I think I’ve reached a point in life where I handle rejection rather stoically. This should be a given in view of the fact that, nearly in my mid-thirties, I’ve never really been in a serious relationship, excepting my lunatic ex who possibly doesn’t count because….well… lunacy.
It’s part of the ridiculous paradox of my life that rejection on any kind of romantic front is the norm to the point where, if I’m honest, I take comfort in its certainty. My biggest anxiety these days is not that they’ll say no, but that they’ll in fact say yes because I literally would not know what to do or even where to start.
The other part of the ridiculous paradox that is my life is the string of one night stands, pseudo-relationships where I take on the role of boyfriend with none of the benefits, a ton of random sexual encounters, female friends thousands of miles away who I have intensely sexual relationships with, and the cherry sitting on top of the cake of lunacy: S. Are fuck buddy situations meant to last twenty times longer than the average marriage and have transient but recurring periods of profound emotional depth? Considering that all her serious relationships have been, and are, with women……….
So I feel that my situation is beyond rational analysis; it’s not something for deep contemplation, it’s something to be stared at in amused confusion rather like a work by Picasso: You know there’s meaning in there if only you could figure out what it was meant to be a picture of. It still sucks though, I can’t claim to be happy with things but it’s more of a sense of ennui than anything. I think about it like this: Does any of this ever make me happy? Is there any lasting benefit to it all? I don’t think there is. This isn’t fun: it’s boring. It’s like this: I can’t even remember who the last woman I asked out was or anything about her, but I can remember beating myself up for being so stupid as to think that it would end well………and now even that has gone; it’s not even emotionally stimulating in a negative way.