This blog entry contains some sexual language and explicit imagery
– if this kind of thing offends you, stop here and exit.
Continue at your own risk, and only if you are 18 or over.
Yeah, I’ve been hurt by women, hurt really bad, deep into my weeping soul. But I got over it without doing anything foolish to myself — or others. And I don’t think all women or even most women are bitches or whores. How could I possibly? I haven’t met all women, or even most of them! And I’ve probably – no, that’s not honest: definitely – hurt a few women myself, not intentionally (I kind of hope), but that’s no excuse.
So many people – men and women alike — are lonely, sometimes even if they are an item with somebody; and they have these massive, gnawing caverns of emotional need they’re trying to fill. We think we know what we want, but most of us probably don’t think what we think we think or feel what we feel we feel. We think we’re looking for that special someone to make our wounded selves whole again. In this regard I firmly believe we are like the blind person in a dark room at midnight looking for the black cat that ran away hours ago.
You think you’re so lonely, ladies? Then how about this: You could be hooked up right now with some grunting nightmare who doesn’t believe in showers, wants head but won’t go down, cheats on you, steals from you, lies to you, erodes your self-confidence, manipulates you, abuses you, cannibalizes your life, wales on you, and just in general is a top-shelf neanderthal who makes you think of that old tear-drenching loneliness as a mirage of sweet, sweet solitude shimmering ever unattainable in the distance of what you used to imagine erroneously as being your miserable life.
And as for you guys? Well, right now your sorry pair could be hanging on a dripping wall, nailed there by some bitch neurotic beyond the neurosis Richter scale, an hysterical shrew with a psycho ex and a shrill brood of shrieking brats in a low-rent apartment on the wrong side of the tracks. Or in a tony split-level in leafy suburbia. It doesn’t matter. In either case she turns out to be one insatiable monstrous gaping grasping undifferentiated needy want – and wants constant attention, wants your time, wants hourly reports of your whereabouts, wants clothes, wants rent-money, wants car-repair money, wants commitment, wants you to do this, wants you not to do that, wants, wants, WANTS until you think, OK, OK, good grief, I will put up with the one-time pain and peril of ripping ‘em off for the long-term relief of just being out of here.
Sometimes I’ve thought the only answer is a kind of buddhist desire for the lack of desire, but of course that itself is a feral oxymoron that will rend your bleeding flesh and eat your beating heart as it pumps its last. I think the real point is that there isn’t always a nifty solution to a relationship problem. There simply aren’t that many people out there who would be truly harmonious for you, and those few may live on a different continent, or in a different century. Face it: you may be alone the rest of your life. And if that seems so horrible, be careful what you wish for. You might get it.
It’s actually quite difficult to know what you want in a relationship – as much as in many other areas. Yet, in my view, most of us – and that certainly includes me — have devastating illusions about this for most of our lives. Probably the best thing is to have a lot of luck. Failing that, I kind of take some small measure of practical comfort from what Teddy Roosevelt once said: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”
Sometimes that’s all you have – and there are certainly worse things to have. Besides, you always have all those blogs on the internet with which to while away your lonely lonesome time!