Sunday and Stuff in Book Five: Working Through the Maze 2018

I did not sleep well last night. Hell, I barely slept at all last night. I was playing video games until 2 a.m. and then I couldn’t sleep after that. My mind was just… cycling through some stuff. Mostly cycling through how I was not where I wanted to be in so many ways. In an attempt to at least focus my mind on something base and easily achieved, I decided to watch some adult videos and maybe “pump one out.” Instead, I fell asleep to Pantyhose videos (Jenna Haze and Sunny Leone). My phone woke me up at 7 a.m. with my Dad texting me to come over for dinner. I accepted. I’ll have to clean the apartment before I leave, though. Even if I don’t get laundry done and even if I don’t get cooking done… this apartment needs to look as good or better than when Wife left or she’ll be super stressed out.

Days like today I feel like a joke. I mean… I want a satisfying life with purpose and money and sexual satisfaction.... but at the end of the day, what am I? A thinker… a writer… a speaker… in the Communication Age. Had I been born in a time where communication wasn’t ubiquitous, perhaps I would be considered special or valuable. But in an age with the highest literacy rates of all time… when children can send a message around the world in nano-seconds… my so-called talents don’t exactly set me apart.

Sorry. Ignore me. I shouldn’t be so down on myself or even this negative. It stems, likely, from a lack of sleep and my default self-confidence setting. I should explore that a little:

Back when I was in Theater, I felt (passably) attractive for a few reasons. Granted, I didn’t actually feel attractive until Sophomore Year when people started really enforcing that idea. You see, the make up and hair people were very complimentary. Apparently, I had fantastic eye lashes and wonderful eyes and I had hair that was soft and fun. The female thespian president (an attractive older woman in her own right) saw me mid-costume change once that year and gasped. I was known for always wearing a long baggy coat so nobody really knew what my body actually looked like (unless they came to swim meets). The President stated, very matter of factly, that while I wasn’t “cut” or “svelte”, I was thin and had a body that I shouldn’t be so ashamed to show off. Senior Year, I have to admit, my toxic and dangerous relationship with Aku likely lasted far longer than it should have because she made me feel attractive. A woman who wanted my attention so much that she would wear a skirt and nylons, simply so that while I was driving her to school she could pull up her skirt to give me a nice long gander at nylon legs? A woman who enjoyed changing clothes in front of me so I could see (and compliment) her 36C chest? Yeah. That kind of thing is exactly why that relationship lasted longer than it should have.

And because of that… it is probably why I never had something like that again. Equating sexual advances of that nature to such a dangerous relationship probably had me scared off from pursuing anyone that would treat me like that. If so, it would explain how I ended up with Wife. Especially, it would explain how I ended up with wife instead of Shannon. Thus selecting a woman that made me feel like a walk-on role in my own life. A woman who makes me feel like “I could have once been attractive, but that was easily 80 pounds ago.” A woman who has specifically rejected any fantasy or desire I’ve shared. I know I whinge a lot on here about this. And I get that a lot of people would say (have said or will say) that all of this is just evidence that I should get divorced. But that isn’t how I was raised to view marriage. In a world of temporary and disposable items; marriage is the thing that you work on until there is literally no other way. Do I feel shitty that my Wife doesn’t make me a priority? Yes. Am I upset that Wife makes me feel unattractive? Hell yes. Am I hurt that my desires are of no interest to her? Fuck yes. But there are still a lot of things we can try. Maybe her therapy will work. Maybe I’ll get sexy again by going to the gym. Maybe I’ll get a job somewhere and develop a flirtatious at-work relationship with someone… thereby feeding my need to feel wanted. Anything can happen, right?

If I was a smarter person or a better person, I’d use my time trying to improve something. Get better at cosplay, get better at video games, get better at creative writing… something. Instead… I just feel like a hamster in a wheel. Running forward, hoping that something comes of it.