The Undiscovered Country
I was with The Mirror longer than I've been with any girl in my life, even though we were separated by about seven or eight thousand miles during the majority of that time. Yeah, seven or eight.
There aren't many women I can count on. There aren't many people I can count on, but I only have to count on my buddies so far. Gus, Rampage, Big Red, and... Well, I'll have to come up with a nickname for the fourth one to use on here, but basically, the extent of my communication with my guy friends requires nothing more than grunting. We can go shooting, we can play pool, we can have drinks and talk about ancient history. Except for that fourth guy... Ehhh, let's just call him Dark Horse. Dark Horse isn't a history guy, but we find stuff to talk about. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I don't have to trust them in the same way that I have to trust women. There's an inherent trust between male buddies, because there isn't even a remote chance at intimacy.
I don't have that comfort with women, at least, not with women my age. Even with girls I'm not attracted to, there's always that spectre. And with girls I've dated, there's always, always been the letdown. The Mirror was almost perfect when I was across the pond; then I got home, and I all but stopped hearing from her, and had to do all the work.
There was the girl who I dated before I left, who was pretty much entirely messed up. She had zero sexual morality, so not only could I not trust her to be stable or rational, ever; I couldn't trust her to have not caught something over the years. Yeah, that one was doomed from the beginning.
There was Fat Jessica. She used me for food, always giving me a coy smile, calling me with that flirty little voice. It took me months to figure that one out, including a wasted twenty-first birthday.
Anyway, this is all to say that I get more and more cynical about "romance" and "commitment" as time goes by. I'm sure it's one of those things where you don't even consider the women you can trust. I suppose this is a natural thought process when you've just gone single; it's still bollocks, though. Justified bollocks, maybe. Necessary suffering? Necessary to realize just how precious that person will be, when and if you ever actually find her.
I've said before, and I'll say again, that the necessary understanding of the overwhelming greatness of the City of Blinding Light can not be reached without having glimpsed the City of Profane Darkness. I suppose this is one of the real world examples of this... Or rather, one of the temporal examples. If, someday, I find a woman worth trusting, I'll probably appreciate her more because of The Mirror's flaws. And because of Fat Jessica's flaws. And the other dozen, or two dozen, or three dozen women I've dated, or met, or wanted to date...
It's times like this I could really go for a cold bottle of Guinness. Unfortunately, I can't justify drinking one, because it's the last bottle I've got. It's good to know that I accomplished something this weekend, like going to the grocers to stock the flat with food... Oh wait, I didn't. I was too exhausted to do anything but sit in this chair.
Anyway. I'm going to bed, folks. If you've taken the time to read my stuff as I've lamented about the declining standards in wife candidates... Thanks. For what it's worth, this is more venting than anything else; eight hours of sleep and a little bit of work on one or more of my research papers, and I'll be back to my old, chipper self. This week shouldn't be anything near the exhausting nightmare that last week was.
There aren't many women I can count on. There aren't many people I can count on, but I only have to count on my buddies so far. Gus, Rampage, Big Red, and... Well, I'll have to come up with a nickname for the fourth one to use on here, but basically, the extent of my communication with my guy friends requires nothing more than grunting. We can go shooting, we can play pool, we can have drinks and talk about ancient history. Except for that fourth guy... Ehhh, let's just call him Dark Horse. Dark Horse isn't a history guy, but we find stuff to talk about. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I don't have to trust them in the same way that I have to trust women. There's an inherent trust between male buddies, because there isn't even a remote chance at intimacy.
I don't have that comfort with women, at least, not with women my age. Even with girls I'm not attracted to, there's always that spectre. And with girls I've dated, there's always, always been the letdown. The Mirror was almost perfect when I was across the pond; then I got home, and I all but stopped hearing from her, and had to do all the work.
There was the girl who I dated before I left, who was pretty much entirely messed up. She had zero sexual morality, so not only could I not trust her to be stable or rational, ever; I couldn't trust her to have not caught something over the years. Yeah, that one was doomed from the beginning.
There was Fat Jessica. She used me for food, always giving me a coy smile, calling me with that flirty little voice. It took me months to figure that one out, including a wasted twenty-first birthday.
Anyway, this is all to say that I get more and more cynical about "romance" and "commitment" as time goes by. I'm sure it's one of those things where you don't even consider the women you can trust. I suppose this is a natural thought process when you've just gone single; it's still bollocks, though. Justified bollocks, maybe. Necessary suffering? Necessary to realize just how precious that person will be, when and if you ever actually find her.
I've said before, and I'll say again, that the necessary understanding of the overwhelming greatness of the City of Blinding Light can not be reached without having glimpsed the City of Profane Darkness. I suppose this is one of the real world examples of this... Or rather, one of the temporal examples. If, someday, I find a woman worth trusting, I'll probably appreciate her more because of The Mirror's flaws. And because of Fat Jessica's flaws. And the other dozen, or two dozen, or three dozen women I've dated, or met, or wanted to date...
It's times like this I could really go for a cold bottle of Guinness. Unfortunately, I can't justify drinking one, because it's the last bottle I've got. It's good to know that I accomplished something this weekend, like going to the grocers to stock the flat with food... Oh wait, I didn't. I was too exhausted to do anything but sit in this chair.
Anyway. I'm going to bed, folks. If you've taken the time to read my stuff as I've lamented about the declining standards in wife candidates... Thanks. For what it's worth, this is more venting than anything else; eight hours of sleep and a little bit of work on one or more of my research papers, and I'll be back to my old, chipper self. This week shouldn't be anything near the exhausting nightmare that last week was.
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