I have five minutes to sit here on my toilet seat and ruminate. Man. I am so sick of this. I can’t stand this. I have to see so many clients today. I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t like seeing clients. It is brutal. I would rather be doing things I want to be doing like sitting on this toilet seat ruminating. I would rather be left alone in my bathroom. But I have to be stuck in a psychotherapy office listening to clients talk about their crap. I don’t even like that word client. What a cold word. They are my patients but I do not want to be seeing patients today. I have had it. But such is life. The reality of work is that it sucks. It sucks for everyone who has to work a job. It is the way it is in the capitalism of today. Working sucks. No one likes it. Everyone would rather be doing something else it is just that most people lie about this. They pretend to be happy with their work but they are lying. Working sucks. It is painful. It is just the way it goes. Stop complaining. Stop being in denial that things are this way. Accept life for what it is. Get off your toilet seat and go back to work. Suffer. Why should you be any different from everyone else? Work is horrible whether you are a waiter, novelist or a psychologist. Doesn’t matter. Go back to work now.
It didn’t begin in my backyard. All of this began many years ago. It began when I stole my first pornography magazine at the age of 12 while visiting grandparents in Philadelphia.
Maybe it began before that. Maybe it began at the age of 4 when I woke in the middle of the night and saw my parents having a sex party in the wood hot tub in their backyard. It interests me how things seem to come full circle.
Backyards. Now that I think of it, backyards are the best place for this sort of thing. In a backyard you can have the privacy to do what you want as long as neighbors can not see in. Backyards are one of the final frontiers for places where one can not be spied on or seen.
Any great terrorist plot in the future will be devised in a backyard. But my exploits did not always take place in a backyard with a pair of binoculars in my hand. It was not always this easy.
I used to have to drive around for hours to find the perfect prostitute. And often I would not find her. When I did I would have to risk being captured by the police. Or I would have to go into strip clubs to find my pornographic bliss. But this was expensive and often a far commute from my urban home. Now that I live in the suburbs I have had to find other means.
As a renown psychologist I can not afford to go into the local strip clubs to find my pornographic bliss. Before when I was a nobody it was easier to remain obscure. Not any more. I am often perceived as only half of the man I really am. I can’t afford to have this half be seen. I would rather keep things in my backyard.
Now that I have a large backyard I decided that I mine as well put it to use. I have an attractive wife and an attractive girlfriend who are both willing to join me in my pornographic and perverted exploits.
I have never been a fan of sports. Too many people watching and interested in the same thing. This creates a kind of herd mentality. But I see the appeal of spectator sports. In today’s world of mass conformity it is up to each one of us to create our own unique form of a spectator sport. For me it happens to be watching my wife and girlfriend have sex with other men through binoculars while standing in my backyard.
There is a large window in my home’s front room. In this front room is a large and comfortable couch. At night I can stand in my backyard and look through binoculars into the front room. With lights on in the room it is impossible for those inside to see me standing outside. My girlfriend and wife know that I am watching, but the men they have met on Tinder have no idea. There are few greater pleasures in life than doing this.
I try to engage in this unique spectator sport at least once or twice a week. My wife will do it once and my girlfriend will do it once. Both seem to get off on knowing that I am watching and I will get off on watching them. I will stand under the dark midnight sky and with my hoodie over my head and my pants down, I will watch the show through my binoculars. What a thrill to be watching something you are not supposed to be watching! I will hear dogs barking in the distance and radio frequencies making their way through the sky. I am a man at peace. Fully turned on and fully in the moment. Isn’t this the point of any great spectator sport?
Sometimes I will try to get too close to the window and worry about being seen. The closer I am, the better my orgasm is (another great thing about doing this in your backyard is the ability to ejaculate wherever you want). The reason I call this a spectator sport is because there is that element of risk in trying not to be seen or caught while also finding the act of observation relaxing and thrilling.
When I am standing in my backyard watching my wife or girlfriend have sex with another man I will think nothing is better than this. I will feel proud of myself for not giving into the banal and conformist effects of living in a suburb. I will feel like I am subverting some huge force that tries to desexualize and marginalize all those who live in the suburbs. I will feel like the deviant that I want to be.
Successful psychologist by day and deviant backyard binocular man by night. This feels good to me. And if one does not find successful forms of having deviant fun while living in the suburbs, the suburbs will strangle you.
I’ve been able to learn a lot about the sexual habits of men. It is interesting to observe younger men and men in mid-age having sex. They all have different styles and the beauty and sexual skillfulness of my wife and girlfriend makes them all feel thrilled to be having the opportunity in a day and age when everything has become so sexually represive for men. I feel bad for men living in todays sexual climate and as a result am happy to share my slutty wife and girlfriend with some of them.
Sometimes I wonder if the suburbs have driven myself, my wife and my girlfriend mad. Are we doing what we are doing because of the stifling and suffocating effects of living in a suburb? Would we be behaving differently if we lived in a less conservative environment? Maybe we would have more fulfilling things to do with our time? But then I remember looking through my bedroom window and seeing my parents having a sex party in their backyard hot tub and I will be reminded that I was destined to be a man standing in his backyard at night with binoculars in his hands.
When I used to meditate (with two testicles), I would have to have my pants down around my ankles. I looked ridiculous sitting there in lotus posture with my pants down and my underwear on. But I needed to do it. With my pants on the squeeze of my pants would create to much pressure on my testicles. It was terribly uncomfortable to meditate for a long duration of time with pants on.
Now that I only have one testicle, I do not have to deal with that problem much anymore. I can meditate with pants on, since the squeeze is more tolerable. But still I meditate with my pants down. It is a habit at this point.
I have a very difficult time breaking old habits and then creating newer ones. It is probably impossible for me. The moment I get into the grove of a newer, healthier habit it will not be long until the old habit takes over once again. I have a similar pattern with relationships.
I don’t understand why I am now writing about habits and patterns when I am supposed to be writing about having one testicle. ADHD? Maybe. My point is that having one testicle, instead of two, has changed many things about my life. At this point I would recommend that all men have a testicle removed.
Riding a bike becomes much more comfortable. You no longer have to get two testicles to fit on the bicycle seat. One fits much more comfortably.
Tight pants are easier to wear and a man should always prefer tighter pants over the more lose kind. At least if they would like to have some sex appeal. I am 47 or 48 years old and tight pants are the one thing still keeping me in the game. If not for tight pants my age, my thinning hair and my failing social reputation would cause me to have much less sex appeal.
Never underestimate the potential of tight pants. As a psychologist I work with many young men who are often quite upset about not being able to find a woman to have sex with. They complain about all kinds of inadequacies within themselves but they never consider their pants. All of them wear lose pants. I don’t often have the energy to tell them. Every young man must find their own way or be eaten up.
Also, as a psychologist I am not honest with my clients. I need them to like me so I refrain from telling them things that could really help them. Mostly because these things could cause them to hate me.
There are other benefits of only having one testicle. It is much easier for me to check for testicular cancer now. It is easier for me to give myself a testicle massage. It is easier for me to wash between my legs. It feels like there is less weight banging between my legs, interrupting my flow, as I thrust into a woman.
With the few prostitutes and slutty single women I have been sexual with since only having one testicle, my singular testicle is often a great source of conversation. Women seem very interested in my one testicle. They are curious to know how I lost my other testicle. They seem to have a good amount of pity for me. They seem to see me as less of an alpha threat and are willing to give me oral sex much more.
Women also seem to prefer putting one testicle in their mouth as opposed to two. They like rolling my testicle around in their mouth as if it were a hard candy they were sucking on. I did not receive this same treatment with two testicles.
With one testicle walking is easier. There is less friction between the legs. I will admit that for awhile after losing my right testicle, when walking I felt less confident. I would stare down at the ground and have a hunch in my gait. In fact I was less confident in all things after losing my right testicle. But gradually I learned that having one testicle did not make me less of a man. In fact, having one testicle has enhanced everything about my sex life.
Accept for the emotional connection in my marriage. But who needs emotional connections. Emotional connections only cause suffering.
My orgasms are more pleasurable than they have ever been. I presume this is because there are not two testicles competing for the pleasure. Sometimes my orgasms are so strong that I feel like I could explode. I do not remember this happening with two testicles.
With one testicle I now orgasm every single day. At the age of 47 or 48, I forget which one I am, I did not think I would be orgasming everyday. I certainly did not think that my orgasms would be stronger than they were in my youth.
If my one testicle were a human being, it would be a very fit and strong human. It gets that much of daily workout I imagine.
Also I have noticed that my sexual proclivities have changed since become a one testicled man. I was less sexually active when I had two testicles. Now with one testicle, all of my perversions have come forth. I want to act upon my perversions ever day instead of on the weekends (I assume this is because I only have one testicle now and as a result do not want to waste time). I am no longer ashamed to explore my perversion, to let my perversions run the show. This has changed my marriage and my relationship with my two girlfriends for the better.
I am not being hyperbolic when I say that my sex life has greatly improved since only having one testicle. Some may think that it is unfortunate that my emotional connection with my wife would have to decline a lot before my sex life could improve but that is the way it has always been for me. I imagine it is a normal part of male sexuality.
If the very reason for all existence is sex, then I see having one testicle as a very beneficial improvement upon my life.
Having one testicle has been a delightful experience. Losing the testicle was not fun but you can read about that adventure in my book, “Episodes From A Swollen Testicle.”
Even as I write this essay my pants are squeezing my testicle. But it does not hurt. It is not too much of a bother since there is only one testicle in there.
Few things annoy me more than laziness. But tell a lazy person that they are lazy while they are being lazy and you will have a fight on your hands. I am just trying to relax, they will say. Hell does not have as much fury as the lazy person who is told that they are being lazy when they are trying to relax. What kind of respect is there to have for a lazy person? Someone who does not do much with their time. Who lays around and has as much motivation to accomplish things as my 1982 Volkswagen van sitting in my driveway does. No I have little tolerance for the lazy. The lazy who would rather eat, sleep, lay around in bed, drink, have sex, stare at a computer screen and talk about all their goals and dreams while never developing the ability to accomplish them. It was Cicero who said that to lay around in bed is the activity of a weaker mind. Laziness is the activity of a weak mind. Letting things go. Not getting things done. Not maintaining one’s physical health and strength. Just letting things go. Letting jackets and pants fall to the floor because you are too lazy to pick them up. Letting laundry pile miles high because you are too lazy to keep up. And look what a mess the car is! And how about the way you dress? The way a person dresses is always a main indicator of laziness. I have always made it a point to stay away from those who appear lazy in their dress. Laziness is sloth and sloth is contagious. It is the deadliest of sins and if a person is exposed to it they can be destroyed. Laziness only wants what is easiest. Laziness disdains working hard. The lazy are incapable of hard work. If they toil for two hours that is all they can handle for the week. If you light a match behind a lazy person’s back they will leap to action but as soon as their flame fades they will fall back on the couch. Laziness is a terrible affliction because the lazy person is too lazy to do anything about it. They just want to live their lives. They want to enjoy pleasures. They want to sleep and not be bothered with too much distress. But it is the lazy who end up sick and poor. It is the lazy that are to be taken care of by everyone else. It is the lazy who take little responsibility for themselves! The lazy do not want to be bothered. Leave me alone, is the mantra of the lazy. Let me do what I want so I can do little, is the mantra of the lazy. Oh I do so much is, the mantra of the lazy. Most lazy people have convinced themselves that they are not a lazy person so that they do not have to confront their own laziness. The lazy person hates hard work. They would kill hard work if they could. Few things are as difficult as addressing laziness. As overcoming laziness. As a psychologist I work with lazy people all the time and there is no cure. For a lazy person to actually pull themselves out of bed once they have slept for eight hours, even though they desperately want to lay around in bed, is the hardest of work. But the lazy person will always choose laying around in bed over the hard work of getting up. They will always prefer sex, and food and video games (books are too difficult for a lazy person) and other people’s company and all the things that are easy and fun. I can appreciate that a lazy person is committed to only doing what is easy and fun. I need more of these attributes in my life. But the lazy person has too much easiness and fun in their lives. They are excessive in these things, so much so that ten hours of hard work requires weeks to recover from. Laziness is the worst kind of affliction because it refuses to change itself. It refuses to motivate itself. It refuses to push itself. It refuses to structure itself. It would rather let everything go and only do what it has to do to keep the sky from falling. This is why a lazy person is the most stressed out and anxious person in the world. It is the tragic irony of laziness. It takes a lot of work to keep the difficulties of the world away.
In many ways I am a failure. But failure doesn’t much matter to me. So what, I am a failure. My wife is out on a date with another man. He is actually a young kid as far as I am concerned. Just what she likes. I don’t mind much. I could lose myself in self-pitying thoughts but really, what is the point of that? So what, I am a failure in may ways. But I don’t mind being a failure. There are few things I would want to be more. I mean, to be a failure just means not to live by the same rules that everyone else does. This is true, but there is a less romantic side of being a failure. So what, my wife is with another man. I don’t mind. Most of the time I spend with her is because I enjoy her but really I am just trying to escape from my own life. The things I need and want to do. So she is out with another man. Gives me more time to sit here on my toilet and think. Gives me more time to listen to my music and be left alone. It is a good thing to have more time on my hands. Most of my time with her, as much as I enjoy her company, is wasting time. It is time that I could be sitting here on my toilet thinking. I am glad she found someone she likes whom she can hang out with and have good, fun, kinky sex with. It is the perfect situation. Leaves me with more time to do the things I want to do. I am a few decades older than my wife, we are at different places in our lives. I am in more of a solitary, contemplative place in my life. She is in a full-time social and sexual place in her life. There is only so much I can tolerate of that. This time on the toilet is my alone time, and I only want more of this. This David Lynch album I have on is great. But there is a less romantic form of failure. In many ways I am honored to be a failure. What a pathetic society I live in. The game is too much. It is a bunch of shit I must put up with if I want to have status and money. I see the crap that it is and don’t much want to participate, but I have got to do what I have got to do. I need to get by, and I play the game, but I also realize it is a bunch of fraudulent shit. I’m not falling for it. I don’t have much interest in it and in this respect it is great that I am a failure. It is a true accomplishment. But there is a less enjoyable form of failure to think about. The form of failure that is a result of neglect, laziness and irresponsibility. I have always been a very irresponsible man. The fact that I am able to maintain a home and a comfortable life is a miracle to me. I don’t pay a single bill and I hope everything works out. It is my wife who keeps me in the situation I am in. It is because of her ability to take care of things that I live the lifestyle I do. There is no way a person like myself should live in the way that I do. I am a very lucky man and I am grateful to my hard-working wife but I am a very irresponsible man. incredibly neglectful and irresponsible. I do not participate with the world any more than I need to. I withdraw whenever I can. I am out of the game as soon as I am able. I don’t take care of many responsible things. I badly get by. This is a pathetic kind of failure. In many ways I am a pathetic piece of shit. I am a real piece of shit. I expect things. I judge intensely. I let other people deal with the bullshit. I am withdrawn and often very worried. I am a real pathetic piece of you know what man. Well, what are you going to do? It is really remarkable that you hold down a job as a psychologist. I don’t know how you do it. I know you hate it. I know you do it because if you don’t make some money you will be left by the woman you are married to. You are so pathetic but she stays with you because you earn a good amount of money, you have status and a reputation. You greatly benefit her so she seizes the opportunities I offer. But I am an absolute failure. She is out having sex with another man because I am disinterested often in pleasing her sexually. What is my problem? I am lazy. I don’t want to do the work and there in lies the root of my failure. I am lazy and I do not want to work. I neglect things. I withdraw from things (I am very clean and organized but still). I want to be out of the game as soon as I can. I want to be left alone to think these thoughts in my head. I want to be left alone to listen to David Lynch, sit on my toilet, read a book and think thoughts like this. Did I already say that? I can’t remember half the things I think. I don’t even know why I think like I do. It is because I am a failure. I am in complete withdraw. I don’t want to work and I don’t want to do much anymore. I undermine myself much of the time. I know there are things I should do but I don’t do them. I suppose because I don’t think they matter that much. Or maybe I have just subconsciously decided to let most things go. To let the cards land where they may. I mean we all die. Life is what we make it. Just try to live your life as well as you can. Quality over quantity. And if you can have both maybe that is a life well lived. But this undermining of myself is really a molecular habit. Molecular only because it is a part of my cellular construct, since I do it so much. I suppose you could say that I am carless in many ways. I rely too much on others to take care of me. If people don’t point certain things out or make certain things happen for me nothing will happen. Now I know this is not good and there are things I could do to circumnavigate the habit, but I don’t. I undermine myself is what I do. I do not believe that things I think and feel are right. I know that I am a madman so I try not to trust myself too much. There is a lot that I think and feel that is incorrect. This is why it is important that I undermine myself. I make a lot up in my head and take it for truth. That is madness. Really I just want to pursue pervert and deviant sex. I want to write, read, drift and think and create art. I want to live well and be left alone. I am a walking contradiction but Emerson said this was a sign of genius. I want to get better at being alone. It is only alone that one is able to find true success. Alone one can also find true misery and despair. They are all wonderful things. Success, despair and misery. But none of it matters. It is all just happening. Don’t read into any of it too much. I mean the behaviors of human beings are just completely absurd. They really think that what they feel and think matters. I am guilty of this as well. I often think that what I think matters. Obviously or I would not be taking all this time to think on the toilet. I am a self-important man. This means the most important man to myself. I am too good for the stupidity of the world. Truth is I think I am far exhausted to even try to outsmart anyone in the world anymore. I am too tired to do it. I don’t care that much about it. I have surpassed the vast majority in awareness and intelligence. Knowing this is enough for me. Unfortunately this also often means that a person is broke. You can’t have a lot of money and be interested in intelligence and awareness unless you are one of the few who works hard and gets lucky. David Lynch comes to mind. But most who care more about knowledge and awareness don’t tend to make much money. I really enjoy spending money but I am disdainful about having to make it. A walking contradiction. My ass on the toilet seat feels very warm. My wife loves having sex with this young guy she is dating. She loves it. It is the greatest sex of her life. She is a highly sexual woman. A complete slut in many ways who loves to be adored and screwed. In other ways she is just smart and plays the slut card but really just prefers life with a penis in or near her. She really likes having sex with this guy. I can’t compete. The times I have spied (what a pleasure spying is!) on them I have been very amazed by their sexual proclivities. It is very athletic sex. I can’t compete. I don’t want to compete. I can’t do that stuff. My wife really likes having sex with this guy. He is a decent-looking guy. A nice figure, ugly face and a terrible dresser. He is very into my wife. He is completely into her. So much so that he is always leaning into her. She loves the way he has sex with her. Is it possible to love the way someone has sex with you but not be in love with a person? I really don’t think so. I don’t think you can absolutely love having sex with someone and not be in love with them. I just don’t see it. We are biological creatures and sex and love are biologically linked. So she is in love with him. What am I going to do? Nothing I can do about it. I don’t think she would leave me for him because he has no life. He is a loser. (But I am a failure and she is with me. She is obviously into these failure/loser types.) She knows this and is afraid to leave me for him. But she loves having sex with the guy and has worked out a good way for herself to do it. But she is completly emotionally shut down to me. She is very nice to me but very shut down emotionally. She loves having sex with this guy. She loves this guy and is emotionally closed to me. What are you going to do? If she leaves me for him so be it. I just wish she had the courage to tell me the truth so we can figure some sort of optimal situation out. We are working towards that. I can’t compete with the kid. She doesn’t like having sex with me as much and I understand why. I am in a contemplative and solitary period of my life. The only sex I want to have is slutty sex that I dont have to work very hard for. I just want slut sex that I don’t have to do much for. Not all the time but when I want it. I’m tired of pleasing women. I want them to please me. If I have to pay for it so be it. If she is in love with another guy I really don’t mind. As long as I get the slut sex. She could move in with the kid part-time for all I care. I would be able to develop more of a ruminative way of life. It is only because she is out on a date with the young guy that I have this kind of time to sit here and think. I had this potted plant once. It was perched on the living room window sill. Just in front of the couch. I thought I should have moved it but I didn’t. Then when my wife was having sex with her young lover the potted plant was in the way the entire time. I couldn’t see much of anything. But I can’t keep up. They have athletic sex. I can’t do that stuff. I have grown too old and lazy. I prefer to be the pervert with binoculars in his hands. If she is in love with him that doesn’t bother me. She won’t leave me. She just needs to tell me she is in love and then she can be with him more. I don’t want to get between a woman and the object of her love, even if she is my wife. I mean she loves sex. She says he is a friend whom she loves having sex with. I am not sure. If you give me a friend whom I love having sex with I will probably fall deeply in love with her. I would think. I mean that is the ideal relationship! A friend whom you love having sex with. It is a fine line. Being in love is loving having sex with someone. It is amazing how these two go at it. Athletes. They go on and on. I can’t compete. Sure it makes me jealous but who cares. I am a failure. I am a failure in this way. I have failed at keeping my wife sexually satisfied. I have failed to keep her into me in this way. She is with a younger guy, loving having sex with him because I don’t want to do the work. I have been neglectful. I get it. I’m too tired. You drop the ball man and someone else is going to pick it up. You dropped the ball and someone else has got it now. What are you going to be upset about? You get that you blew it. It makes sense. You failed and to expect her to still be into you, to still love you is just more self-important crap. She is only with you because she thinks you are cool and you enable a certain lifestyle together. She is with you for the lifestyle and she likes hanging out with you but you are a pain in her ass. She is so sick and tired of your bullshit that she really doesn’t care anymore. She will let you watch her having sex with him because she really just doesn’t care. She is so sick and tired of your bullshit but she puts up with it because you enable a particular lifestyle you lazy son of a bitch. Ok, so it is now a deal between us. A kind of partnership. She and I both get a certain lifestyle out of the deal, we help each other and we are companions. But when it comes to sex and love and all that stuff that is a separate deal. Sex and love are now the property of someone else. But she will be sexual with you whenever you want. She can’t get enough sex. The more the better. She wants an arsenal of penis’ and you are one of them. She loves your penis too but she is just not in love with you in that way. That is ok, I don’t mind. All things pass. I don’t need the time suck that being in love is. As long as I can watch and get some sexual attention, so be it. I have failed. I am a failure. I do not deserve more than this. I have not been able to keep her interested in me in that way. She is emotionally shut towards me because she is emotionally open towards him. Can’t do two at the same time. I understand how it goes. So be it. To hell with her. I will take what I can get. I will benefit from this in the best way I know how. Just tell me what is really going on and I am fine. Well that is not true. I will probably be pissed off and hurt and she knows that so she keeps it to herself. My wife is such a manipulative shit. But nice girl. I will give her that. She is a nice and very attractive girl. A smart girl as well. Just likes to play it dumb. Typical Southern California valley girl stuff. Maybe I am fabricating a lot of this in my head. Maybe none of what I am thinking is true. Possibly I am making it all up because I am so bored. Maybe I really do live alone in a small apartment and am just concocting this entire fantasy. Almost fifty and living in a studio apartment making this all up in my head. Such a failure. But maybe she is in love. Maybe she really loves this guy. The way they kiss and hold one another sure makes it appear so. But the kid is an idiot. He really is a steep dip in intelligence so if she is in love with him more power to her. But man the kid is good in bed. I can’t do it like that. Let them have their fun. Let her be happy. I want her to be happy and have her fun even if it means I am alone on a Saturday night ruminating on a toilet seat in some run down studio apartment. It could have all gone down for me that way. It hasn’t yet but it still could. It is still a possibility for the future that I will end up alone and in a studio apartment. Because I am a failure. This is how failures turn out. This is what happens to them. The only thing keeping me from that is her. She better not fall in love with him. Or if she does she still better remain loyal and married to me. I would be living a different kind of life without her. Who knows, maybe it would be better. Maybe living alone in a studio apartment would be the ideal lifestyle for me. Maybe this house in the suburbs, these jobs we work and all we do to hold our life together is too much for the both of us. Maybe we have both had it but keep doing it because we want to keep what we have. That is honest. We want to keep what we have so we keep doing it. Maybe I am in the midst of a psychotic episode. I don’t think so but maybe I have already been driven completely mad by having to do the things I do to keep the lifestyle I have. Maybe when you hang on to something for too long it can make you mentally sick. Who knows. I don’t even know what I am talking about anymore. The same David Lynch song has been playing over and over and over and over. Turn it off.
I don’t want to do anything today. I just want to sit here on this toilet and keep to myself. I want to scratch my neck. Stretch my tongue. Take deep breaths. Drink coffee. Sit still. Move little. Protest against entropy. Cry. But maybe I will go out drinking. Drinking is the one way I can enjoy being with other people. It impresses me how well beer can dissolve grief. I can drink a stout or an IPA, one pint, and then my heart feels less heavy. Grief is a bitch. I have not known grief like this. Despite the fact that I know it will pass. Maybe I don’t want it to pass. If my grief passes that means my loyalty and love for the one I lost is lost. I show my loyalty or commitment or whatever it is to the one I lost by remaining sad. It would be doing a disservice to her memory to feel anything but sad. But beer lets me forget this. I know that she would not want me to be sad. I know that she would not want me sitting here on the toilet in grief. I know this but still I am not ready to stop. I miss here very much. She was my love even though she was a hairy beast who shit and pissed in the dirt. She was too good for toilets. What did I learn from her? I learned the importance of being self-assured. That is what she was. She did not need the validation or approval of anyone. She did what she did and was able to assure herself that it was right or wrong. She didn’t need anyone else to tell her. I am not self-assured. This is the one thing I need to learn. If I say something I will often ask if it is ok. If I write a sensitive text to someone, I will ask someone else if it is ok before sending. If I make something or lead a group of people I will ask if I did ok before I believe that it is ok. I am always doubting myself. I rarely have the conviction that what I am doing is right. Why do I need to ask someone else if the text is ok before I send it out? This is ridiculous. Why can’t I just work out for myself that what I am doing is right? My girl was able to assure herself in everything she did. Most of us need to talk about things. We need to work things out with others. Few of us are self-assured. Few of us our able to work things out within ourselves and then move on without burdening another person. The ability to do this is a virtue. Seneca called self-assuredness the highest virtue. I made that up but like the way it sounded. Even though my girl was a dog/wolf hybrid, she was able to be self-assured like few others are able to. This is what made her a silent and confident leader. She ran the house. For all I know she ran the city she lived in with her confident and silent self-assuredness. This is why her absence leaves a deep void. I am surprised that the world is not more angered by the loss of her. But things go on as normal. None of my neighbors even know that she has died. They might just notice that things are more quiet now. There is not that continual howl. Maybe they think that she is away for a brief time. Or maybe they think we are keeping her inside more. I wonder if they are wondering why I am howling now. As I sit here on the toilet I will howl. Or when I am on the couch, in the shower, alone in my house, I will howl. Yesterday when I was on a walk and an ambulance passed with sirens blaring, I howled. I howl in pain. I howl to remember her. To be close to her. I howl to keep the howling going. I howl because she taught me how to howl. I howl because I miss the sound of her howling. I howl because I feel stronger and more confident when I howl. I howl to fill the hole that she has left. I hope I keep howling. I hope I don’t forget to howl. I hope that even though it may be stupid to say, that she hears me howling and is howling along. This sucks losing someone you love. She is in the earth now, rotting away. I am not resigned to this fate we all face. It is a terrible thing. I don’t accept it. That is why I will keep howling. A protest against the unescapable reality of this life- inevitable death. Rest in peace my girl. Not an hour of what is left of my life will go by that I do not think of you.
My dog died and I am very sad. I can’t stop feeling sad. It feels wrong to say my dog died. Dog seems like such a gross underestimation. Best friend, partner, daughter, wife- these descriptive nouns seem more appropriate than dog. Whenever someone had told me that their dog had died I would say “sorry” but really not feel anything. I would be slightly perturbed by how upset they seemed. “Get over it. It was just a dog,” I would think. Now my dog has died. I have never been this sad over the death of anyone. Not my grandparents. Not anyone. So I was wrong. It was not just a dog. My dog was my closest friend if what we mean by friend is someone who is always there with you and provides you with unconditional acceptance. Not to mention how pretty she was to look at. A German Shepherd of the most beautiful kind. I know people say these sorts of platitudes after someone they love has died. “He was such a great man.” “He was so wonderful.” “She had such a pure heart.” But we all know how death tends to erase negative attributes and enhance the attributes that are barly noticeable when the person is alive. But she was really beautiful. People would tell me how pretty she was. Noble and refined. The most beautiful female German Shepherd in town. And she knew it. You could tell in her hesitation to interact with other dogs and humans. But once she liked you you were in. She would give you endless amounts of what people call love. I don’t really know what love is so I hesitate to apply such globally accepted clichés. What I think she gave was her presence, her tenderness, her loyalty, her beauty. She had a way of connecting with a person that made a person feel less alone. If that is love, then so be it. I just don’t know what love is so it is hard to comment. If love is this heavy sadness that sits in my chest, then ok. If love is this heavy sorrow that feels all-pervasive, then ok. If love is sobbing all the time, even as I urinate in the toilet, ok. This must mean I really loved her. But how could I love a dog so much? How could I almost feel like not carrying on without her? It makes little sense to me. All I know is that this morning when I was standing by her grave I was hoping that maybe she would dig her way out and come back. She would be dirty and I would take her and give her a really god bath. I would make her look beautiful again, smell good and then I would keep her right by my side. But I knew that she was rotting in the ground. I think I could even smell the decaying process beginning. It makes no sense to me how something so beautiful and sweet is now rotting in the earth. It makes me not want to participate in this thing called life anymore. What is the point? But I am happy that she is in my backyard. That she is just out there. But it is also a painful reminder that she is just out there, rotting in the earth. I cry everytime I look towards her grave. I know. Toughen up man. Get it together. Be stronger. It was just a dog. A fucking dog. But I am overwhelmed with grief. I loved her very much. Everyday her presence was a consolation to me. It is strange how you can be completely unaware of just how important someone’s presence is in your life. I knew I loved her. I knew that I was happy every time I made eye contact with her. I felt fortunate each time I made eye contact with her. It was a brief pause in my difficult life. There was a reflection in her eyes I always appreciated seeing. Now that she is gone the absence that she has left is almost too much to bear. It was just a dog! She was more than this. She must have been more than this if my wife and I have been incapacitated by grief the past several days. There is a weight around our hearts and throats that at times threatens to suffocate. I don’t really know what to do. I am just going to try and keep busy. Keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep reading. Keep listening to music. And maybe I will survive. I walk out to her grave in my backyard a few times a day and tell her, Julikha, how much I miss her. How much I love her. And how grateful I am to have had her in my life. I know this all sounds silly. So cliché. I would have been disgusted by all of this before the death of my dog. Common. Get over it man. It was just a dog. But I see that this does not matter. She was my friend. I spent more time with her in my presence than I did with anyone else in my life. Ever. She was a family member. She was so much more than a dog and the vast empty feeling of her absence is proof of this. I wish everyone would stop talking to me. I wish everyone would leave me alone. I just want to cry and be in complete sorrow. I miss her very much.