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During the last grueling year of my marriage, I harbored a faint hope that as soon as I was free to date again, I’d chance upon a man who was in a similar situation as myself: single, horny as fuck, hard-working, and interested in hammering out some sort of unofficial yet close friendship.
I didn’t attach this hope to any one particular person. In fact I hesitate even to call it a “hope.” It was more like a thought of, “Hm, wouldn’t that be convenient.”
Now, after a year of post-separation dating, I’ve reached the conclusion that it’s not going to happen. Or maybe I’m just in a foul mood as I write this. Who knows.
In either case, I’m beginning to believe that I am sitting in a vast lonely movie theater. Every so often someone sits next to me, or I take the initiative to seek out another solitary watcher.
We talk about what appears on the screen, but before long it becomes painfully apparent that we are watching different movies. We argue, because one or both of us believe that our version is the correct one.
But it’s not.
Neither one has the correct version. There is no correct version. There’s no projectionist sitting in a booth high above our heads. There is in fact nothing at all on the screen.
I’m making up my own movie as I go along, and anyone I sit next to is making up his own movie as well. But I keep forgetting that there’s no movie, and he keeps forgetting too—or else he never knew.
So we argue about what we see, and sooner or later one of us walks (or stomps) off to find more agreeable companionship.
I need something to remind me every single day that there is no movie. Someone needs to make a pill that would make me remember. I’d put it in my little dispenser and gulp it down faithfully each day.
I understood that the world was nothing: a mechanical chaos of casual, brute enmity on which we stupidly impose our hopes and fears. I understood that, finally and absolutely, I alone exist. All the rest, I saw, is merely what pushes me, or what I push against, blindly-as blindly as all that is not myself pushes back. I create the whole universe, blink by blink. J. Gardner, Grendel
In all the existential angst I forgot to mention
that there is SWAG TOMORROW.
badinfluencegirl
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Southern Gentleman
