Today I woke up in a world where I am a terrible human
being. Not only because of things that I may have done, things that would have originated
in my active mind to be carried out by me in the real world, in opposition to
morality and common decency, but also because of what I am, which is depressed,
and somehow incapable of simply snapping my fingers and magically becoming
cheerful and well adjusted, and also being a man that is so out of control that
he cannot even sleep without snoring.
People are telling stories about me. Stories that are
neither flattering, nor true. I am not now aware of the details of these
stories, but I know that they are in the air, and I think that I know in which
direction they travel. I have a hunch that they would, if they were true, make
me a much more interesting man that I actually am. So I’m on a fence about
confronting them. No, I’ll settle for the real me, the dull me. If the rumors
are in any way exciting, they’re probably not true.
The rumors serve a purpose, and that purpose is my
demonization. Oh, my friends, I have counseled you all recently not to get
involved with beautiful women, and I would add to that to never, ever get
involved with women who have anger issues, women who awake every morning to an
entire world of people and things that infuriate them, women who hate their own
parents and at least half of their siblings, who hate most of their friends,
and who virulently hate almost all of the rest of the world on general
principals. Don’t do it! No matter how beautiful they are.
Why would anyone hook up with such a woman? Marry her
and try to make a life with her? Stick by her for forty-plus years, raising two
nice sons? Well, for one thing, there’s the beautiful bit, and she was plenty sexy
besides. For another, she was very smart and well organized. Those skills would
come in handy building a family. I also knew that she was adrift herself in a
world not of her making, and that she was unhappy in the extreme. We shared
those conditions. I stupidly thought that maybe by forgiving her peccadillos
and loving her unreservedly I could make her happy. And maybe she would forgive
me mine. More fool me.
Of course, she ultimately kicked me out. After five
years of exile I filed for divorce. Of course, being depressed, I blame myself.
Of course, in the eyes of my ex-wife, my sons, most of my family, my neighbors,
the friends that were “our” friends (and even some that were “my” friends), and
the world at large, all of this is massively my fault, exclusively. It’s always
the man’s fault! I make matters worse by living in Thailand. When people hear
that, they’re absolutely positive that I went Cuckoo For Coco Puffs and am just
here for the girls. Which, just to be clear, is not the case. I came to
Thailand to make a living and to be able to afford a decent lifestyle. I know
what you’re thinking, most of you are on the Pussy Crazy side of the argument.
Ah, well, it does tend to make me much more interesting than the quiet,
unassuming man that sits at the keyboard before you.
I might as well get on board; this train is ready to
roll. Think what you want, world. I’ve got shit to do.
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