For the last year, I’ve been residing in a small apartment. One I affectionately call my “shitbox studio.”

It’s quaint. It’s quiet. Actually, it’s very quiet. We can’t hear noise from the other apartments. Nor can they hear ours.

On Christmas Eve, the boiler went out with some flourish. Since then, I’d have better luck betting on the zeroes at the roulette wheel than on whether I’ll have hot water.

Annoying? Yeah, to say the least. A crisis? Nah. I’ve lived in the country. I’ve been a homeowner. I understand why it’s taking time to ascertain whether it can be fixed... or the water heater has to be replaced.

What I find amusing, however, is how many of my friends are losing their shit over this. For me. Like, why?

I can take a shower at Clarissa’s. I can go to the gym. If neither is available, I can shower at a nearby truck stop.

Hell, I can channel my inner Wim Hof and dive into a cold shower!

The latter, I have not done... yet.

This is turning into an exercise in resilience. Something that my friends apparently do not possess.

Do I live in the “slums?” Maybe. Is this grounds to break the lease? Possibly. Is this the end of the world? A dealbreaker? Not at all.

Why are people so... entitled? Is hot water for a shower not... a luxury? Aren’t people in the world struggling with less?

No, I’m not going to move over this. I am mildly annoyed that I have to keep an overnight bag—one I keep ANYWAY because of my tendency to wander spontaneously—and go elsewhere to shower. I am mildly annoyed that I have to heat water on the stove to do dishes.

But I like the coziness of my apartment. I like the quiet. I do not intend to stay here forever, but I do intend to stay here a little while longer while I contemplate the next step. And finance the next step.

Perhaps, my solution is not to state the fact that I have no hot water... no matter how amusing I find other people’s reactions. Because I’m not complaining.

Other people need to chill though. It’s not the end of the world.

Anyway, it’s time to go on a quest for a shower and begin my day.

Here we are. I’m another year older. Perhaps not wiser.

No. Wisdom is fleeting.

Spent most of the day with my favorite girls. Enjoyed some of the most glorious sleep of my life. May have even begun planning a return to the nomadic lifestyle.

There really aren’t many constants in life. And if you can come up with more than I can, you can probably break them down to fit into two... maybe even just one category.

Disappointment. And change.

Change is absolute. Nothing now is the same as it was two minutes ago.

Disappointment? Well, as I think about it, disappointment is the effect of change. We expect something. It didn’t happen (quite as expected, at all, etc.).

At any rate, I’m not dead. Perhaps that final disappointment is truly waiting for me to actually write something meaningful.

And I have been writing. Some original content. Some notes that mean something to me that I’m saving to put into my own words. Some notes only intended for my beloved’s eyes.

Is she becoming my beloved? Is she already? Yes, she is my beloved. I will likely never know if I am hers, however.

The way she looks at me, it’s unmistakable. She can’t always believe I am real. Believe me, sweetheart, I think the same thing when I look at you.

Yet, she’s afraid. Very. Perhaps fear is a constant in life as well... and that is worth revisiting at some point.

She’s afraid to surrender to love. Those scant moments when she does, the current that flows through our skin is sensational. Truly electric.

She’s afraid she will ruin my life. Yes, there are consequences to our past decisions, and yes, we haven’t dealt with a lot of those yet. I am perfectly capable of ruining my own life, thank you.

To be honest, I fear I have ruined my life to the point where I don’t want you to have a part of it.

Until I watch your beautiful body as you walk out of the room... and back in a few moments later... and I don’t want you anywhere else either.

Damn. Are you for real?

Anyway, this new year has the potential to be the most trying—and the most rewarding yet. For both of us.

If only, I could get a hot shower...

Capricorn season has arrived. Time to shine!

There’s a reason we’re the GOAT, after all.

So, I’ve had a casual interest in star signs, yet never really a deep dive. However, since I’ve been seeing a Scorpio who’s a true believer... well, the algorithm has caught on to that and I’ve learned more about horoscopes than I ever could have imagined. For better... or for worse.

And somehow, this affirms that we’re a really good fit. Not just physically.

That, and our birthdays are next to each other on the commonality list. I’m № 282, she’s № 283... an uncommon miracle.

Enough nonsense for today. Make way!

Twice in two months. I seem to be devolving into a vessel for disease. After nearly two years illness free.

I suppose this is how life goes.

It’s been ages since I’ve used a common cold as inspiration to write, yet I’ve been allowing ideas to stack up in my head with no release. Like a pressure cooker. So, now is as good a time as any.

Better than using a cordless drill to open up these clogged sinuses, no?

Perhaps this illness is manifest. Stress related. Okay, maybe not. I don’t feel stressed. My blood pressure is as low as it’s ever been. And my sleep largely unaffected.

Yeah, I’m stuck. It feels like I’ve returned to a third world country. I can use a lot more money. And while I enjoy this young woman I’m spending so much time with, I question whether or not she’s truly my girl.

The way she looks at me. The sensation of her touch. The softness of her kiss. The calm I feel when she’s near... unlike anything I’ve felt before. Yet, we have so much still unsaid...

So, for now, it’s time to work on me. A neo-philosophical life. One where I can sit and read and write all day. And make stupid money doing so. All while being increasingly aware of my present. And letting go of my thoughts. Lose my mind and come to my senses.

That is one benefit of illness. Struggling to take each breath. The chapped lips. The swollen airways. Makes you appreciate life. Without thinking about it.

It is hard to think about stupid shit when you can’t breathe. When you’re in pain.

Okay, maybe not... considering the desperation has me contemplating that drill. For the second time in the last ten minutes. Or a menthol-coated straw forced up my nostril. Breathe! Breathe!

There’s no time to rest. I’ve an empire to build!

What i'm listening to:

i like the way you kiss me
Artemas
yustyna

It seems, as humans, two things we crave are understanding and simplicity, which if you think about it, actually work against each other.

Nothing is simple.

Yet, we get such a rush of dopamine when we UNDERSTAND something.

There are layers to knowing. This “understanding” referenced above is the first. We get it. But that’s not enough. Because what is “it?” How can I explain “it” to someone else? So we have to contain it. Label it. Generalize it.

Yet this label... is not “it.” In spite of that next endorphin rush...

And this is where humility is useful. Because, in this age, it is a temptation to rush to the socials. To post “it,” as you’ve pictured and labeled it.

The generalizations scream at us! Women never change! Watch for these red flags! Don’t text her back right away! Don’t double text! Don’t let her waste your time! Don’t buy drinks for a woman you’re not fucking! She’s not that into you!

Lord, the toxic cesspool that is social media ruins us. Tricks us into believing we understand. If only, life were that simple.

Wait. Strike that.

I’m grateful life is not that simple. That people are not that simple.

Do red flags exist? Certainly. Are they an indicator that we should simply walk away? That depends.

Look at the beautiful person in front of you. S/he attracted you... that’s physiology and not a choice. Just like you attracted her/him. You want to invest in this person. To get to know him/her.

So, we get to know each other. Are any of us perfect? No. Excellent? Maybe a precious few. Damaged? Yes, likely. Broken? Probably.

Face it. We’re all broken.

Social media declares it a triumph to walk away from her/him upon the display of these “red flags” (another generalization, no?)—you didn’t waste your time!

Understand. We’re all flawed humans. We pursue pleasure and avoid pain. These are primary. It takes a tremendous amount of discipline to apply judgement to these pursuits. Yes, there are consequences to each decision, but that is the spice of life.

That’s what keeps it interesting.

We’re exposed to such nonsense—garbage, honestly—about walking away. Saving yourself. Protecting your peace.

And maybe, sometimes that’s good advice. Generalizations CAN be helpful.

And turns of phrase. Diamond in the rough, for instance.

We all have red flags we exhibit. Few of us are totally honest—even (especially?) with ourselves. We can get to know each others thoughts and idiosyncrasies and even complete each other’s sentences... and still be total strangers.

This is me. Trying to put “it” into words. Because “it” is valuable to me. To us. And I’m failing. Not utterly, though.

Because I didn’t walk away. Because I know she’s broken. I accept that. I see her.

And she sees me. She is learning to accept that I am broken. No one has anything figured out—because there isn’t anything to figure out.

We are learning how to love each other.

For some odd reason, Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew popped into my head this morning. Perhaps that was his attempt to capture “it.”

She is no shrew. She is her. A lost soul who has made some poor choices. Why do these generalizations DEFINE us by these poor choices? A lost soul does not equal a lost cause.

Except, again, this is not a RULE to be chiseled into stone. The axiom “A leopard cannot change its spots” exists for this reason. Maybe it’s because these people were failed. And continued to be failed.

Which is why it is important for me to see this woman who’s stolen my heart. And it’s important for her to see me. Because we are evolving. Each of us is better, at least partially, because of the other. I haven’t been able to judge her, because I am aware of some of my own flaws. And through this, she is learning to do the same.

At some point, she became my mirror. Perhaps she always was.

And when we don’t think about it too much, nor try to generalize too much, we actually fit together beautifully.

The worst thing about Thanksgiving is that my autocorrect will replace “thanks” with “thanksgiving” until May.

What i'm listening to:

Misled
Kool & the Gang
Emergency

The algorithm found a meme for me yesterday.

Nobody talks about how change doesn’t require motivation.

It requires disgust. You don’t transform because you’re inspired. You transform because you’re finally sick of your own excuses. Disgust is the strongest fuel there is. Embrace it.

It’s not wrong. This is why I’ve stopped progressing. Hell, my wheels aren’t even spinning.

Comfort is one hell of a drug!

Do I have wants? Desires? Certainly.

Needs? Not so much.

Ironic how my desire to perfect the art of doing absolutely nothing hasn’t fulfilled me at all. While it is a goal, it is definitely easier to have something (at least quasi-)tangible to work towards.

Like when I was determined to weigh 140 for my class reunion.

Or determined to adventure Bucharest on my own.

Now... I’m clearly not disgusted with my disinterest in getting out of bed.

When it gets down to it, all of the motivation and inspiration in the world is fleeting. Humans crave comfort. Rest.

Yeah, it’d be cool to make a bajillion dollars before the year’s out—and I can point to at least five Instagram influencers who will help you do it—but you aren’t lacking motivation. Nor inspiration.

You are not disgusted with your life. You are content to do your time at work/school. Then go home and play video games until you’re sufficiently numb. Maybe scroll some social media reels. Have a snack and a nap and do it all again tomorrow.

And I am not sufficiently disgusted with my life. Perhaps, awareness of wondering why I am not disgusted with my own life will begin this... because my life is not great. It can be so much more.

Compensation alone is a poor motivator. And family/friends who don’t share your vision will destroy any inspiration. When will you be disgusted with your “lot in life?” They don’t want to see you improve. They tend to like you as you are.

Should I be disgusted?

It’s time for a change. I know it, deep inside. I can feel it.

As much as I love this li’l space and this platform, let’s face it.

I have no audience.

And if I want to write for myself AND others, I need to find another platform. One that has an audience.

Anyone remember LiveJournal? I recall stumbling on so many different blogs there. Time wasters, all.

But now there are platforms for writing that means something. And I want to write something that means... something.

Of course, the options flood in: Medium. Thought Catalog. Substack. Something else? Do any of these have a clear advantage? Or disadvantage?

Especially for a horny, old misogynist like me? Because, in today’s cancel culture, that is something to keep in mind as well.

And then what becomes of this space? And the nearly 1,000 posts of content?

This. Is a big step. Yet, one I need to take.

Was it your lips?
Was it the sex?
That’s left the aftermath of you
Still pounding in my chest

This song I wrote for you
This song’s what got me through
This song’s the only weapon left
To get me over you
Lesson learned
Love ain’t fair
Even burned the bed we shared
This song’s in memory
In memory of when I cared

Our tears of joy
Raged like a flood
We made a vow we would stay together
Blood on blood

But I’m still here
Just like a ghost
Feeling your skin against my skin
That’s what’s killing me most

What i'm listening to:

In Memory (Of When I Cared)
The Bacon Brothers
Erato