. I know how I feel. I know what my longings are. I know I could easily chase after the first woman willing to stop and talk to me. That’s so pitiful. I also know that I won’t indulge myself and that I will spend a good deal longer hemming and hawing and watching time run away from me because I’m too unsure where to place my next step. Even getting lost is so much better with someone by your side.

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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.

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This Space Intentionally Left Blank

Welcome. This blog was to have begun ten months ago but I took the route to jump in over my head and attempt to generate a blog from scratch. Rather than take advantage of existing tools and simply get to work before inspiration and enthusiasm waned . . . etc, etc.

So, those who stick around or are morbidly curious and return from time to time will likely find the aforementioned scenario a recurrent theme. I will set out to re-invent the wheel and I will get side-tracked by sexier or more complicated wheels and then the wheels will ultimately fall off. However, I will categorically deny any personal involvement or knowledge of events of or pertaining to anything resembling a . . . what was that . . . a w-h-e-e-l, did you call it . . ? And, I will have moved on to my next unfinished (but glorious) vision. Those escapades as well as this blog are all to serve the same purpose as everything else in my life: my amusement.

To be fair, this anticipated generation of random chaos is to exercise me of my own thoughts by indiscriminately broadcasting them to humanity. That it is entirely possible so doing will inflict harm on others is something I will endure and accept (philosophically; not legally). I have to listen to my own thoughts without any leniency or mercy. If you visit this site then it is obviously self-hatred and not my fault.

This blog will be a reservoir for anything I find amusing, provocative, disturbing, absurd or intolerable. Obviously - Women, will be the primary topic.

There will be occasion for many to argue I am a misogynist - irreparably damaged and now lashing out in my pain and inner turmoil. I adore women. Any (well, most) conflicts involving matters of the heart have my own fingerprints in evidence, too, but I am not one to roll over and take it. Fortunately I am not experiencing anywhere near the pain I suffered ten months ago when I looked for relief through creating this as a means of therapy. There will be moments where some of what I experienced then will ooze out, I'm sure. There will be less uttered through grit teeth at this juncture.

Which brings us to the other side of the coin. I will not be endeavoring to sell T-shirts. This site might eventually become hated or popular enough to support such a diabolical marketing ploy but I selected the T-shirt theme for much more of its pop culture influence. It is one of those social commentary "catches" for me - like gum stuck to my shoe - that we cannot or dare not speak openly to another human being but we will print anything we want on a bumper sticker or T-shirt. So, I am going to express myself (not that I am ever reserved in doing so) but in a forum where I expect you and WANT you to react and THINK and respond. Not too many of us challenge what confronts us when a car rolls past or a T-shirt crosses the street. I seek to give you that opportunity.

My former brother-in-law and also one of my through thick-and-thin friends both urged me to create a journal or some other means to get everything in my head out in some rational format. This blog will be that medium. But I am tired of only having myself with which to share ideas and I need the stimuli of those willing to take up the gauntlet. Especially if you disagree with me. Please.

So you can have a sense of who you're reading: I am a mid-forties man that is looking to refine rather than re-define myself. I didn't have the luxury of a mid-life crisis as everything I ever wanted is gone. I was part wronged-party and part idiot. I do not believe I will seek out another relationship other than cerebral affairs with women. I am roughly five years divorced. The lovely and talented former wife wants no contact with me that presents me any hope of a second chance. My firm belief in the sanctity of marriage means that I must accept I am now a "lifer" as a single man. With her went our children and my only plans for the future. I am starting over in my career and my social contacts and I do all of this of necessity and not of choice or with much enthusiasm. I am not looking to be whiny or pathetic. (But, Hey. Some people just have "it," you know?) This blog is a means to discover if there is anything remaining wherefore I might look forward. This Space Is Intentionally (but, optimistically) Left Blank.

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