It took me a minute to figure it out. Normally, I’m not prone to prolonged bouts of wallowing in self pity. I’m guilty of it on occasion (who isn’t?), sometimes even for a few days at a stretch, but I feel like I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for about two years straight now. Fact is, somewhere along the way, I seem to have become a whiny bitch.

I’m finally having my midlife crisis. A little late, but it’s here.

Luckily, with that realization came a feverish desire to shake it off, and… I hesitate to say it… I’m winning. Believe me, I’m more shocked than anyone.

Yeah, I have some personal man/woman type shit going down; a girl I very badly want doesn’t want me… I don’t want another girl who wants me very badly… a girl I get along with great is in a relationship… another girl completely freaked out on me and we’re barely speaking… and the girl I’ve been crazy about for years still lives on the other side of the country.

Blah. Blah. Blah. ad infinitum, ad naseum. Join the fucking club, right? Right.

The great thing is, once I cribbed to the bullshit my brain and age and hormones were trying to pull on me, I was able to start thinking around it. And for a therapy-averse mammal like myself, that’s how it all starts turning. Is it gone? Hell, no, but I’m fighting it back. I still have bouts of “woe is me,” but they’re brief, I’m able to recover quickly, and largely keep them to myself. Hopefully, I will be a significantly less miserable fuck to be around than I have been. I’ve barely got any friends as it is, I figure I should make a little effort to keep them.

So, here’s the game; when I start rolling around in a puddle of “my life sucks,” I focus on the fact that I have work, (for now, which is the best any of us can hope for at the moment). I have at least two projects coming up that I care very deeply about, so no moaning about being “creatively unsatisfied.” I have a great place that’s going to get better as I pull my head out of my ass and continue to work on it. There are still hot, filthy chicks who want to fuck me (I can’t overstate the importance of this; I know it’s shallow, but feeling unwanted and rejected wasn’t helping the situation at all). And, while I have to admit that I seriously doubt I’ll luck into a real relationship again (which means I probably will die alone), I’m coming to terms with that realization, too, and I think I’m okay with it.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be wrong. Bob knows it’s happened once or twice before.

Whatcha think?

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Hey, don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone I love. — Woody Allen