I Don’t Need A Scapegoat, I Need A Lifeline

Sexual frustration is probably the worst kind. Of our core instincts as humans, fucking ranks pretty high. It’s a close second to survival. As I’ve never heard of survival frustration, I’m just going to let sexual frustration hold onto the title.

Sleeping next to someone you want to have sex with, but can’t, isn’t very easy. That’s why I sleep alone these days. That, and my marriage bed is a terribly uncomfortable relic, leftover from my Wife’s adolescence. None this is to say that our marriage is suffering to any degree. In nearly six years marriage, I think we’re doing better than we’ve ever done. We genuinely love each other and are really starting to understand each other. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that I’m probably not going to be getting divorced any time soon.

None of this is to say that my anger is excused in any way by whatever else I happen to be experiencing. I don’t need a scapegoat, I need a lifeline. I’m probably being dramatic, but that’s fine. This is the most consistent I’ve been with my writing in a long time. It’s refreshing. Usually when my writing is doing okay, my other creative endeavors follow, so maybe I’ll be making a real go at this.

It would be nice to get paid to make things. I think we all feel this way, especially the people in these circles. Right now I get paid to scrub toilets, so it really isn’t hard to see any movement at upward progression, even if I’m deluding myself. I’d rather delude myself than live in a world where everything sucks and there’s nothing we can do about it.

I guess I really am an optimist.

 

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