Intermission

People will disappoint each other, of course, and I wander alone in the wilderness like the ancient theologians who envisioned Yahweh as a world wide wrestling federation owner, one with the biggest dick in the room, because I am disappointed, neither vain nor sculpted nor telegenic enough to become a cult heroine (if the atheists are wrong and a divinity exists, it would not matter to me; I'd revert to anti-theism like Lautreamont) but my intellectual divergence with Josie runs deeper than rabid stricken neurons that run rampage on an MRI. If you wonder why I take it so much to heart that she snapped at a possible dinner date, it is because I made an effort to treat her like a social equal and a friend, and she committed a breach that cannot be undone, regardless of how I would have fared with Cecil on my own. He was also the last man with whom I dared to assert a romantic interest. My ex Frank was not. Frank was a five dollar fuck who operated on my pity to stretch a two hour mistake into a partnership I could not sustain, and it took me three years of hating him for it before my vociferous vitrification ran its course, in the petty vignettes of familiarity and contempt.

I am not sure what reserves I have for the dating game at the half century mark, and don't have the money for matchmakers. I am taking a few days off. I am thinking and playing catch up, and may wade into my old HP for an attempted rescue mission.