Am I happy being single ?
Well, when hearing how sex has become for my married friends the dangling carrot at the end of a long stick of shattered promises, goading them into activities they would rather not do, yes I am quite fucking happy. Life is much more palatable when only my corporate overseers are sucking the will to live out of me. Figuratively speaking, of course, under different conditions having the will to live sucked out of me is quite the reckless and necessary foray into hedonism.
Notwithstanding the sudden, grievous usurpation of free will, there are those Friday nights where I wish a tube sock and watching Yanet Garcia fashion the weather patterns of Mexico into something so lascivious, wasn’t the only just conclusion to the work week. Never making it past Lunes on the five day forecast is in fact the most reliable portent that the warm front moving rapidly south to southwest, will bring with it those small but violent down-pourings of rain so typical to this locale.
To put it another way, happiness is too ephemeral a species to have any lasting relevance to being single or not. Quite unlike and opposite to our biological needs which like the coffers of Rome not only require steady, rhythmically, deep-fulfillment, but will move the stones of our very being to mutiny once they’re neglected. I know, bringing Shakespeare into this rant was excessive, especially given how campaigns aimed at encouraging people to read the classics in the USA have been about as successful as your local Italian Wife Beaters Anonymous chapter. For that reason, let me be blunt: individual happiness is not so meaningless.
What’s more important since it’s not yet time for Ms Garcia’s Friday Night Forecast, is the extent to which people can relate to each other intimately in our current social setting. The diagnosis isn’t too promising with the ever-changing definitions of masculinity and femininity, elevated divorce rates, and the policing of expressions of sexuality.
Keeping up the appearance of being moral acquiescent to what society deems to be wholesome goes against my grain. It comes as no surprise then that I’ve become for many of my friends that unmarried, childless Cynic sitting in this emptied tub (ideologically) outside the city of a castrated adulthood, asking its denizens passing me by to stand out of my light i.e not invited to dinner when the wife and kids are around.
Am I out of touch with reality? Do I find civilization to be regressive in terms of personal human development? Is the only reason I prefer Fanta because of the Fanta Girls? You tell me. Maybe that’s the cost of freedom. Is aiming for emotional, psychological, and sexual satiety better in the long run than attaching myself to tired social norms and ideals.
Whatever the case, I’m falling asleep at a crossroad.