Girls weren’t into me in school but I believed that one day, maybe through work or something, I find a great woman and we’d go out for a while and then we’d get married.

We would have a child or two and live out in the suburbs. I’d do dad things like play catch, throw a football around, get suckered into tea parties with Mr. Flopsy and Mrs. Patchquilt. My wife would do wife things and make me do wife things just to be fair.

We’d have friends and throw New Years parties and Halloween parties and have family over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We would head off on vacations and have fun but tiring times.

The kids would get married and have kids of their own and we’d do the grandparent thing and spoil the kids rotten.

At some point, I guess, I would pass away surrounded by my family.

None of that happened. I have been married, but they never worked out very well. I never had kids of my own. I don’t even have friends so there’s no point in throwing parties.

Some people have no regrets; I have nothing but. I wouldn’t recommend it.



Wherein I make a decision and then rescind that decision and do quite a lot of waffling about it.

My life isn’t terrible. Granted, I don’t have any friends (not true, I have 1 1/2 friends), I don’t have family that cares about me (mostly true, but not entirely), I don’t have a family of my own (totally true), and women, as a rule, don’t care for me very much.

Unlike some people, however, I have a job and a place to live. I’m in mostly good health. I have a cool car. So, there you go. I have stuff.

The question, I guess, is was it worth it? All the things that happened to me, that I went through, that I put myself through… Was it all worth it to bring me to this place where I am now?

I haven’t done anything really good in my life. I haven’t cured cancer. I haven’t brought joy to millions. I’ve done a lot of nothing, really. So I thought, “What if I used this new blog thing to write about my life?” I started it to keep it away from people I knew so I could write freely without offending anyone. The only way someone would find it would be by searching for it and I don’t think anyone cares enough to bother.

You may be confused. If I have people that I don’t want to offend, why don’t I have friends or family that gives a crap? I have a lot of acquintences on social media. Most of them I’ve never met, they’re just people I ended up connecting with online. I’m also connected with my family, although there isn’t much interaction. I’m sure if I said that they didn’t care they’d be up in arms saying it wasn’t true. But, you see, that would be the only interaction I would get. It would literally take offending them to be noticed by them.

So I’m not too worried about someone searching and finding this.

Writing about my life would be difficult for me. I recognize that, in the past, I wasn’t the best person I could have been. Some would argue that, too, saying that I was a perfectly wonderful person. I know better.

My hope would be that someone might read it, see the mistakes I made and then not do them. It’s just that simple. In reality, I could just make a short bullet list of things not to do and get it over with really quick. That loses impact, though, when there’s no context given. For example, you can go ahead and tell someone not to spend a lot of money on stupid things but they’re going to do it anyway because, hey, who knows what will happen in the future? But when you tell them not to spend money on stupid things because they might need it in the future for something important, then it begins to take shape that there are ramifications for actions.

Maybe, then, I can do a good thing for someone else by pointing out the errors I have made.

On the other hand, some people just don’t get it unless they make their own mistakes. There’s no way around that.

On the other, other, hand do I want to give away that much information about myself? And, also, I would need to be considered an unreliable narrator. Not out of a desire to mislead, but because I can have a pretty poor memory, sometimes. Also everything I say is colored by who I am and my own expectations and realizations.

Maybe I should think about this some more.


In the US, we’ll be celebrating Independance Day or, also known as, The Fourth of July. It’ll be a day full of families and friends gathering around to picnic, grill, and watch explosions in the sky.

That’s great for people who have families and friends. I don’t. So I’ll be doing a lot of nothing except for being happy that I live in the US. I’ve never lived anywhere else so I’m kind of fond of it for nostalgic reasons.

I was never big on fireworks, though. They’re neat and all when you get to see them, but I don’t go out of my way to see them. I guess it’s a bigger thing when you have a family and take them out and the kids enjoy them. The universe has made it quite clear that these are not meant to be for me.

No, what I get to do is to enjoy my day(s) off and look at Facebook with everyone else posting pictures of what a wonderful time they’re having with their families and what-not. I probably sound bitter. I am.

I mean, I’m not overly bitter. I don’t walk around muttering to myself about how shitty life is and how I wish everyone else was as miserable as I am. I don’t even think that and I’m genuinely happy that other people appear to be having an enjoyable life. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to look at what other people have and not wish that I could have something like that, too.

People may look at my life and think that I make a good living, I can afford to buy stupid things. I don’t have to worry about spending money on family things or kid things or whatever. Or, maybe, they’re envious that I don’t report to anyone; that I can do whatever I want, when I want and don’t have to explain it or justify it. I get my ‘alone’ time.

Except, I don’t want my alone time. I’ve had enough of it. I’d rather be out doing something with someone, enjoying them enjoying themselves. I won’t do things for me, but I’m more than happy do something for someone else. That’s the way I’m wired, I guess. It’s a shame. I could, I think, make someone very happy and secure. But somebody would need to take a chance on me and that’s never going to happen.