Yesterday evening I admitted to two people that I have no girlfriend.
And, by extension, that I have no wife, or children, or actual family, and more or less have given up or forfeited the chance of "domestic bliss". Because, as everyone knows(!), a masculine entity at fifty four (which is what I will be in two weeks), is NOT likely to discover the joy of getting hitched or starting a family.
Which, also as everyone knows(!), is a very great joy.
Fifty four years old. That's geezertude. No matter how full of beans and energy the individual in question actually is. I still feel springy as all heck, but the role of buck antelope belongs to younger men.
At this age I am in many ways finally the person I wanted to be several years ago. I know more now than I knew then, I am more capable of using several languages than ever before, I can quote odd poetry in several tongues.
I have become a fairly intelligent person, and a calmer man.
But my apartment mate is unaware of that fact.
As are any number of other women.
Remarkably invisible.
A vibrant mute.
Quite possibly I am not bad looking. But I am no longer a young fellow. Not quite the bull of the herd. Consequently, I spend whole weeks and months dreaming of intimacy - closeness - happy flirting - and the physical radiance of bright young things, without actual contact with anything remotely like that, or in fact anything at all.
I suppose my "love life" would be quite "interesting" if I simply singlemindedly explored all possible random opportunities.
Conceivably lively, in a sleazy sort of way.
But.
But.
But.
But.
Sometimes one just doesn't pursue the matter. Maintaining decent social relationships with others is far more important than ruining everything by bold suggestions or blatant haam sap eyes.
The discreet man is more acceptable.
An unused secrecy.
Oh crap.
At times I envy my apartment mate. She disappears for hours on end to spend time with her boy friend, and comes back looking radiant.
Something must have happened; she's smiling.
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Often while at work I get to hear the sour old dingbats in the backroom spouting Republican drivel and venom. Which does not leave me positi...
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Is "wheelie boy" extraordinarily attractive or sociable?
"Is "wheelie boy" extraordinarily attractive or sociable?"
I don't think so. But evidently she does. The extraordinary part, that is.
They both have Asperger's syndrome, so trying to figure out what she may possibly see in him is a crap-shoot.
Whatever it is, it is a quality that I quite probably lack.
Perhaps they spend their time discussing philosophy.
And perhaps the fucking is only peripheral.
"Perhaps they spend their time discussing philosophy.
And perhaps the fucking is only peripheral."
I would much rather imagine that than think in any way of their sex life.
Yes.
Philosophy.
Wheelie Boy is probably a superior intellectual being.
Yes.
Intellectual.
Do not think of peripherals, do not think of peripherals, do not think of peripherals....
Actually, it's none of my damn business what they do in addition to discussing philosophy.
Or anyone's.
It's.... peripheral.
"Yes, god's cause IS a spook!
Yes, harder, harder!"
What the blazes does that mean?
I have stated my case on nothing.
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