61. Day 5

61. Day 5

I didnt write yesterday. No particular reason.

I am beginning to view this 65 day thing a little differently. At first it was like “this is gonna fucking suck”. That seems to have morphed into some form of complacency. Did I mention when she initiated the 65 day no contact period, that she phoned me to say goodbye in person?

I told her I couldn’t say goodbye. It felt like having to jump from a cliff or a plane or something. That was through text. She responded by phoning, saying that she thought it would make it easier. If I remember correctly it made it worse. Much worse. She ended up using some form of “until we speak again” rather then goodbye. At the time, I loved her for that. She had freed me from having to jump from zee plane.

However I appear to have been mistaken. Now it feels like I did jump, and like once I jumped, I could not get back to where I jumped from. What I mean is that when I picture her now, its not like it was before. I can now swap her out with a few of the other women I have been seeing. At least mentally. There no longer seems to be a feeling of her offering something special.

I dont know what brought this on. I did get caught up on the fact that she fucked someone else. This was yesterday. Not the fucking. Just my focusing upon it mentally. I think maybe agreeing to the 65 day thing allowed me to accept the breakup as having occurred, this acceptance being enabled by having proactively taken a step towards alleviating the negative associated with the situation. Perhaps the shock caused by the end of the relationship receded and was replaced with the realization that she fucked someone else. Shes not mine. Not anymore. She said this herself, in those words.. “I’m not yours anymore”. Maybe a part of me heard her and accepted it.

It doesnt matter anymore anyways. I dont think I could connect with her again if we were together. I dont think I could have sex with her either..especially without abstaining for awhile first. Its an odd feeling. Especially not knowing if it is temporary or not. I feel as if I no longer want to be with here though. Like I kinda wished the 60 days were over tomorrow and I could get over waiting for her to disappoint me, only to return the favor on the 65th day.

I know I am angry. At myself. At her. At him. I think she may have broke something that cant be fixed. We’ll see I guess.

On a side note, it is becoming much more enjoyable spending time with Dee. The sex is just amazing. Typically, after I finish, I get angry for a few seconds. Not with Dee. Not lately anyways. I definitely desire her body more then my exes. It feels much better to be inside Dee then my ex. Id still prefer to hug my ex though. Or at least yesterday I would have. Today I am trying not to think about it. Ive found my mind creeping towards potential futures with Dee though. My feelings will probably change tomorrow. Writing this though has made me ridiculously tired. Nap time. Who else wakes up grouchy after a nap but cant help but take them? I am guessing everybody. Lets finish on an appreciative note though, just imagine how many people have lived and died never getting to experience anything as awesome as getting baked, watching any kind of porn you can think of while masturbating, eating one last slice of pizza and passing out? Royalty from like two decades ago didn’t get to experience that kind of luxury. Now its a daily activity for welfare class citizens. All hail progression.


63. Day 3 (Written May 27th, Posted May 28th)

63. Day 3                                                                         (Written May 27th, Posted May 28th)

So yesterdays attempt at writing was a miserable failure. I really did not want to do it and put it off until the end of the night. I lose the ability to articulate and focus as the day goes on. Insufficient dopamine I think.

I am sitting at a bus stop. My car is currently impounded. I do not remember if I mentioned that previously or not. I do not feel like talking about it at the moment but all that’s important is that I currently do not have a vehicle and take the bus, walk, or bike everywhere. I get rides from a few people but don’t really ask.

Right now I am on my way to work. Its 12:54 pm. I am late. Not as late as I thought. Ive realized this just now as I wrote the time. I said I would be there around 9:00 am. Shortly after 1 is better then most contractors isn’t it?

I plan on telling the home owner I was rear ended. It explains being late, my back pain (literally no idea where it came from but It has me somewhat hobbled) and why I will be arriving on a bus. I arranged to have all my tools dropped off this morning and the rest of the supplies delivered from the paint store.

You may ask why I am working considering I previously said I normally do not. At the end of the month I am moving out of my current residence and into an apartment with my dog. I also will have a $700 dollar impound fee to pay. Rent with deposit is just over $1300. I owe the local utility company approx. $300 that will need to be paid before I can have my new place serviced, and I am addicted to marijuana. Yeah I know, but I go through about an ouce every two weeks, smoking pretty consistently following a 3 hour cycle. Ive also quit nicotine and coke. Quite easily actually. Physiological addiction submitted like a little bitch. Psychological addiction. That is a bitch. It passifies the boredom. Right now its also helping my back. Ive never used marijuana before as a pain killer but I am surprised as to how well it is currently working for my back. I am carrying a 40-50lb backpack and can barely get up from a sitting position (walking is actually easier). This is enabled by the marijuana. Although its probably responsible for my in ability to stay focused on one topic as well (I am also beginning to realize the bus isn’t coming and I may have to move) Nevermind. Here it comes.

64. Day two.

64. Day two.

Today I worked. I do not usually work. I acquire lump sums through manipulation of various sources and live off them for as long as they allow. I can get carried away with spending sometimes. I have very little respect for money. More of a hatred. I believe in trade and reciprocation. Currency however is disgusting. Its affect upon the majority of you renders you to a pathetic submissive form of mimicry… but that is not the point here. Actually, I am sorry to say, there really is no point to this. Its day two of a sixty-five day period in which I am not allowed to contact my ex. My Penelope.

Today I woke up feeling better then I did when I went to bed last night. Last night was difficult. It felt like an end. It was hard not to act upon a desire to find my exs shrink and see if she is accepting patients. Id sit there and tell her every issue I had. Like the one where my ex is being played by an insecure shrink projecting her own relationship issues and textbook generalizations on my relationship.

Its hard not to do anything. I feel as if I could fix this. Instead I am being asked not to exercise any control. To wait. That is not fun. That is hard. Difficult even. Boredom will ensue. Which means I am being asked to endure boredom for 65 days. I’ve explained this but it is still not understood. Anything is supposed to be better then boredom. How can I endure it for 65 days for a different goal? She dumped me because I am a psychopath. Because my children might be. Her children could be. I guess stating that I could logically understand how one could kill their mother was disturbing for her to hear. That I can understand I suppose.

I have to go. Dee is staring at me and annoyed. I wont let her read this or know anything about it other then I write a blog online, anonymously and unfiltered. Why do they not understand that they cannot handle the truth? I don’t want her to further my isolation. I enjoy her company. She is quite affectionate and has the body type I like. I should go though. I am sitting on her bed writing about my ex. She is letting me. I said I would be five minutes eleven minutes ago. Now I am just typing for the sake of it..whine. Its 1215 am anyways. Day three of 65.

65 days to go, or Day 1.

65 days to go, or Day 1.

In 60 days she will contact me. If she does not, I am allowed to contact her upon the 65th. So we will call it 65 and pretend not to hope for 60.

Thirty-two. It does not seem like so much, written as a number. The words seem to carry more emphasis. Anyways thats how many women I’ve slept with since she dumped me on February 17th.

That is how many it took. You may think I was conquesting or hiding from pain. I probably was. Hiding from pain I mean. It also was a way to utilize an insatiable drive to avoid being paralyzed by a near catatonic depression. I wont drink water to stay hydrated, but I will stay hydrated if I need to get it up. Idiot.

Of those thirty-two, six considered themselves to be “professional healers” or “spiritual guides” as one of them stated once, while correcting me.

Anyways, I wanted something from them. Something aside from the obvious. I needed to know if I could find someone that could give me what it was I needed to push myself forward. They said no. If one is to believe in some sort of energy that can be transferred from one person to another, or even taken by one person from another, then the question arises, who can give me what I need. Their response; only yourself. My response; taking whatever they had to give and using it to keep my mood in a positive enough state to avoid spending the following night alone.

I wanted to be able to sustain the feeling though, without having to recharge by using women.

Eventually I did. After thirty two.. I dont think the number itself was significant. It just took thirty-two to find myself a purpose. To find what I knew was there and had to see to prove to myself why I should get up.

You do not feel what you feel when reading what I write, when you speak with me. In person I am like a puppy. A lost puppy if the situation calls for it. This is relevant because you would never share a part of yourself with the author of this article. If we met in person however, we would be laying in bed within a couple hours, maybe less if I’m in a good enough mood. I mean I like to go out for food after sex. Much less awkward getting to know one another, much less eat in front of someone, if you’ve already seen each others face during orgasm. Not to mention the brownie points you get for setting yourself apart from other guys by showing interest post-ejaculation.  Anyways, narcissistic delusions aside, women have a tendency to tell me their most wonderful of secrets.

Not the ones you are thinking of. No, for whatever reason, you would share with me whatever core memory it is that shaped you. Sometimes they are fresh, “my dad died 10 months ago”. Sometimes they result in existential crisis, “I raised my useless sisters nephew, and her three other kids. He died in a house fire two days before his 5th birthday, 10 days before my birthday. I think my sister did it for the insurance cause she had to many kids… why does someone like her have 4 kids, a house and a husband and my baby and I are alone”.

Then. Sometimes, you get what you asked for. A truly genuine piece of a human being that can carry you through almost anything. “When my parents would go out of town they would have my Aunt babysit us. When my aunt would babysit us her boyfriend would come over. Sometimes he would come babysit us. He was disgusting. I hated him. I can remember my 7 year old sister hiding me in the crawl space and telling me to be quiet until he leaves. Not to make a sound no matter what”…

That was enough. I was there to make it feel ok. To simply make her feel appreciated, truly appreciated, if even only for a night. To make her feel ok. I could not however go back in time to help her sister.

So it took thirty two women for me to confirm the purpose I already suspected. I used thirty two women to attain the mindset I will need in 65 days time when I am allowed to contact my “her”. My Penelope..

I have 65 days to make myself into someone who can make her feel like it will be ok, like she will survive being trapped in the dark in the crawl space. Pretty sure if a seven year old is capable of hiding her 5 year old sister in the crawl space to avoid being raped, so that she alone can take it, I can go 65 days. I can make it so Penelope never has to feel like shes trapped in a crawl space. 65 days of what we will call training. 65 days of waiting. 65 days of boredom. Hour two begins…

Long Time, No Talk.

Long Time, No Talk.

Hi, how are you? You wanna Cuddle :)?….. Sorry habit. Am I the only one who feels like shooting his self in the head after spending an hour interacting with the people available through online dating? No? Really? Everybody you say?

Its been awhile. Boredom. Its a bitch. I need to focus though and someone said this might help. I’m not gonna waste too much time with the details of whats happened since the last time I wrote. I learnt the second use of too, in place of to. Its an amount. It also stands in for “as well”. So anywhere you are describing an amount, such as above, where I stated “not gonna waste too much” you use “too” rather than “to”. Next week ill explain then vs than! (I wont actually, but utilizing these little tidbits of information will get you laid. Is that not sad?).

Details… My relationship ended. Shocked? Probably not. Hence the introduction. If you mass message “Hey 🙂 you wanna cuddle?” to every physically adequate woman available online in your local area, you will be amazed at the results. I am not getting a lot of sleep, because part of sleeping with someone different every day (sometimes two in day), requires dropping whatever you are doing, and being there when these women are available.  My workout schedule, finances and school are all suffering as well.. and I probably have crabs.. I definitely have a headache. As well as a bad habit of stopping for three celebratory Mcdoubles at 3:30 am on the way home. Did you know they don’t serve Mcdoubles during breakfast? That means I have to be there before 3:50 am or I miss out. What the fuck is that McDonald’s? I think the habit itself has something to do with celebrating my metabolism after a successful night out. Lets just say you would fully hate me if you saw my body and also knew what I ate.

Trying to remember what the point of writing this was. It feels like there were things I thought I was wanting to write about but now contemplation of those same things for the sake of expression is causing cynicism and a little rage.

I suppose I should stick to the stated goal of organization. So. Finances. That is becoming an issue. However, I have a plan. Which already worked. I got a buddy to invest in a company for myself to run. Small renovations company. Now comes the follow-through. You may be surprised to find out, follow-through is not exactly my strong suit. I am actually writing this rather than designing a logo. Which brings me to another potential idea. Writing. Apparently I am quite good at it. Something about your being able to quite strongly feel the feelings that motivate my way of speaking. Despite my not being aware of these feelings myself. Outside of anger.

Just writing that last sentence caused anger. Except I don’t think that anger comes across the same way the rest of the feelings expressed do. If I reread what I’ve written, the sentence “Despite my not being aware of these feelings myself”, seems to be the only one void of whatever it is that makes my writing enjoyable. It is as if that sentence was for myself. An afterthought almost, not intended for the reader but potentially to imply superiority somehow. Which leads to my wondering if that sentence will have a reverse affect upon any individuals similar to myself, reading this.  Would the rest appear false? With that one sentence resonating? Am I pissing him off? Good. I’d make you both submit.

Sorry..getting lost in the implications.

Writing. Its difficult. Segues.. boring. But (and stupid rules, such as not being allowed to start a sentence with but. Suck a dick English) somehow I know I will find her through writing. Or I guess I am aware, through my writing I can cause someone to fall in love with a version of myself they have constructed in their own minds. You give me what I want and we will call it love. That is a line from a song by a band called the Glorious Sons. Its the closest you will get to a source citation.

Here.. I wrote this. Years ago.

—– She turned her head. His breath stopped. He stumbled almost falling. He cursed his feet. He wanted to see her face. He needed to see if it was her.  She continued forward and he continued after her, pushing people through the crowd. For her the crowd opened up, people smiled, often saying “Hello”. He had a much harder time. People seemed to close in and give him dirty looks. They knew.
He had to reach her, too much time had passed, it was almost over, had to see her face.
She was through the crowd now, walking into a park. This was it, it was almost over, in another 5 minutes, another opportunity would be wasted and he still wouldn’t know.
He pushed harder and started telling people to move. They fought back, keeping him surrounded. He lost sight of her as the people swarmed him. They started closing in on him, suffocating him. He felt the air build up in his lungs. He was ready to burst; he had no way out, no way forward. He gave up. His knees buckled, the only thing keeping him up was the people around him. His mind started to go, all he could see was black, and he could hear laughing.
Her, she was laughing. His eyes opened. He screamed. He burst through the people, through the crowd towards the park.
She was walking beside a pond, with her back towards him. She was so far ahead of him, there was no way he could reach her in time. He called out, he yelled her name. No sound came out of his mouth yet she heard him. She turned and looked at him. She smiled.
When she turned his heart stopped and he fell, his legs stopped, his breathing stopped. He went face first into the ground and again he could hear her laughing. He got up and she was looking at him. Then she pointed across the pond.
He looked where she was pointing and saw two geese together on the far side of the pond, with their necks wrapped together and their heads resting on each other’s backs.
He looked back to her and she was gone. He panicked, his eyes wildly searching, she had to be there. He had seen her face. He could not lose her now. The geese started honking, a loud mechanical honk, it kept going, getting louder and louder, until all you could hear was a single monotone buzz.
His eyes opened, he looked at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember her face.. —–

You may be able to see why I believe I would be able to get someone to think she could save me if that someone was able to just give me a hug.

I have lots of those. Excerpts I mean. Moments described one at a time. The one above was actually a dream. From before I met my now ex. From before I knew what I was. Which is funny because the way its written you would think I was expressing a need to be accepted in spite of what I was, which would have required knowing. It even seems to state that (what I am) as the cause of failure. Myself. As if I’m needing her to overcome myself. How overcoming myself will cost me her. The most haunting line being “No sound came out of his mouth yet she heard him”. If you can see that meaning something outside of “not only will I do what I am supposed to, but I will fail, and only because of who she is, will she know my failure to be irrelevant and respond with what I need” please, share.  Note this occurs after first she saves me from myself.. and from you… she than shows me something and disappears. It angers me to think that was the role Penelope played.

Pathetic self loathing. Identifying self as cause for undesired reality. Punishing by negating responsibility to allow pre-built structures to fall into chaos. Awaiting salvation from serendipity. How pathetically human of me.

Yet the anger fails to motivate action. Instead rage builds and focus blurs. A few hours after that, I find myself in the bed of a random slut who let me into her house after simply saying… “Hey :), you wanna cuddle?”…then for a brief time all I am aware of is her skin on mine. I am at peace. Until it ends and everything rushes back in and I am left with three options. Cry. Break it so it cant feel anymore. Or let myself remember that I don’t have to remember. Except for one thing. The third option. Theres always madness

June 20th “Jack fish, Periods, and Shutter Island”

June 20th “Jack fish, Periods, and Shutter Island”

Today I want to talk about the movie “Shutter Island”, Jack fish (the freshwater fish), and of course periods, which have a tendency to popup when not wanted (this is where the women mentally respond with “periods are never wanted).

This last point (periods) will be where we begin, because it ties everything together quite nicely.

My girlfriend Penelope, and I had planned a camping trip for June 17-19th about a month ago. We were looking forward to fishing and bonfires and all that other great camping stuff. I actually enjoy fishing. No clue why. Theoretically I should get bored. I enjoy being in nature in general, think it has something to do with the added sense of autonomy.

Anyways, we planned everything, got the shopping done early and decided to pack the night before the day of departure so as to avoid rushing day of.

Packing day comes and Penelope tells me “no babies”. I ask “what?”. To which she responds with “I’m not pregnant” to which I reply “I know” with a confused look on my face. Finally she says something I understand (and fear).

“I’m bleeding”.

I assume Penelope was again able to read the look on my face because she said “Don’t worry, the week before the bleeding is when hormones are all out of whack and I get irritable, the bleeding means that parts over”.

I say OK, still skeptical and we proceed to pack for the trip. Next day we get ready to leave (3 hours late…and yes I was ready to go on time), get in the car, start driving, and then it started.

Her: Your speeding.
Me: I’m doing 10 over, it’s a three hour drive and we are late.
Her: That’s still speeding, I’m not gonna let you drive if you don’t slow down.

So I slow down and start driving in a manner that cannot be criticized. Then she realized she had forgotten her wine, period underwear, and Midol (I went 3 years without knowing they have pills for irritability when pmsing…3 years). So we go to Walmart and then the liquor mart. Now 4 hours late we head out. Or tried too.

Instead of heading out we got into an argument. It got to the point where she was screaming and hitting me and crying all while I got more and more frustrated. Now she is not a physical threat whatsoever.  I cannot do anything physical in response, even though she managed to draw blood with her nails. She hurt her wrists more hitting me then she hurt me.

After she calmed down and I had learned to NEVER EVER put wine bottles on their side, we continued on with our trip and had a decent time outside the occasional argument.

We even caught quite a few fish, which brings me to my second point, the Jack fish.

Penelope caught it. She was casting with a deep diver and reeled him in. The thing was, he had the lure pretty deep in his throat. I grabbed the pliers and the fish and started trying to remove the lure, knowing Penelope will never let me throw him back with the lure stuck in his mouth. She was already whining about hurting him (yes the fish) by keeping him out of the water for so long (if you have an idea as to how I was supposed to remove the lure while keeping him in the water I’m all ears). I also had to pee, which did not help the situation at all. Frustrated I ripped the lure out and threw the fish back in the lake.

Penelope did not want to use the deep diver anymore because of how much harder it had been to remove compared to the jig she had switched over from. I did not understand. Fish swallow lures. I tried to understand why. It involved exploring everything that had happened mentally.

I pictured it. The jackfish had struggled at first. I got angry. Penelope had started to complain and I had to pee. I could see the hook caught in the fish’s flesh and how it was hooked. I couldn’t focus hard enough to grab it and apply pressure in the direction needed.  Penelope kept whining about the fish suffering. I got mad and ripped the lure out in one motion not knowing what to do to handle everything being thrown at me.

This is where I reach a problem in understanding my thoughts.  I want to correct this. I could not control the situation and caused undesired consequence. I want to correct having torn the inside of the fishes mouth. It was unnecessary. I probably could have removed the lure causing much less damage had I been patient. I don’t know if that is guilt.

If it is, guilt I mean, then I can shut it off by shifting my focus. I can turn the feeling (if that is what it is) off. Which brings me to Shutter Island.


In actuality this really only pertains to the ending of Shutter Island. The thing about the guilt is that it is not a unique occurrence. I can “choose” to shift my focus from one logical point to another in order to deny the compulsions motivated by feeling. Situation and consequence typical outweigh feeling. If I had to kill someone for instance, shifting focus to the why, would allow me to commit the deed regardless of the feelings involved.
I’m able to do anything with this mental trick.

Or so I thought.

Shutter Island is a solid movie. The main character is an agent for I believe the FBI, and is looking for a murderer upon an island for mental patients. The murderer is also an escaped patient. This is circa 1950.

At the end of the movie you find out the protagonist himself is actually a patient on the island and everything that has happened has been part of a very complicated attempt at therapy. This is meant to bring the character back to reality which he has dissociated from.

The reason for the dissociation is having had to repress the memory of his (protagonist’s) wife drowning their three children which she did to end their (the childrens) “suffering”.

The protagonist has buried this reality deep. He has shifted his focus to the problem at hand, which is the murderer loose on the island. This allows him to deny the reality of his suffering.

This is similar to my mental process which allows me to act deviantly. Instead of pain I use logic to allow the shift in focus but the concept is the same.

What else is the same?

Well apparently the protagonist and I have the same limit we can not cross. Or possibly choose not to.

See the protagonist refuses to believe he himself is a patient. He believes the Dr’s are actually nazi war criminals running experiments on the patients.

As a last resort to bring the protagonist back to reality a Dr. tries to tell the protagonist what really happened but the protagonist refuses to believe him. That is until the Dr. holds up a picture and tells the protoganist that if the conspiracy is true, the protoganist’s daughter never existed. The Dr. asks the protoganist if he can say the daughter never existed and the protagonist breaks and comes back to reality.

When the Dr. asks the protagonist if he can deny his daughter having existed I don’t have to wait for the actor to deliver the line. I know he can’t. It fills me with rage, the desire to kill the Dr. followed by a feeling of extreme exhaustion and desire to sleep. I could not deny my daughter having existed.  It’s an unfathomable reality, and I don’t even have children!

So that is my limit. That is were the line allowing me to act is drawn. I could force myself past it but then I wouldn’t be me so technically, “I” could not do it.

That is also how periods, Jack fish, and Shutter Island are related.

What may or may not be related is the dream I had Saturday morning.

In the dream I was offered an exchange. I could have something from the past altered at cost to myself. I can’t remember the cost or the change made. The change was to take affect upon waking. When I awoke (within the dream) I was shown the status of my exchange on a machine resembling an ATM. The exchange had been successfully completed. However the cost was more then I had agreed to. It had cost me something I was not willing to give up but could not identify. I ran around desperately trying to figure out what it was the exchange had cost me, but I could not. Then I woke up.

June 16th, why women can’t not cheat.

June 16th, why women can’t not cheat.

I have a headache. They occur quite often. Tension headaches, caused mostly by repressing urges, mental ambivalence and most other forms of frustration.

The feeling itself is an odd one. Not able to be perceived as pain but rather, a sensation. Potentially the feeling of pressure. You would think solving the problem causing the frustration would end the sensation. It doesn’t.

Typically to end the sensation, an understanding must be reached. Acceptance of an unwanted reality.

The unwanted reality being contemplated today? It seems impossible for members of the female sex not to cheat.

Sure they may go years before the situation consistising of the right variables occurs, but it’s a matter of time and chance rather than character of the woman in question.

This has been explored through research. I am not willing to put in the effort to link the study. My convincing you won’t solve the problem and you typically need some sort of research related credentials to access peer reviewed studies anyways. It may have been printed in a large enough journal that it can be found through a Google search. Good luck.

Anyways, the study consisted of hooking up men and women, gay and straight, to machines measuring physiological indications of arousal. Then the men and women were shown images and videos and asked to report if they become aroused or not.

According to the answers given by the participants, men typically responded as expected, with both gay and straight men providing similar results via self and machine reports. Lesbians also seemed to provide a self report similar to that given by the devices monitoring for signs of physical arousal. Straight women however, reported only being turned on by a very small percentage of what they were shown. The reports given by the monitoring devices? They stated that the straight women had in fact physically responded to approximately 90% of what was shown. It did not matter if it was animals having sex or what. Women became physically aroused and reported otherwise.

It gets better.

While the reason for false self reporting was not explored, a hypothesis looking into why the straight women were turned on by such a high number of the images and videos was provided.

Apparently, the women who managed to survive the ever inspiring (sarcasm) process of evolution, were those who responded positively to the forced procreation that has been practised since life began.

So, what’s this have to do with my headache? Well my “feelings” indicate a desire for monogamy. Something which, all empirical evidence seems to indicate as not possible. However ones interpretation of personal experience can be warped by many things and can therefore not be trusted without question. It’s quite easy to remove any significance of an unwanted realization simply by attributing it to narcissism. So my feelings and understanding of monogamy were that it was possible and only required finding an appropriate mate whilst becoming capable of trust. As long as I believed it possible, it had to be possible. This was motivated solely by desire though. Making it basically my desire for monogamy versus the evidence against monogamy in a battle dictating my behavior.

Which brings me to the problem at hand. Do I reject my current mate in hopes of a monogamous reality being made possible, or do I accept it as not possible, quit asking for it, quit giving it, and shutoff all desires concerning it?

Still I “want” to choose to strive for monogamy, but the potential damage done by experiencing anything other than monogamy, enforced by the evidence suggesting it as impossible, is simply to much for someone  to handle and stay sane.

The only way it would seem possible to maintain sanity is to do what everyone else does and advocate monogamy while taking advantage of certain opportunities and accepting the reality that is cheating.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this but please keep the “I would never cheat” comments to a minimum. Your word carries no weight.