Sheared
So I had a run-in with the clippers and now I could be an extra in a Guy Ritchie film. If he was casting ugly people.Why do I flatter myself that anyone would want me? What do I have to offer? I am as interesting to talk to as I am good to look at. I am not even good at companionable silence because before long the vacuum becomes too much for me and I fill it with noise.
At least I don't look so old. Mrs Zen sheared off most of the whitest hair, and my roots are still dark. It has taken, oooooh, at least 18 months, two years off. So now I only look 57.
No. I am not actually 57. Some days I even feel relatively young.
But I am not. I am old and I'm in a shitty spot.
Do you know, I still think I should in some ways be desirable. It's tragic. The last five, six jobs I applied for, I thought I should have a great chance of all of them. None of them even replied to my application. Not even fuck off.
No woman wants me. I fear I will never kiss a woman again, never touch a woman, never feel good again. You'd think I would. You'd think there'd at least be a woman who was desperate, someone who thought, fuck, he'll do. But even the women who want me don't want me.
I know, you should not wallow in self-pity. I do know that.
But when I wake up tomorrow, I have to be me. I have to live this life. I am feeling down because it is like I have been jailed and can see the blue sky through the bars. I know it doesn't have to be like this. Things could be a lot better. I know that, because I've seen it. I've had the sun on my face and it felt great. But then they slammed the door and days like today, I fear they threw away the key.
posted by Dr Zen @ 9:34 pm
6 Comments:
Most women aren't going to go for a married guy unless he's rich, no matter how good-looking he is. It's possible that you could find an unhappily married woman, etc., but you'd probably have to make an effort.
I know how it is to be trapped, and I'm sorry. I'm lucky in a way that my husband decided to end things because I don't know if I ever really would have.
I once made a chart of my life, in days.
I shall now consult the print-out.
Today I am exactly 17,612 days old.
On Thursday I shall be 17,613 days old.
That's all I have to say about any of that.
Oh, wait.
One more thing.
Would you like to see a recent picture of me sporting a goatee?
OK.
Now I'm really finished w/ my comment.
Right now the only discernible difference between you and me (no, I mean only in this tiny instant!) is that I easily delude myself into thinking I could be attractive if only I lose the weight of the chains, whereas you prefer a brutal realism.
I far from prefer it. I feel cursed with it.
I hear you look like me.
I'm very sorry.
- -
Alive, so I hear,
Father Luke
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