Oh I fucking love ‘er. She’s adorable. I’d write that in block capitals but I don’t want to break the writing style. She’s just woke up, and said
“I’m sorry I’m asleep”. My heart melts, shatters, and rises from the ashes. I’m jumping up and down inside my own inebriated emotions. Glorious.
Len has entered my life as a great teacher. She was here to teach me I could really strive to be a good man, I could do right by someone, I could love again, and I could heal. I just want her to be without tears, without pain, without fear. However long she’s in my life, I’m going to appreciate it.
I’m chain-smoking and drinking beer. Another cig, another mouthful. I’m listening to The Isaiah Effect in my Audible library and loving what I’m hearing. Love God, he says. See no distinction between yourself and God, he says. Be the inner peace in mind, heart, and action, he says. I love it.
It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was laying in a psychiatric hospital bed with a plastic bag over my head. I was orienting myself to it. I needed to feel what it was like. It’s near impossible to keep it over your head, by the way. Your entire body freaks out. The physiological manager kicks in and you claw for oxygen like you’ve missed it for a lifetime. That was a dark time, but I learned some bastardisation of humility, and at least the cocky aggressive man had been slaughtered in his waking sleep.
I’ve got over my obsession with my twenties. Damn, I wish I could be twenty-five again, I’d think. I’d look at myself back then like he was a role model to me now. That’s as cringey as it should sound. I’m older now. I know my own mind.
Now I look back and think man, I wish I could get back to two months ago. Then I think, what was I doing? Nothing remarkable. I was in a state of being that pleased me. That’s the distinction to see.
The Northern General hospital is full, and I mean jam packed, with attractive young women. They are everywhere. They’re just flitting about. There’s no end to them. There are definitely plenty of fish in the sea, that’s for sure. That’s something to remind myself of, if and when Len finally leaves me for a younger, more active model.
It turns out I couldn’t watch Vikings, past episode two. I’m not into this ‘don’t release entire series at once’ thing. I stream television for the luxury it brings. What will I care for Ivor the Boneless in a week? I’ll forget that story thread in an hour. I might write to Jeff Bezos, implore him to remedy the situation.
In my private moments I’ve been thinking what would happen if I wrote to a hundred millionaires and penned a convincing letter of why they should give me a million pounds. I deserve it. I’m worth it. I think I should be gloriously rich! I suppose I’ll have to start my own business and make a few million pounds like all the rest do.
I’ve got beer, smokes, and my laptop. That’s good enough for now. I’m sitting here in my shorts, contemplating watching cougar porn. I have always liked older women, but I’m an older man now. Where do you draw the line?
It occurs to me that dating women younger than me seems to be a trend that’ll be enjoyable to sustain. Len’s 27. I’m 35 next month. It’s weird. I’m the governing presence in our relationship. I’m the one who often has the final say. I’m not a tyrant with it. At least, I hope I’m not. It is quite nice being able to offer value, with very little effort on my part.
Love comes and goes. Money comes and goes. Being focused and tuned in comes and goes. I still fight against that last one. I want to feel tuned in all the time. I hate when I can’t get into a peak state. I should accept it, maybe It’ll speed up my progress.