Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion) (montecristo) wrote,
Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion)

Out on the road today I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac...

It's a beautiful sunny December day outside and about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. That makes me smile. I'm on Christmas break. I don't understand why people who do not believe and would not call themselves Christians even bother to keep this particular day. Why do we do the things we do? A few days ago, I was talking to Lee and she said that she believed that everyone should be home with their families on Christmas. Why? Why that particular day? She wasn't raised in the church. She knows almost nothing of that religion. What's her thing?

I've been sitting around thinking. I have no idea what I'm doing. What does anything mean? Today is my wedding anniversary. "'Til death do us part." "So long as we both shall live." Yeah, right. Lee told me that she called her mother a few weeks ago. She doesn't know why she did it. The call disappointed her. As is typical of my ex-wife, Crystal was "busy." Her younger daughter doesn't speak to her for weeks and months at a time and Crystal is "busy" when she calls. That was Lee's assessment. What she means is that Crystal was not too busy to answer the phone but she was "too busy" to connect. What a great way to remind Lee of why she resolved to write you out of her life, Crystal. Does she wonder why her elder son needs help for suicidal ideation? I have no doubt that she does. We only wonder about the things we don't understand. How does a woman dismiss her children? Does she not understand that they can see, her, hear her, when her actions speak? She doesn't actually care about her children? Is this the assessment that those who see her are to make? This is the woman I married, ten years before the Towers came down. It was a different world, I was a different man, it was another country. Is that true?

What am I doing? I have no idea. The question is vexing but I can't even feel any angst about it. I would have to have some sort of driving goal and be facing the prospect of not achieving it to have angst. I have "aims" but I can't seem to believe that they amount to anything significant. I used to believe that I understood significance. I don't. I am 56 years old. I have spent my life falling in love and getting ideas. What is actualized? I can't say that I'm depressed, but I certainly am a stranger to joy, right now. I'm not inspired. That sounds passive. I should better say that I'm not doing anything right now that might create inspiration. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. If I find inspiration I may act on it. I'm not impressed with what my actions have brought me, in pursuit of inspiration. My parts are not confident in me, or maybe it would be better to say that they are not confident enough in me. In Atlas Shrugged, Francisco tells Dagny: "I still want to sleep with you but I am not a man who is happy enough to do it." If happiness is something we make, as opposed to something we "find" or into which we stumble, I would love to have asked The Little Old Russian Lady what she meant in writing that Francisco was not happy. Heh.

I was looking at a profile on OK Stupid today, again. It was the page of a woman of whom OK Stupid says is a 97 percent match with me. She seems like a very interesting person but I'm not all that attracted. She's only 33 years old, three years older than Renee. She has a child. She says she wants more. When you're in your thirties, you can entertain the idea of trying to build something again. Like the song says:

A little voice inside my head said,
'Don't look back, you can never look back,
I thought I knew what love was,
What did I know,
Those days are gone forever,
I should just let 'em go, but...

Henley's protagonist carries a torch. He's got something to prove. Mine has burned out. What have I got to prove?

Tags: aging, introspection, love

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