I don’t want to feel like a charlatan.

This is what surfaced in me today.

I don’t even know if I am a charlatan, but I feel like one. I am never ready. I have let some of the most amazing women go, because I am still battling my inner demons, and they deserve better.

I’m the one that gives up. I don’t want to do this anymore. Give up, that is.

Every beautiful woman I lose, it hurts exponentially more than the last. Because when I go in, I FEEL closer to “ready,” whatever that is. Everything is authentic. Everything is beautiful.

Then I erect the walls. I end up doubting everything. I sabotage it. And it’s over. And I pledge myself to getting “ready” for the next one, because I cannot go through this again. Better to settle for the girls I cannot love.

Perhaps I am a charlatan. I began this process not really knowing what box I was opening. And, to be honest, it has helped. A lot. I’m good. Really good. I scare myself.

Then I met someone. Someone who’s not necessarily available. I let my doubts and others tell me that the forbidden fruit is complicated. That it’s likely her, not me.

Imagine how my heart broke when she told me she was ready. She was mine. Until the walls. Until my authenticness… dissolved. Am I failing?

If there is a pattern, it’s not her.

Nights are the worst. My phone is silent. Esteem is low. Loathing is high. Insomnia has found me. And I’m emanating so much poison, I can’t find anyone to share my bed.

God damn it. It’s time for me to get this handled. I don’t want to feel like a charlatan. What is next?

It’s about a guy trying to keep it together while falling apart. It’s about life, love, sex, and the ever-lurking presence of the grim fucking reaper. It’s about men... Husbands, wives, daughters and fathers.

What i'm listening to:

Would?
Alice in Chains
Dirt

What is the biggest lie we tell ourselves?

Of course, there is more than one… certainly.

Allow me to submit for your consideration, this one:

“I don’t want to bother you, but…”

If this phrase so much as alights on the tip of your tongue, clearly you do.

Want to bother her.

Perhaps a better way to look at it… or phrase it is:

“I hope this doesn’t bother you, but…”

Yet, why do we consider ourselves a bother at all? Some girls? Yes. Especially near the end of your season.

If she’s responsive, though? You, sir, are not a bother. Stop with the self-loathing, and just get it done.

Before you really do… bother her.

What i'm listening to:

Give to Live
Sammy Hagar
I Never Said Goodbye

It is not lost on me that had I not become emotionally invested—smitten, even—in you, that I’d have already had you.

So, how do I find and focus on the big picture? The grand vision? Life, itself?

How do I become this extraordinary man? The man who’s life is bigger than himself? The one all the girls want?

I am closer. I catch glimpses of it. Here. And there.

I need to maintain it though. Push it beyond the smoke and mirrors that it is.

At this point, I have mastered the illusion. And for a shining moment, captured the attentions/affections of a woman who ticks all the boxes.

Ah, but it only ever lasts a season.

Now the seasons have changed. And I allowed myself to become consumed. Again, my house of cards fell all around me.

I am this close to knowing what I want. The grand vision is coming together. I hadn’t planned on meeting someone who would become part of that, at a time when neither of us were ready for it.

It’s time to take a step (or many) back. To stop worrying about the how—even if the “how” has been drummed into me since my youth—squashing the dreamer filled with desire.

I have been spoiled. I am soft. My life easy. Even with my current trials and tribulations, I don’t know how to adapt. No idea where to begin if I wanted to hop on a boat for overseas and work on myself.

This time, it can’t be an illusion. I must become an excellent man. It will not be easy. It is, however, what I need.

What i'm listening to:

In Your Eyes
The Weeknd
After Hours

I saw you yesterday.

Your smile and your the light in eyes said it all. And that gives me hope.

Time apart is not doing us any favors. Yet you have a lot going on (honestly, we both do), so you’ll keep creating distance. For now.

At least the demons in my mind were wrong. It’s not me.

You want to get together. You don’t want this—distance.

And we will. When it’s time. When it’s nice. When it’s easy.

Perhaps, it is not enough to simply say, “I want you.”

Even though it is true. I do. Every inch of you.

Yes, perhaps it is better to tell you, “I wonder what it’ll be like to go down on you for the first time.”

Or, “I know exactly where I’ll bite you.”

Hmmm.

I must learn to express my desires.

She deserves no less.

I’m only interesting when I am drinking?

What i'm listening to:

All Out of Love
Air Supply
Lost in Love

Have you ever met a girl? She’s dazzling. Gorgeous. Perhaps the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

Then she opens her mouth.

And you want nothing to do with her?

Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

I don’t want to see you anymore.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace / I dream at night, I can only see your face. / I look around, but it's you I can't replace / I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace. / I keep crying baby, baby please.

What’s the matter with me?

Is it my imagination? Is it the pasta I had for dinner?

Or is what I’m feeling real?

Last night, I wasn’t able to fall asleep. I kept imagining you in the throes of passion. With someone else.

And why shouldn’t you? You’re so young. So beautiful. So desirable. Why can’t I express my desire?

Now you’re no longer thinking of me. No longer my girl. At least not last night. I have failed you.

I thought I was over… jealousy.

Yet, we seem(ed) to be entangled—somehow. You send a message when I think of you. I’ll wake up when you read mine.

Something is missing though. It’s not you, it’s me. I have failed your test(s).

I may never be ready when someone I genuinely like walks into my life. Lands on my hand. Like a butterfly.

Last night was rare. I can feel that you aren’t thinking of me.

Perhaps you are not my girl. Perhaps I failed to give you what you needed when you needed it…

Stop it.

Yes, love is fleeting. Yes, I adore her. Yes, there will be others. There are always other girls.

Ohh. If only we could have the pleasure… without the pain.

What i'm listening to:

Every Breath You Take
The Police
Synchronicity

We’re almost there, yet picture it…

You awaken, on today, the most wretched holiday of the year. Every clock is correct. It fixed itself. The car. The microwave. The stove. The designer clock over the kitchen sink.

All of them.

If that were the case, is it possible you wouldn’t even notice that everything is an hour earlier?

Hmmm.

Of course, right now, I am not a slave to my pocket watch. Joy of an obligation free life, I suppose.

Maybe, today will be my easiest transition yet.

I wonder…

Last week, I met someone (who bears a remarkable resemblence to Tom Brady) who shared his views on how we are slaves to clocks. To time.

And what is time anyway? A way to control us. Make sure we’re accounted for at certain times.

Perhaps he’s not wrong. It’s not just a way for so many people to successfully meet, hang out, hook up, have fun.

After all, we can’t spend every waking moment with someone we adore… can we?