Saturday, January 19, 2013

What, me worry?

What other possible explanation can there be? I must be bored out of my mind; arguing with strangers online. I'll admit that I have been a bit vampirish, using others to cull opinions not my own, often only to denounce them. Though there has been a distinct sense of having fed on them, having been weakened by proximity. To what eventual use? I go back and look at a post from a few days ago, one in which I was making others' assertions for them, and it is all gibberish; mostly gibberish.

There is a simple solution. It will require some minor will power. My eye must stop glancing at the various open tabs on my browser, checking to see if there has been a response. I must stop caring about that which I pretend to care. I have been pretending for so long that I have become consumed with it. I must log off and leave it. Perhaps I have only been lonely. Nobody warns you that having a child can produce such immense isolation. I am needed more, but cared about less. 

My new mantra: read more, socialize less, and write.   

Not the most beautiful of mantras, but it's mine.

I had been reading about 100 pages a day only a few weeks back. I don't know what happened. Well, I do know what happened... I got sucked in by the poltergeist that is my computer. 

I have been paying my gym membership for two months now without using it once. Ok, I went once, 15 minutes before closing. But you get the idea. At my age the body begins to feminize when not forced to retain its strength. My estrogen levels have slowly increased until I have a nice juicy vagina between my legs and two hairy breasts sagging towards my belly. They have their charms, I suppose. But I undress with less and less confidence when Rachel is in the room. I'm afraid she's going to challenge me to a pillow fight, and I'll lose. I'll wake up wearing her panties and a grass hula skirt, wondering how I got tied up, then remembering it all: the naked limbo dance competition, the shameful loss, her immoderation in victory. 

There is a strange feeling associated with going in to pay my gym membership when they haven't seen me in so long, and I have had a few beers. I stop by the water fountain and hydrate, maybe take a piss, etc. Let them charge my card and try to make small talk. "Ah, I see the treadmill's fixed. Cool, that must be useful."

What the fuck is wrong with me? Rachel and I were having sex and it felt too much like doing a pushup so I laid by her side, then fell asleep. When I awoke one of my titties was getting crushed underneath the weight of me. I was sore but not worried, though a mammogram at my age makes sense. I don't even have a gynecologist. 

Should I be worried?