even harder than I thought

My first weekend out of the house was even harder than I thought. But I don’t know what I expected. What could I expect? This is all brand new to me. I’ve never done this before, which begs the question: do I ever want to do this again?

Ask me now and the answer is a resounding: Hell no!

Which begs another question: Do I even want to consider another serious relationship…ever?

I had my doubts about marriage before now, and after this, well, let’s just say it hasn’t really improved my opinion much.

Probably too early to be even thinking about that sort of thing anyway. I’m not just going to run out and meet someone just to meet someone, just so “I won’t be alone.” blah blah blah. That seems  ill-advised, if you ask me.

And I know what you’re thinking: I didn’t ask you. Too bad. You’re getting my opinion anyway. This is, after all, my freaking blog, buddy!

Who am I talking to anyway?

I don’t know

Quiet, you!


Anyhoo… the beginning of the week hasn’t been much better than the weekend. And what really troubles me is that I find no solace in things that had, in the past, always brought me comfort, things I could escape in, like reading books and watching movies. I’ve already blogged about not being able to stand music very much these days. Ack!

Thing is I don’t really have the luxury of NOT being okay. I’ve got my daughter this weekend. I can’t take care of her if I’m wrapped up in my own miserable self-pity — wah wah wah! Not to  mention self-loathing.


2 responses to “even harder than I thought

  1. I foresee a future of “speed dating,” seedy Craigslist ads, and mornings-after of hungover regret. This is how certain kinds of best-sellers are written (mostly by women, but still). You could be sitting on the guy equivalent of a Nora Ephron movie. Good luck, pal, and don’t forget us when you’re being interviewed by Oprah (ehhh) and Terry Gross.

    • You got a point there, shecky old boy. It’s the fuck up your life and pass it off as fiction genre. Although it’s more salable to write it as memoir rather than try to pawn it off as a novel.

      I think I’ve actually heard the term “Dick Lit” before…

      Dude, I’m totally gonna dis Oprah for Ellen. It’ll be such a tasty scandal. She’ll seethe about it forever and a day…

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