The silence of purgatory suffices ce soir.  Being tonight what amounts to the feeling of only the empty shell of an action that one imagines is the definition of a gentleman leaves me sans espoir, the brass ring lost in my desire to be kind to a childhood friend and confidante who also happens to be my wife who is supportive of traditional heterosexual monogamy only.  To that suffocating circumstance I knowingly submitted myself, death is the only exit?  Tell me it is not so!  Yet, I spent precious funds on a portrait of said lady to give her for our 27th wedding anniversary on Friday, in remembrance of good moments I’ve recently remembered were sugar-coated over time.

I once promised myself to keep escapades to a minimum in our town, should opportunities present themselves, even in imaginary/magical terms on the dance floor, an extension of self-love.

I have fallen out of love with myself and thus the dance, nothing inside me to offer a dance partner because the boy who just followed his wife to have some casual fun on the dance floor died Monday night, unable to convince himself he’ll ever give his wife a partner (or partners) with whom she can enjoy the same extramarital flirtatious fun he enjoys.  Burdened by kindness toward his wife who tends to sit lonely at the dance club, no one asking her to dance, he can no longer find the energy to share himself with others in a dance.  The magic vanished.

If I can’t feed the wild man from Borneo inside me, then why bother caring about my life, let alone the species?

Let others stick to whatever works.  I already accepted my unhappiness being locked in the institute of marriage a long time ago, fulfilling my gentlemanly duties.

Is there anything else left for me?  Maybe. They tell me people talk, some who even read this blog, which I write as if it is a hidden diary, not tied to real life except accidentally/coincidentally, my literal literary escape mechanism.  If nothing else, there may be a life story of theirs I can write about and take my thoughts off of my hopelessness.

Let the silence begin — I never was good at the subtle/obvious signals of the dating game which some have mistaken as true love for my wife but actually is my fallback “safety from personal harm” mode — I can return to my contemplative misery that is my long wait to die, childless and lonely, returning to the states of energy to their lower inertial conditions.

Either that or say, “Damn it!  Long live the dance!  This merry-go-round carousel makes revolutions.  Screw the negative emotions and try for the brass ring again!”

Yeah, that’s the ticket.  Thanks for the contrarian’s pep talk, Rick.  🙂