Back to reality

It's the echo of my own mind. It's the words of a friend. It's the sharp blast of winter wind in the eyes. It's waking from a lovely dream only to be thrust back into an awful reality. It's living with a decision you didn't make. It's an accident on the freeway. Your dog getting hit in the street. A miscarriage. A letter you read and discarded but wish you had back every single day.

It appears to be that time, dear readers, to face reality. I've been chasing butterflies, riding unicorns into the sunset, reading fairy tales and imagining the man in the moon coming to life for too long. It's time. I hear it in the words of a friend. Sometimes it's just a gentle tug that I need to get me back on the road. Sometimes I need to be hit over the head with a map and cursed at a little. THAT WAY. Go that way, dummy. 

There is a period of adjustment after the end of a relationship when one feels free. You can do anything you want! I've imagined joining the wildland firefighters, traveling to far-flung conflagrations to wage war against the beast that is wildfire. I've thought of chasing women all across Europe. I've thought of moving to one coast or the other. Or taking a year off. Hundreds of different jobs have crossed my mind, some of them feasible, most of them wildly inappropriate. I've thought of sexually rampaging with as many women as possible. My future is wide open. I've been cut free. Anything is possible. 

It is inevitable. The return to terra firma will come, usually via a crash. There are possibilities, yes, but they are not endless. I am a relatively old man in most parts of the country. Starting over somewhere will not be easy. Sure, I could think of it as an adventure, but when the bills start coming in, it won't be an adventure anymore. 

As far as women are concerned, most of them are solely interested in how much a man makes. I currently make jack, and if I get a job elsewhere, I will most likely make less. Unless I have a really awesome personality (which I don't), they won't give me the time of day, whether they are from Belarus or Beloit. A guy with a jerkoff job is a guy with a jerkoff job, no matter how awesome he is. So, if I get a job somewhere else, all of my money is going to go to rent and food and my son's care. I know this because almost all of my money currently goes toward these things. How does that make me appealing to women? And if my job doesn't allow me to date when most people date (like weekends and evenings), then my chances of coupling again are even lower.

So, let's look at this from a female's perspective. I'm middle-aged (ew), divorced (what did you do, bud?), starting over in life (sounds adventurous, but it's really just pathetic), and have almost zero friends (have you been in jail?). That's not a whole lot to recommend me. In fact, that's a whole lot of demerits. I'll go with the line that I'm a Serbian spy. With my browline and prominent, crooked nose, dour expression (indicating a life of hardship and tough decisions), and lack of things to talk about that most people talk about (indicating outsider status), they'll smell failure all over me. I'm nothing but warning signs to any female with half an ounce of discretion.

As much as I'd like to appear to be a happy, funny, fun guy, the stink of my rotten life has sunk into my clothes and anyone who has a nose will put some serious distance between us. Normal people are, frankly, scared of me. There is an edge and meanness to me now. I can't say I've entirely changed through all of this, but maybe some things have been enhanced and some subdued. 

I don't know many women in their 30s or early 40s who would like to lash their dinghy to this sinking ship. Meth-heads, maybe, and people otherwise not in their right minds. A man with an associate's degree (fingers crossed), no career, a personality of a marmot, divorced with a child support obligation moving to a town near you! They'll be asking where they can sign up. 

Heck, I don't know any guys who would want to hang out with me either. What the hell am I going to talk about? My life has been an almost uninterrupted mess of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror. All fun stuff to talk about. I'd be the life of the party. Hey, no, ask me what I do for a living for a real laugh.

Initially, I saw my possibilities expand. Now, they've constricted again. I got a glimpse of wild, wonderful worlds that could have been or maybe should have been. And now it's back to reality. It's a good thing. Or maybe just a necessary thing. Who the fuck cares. This life will be over before I know it, and I will have spent a disproportionate amount of it mired in a contemplative shitstorm. Is it possible I can just suspend all of this and live my life? Is that an option? Sure, I tell myself, until reality intrudes again.