The next chapter...

It's now clear to me that I am damned to live alone. In my excess, I have alienated virtually everyone that I love. Those I've wished to love most likely smelled my plague, like rats sense disease, and were content being my pal. It's only in my most painful low that I can see up to a world filled with disaster and emptiness. Through my morbid intrigue of horror, I watch my self driving anxiously down the highway to hell toward a closed exit ramp in a burning car. The road is paved with my good intentions, each one in dire need of repair.

If you're interpreting this as a "poor me" pity party, a silent cry for help or a case for attention, piss off. It's a blog, for Christ's sake. The digital toilet in which we shit the current events we've consumed and eventually flush when they are no longer of value. This is my dump and I'm taking it.

As for the bed I've made and will now sleep in, it's cold and built for two. In my attempt to exorcise my demons I've grown closer to them. They are to me a comfort now, like an abusive spouse you wouldn't dare leave for a long walk through a vast wasteland of singles. Millions of hearts in the world that can't seem to find a good enough match to settle for. And why, if the bottle is cheaper and the devastation less apparent.

I hate it when people quote divorce rates to me because I don't fully subscribe to marriage in a traditional sense. Lumped in with all the Eharmony success stories are all the grown-apart high school sweethearts and forced unions for the sake of a bastard child. The numbers are skewed. Besides, marriage is based in religious values, and most religious people have loaded values. Plus, everybody is fucking each other whether anybody knows or not (just check the soaring number of global AIDS cases. These people weren't just rubbing elbows).

I'm looking forward to meeting all the intriguing single people with their uneducated, self-centered observations and asking them, "when was the last time a gyno scraped all the finger nails and Nuvarings out of you?". It's almost a lost cause to imagine a single woman with a good job and no freak baggage. Were this the blame game I'd have veritable host of targets: Asshole guys, pedophile uncles, Hollywood's image distorter, religious dereliction of prevalent contraception/sexual acceptance information, and the list goes on until there just aren't enough fingers to point with.

And maybe I'm part of the problem. Maybe, in my agonized writhing, I failed to remember how I negotiated a girls trust for a chance to party. Maybe, in my flailing tantrum, I misplaced the memories of neglecting the people I love to fulfill selfish needs. Maybe, but perhaps that's what it really is all about. Being selfish. Maybe years ago, before the "divorce rate" spiked, people were better together because they were less selfish. We are all empowered nowadays to be independent, outspoken young consumers chasing our dreams. But what happens when everyone is chasing their dreams and not working toward a greater good? When we all want to be socialites, actors and reality-show contestants, who's going to take care of the sick? We've all lost sight of how the power of family and giving keeps the world balanced. I guess we're just expecting all the fat and ugly people to do it.

Here I wallow, festering in my own reconstructive impotence, trying to grasp the greater meaning to save the world and maybe land a date with a nice girl. What a feat for an asshole guy like me. They speak of being up Shit creek without a paddle, but they fail to mention what it's like when your canoe flips over.