Over the last few years, I’ve discovered that two things make me genuinely happy. Happier than the booze or bud or endless and needless distractions.
The first is being productive. Weird, right? I lost count of how many jobs I’ve had in my life and yet I so rarely ever felt that way at work I don’t think I ever realized how much better I feel when I am actually getting things done that need to be done even if it’s like some yard work or some similar bullshit. I mean, I’ve been called lazy my whole life, and it’s probably not wrong (though one person, once, in one of the most meaningful compliments I’ve ever received said that I wasn’t lazy I was just bored). But anything you think about me, no matter how negative it may be, that I’ve wasted my life or whatever, believe that I’ve already beat myself up on it many times over.
The second, and probably greater of the two, is conversation. Meaningful conversation with someone I care about. And no, not the ‘well I’ve already talked to him for 5 mins better cut him off now so he’ll keep wanting more bs you probably think we’ve had. You just don’t get it. Like I have so many thoughts, and I formulate my own original opinions, and, I know the truth is nobody really cares. But that shit just festers. And you know, I am eminently reasonable. I freely admit when I’m wrong, or when someone else has an improvement on my idea. The discourse, the transferring of one intelligence to another and vice versa, that’s what I really want!
You, of course, are not responsible for making me happy, even if you could have so very easily with just a little more effort and just a little less of whatever bs social conditioning girls get growing up (most guys get plenty too). I don’t think I’m “special” like you rightfully believe you deserve. But I am certainly different, and different enough that I think you did yourself a disservice by not giving me a fair shake. Deep down I think you know I’m right about that.
Because you know what really drives me crazy? Like absolutely ballistic furious? Seeing all these crushes over the years going for the cool guy, or the rich guy, or the best athlete, or the one with the highest body count, or whoever just generally raises your fucking social profile the highest and, ALWAYS, inevitably becoming disappointed before repeating the same mistakes with someone new (not me though, of course, never me). It’s like, everyone thinks I’m crazy, and i probably am, but ya’ll be the ones out here doing the same shit over and over your entire lives expecting different results, ya know?
And you know what? All those guys you were crushing on and sleeping with instead of me? I know them well. Not specifically, but I do. I was a guy’s guy long before I was a feminist cuck or whatever you want to think of me as. They suck, they really do. They take the attention and sex you give them and it feeds their arrogance that they are being ‘manly’ in the right way and they become more set in their ways, more resistant to any positive change, more willing to believe that not only do they deserve you, shit you were so easy, they probably deserve better. They’re so great after all. And no they won’t ever admit they’re wrong or be amenable to compromise or actually give a fuck when you need someone to listen to you because what they’re doing, what they’ve been doing their whole damn lives, it clearly works, doesn’t it? They’ve never been humbled or had to reevaluate the way they conduct themselves or treat other people. And you just eat that shit up and pretend you love them all the more for all that confidence and swagger and bravado. But wait! It gets even better. Those same despicable caveman values not only exist in perpetuity in the man himself, but then get extended to your kids too! So your son gets to be just as much of a jackass as his father! And 30 years from now I’ll still be alone and he’ll be dating some starlet with 59 bajillion followers.
Anyways, it’s been awhile. I’ve emptied my chamber. Hope the next couple weeks are fantastic for you. I’ll be doing yard work.