Friday, June 15, 2012

Giving up

(The evidence of my defeat)

Not much time to write today.  I woke up late, meaning after 5am.  I will have to try to finish this post when the boy takes a nap.  If I can get him to take a nap.  Yesterday I had to drive him to the In-N-Out Burger in Petaluma to get him to sleep.  The car almost always puts him to sleep.  Still, he only slept for just over half an hour, and driving the car is not like sitting at my desk writing.  But those burgers sure were good.  And the milkshake, chocolate, was delicious.  It all helped the hot dogs make their way through my system, I hope.  It has been an assembly line of digestive carnage down there for days.

Something left over from last night, notes from my phone as I was drifting off to sleep.  I had gotten yet another vague electronic hint that I've somehow "given up"...

I cheated on my wife.  I feel really, really bad about it.  That I did this in the baby's room does not help.  That I performed this evil inside the baby's crib, with his pacifier as a clitoral/anal stimulator, only heightens my shame.  But I can't wait to do it again.  I remember the mobile scratching my back from above, and the wood from the crib creaking madly with our illicit joy.  There was a childhood melody floating past, as the soundtrack to our wickedness. 

Honestly, I can't take it any more.  I have gotten so many texts and emails suggesting that I am no longer who I said I was.  I've simply decided to lie about everything from here on out.  All because I've had a child... sort of.  

Being happy is not perfect, but neither is it necessarily a retreat from character.  I still make mistakes. They're just new ones, ones that might not interest my old friends quite as much.  Ones that don't involve me making as much of a public fool out of myself, but instead mistakes that just leave me feeling foolish at the newness of life. 

The paragraph above is another fiction, by the way.  Cheating hasn't been one of my traditionally recurring mistakes.  

I simply got tired of being tired of who I was.