I have been a celibate monk for the past six years, our cabin in the woods a virtual monastery, my wife refusing to have sex with me if I won’t provide her financial means to pay for health insurance.

What is my life to be from now on — the same as the last six years or something else?

Points to ponder, sitting here in a steakhouse restaurant in West Frankfort, Illinois, temporarily burned out on dancing, waiting for my bluegill fish dinner.

I am surrounded by boundless, abundant blessings and luxuries.

What more can a simple man like me want?

I remind myself the universe is not about or for me.

I am an illusion.