As humans, why are we so coy?

Are we not still animals? Why are we the only animal who will—even has the capability—of talking ourselves out of sex?

Weird, huh?

Were I currently capable of finishing a book, I’d likely discover that it’s part of natural selection. And ensuring that selection is sound. A good return on investment. Yeah, maybe that’s it.

Society, civilization, and the world are moving at a crazy speed. Information that used to prove __ is now better at misleading. Enter social media and the fact that anyone can spout an opinion which goes “viral” and becomes some new “truth.”

Interesting.

Plus, biology’s definition of success and society’s definition of success diverged long ago, much to the chagrin of the old white guys who’ve been running the world for so long.

Society’s success makes us soft. Comfortable. With no reason to endure. Perhaps this is why I seek the will to live inside her. But I digress.

Biology has long favored endurance. Survival. A deer with the impulse to pause before crossing the unnaturally hard surface has a far better chance of creating offspring than one that scarcely notices the ground surface changed while walking. Curiosity wins the day.

Polite society taught me that it’s bad form to ask too many questions. “Don’t be nosy.” “It’s none of your business.” These ideas become indoctrinated in us. Children are meant to be seen, and not heard.

Several of us, learn to question this idea. So we learn curiosity again. I wonder, if this curiosity is the same innate curiosity we are born with, or if it is somehow different. Something curated. Created. A mashup of biological curiosity and polite society’s curiosity.

And it is apparent that some of us are better at letting go and connecting without thinking than others. This must be the biological curiosity coming through.

Society tells us to plan. Prepare. “Choose wisely.” So, a Mexican girl who is curious and attracted and eager and willing finds her mind inundated by the crippling self-talk. Ageism is real. Racism is real. We create preferences. We steer toward comfort.

Yet that biological craving is real. She is drawn to this old, white guy. She has yet to have truly mind-blowing sex. He can see it in how she walks. She is hesitant to disrobe for yet another night of disappointment, yet her body is curious. His touch tends to feel incredible—taking her places she’s never been before.

That look in her eyes. Amazement. The instant softening of her features. He’s just shown her something about her own body. Orgasmic. She collapses onto him. Spent.

We think so much, we have no idea what we’re capable of. Everything we are lies in the unknown. All we need to do is let go.

And before you know it… splash.

How do we let go? Unlearn what society has taught us and listen to our biology again?

In the moment, she is grateful she followed her impulse. She will never forget him.

Yet orgasm is not a permanent state—a blessing and a curse. Eventually we have to get dressed and return to “real life.”

Polite society demands it. Our bill collectors demand it. Our jobs demand it.

How do you obtain a doctor’s note—which your job is demanding—after spending a week in bed drenching the sheets?

No wonder we lose touch with our feelings? We lack balance—at least in the western world. Society dictates we must bury the mind-blowing—the taboo—in shame. The desire to spend a week off work gets buried in guilt. Yet this is our biology.

No matter how much we think we can think ourselves out of acting without thinking, all we are doing is thinking ourselves out of sex and into extinction.

We just need to begin by speaking our curiosity. Our desires. Our expectations. That’s all. Can we?

Interesting.

Sometimes starting over looks like a mattress—albeit, a made mattress, complete with all of the trimmings—on the floor.

No box spring. No frame. At some point, those will be nice. Some decisions need to be made first. There’s a cool floating bed frame on the Amazon I’m eyeing...

My best friend looked at me, incredulously, after I told him that she and I spent 72 hours in bed. Wearing nothing.

He looks right into my eyes. “Do you really want to be with a woman who sleeps with a guy who has a mattress on the floor? And stays? For three days?”

Wait. I AM that guy. And yes. I want her. Here. Every. Night. Bed frame or no.

I can’t believe we’re even having this discussion. Am I supposed to postpone dating, fucking, et al, until I get my life together enough to get a bed frame?

Hell, maybe I am doing this life thing... wrong. Because I am... minimal. Because I don’t want... stuff. I don’t want anything that won’t fit in the car when it’s time to eject.

That day may be closer than I think. I still want her here though.

She wants more, yes. So do I. Yet, she doesn’t judge me because my apartment is... sparse. At least it’s quiet. No one can hear what we do. We can’t hear what others do.

Do I fear losing her to someone who can offer her... more? Maybe. I’m not naïve enough to believe that all we need is love.

She is drawn to excitement. And drama. My life currently lacks excitement. And always lacks drama.

Yet, she loves the “experience” I offer her. Is she susceptible to the experience another may offer her? Of course. She is my butterfly. I will enjoy her while she is present.

Attended a comedy show last night. Had a good time. There’s some great comics out there! And some… less great comics.

Next thing I know, ideas are flowing for my own bit. Brainstorm active. These are good! Sister agrees.

Let them marinate overnight. This morning they improve as I shower. As I drive to work.

Finally, the opportunity arises to get them down… open up the laptop.

To a browser tab. Nearest Jack in the Box. No longer in the area. Now over two hundred miles away. I was curious, because there was no longer one where I drove by a few days ago.

Switch to my writing app to jot down the idea.

What idea?

Gone. Nothing. Fuck.

…

Fuck.

Now, I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes staring at the blank page. I recall something I wanted to add to my bit back in November that somehow isn’t in my notes… so it’s added now.

Last night? Still an utter blank.

Fuck.

Why are we like this? Brain dump. Absolute.

So, now what? Do I continue to stare at the blank page? Strive to recall last night? State of mind? Do I free write what’s running through my head in its absence, which results in a piece of writing no one else will read?

Relax? These things return when we least expect it, right? How to relax though?

And what system can I put into place to ensure this doesn’t recur? Do I need to employ voice notes? Start the laptop from a fresh state so there are no distractions when I open it up? Time to carry a notebook so I can jot ideas down?

Fuck. Still nothing. I don’t know…

And I don’t know what I don’t know. Full circle. From adept to inept.

Hmmm… that’s clever. Maybe that can be used for something. But it’s still not the brilliant bit I had in mind last night and this morning.

Maybe a nap will help. Why can I recall last night’s dreams? That never happens. Anything to take the place of my own brilliance, I suppose.

Fuck. No wonder I lack self-esteem. I excel at hiding my best stuff from myself.

…

Fuck. And here comes the headache. From the strain, I suppose.

Let me venture to say that life is like a comedy set.

Endless.

And not very funny.

You’re sitting midway back. In the audience. Tepid, watered down drink in your hand. Waitress nowhere in sight.

The comedian tries. Each joke fails to land. Not even groans from the audience. Dead silence. Almost zombie-like stares. When is this jackass’s three minutes up?

Staring at the red light. Craving it’s illumination that indicates it’s done.

The light remains dark. The drink, unappealing. Another joke. A miss.

Is this eternal? Possibly.

We don’t know what’s next. We don’t care. Me? I’m past caring... and have been for most of the set.

Now, the comedian is focused. On me. Jokes still not funny, yet I am the butt of the joke. Still no laughter. From anyone.

I just want out. Escape. Make it so.

A pretty girl from the next table checks me out. She likes what she sees.

No, honey. You don’t want any part of this. Trust me. I’ll only break your heart. I have little, if anything, to offer you—besides a penis and a good time. I’ve learned, throughout this set, that is not enough.

So, I shrink. Hide. Behind this drink. Damn, it’s gross. Where is the waitress? Does she think she won’t get the tip?

Just the tip. Haha. My jokes are funnier than the comic’s.

Will this eternal set—this hell—ever end?

“I must not scream. I must not scream in front of them. I must stay. I must not listen to my mind. I must not run off the set. I must not run. I must not run! I know — I know I’ll break down. They’ll find out I am weak. They’ll find out I’m in pain. Oh, God! What God? I will break down, look like fool, an idiot. They’ll find out I can’t act! Can’t act! Can’t act at all!

“End of the vision — well, there must be a way out, and my mind is telling me there’s a way out. You get a nice, cool gun...”

Why am I surprised? I’ve been engineering this outcome for months now.

Her interest waned. My interest waned. Yet I still wanted her. It’s been her for seven years. That’s a lot of interest to lose.

It’s been an... interesting (pun accidental)... couple of weeks. She was reaching out. Texting first. Good morning. Asking how I am. Was I a fool to think this was anything more?

Five months ago, we fought. Her life is falling apart. She no longer wants to be lovers. She wants to be friends. I cannot be friends with her. We’re too close. If I’m right in my speculation, it’s exactly why we couldn’t be friends.

Whatever happened, I think it happened on Thursday. Hard to say.

I was annoyed. We had tentative plans to hang out. She even reached out Thursday night... later than I expected. It’s always an expectation, isn’t it? I’d already eaten. So, I sent a lukewarm response to her “wyd?” text.

She sent a “Good morning!” on Friday. And it was!

That’s the last I heard from her.

Friday. Payday. You see, I’ve become accustomed to her patterns.

I love her, but there’s a certain... numbness... to her idiosyncrasies. Protecting myself? Perhaps.

So, when her social media activity went dark, I was concerned... but not as much as I could have been. She’s done that before too.

Many times, she was with me. Maybe that was a clue. The girl is addicted to her social media. Reels. Ask how I know. I’m one of her rare distractions from such things. One of precious few reasons her social media activity indicator goes dark.

Forty-eight hours later, the green dot. She’s alive. She’s checked up on me. Even posted a cryptic story on SM.

This girl is too much like me. Vague is life.

I’ve been working a lot. I’ve been busy. Again, I’m annoyed because we aren’t hanging out. This USUALLY resolves itself when I can let go. So I’m attempting to let go.

Sunday morning. I miss a call from her mom while I’m in the shower. Followed by a text offering tamales.

Her mom frequently calls me when she can’t find her daughter. Frequently, her daughter is with me, so the leap is justified.

Yet, this time her mom is not in crisis. Simply offering fresh tamales.

So, after work, I reach out. I love tamales. Especially Maria’s.

I haven’t heard from Clarissa, so I’m half-expecting her to answer the door when I arrive for the payload.

It’s cold when I knock on the door. Her brother answers and invites me in. Clarissa’s daughter approaches and gives me a high-five. Her brother and I chat for a bit, her mom brings over a bag of food, her father is looking somber on the couch. No Clarissa. Not awkward. Or is it?

So, I leave. I am fed for another week. Now, my mind starts racing.

What just happened? Where is Clarissa? Aside from her father, her family did not seem concerned. What do they know that I don’t? Should I have inquired about her?

They watch Clarissa’s daughter when Clarissa is up to her... escapades. I know, because I am frequently the cause of her escapades.

Clarissa updates social media. She’s clearly not home. Who is she with? Did she meet someone? While I was being stubborn Thursday night?

If she were being reckless, her family would have shown more concern. Now it’s late on a Sunday evening, and I still have not heard from her. We’ve been meeting on Monday mornings... yet because we haven’t met beyond that, I was scheming a way out of that.

Damn, Karma. Really?

Honestly, I’ve been tearing myself apart. I wasn’t ready for a relationship—with anyone. This girl lit me up, and made me wish I was more. And for a moment, I was. More.

Yet I don’t have my own life together. I’m irresponsible. I’m unhinged. I don’t know how to not be horrible for her. We’re reckless when we’re together, in spite of both of us wanting to be... better.

Perhaps, I’m not unlike her previous friends. All I bring to the table is bad decisions and a cheap high.

Many days, I don’t even want to be here. On this planet, I mean. I crave oblivion. She was the only one who dampened that craving... which is a horrible burden for her. Maybe it is best to sever this connection.

Now I find myself spiraling. Yet again. There are so many examples of my own spiraling in this space, it’s why I fear the more I learn, the less I know. And wonder if I learn anything. At all.

If she met someone who lights her up? Well, she deserves it! Why would I ever deny her the opportunity to fall in love?

If she’s simply stepping out, and finds her way back to me? Well, shit... what do I do then? Show her she can be seduced, satisfied, heartbroken... and always come back to me? What kind of life is that? For me?

Fuck.

And there’s a possibility all of this wild speculation is for naught. That she’s spending the weekend with a girlfriend. Or who knows what. Yet, do I want a life where I’m “ghosted” for hours—days—while she takes her “space.”

Ugh. What is a man to do? Just because this girl has shown interest in me in the past, does not mean she is interested. Interest wanes.

She’s been showing interest. We’ve been loving each other. I haven’t been confused because her actions show love where her words fail... until this weekend.

Now she’s exhibiting the behavior average guys are warned about. Disinterest. Disrespect. Why wouldn’t I think some dude lit her up in ways I haven’t?

And if it can happen with her, why can’t it happen with all of them?

I thought I was ready for the demise of this intrigue. Now, all I know is I may never be ready for the natural end of things I love...

All beautiful things must end. Otherwise, they are not beautiful.

What i'm listening to:

Rock of Life
Rick Springfield
Rock of Life

Part of my finally become an adult—a man—is discovering that I have the wrong mindset about money.

Maybe it’s my tendency to see what I can get away with. My father could never resist a good deal. Even my girlfriend doesn’t accept the first price.

To say my dad was grifter is not entirely accurate nor fair… he worked hard, yet he was frustrated by the world that was no longer a loyalty-rewarded system his own father enjoyed. He found a level of comfort and was satisfied with that. And mowing his lawn.

I learned how to live with less and look for a deal. That zeal for yard work missed me entirely, however.

Mom, on the other hand, got it. She had hit that point where money worked for her, and it made her generous.

I see thought experiments on both sides of the aisle. There’s the stingy side. Don’t buy that overpriced cup of coffee. Live like no one else, so you can live like no one else.

Then there’s an abundant approach. Hustle so you can enjoy that cup of coffee guilt-free! You have to spend money to make money.

One of my best friends is frugal. Some call him cheap, yet I’ve seen him match whatever value he sees. And what he says makes some sense.

There are a lot of entitled, single moms out there waiting tables—even if they clearly don’t want to be there—and do nothing to add to that dining out experience. They then bristle at a 5-10% gratuity. Or when that tip fails to materialize entirely.

I get it. This is how to keep the lights on and a roof over your head. Yet, in this case, I agree with him. Being charming and pleasant and “serving” the guest is part of the experience. If you’re not adding to the experience, why should a guest pay more?

But I digress. I have many thoughts on the dining out experience as a whole, but they can wait.

Focus. This is about me. The man child. The one who is amazed that people—adults—are financially mature. They purchase big ticket items. Cars. Homes. Vacation homes. Travel.

They are greeted with a $12,000+ daily balance from the ATM.

Why can I not fathom this? What did I miss growing up?

Perhaps I do not want enough. Enough to set goals anyway.

Now, I find my life disenchanting. Like a petulant brat. Maybe I am the one who’s entitled…

I’m beginning to hone in on new wants. Dreams. Desires. Plus, I no longer want to do life alone. Yet, by minimalizing to meet my money needs—and supporting my own laziness—I find I am disappointing.

In some ways, I have a life she wants to join. Yet, in others, she sees that I fall short.

The life design influencers encourage writing these wants, dreams, desires down. Some go a step farther and create a spreadsheet. Budget for the rich life you deserve.

I have one friend who even budgets a line item for each of his girlfriends. Yes, girlfriends. He had three at the time.

He doesn’t want for money. He is frugal with what he needs, enjoys spending for his wants.

This. This is the life I crave. Is it so unattainable, as I was led to believe?

After all, I don’t know many who simply have abundance.

Let’s face it. Scarcity is the norm in society. Perhaps, this is by design. Controlling the masses. Bread and circuses and all that. And debt.

Most of that I do not want—I’m not even interested in bread, circuses, or debt. Maybe bread.

I have been accused of being a foodie. The one extravagance I maintain.

I want more. I want to feed my insatiable wanderlust. I want to take care of my woman. I want her to never have to worry so she can relax and surrender to her own loving nature and her femininity. Life has been too cruel to her for too long.

Yet, this scarcity is indoctrinated in me. I go there before thinking.

Just today, I caught myself saying, “I never thought I’d live long enough to see one bedroom apartments go for $1,000 a month!”

How can I follow my dreams? How can I afford this at this stage in my life—and more! I fantasize about having a spacious and beautiful place to live!

Is there anything I can do to make real money? Will anyone read my writing? Am I qualified to do anything?

Lately, I’ve been lamenting the loss of the “old knowledge.” You still catch a glimpse here and there, but there’s less and less of it as each elder dies.

A few weeks ago, I was visiting my aunt and she asked if I wanted a piece of sweet potato pie. She then launched into the story that she had never even tried sweet potato pie. Her neighbor had sweet potatoes that she needed to “use,” so what better use than to make a pie!

A faint memory. It really used to be like that. How much food do we simply throw out?

The Internet is no help in this arena. Go ahead and Google if it’s safe to use milk past date for anything.

Sour milk is sour milk, right?

Banana bread exists because people have both bananas and milk that go bad with time.

Open up an old cookbook. How many of these recipes use items you already have somewhere, at various stages of spoilage?

Yet, we lose that ability over time. Sure, we can use fresh. And might even prefer fresh. But the option is there, and as we’re entering a new era of serious economizing, why not?

Then there’s GPS—and Google maps. Does anybody know where they’re going anymore? Casual driving would indicate the answer is no.

Ever drive in Omaha, Nebraska? The residents ALL drive like they’ve never been there before. Incredible!

I recall in middle school, learning how to read a map. What all of the symbols meant. How to determine where you are. Now we have an app on our phone that does that for us.

It’s so effective, in fact, that the state of Indiana has decided to no longer print the free highway maps that many states distribute.

And that’s a damned shame too. What better way to tell an adventurer, like myself, that your state isn’t worth exploring.

The reasoning? The populace has maps on their cell phones, so it’s redundant.

Yeah, that’s great. And makes some sense. Except, I’d like to point out that I have service with the top carrier in the US… and my phone still boasts NO service in the southern, wooded half of your state.

Speaking of woods, my grandfather, and my father knew their way around the forests on the mountain by landmarks. Me? I wish. I’d get lost without at least a map. If only I’d paid more attention as a young lad…

I guess I’m old enough to enjoy the challenge of looking at something and then figuring out how to get there from here—as I was taught when I was thinking about learning to drive.

Do they even teach that anymore? Hell, do we even do thought experiments anymore?

Probably not. Why do something someone else has done… just Google it.

And then there’s the modern convenience is refrigeration, which has existed most of my life—hence the not knowing what to do with spoiled food.

Yet we existed before air conditioning. We innovated. There were massive warehouses that stored ice wihtout refrigeration. And people knew where in their homes to keep various perishable food items. Pantries. Cellars. The cupboard under the sink.

We used to use windows and shutters and blinds. We used to have a knowledge of where the sun is. Where the wind is blowing from. Fans helped, yes, yet they weren’t always necessary if you can use nature to get some airflow through your house.

Modern houses are built airtight—for better or worse—and get quite stuffy without the constant hum of that computerized HVAC system. However, we may be seeing a return of smaller units and swamp coolers.

It’s early, but i think in this era of renewed economizing we are going to see a tech fatigue. For several decades now, the masses have rushed out to buy the latest tech because it must be the greatest. What’s wrong with using the same phone for five years? Seven? Ten?

The same computer for twenty?

Maybe the manufacturers will build them to last again, because they can… even if it’s not the cash cow of planned obsolesence. Maybe.

It seems all we really have to recall this old knowledge is what we read in books. At least we have those. And if I have anything to impart to future generations, perhaps I’ll write something down as well.

We have become so reliant on the technology. Parents today insist their kids carry cell phones, so they know where they are at all times. Life 360, and all that. Is the world really so terrifying?

Gone are the days of, “Be where you can see the porch light by dusk… when it’s on, supper’s ready! And don’t come home until then.”

I guess I just wasn’t made for these times.

Expectations. We all have them. It’s part of the human experience.

Growth—true growth—is not taking it personal when someone doesn’t behave the way you expect.

In reality, very few people can demonstrate this level of enlightenment. Why? Because from my point of view, for instance, the world is entirely my creation. A matrix.

Everyone else is a non-playing character. The vast majority of the non-playing characters go on about their lives without affecting mine.

There are a few of these players we grow fond of. Some become mentors. Others become friends. A select few might even become lovers. There might even be a handful whom we know better than anyone, and whom we allow to know us as well. These have influence. These can wreck us, at least momentarily. And we still have no control over them.

Our worlds are in a constant state of fluidity. You may be focused on getting your life handled. Reigning in your sadness. Defeating depression. Rediscovering the beauty in the world.

While you’re focused on yourself, I may be dazzled by a lovely young woman whose vitality infects me. I’ve given you your space, along with your one word answers and your tendencies not to share. In essence, I’ve moved on.

We chat on occasion, but the investment is no longer there. If you scroll the thread, it hasn’t been there for months. Years.

Maybe, with your focus on yourself, you haven’t noticed my curiosity ebbing. Until you do. My attention is no longer what you expect—and you don’t like it.

You act out. “We are no longer aligned, and I must release you with love.” No contact. End of the thread. Dead on the vine.

Are you truly healed? To let this bother you so much? Burn it all down, because I don’t respond as you’re expecting. You have closed the door on the past, and you’re not willing to look back and see how your past created you. You are hiding.

Now, I’m no expert on enlightenment, nor on healing. I am still broken. I own this. Some of this damage has been caused by you. Some of THAT damage still infects my current relationship.

Funny how we keep so much of our past with us. And it’s also funny how so much of the advice out there—including yours—is to avoid the red flags. Walk away. Love yourself, first.

I am grateful you have found self love on your journey. You no longer need others—in fact, you must protect your energy from others. Shattered people. Like me. Bye.

Yeah. This bothers me too. Yet not as much as I expected. I began divesting when I lost interest romantically. Perhaps men and women can be friends, but that is almost more work than an actual relationship. Because something is missing. A level of trust. A level of authenticity. Can you be friends with someone you find attractive? Without letting jealousy get in the way?

I doubt it. Yes, the clean break is best. We are no longer aligned, and have outgrown each other. You no longer understand my passions—and lack of them. And I haven’t understood a thing you’ve said about spirituality for some time.

I have enjoyed your friendship, our camaraderie. We have shared experiences and stories and have influenced each other in ways that will remain. Always. You are a part of me.

You’re just no longer part of my life. Thank you, for everything. And I wish you the best. I hope you find the happiness you seek.

Stop taking things people do personally. None of us really know why we do what we do anyway. Including you.

What i'm listening to:

What Do You Want From Me?
Monaco
Music for Pleasure

There’s this girl. I hear a lot about this girl from my peer group. Hate, mostly.

I don’t understand why.

For instance, why do people think I’m some innocent? That I’m being used? That I’m not somehow complicit in this relationship?

Is it because we are very different people? From very different backgrounds?

Do you think I don’t know her? That I haven’t gotten to know her?

Look, I don’t know everything about her. This is what I do know.

We like each other enough to not leave the other alone for long. We fulfill a need within each other. Beyond that... what exactly do you think I’m looking for?

Are you expecting me to find some “good girl” and settle down? Buy a nice house with a yard and a swing set and a white picket fence surrounding it for our children to play in?

How well do you know me? Seriously...

I am not enough of an adult to get to that part of life yet. That, my friends, is an unfortunate reality.

I am the one who will leave. She knows this and protects herself from it... we have had many heart to heart conversations about this.

I have always treated her like a butterfly. I truly enjoy her when she is around, yet anything I might do to try to “keep” her, will only maim her and potentially kill her. Why would I restrict such beauty? Such spirit?

We are both learning. How to love. How to feel. Psychology of the opposite sex.

And we both have a long way to go before we’re any good to anyone. That. Is the truth.

Don’t kid yourself. I’m not giving away my power or my resources. We invest little into each other. We are teaching each other how to transcend our own idiosyncrasies. Yet I don’t need her—however fond of her I may be—and she doesn’t need me either.

But she doesn’t deserve the hate. It takes two to tango. I haven’t chased... merely extended the invitation. As a butterfly, she can take or leave it.

We have fun together, and life is life when we’re apart—and all of the pleasures and pains within those constraints. There is value in what we bring each other. I sleep like a stone every night, knowing what I know and content with what I don’t. That’s it.

So, please stop talking about her. You hardly know her, nor me, nor what I want... and frankly, this affair is none of your business.