No Man Is An Island, Nor Toilet Seat.

I went out for my before bed cigarette and my neighbor was out there on vicodin and gin. We discussed him becoming involved with a second married chick. Yes, she is hot and young and has no body fat except for the 200 pounds of baggage that we call her husband, but I told him that I thought it was a bad idea and it solidifies why I would rather sit in the safety of my living room than put myself at the mercy of the throes of the feminine gender as of late.

I'm not going gay or anything in observance of legalized marriage, but I'm just staying off the grid. He then goes, "Oh fuck you, dude. You get more ass than a toilet seat." I had to break his heart a little bit and tell him that I've been ass free for over two months now and kind of enjoying it. It's part of operation: life less complicated. I'm kind of zeroing out in the good sense of the word and trying to find a nice clean slated starting point. Of course, this has been through paying for meals with exes and finding out everything that I did wrong from them, but it's relatively healthy in a learning sense. I'd especially like to get it out of the way before I take on any further ill-fated endeavors. Especially since I fell in love with a bank teller the other day. She was married and she was forgotten by the time I had left with quarters for laundry, but it was nice to feel enamorous.

So, self-induced therapy through solidarity? Maybe. Just an excuse to eat ice cream and get fat guiltlessly? Probably. Just a much needed break? Most likely.