My tendencies to end up in abusive relationships show no signs of letting up. I foster abuse. I nurture it. If there is abuse to be had I am its mentor.
I walked today. 15000+ steps, according to the apps that follows my every move. Did they see me on their map today, in real time, entering that buffet dining place on Church Avenue in Brooklyn. Did the apps see me promptly turn around and leave? Do the apps understand why I did this? Did they read my mind, connect their digital connection to the electrical cords that sprawl Medusa-esque from my head, spewing continuous information from my thought streams and thought-cud gullies and stagnant intellectual pondscum?
I left the buffet place for lack of air conditioning. It was not a critically hot day but the place felt like I’d stepped into a marathon-runner’s shoes fresh from a hot summer race. Hand-written signs all over the front doors implored visitors not to steal food. “DON’T STEAL” with a big fat frowny face beside it looked like nothing more than a rally cry to steal the fuck of this place for your family’s month’s worth of grub.
Another relationship has ended for me, leaving me with only a few questions. Why did I even do this? What have I to prove? I remember asking myself that in the early weeks of the engagement. “Why am I even doing this?” I wanted sex and she got plenty of it but at what cost? My routine, my precious (I do not use that word daintily) routine which conforms me to a new life after the one I left behind in January, 2022; that new routine of waking at 5:30am and being in bed before 9pm was wrenched asunder by hours-long sessions of sex from midnight to 3am and then again from 6am to sunrise. Twice a week this occurred and I would sleep past 1pm, waking up at 1:30 feeling I’d done nothing more than fucked away a full day of my life.
All left for me those days to gather breakfast and lunch provisions for the next day’s work and look forward to a day of virtual jetlag and incoherence at the job. It is an easy job but I take some pride in my nearly perfect 100% A+ performance appraisals (is that what they’re called?) and I hate myself when I come in to work in the condition I was after these encounters with the woman I liked but didn’t love, knew to be crazy, felt her warning signs blast off like sirens.
I broke one of the cardinal rules of dating. It is a rule I’ve broken many times already, to no fatal consequence, not yet at least: DON’T STICK YOUR DICK IN CRAZY. Another cardinal rule I have yet to honor: “BEWARE OF A WOMAN WHO SITS ALONE AT THE BAR.” That is a bit of old man advice dispensed not directly to me but to a then-youngster of my vintage at an after-hours bar I used to infrequent.
If you can find it (I cannot) I made an audio account of one of the times I bedded a woman who sat alone at the bar. Purely for forensic purposes. I play that audio for every woman I connect with now, to let them know I am an unafraid growed up.
She is proudly ignorant. That trait never ends well with me. Selective and prideful ignorance. She votes Democrat but selective and joyful ignorance is a MAGA trait.
I saw her on TV. Lying. Not the woman I’ve been decrying. Changing subjects. Changing pasts. She said she never imagined having children with anyone but the man she is married to now. She lied. She talked to no end about having children with me. In the same breath she talked about how tight her pussy was. She knew I disliked that word, pussy, but she used it anyway. She was small, no lie. As was the most recent.
I have to go home. i am not safe in public right now. I have steaks to air fry.
