Lucky Men...Sorta

Lucky Men
They don’t need to be about s***!

Skill, coincidence or blessed fortune smiles upon their paths through life and blesses them with the women that I hear about. The women I dream about one day possibly having in my life. The women I toss and turn at night for wanting to hold me and comfort me through my trivialities, triumphs & tribulations. Maybe I shouldn’t think about these women or who has them.

Maybe I should simply focus on being a better person. Find a source of income and begin to milk it. Find hobbies and interest and begin to enjoy that version of life. Maybe I should become somebody else because who I am just won’t let go of the idea that I’m here, on this planet to love both giving and receiving the benefits of an undeniable…unbreakable connection. Sure, I’m an idealist…a romantic from a different place and time. And I type this as I listen to Beyonce’s 1+1. But I believed what that song speaks before the song existed. It is how I lived. Like the people that mattered to me needed to know that.

All I did was spoil them and their behavior reflects that over-zealous application of favor. And it wasn’t until I gave up that I realized what led them to beat at me so ferociously. It took a great deal of strength. It took a great deal of abuse. It took every bit of my active energy to even give up. Because the end arrives so quick that most just fall off rather then ceasing the progress. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, was to give up the way I was living my life through my interactions with others.

I got physically sick. And I began to dream. And within my dreams, I began to think about other men. I asked myself how they balanced personal preference with showing affection and consideration for their loved ones without requiring almost a maximum output of effort to maintain balance. Lucky men.

I decide that I’ll never find a woman that’ll actually love me. Not like she needs to, not like I need her to, not good enough to keep me, not good enough to ease this pain that these pretenders laze across my heart. Maybe she too, will be a pretender. Maybe, I’ve already gotten the best women have to give and I’m just too insatiable to be pleased.

Well, that stuff was dragging me into a depression. I have things that I do like going to the gym that stop me from getting depressed. Except, I cannot get into a gym right now. I don’t have the energy to deal with it. I cannot cope. I had to let go of those thoughts. I had to let go of all the former thoughts that I’ve mentioned in this post just so that I could continue to breathe. I had to make life simpler. And now life is simple.

Life is simple because if I want something, I go and get it. If I need something, I ask for it. If I cannot simply ask for it, I ask how I can earn it. I have no reason to hide behind pride or even shame or social mores. I just don’t care anymore. I am little more than a beast with a limited conscience. I don’t care any further about those lucky men than I do the lucky woman that is missing out on me…that is, until she and I find each other. I could already know her. I could already care about her…it could also be that me, allowing myself to be unfettered by the desire to maintain in a highly manicured and maintenanced state, these relationships, is what helps her see me for who I am. Maybe not.

At this point, I am 1. I’m not even looking for my +1. I’ve been so hurt and disappointed. Ignorantly treated like I wasn’t important while being told I was the utmost important. But intents don’t mean much to anybody. Not the court of law. Not the people who are hurt by the action. Not the people that feel threatened. The only thing an intent proves is that you aren’t without a conscience. I appreciate people with a conscience but if their actions cannot find consistency with their thoughts, then they need to figure out how to make that happen.

My intent is never to cause anybody else pain. Now, my intent is more accurately described as living selfishly. Mainly, because the people who swore I was already doing so, can see a difference. Just because a significant number of people call it alien encounters doesn’t mean it wasn’t just flashing lights in the distant night sky. It seems as if nobody knows the difference. As if their insecurities are more importantly denied than growth is and accepting responsibility for how they feel. Ironically, the person that hurts me the most, is doing the absolute best job accepting her faults of everyone that is attacking me. Unfortunately, there is so much going on, I’m not willing to fight anyone anymore. A gentle push and then forfeiture.

Maybe, someday soon, I’ll care again. Right now, I’m doing every bit of my tiniest desire. Judge me lacking if you will. I could not, care less. You didn’t wipe away my tears…I won’t hear your cries.