blackthoughtsbyhfil

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Fake it 'til you make it - I deeply hate how that expression is formulated, and I detest using unoriginal language, but at the same time the expression contains such a complete and universal truth. How many examples can I manage to find as evidence?

I graduated university in early 2015 and, thanks to my complete lack of relevant work experience and experience of maintaining a professional network, I didn't find a job until the summer. I spent one last free weekend alone in my parents' home hyping myself up for the first workday by a well-structured and minutely planned drinking session spanning most of Friday and Saturday. In spite of my nervousness, I entered into this job with such confidence that within a week, I was arrogantly self-sufficient in the profession. I faked it and I made it.

I didn't have sex until I was 27 years old. I'm in a different club than the well-known 27 Club. The first time, in May 2016, I felt comparably okay at what I was doing; even though she asked me if it had been a very long time since I'd had sex, at least she didn't ask if it were my first time. The next evening, drinking wine with curious colleagues, I managed to let casually slip the success of the previous night without it seeming like I was bragging, and modestly played it down like it wasn't very meaningful. Although I was lying, for all intents and purposes I was being entirely truthful.

I rode the success of that one night for the whole summer and didn't bother to try having sex again for the following half-year. It was a little bit less than a full year after the first fuck that I entered into my first-ever serious relationship, with someone to whom I pretended to have been in another serious, although brief relationship until shortly before ours, also pretended to have had an experience of a long-term relationship many years in the past. Even though both of these claims were at best dramatically exaggerated, I convinced her of the lie, and I had once again made it.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I've never understood the concept of everlasting friendship; I'm on my fifth or sixth generation of friends. When I hear about people retaining their childhood friendships into adult life, I assume it's an abnormality. Anyone will tell you that drifting apart is natural. At the same time, it's absolutely bewildering.

I had two friends that I met in elementary school. We were inseparable until we were separated. Losing those friendships was an experience I couldn't understand, and for a long time afterwards also couldn't accept. The only thing I'm curious about now is what it was that I sought from those friends.

One was a much more consistent friendship than the other, but it also didn't last long after we went on to different schools in seventh grade. I also didn't feel close to him. Our activities were centered around Playstation and role-play pretending (often as a substitute when we couldn't play Playstation). When we wasn't looking, I was rude and mildly abusive towards his cat. Having grown up around cats and being very loving of them, there must have been a clear, undeveloped hostility towards my friend that was more urgent to act on than my instinct to be kind to animals. He had divorced parents, less siblings than me, a smaller house than ours and less video games.

Unlike with him, I was earnestly affectionate towards my other friend. He was a more volatile boy who led me into a very mild degree of mischief (we once went so far as to ring the doorbell of an unknown person and run away). Our friendship was less continuous. He once made friends with my rival, and though I didn't try to get between them, my rival must have convinced him to desert me, as for some time we didn't meet as friends any longer.

One of our favorite activities was to talk trash about my other friend. They weren't friends directly but only through me. This drove me further from my other friend and closer to him. Our favorite activity when we weren't playing Playstation was to explore our local area where we hadn't ventured much within the range of roughly a kilometer. The independence that came with growing up finally inspired us to broaden our horizons - although we never even went halfway to the next subway station - and occasionally sneak into other apartment buildings. This urge remains to this day.

We continued on to the same school in seventh grade, but during that year his family moved away and he switched schools. We saw each other once after that, but then he stopped responding to even my chat messages. A couple of years later in the second year of high school, I found his MySpace account and reached out to him, but I never received a reply.

That's life. We were all well past our peak as friends by that time. Our growth together as companions was not focused so much on expanding our worlds and bettering ourselves, but more one reflecting back on our own selves. I wanted to experience other people's lives only to put it in relation to my own. We gladly played video games together - mainly Tekken and SSX - but when I had the choice I was happy to neglect the both of them and immerse myself privately in one of the Final Fantasies; the occasion on that afternoon after the end of the school year in fifth grade when I closed the blinds in my room on that incredible summer day and played VII was one of the happiest memories of my childhood. Although I feel supremely nostalgic about some of those early days together - going over to JB's house on Monday mornings when we had the late school start, or throwing packages of chocolate milk down the stairwell together with VN to explode them on the bottom floor of JB's apartment building - when we grew up and entered fourth and fifth grades, and I began to seek newer connections in life, my existing friends ultimately couldn't join me in that journey.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Never stop telling me about the death and destruction in Gaza! I want to read about the air raids on refugee camps. I salivate when I read about how many Palestinian children die every day. Show me in real time the complete dissolution of the Palestinian civilization of Gaza!

This is one emotion I have. The other emotion is the honest compassion with the innocent victims of war; abandoned newborns starving to death in a ruined hospital, the terror of babies and toddlers that goes beyond their understanding, and the parents watching their entire families die. No emotions are mutually exclusive. I vividly remember the family of asylum seekers from Gaza I met in 2015 whose small children broke down crying from the herd-minded treatment of them by us, the authorities. The parents, instead of consoling their children, motioned to them lying down on the floor hysterical and told me "look what you have done". I suffered with this family and I despised this family. "We would rather go back to Gaza", they said. I hope they did, and I also hope they didn't.

To that point, I as a representative of the loathed migration authorities, am sincerely guilty of so much suffering. I have been complicit in ordering men, women and children to return to Afghanistan, Ukraine and Gaza. My part in this action was essential in several cases. This has also been an enormous professional success of mine, and I am as of 2024 considered a specialist in migration law.

The event with the family indicated a deeper truth about Gazans that they use their children as weapons and human shields. That is why I love it when I hear about Israel massacring the human shields, as it goes to prove the radical narrative of the Palestinian cause completely wrong. I don't root for the success of one state over the other; I just want to see the complete eradication of Palestine, and perhaps then the whole world can finally see the "Palestinians" as human beings deserving of compassion.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I have yet to forget anything about that blissful Sunday afternoon hour in a Berlin pub more than seven years ago. I traveled there for the second time that year as an attempt to seize the barely missed opportunities of the previous visit some six months earlier. Although it was ultimately beside the point of the journey, so much in my life had changed in that half year, that I was unrecognizable to myself before that Sunday afternoon. I'd had sex for the first time; it had only been that one time one Thursday in May before the second time occurred on this latest Friday night, yet I came to Berlin with the confidence and swagger of a lifetime fucker. More than that, a pure and uncomplicated adoration of techno had arisen, beginning also on one late night and early morning in May. Under the circumstances, which also included a psychedelic rock concert on Thursday evening, I had come to Berlin to - simply put - fuck and get fucked up. Having fulfilled every conceivable goal, with only a free hour around Rosenthaler Platz to spare before returning home, I felt the need to sit down and process the events of that weekend.

We were well into November already, but the weather was unseasonably warm. In this little pub, with only two middle class regulars sitting around - separately from each other - having a drink in silence, the low sun shining in through the window created a surreal sense of calmness. I slowly drank from my tall glass of lager while basking in the sunshine. The permeating stillness contrasted dramatically with the degenerate frenzy of the past three days and nights. I had spent part of my time here with a woman I began to dislike even before we had sex, and I had spent the most of my previous visit in Berlin with an American whom I later realized was a terrible person. My time spent here alone thus far was concerned with distractions, but now that I was alone with only my thoughts, I had finally found the best company. In fact, there were no thoughts; there was nothing to process after all. Deeply satisfied with my adventures, my re-centering towards my own self was so quick and simple that I derived sincere and intense joy from simply sitting in silence in the sunshine, sipping my beer. The moment was never-ending, as even when I set out to catch a train to the airport, the inner peace was still there and wouldn't leave me until well after returning home to the recent heartbreak about which I had forgotten.

Sunday November 13th, 2016 was roughly the midway point on my ongoing journey to reshape myself. That long, silent hour on that sunny afternoon was the first hour with only myself in a long time that I had enjoyed so much. I regarded the incarnations of my past selfs and had now nothing but love and understanding for all of them.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I was already heartbroken when the author described the brutal murder of Serena's little boy. He was roughly Marcel's age at that point. However, when the author went on to describe the father bringing home the deceased boy in his arms "for the first and the last time", I couldn't keep myself from tears. I stayed behind a few minutes more in the darkness of Marcel's room after he had fallen asleep and revisited that emotion as an exercise in gratitude to have welcomed such a little angel to us. I certainly loved him since even before he was born, but at some undefined point in time, the abstract thought of losing him became simply unbearable. The blessings and curses of love are sometimes exactly the same.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Like a bridge across the lull of the afternoon that would have otherwise been, I come home to the little family around 5pm, spirits high with genuine anticipation for two hours of playing and giving love. The same earnestly held affection would have been present anyway, but I now return home in this especially spirited state thanks to the couple of drinks I secretly had at the office starting at 3pm. As the baby's 7pm bedtime draws nearer, the playing and the dinner has began to purge me of the intoxication, and having spent the last ten minutes alone in the baby room, rocking Marcel in the dark, I leave the room sober and deeply satisfied. I have to also thank my own father for teaching me this method of maximizing the happiness of family life, although he wouldn't have ceased drinking after 5pm.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I can pinpoint one of the definitive milestones of she grindingly slow emergence from childhood into adulthood. In childhood, you're raised with certain expectations and truths about the world, for which the purpose of growing up is to tear them all down. The increasing fluidity between good and evil is one of these slowly changing paradigms. Before the age ten or eleven - when Final Fantasy VII was still my most important activity in life - the line between good and evil was clear-cut and uncomplicated. The death matches of Unreal, to the tune of Mortal Kombat's techno theme song on repeat for hours at a time, eroded those lines. With the eroded impeccability of goodness came an increasing sense of self and respect for the power of the individual, especially inspired by the successful decapitating headshots with the sniper rifle. I slowly began to understand that personal advancement and individual growth carries a far more important narrative than the surrounding circumstances of relative morality. This is why, for example, even the adventures and accomplishments of an individual ISIS insurgent could contain an inspiring tale of self-actualization, in spite of the objectively horrible circumstances around his exploits. The techno classic of Mortal Kombat speaks to that spirit of endeavor and silences even the heart and mind until the song is over.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Things between us ended suddenly and hurtfully yet amicably. I reluctantly let go of the idea of her as my girlfriend but earnestly and gladly accepted the offer to continue as friends. For some time, I struggled to endure this bewildering tension between a friendship that was forced upon me and at the same time wanted. The struggle eventually ended and the friendship remained as my misplaced feelings for her were correctly redistributed. However, the experience of a journey of not knowing each other, falling deeply in love and finally falling out again within the space of a year sprouted a seed of contention. It continued to secretly poison our friendship and began to inspire a resentment which I was quick to cultivate. I was finally being honest with myself, at the same time as I was dishonest with her, because I never revealed those feelings towards her in any way. Even if you consider me a cynic or a sociopath, being friendly is nevertheless easier than being hostile. Even the friendship continued to fade after the space of roughly a year, and only the unilateral resentment remained. How delightful to continue to follow her life in the years that followed our brief relationship; her failure to progress as a person and not least failure to meet someone who is as willing to integrate into her life as I was. I know she follows my progress in return. She messaged me when I announced that I was becoming a father. She accidentally invited me to a house party of hers, then uninvited me again hoping I wouldn't already have seen the invitation. Is there in fact any conflicting feelings from her side? Is there some deeply hidden resentment in return for my own?

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Det jag hade skrivit om mitt första stora känslomässiga trauma var plötsligt försvunnet. Det framstår som ett mystiskt sammanträffande som nästan bekräftar att det jag försökte uttrycka krossades av det decennium som lagts ovanpå det. Jag föreställer mig inte att jag blev censurerad, men den ofrivilliga tystnaden motiverar mig alltjämt att än livligare uttrycka mig i tomheten. Just detta infall, som är svårare att kväva än vad många tror, fick mig att bekänna för henne att jag var kär. Det var inte ett dugg förhastat.

Vi kände varandra under gymnasiet och ett år efter examen stötte vi på varandra på högskolan. Jag hade egentligen varit betydligt mer intresserad av hennes tre närmaste vänner i klassen, även om hon också - för att mina fantasier skulle framstå som mindre verklighetsfrämmande - figurerade i mina personliga berättelser om sexuella utsvävningar med hennes vänner. Hon besökte även högst oväntat en dröm jag hade under gymnasietiden. Något särskilt intresse utvecklades inte heller under året som följde, men vi började umgås som vänner. Det var under sommaren därpå, när hon bjöd mig att besöka hennes familj och släktingar i skärgården, som jag började fundera på ändamålet med den plötsliga upptrappningen av vår vänskap. Besöket gav emellertid inte ett vidare imponerande intryck av hennes bakgrund, och jag sköt för tillfället ifrån mig ytterligare tankar om ett romantiskt närmande.

En av de tankarna måste dock ha klamrat sig fast i det undermedvetna, eftersom under den tidiga hösten gjorde hon på nytt ett besök i en dröm. Denna dröm var betydligt mindre erotisk och till en början löjeväckande, då hon började sjunga en exotisk sång på ett språk som föreföll vara kinesiska. Jag skrattade åt henne, men hon fortsatte att sjunga, och jag slutade skratta och blev alltmer förtrollad av hennes sång. När jag vaknade efter drömmen var jag störtkär.

Det var emellertid inte förrän ytterligare ett halvår som jag skulle komma att bekänna detta för henne. Under tiden däremellan försökte jag målmedvetet närma mig henne ytterligare med fler lunchträffar, mer chattande och enstaka biobesök. Jag kom till och med hem till henne på middag en kväll varefter vi talade och lyssnade på musik fram till tre på natten. Jag övervägde att bekänna mina känslor då, och jag tror att hon såg att jag velade med att ge mig av, men i stället höll jag tyst och gick. Jag vandrade i den sena höstnatten från Kristineberg till Fridhemsplan och funderade på om jag någonsin skulle hitta modet.

Under julen berättade hon att hon skulle flytta till en annan stad för att studera vidare där. Vår framtid tillsammans som jag i tysthet byggt upp i fantasin rasade samman, men efter någon timmes personlig krishantering hade jag lyckats intala mig själv att jag under den gångna timmen hade övervunnit kärleken och blivit fri från förtrollningen. Dock klamrade mina tankar om henne inte oväntat kvar, och efter några veckor var jag olyckligt kär på nytt. Vi höll alltjämt kontakten under den vintern och träffades när hon var i Stockholm på besök. Under den tidiga våren, på kvällen efter en av våra lunchträffar, kunde jag inte motstå att bekänna mina känslor i ett sms. Resten av den kvällen svävade jag på ett moln, fylld av oemotståndlig känslosamhet. Avsaknaden av ett svar ändå inpå nästa förmiddag tolkade jag inte till min nackdel, utan det förlängde bara mitt triumftåg.

Sett ur det här perspektivet borde det inte ha varit konstigt att tro att det fanns något sorts intresse från hennes sida. Jag hade för all del även fog för att på gott och ont vara ärlig om hur jag såg på vår vänskap. I slutet av ett seminarium på universitetet dagen därpå kände jag ett sms-svar i telefonen i fickan, och kunde inte motstå att diskret läsa det. Hennes svar handlade förkrossande nog om att hon inte hade en aning om mina känslor och att hon hoppades att vi kunde fortsätta att vara vänner. Den sista kvarten av seminariet befann jag mig i ett chocktillstånd utan möjlighet att ta in någon ny kunskap. Efteråt sökte jag mig till tryggheten inne på en toa där jag efter visst övervägande författade svaret "noooo :(". Därefter skulle vi inte höras igen innan sommaren. Jag var överväldigad av en känsla av skam och av att jag är korkad. Hennes avvisning av mig tolkade jag uteslutande till min egen nackdel, vilket i sin tur orsakade en misstro gentemot mig själv som jag ännu idag inte har bearbetat fullt ut. Dessa långsökta konsekvenser klandrar jag förstås inte henne för, och det finns inte heller skäl att förakta hennes avvisning eller hennes tillvägagångssätt, men jag borde i stunden ha demoniserat denna kvinna som förkrossat mig. Hon kunde likaväl ha mottagit min förtjusning av henne som smicker. Jag hade inte heller skäl att ångra att jag funnit modet att för första gången i mitt liv visa sådana känslor för en annan person, men det slutade trots allt med att jag, under sommaren när tillräckligt lång tid hade passerat för att skammen inte längre kändes omedelbart påtaglig, bad om ursäkt och önskade att vi kunde fortsätta att vara vänner. Fastän hon svarade jakande till synes entusiastiskt skulle självklart den här vänskapen rinna ut i sanden. Jag hade inte heller lärt mig läxan, utan jag fortsatte att hoppas att hon en dag långt in i framtiden skulle ändra sig och minnas mig som visat en sådan vördnad för henne en gång i tiden. Det var ett resultat som fick det av mig inbillade faktumet att hon just nu sannolikt låg och bredde ut sig för någon turk att framstå som hanterbart. Till slut, ytterligare ett eller två år efter den sista kontakten jag så småningom skulle ha med henne, kunde jag konstatera att känslorna jag en gång hade för henne var överspelade, och hennes namn återstod då endast i min inbillning som en abstraktion av den kärlek jag hade bevisat att jag behärskade. Det är i varje fall något som hon inte har slutligt bevisat.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Sometime in early-to-mid 2016 I began seeing the benefit of my overwhelming shyness. I enjoy working out, but I don't enjoy having people around me. It follows that I would delay until eight in the evening to visit the gym, and I would stretch out my workday by a couple of hours once every week. The time invested produced enough focus to craft my skill of writing deportation orders. My hostility to my fellow man worked both ways. In the ever emptier city, I became better and better at justifying why migrants should be returned to their home countries, and became happier and happier at the increasingly empty gym. The time invested didn't go unnoticed by my superiors, who eventually fast-tracked me for promotion. There are many among us who complain about the ever colder, harsher government attitude towards people in need. I am precisely one of those government agents they complain about. I am that cold, harsh government.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Blackened, melancholic turn-of-the-century buildings overlooking the lightly snow-covered streets where people don't smile. These are the unscathed buildings of eastern Europe; those that were lucky to survive the war no living soul remembers anymore. These soulless buildings still remember. These buildings do not seem grateful for their destiny as survivors. And existence drags itself onwards.

The buildings in Sweden are too happy for my preference, too cheery. This is probably very unexpected for the people who - just like me - grew up familiar with the architecture of the 1950s, 60s and 70s. These were years of overwhelming optimism, overwhelming is such a way that people exhaled it like smog that blackened the buildings.

We are not Europe. We don't belong in Europe because we don't share the experience of terror, dread and stagnation. After every visit, and regardless how happy I am to leave, it takes at most a couple of months to miss the depressed buildings of Budapest. The smell of roasting chestnuts, the view of a handful of bars on every corner where the comfort of a beer is always available. And everyone try their hardest to be miserable.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

It's common to despair about fleeting moments of happiness. We wish they could be seized and bottled to be experienced in full once again whenever we choose. I've never heard of anyone wanting to preserve our sad memories.

I consciously tried to call up a personal tragedy to the surface. There is a tension between the way I felt and the way I should have felt, and I wanted to experience that disparity for the first time. It was a Saturday, an early autumn evening several years ago after eight hours of overtime at the office, when the woman I dated decided to break it off with me. I received that text message just as I was getting ready to leave. I only read it through the previews and deliberated on it as I was driving home. I can't remember if I were in a daze, if I were driving recklessly, or if I were sunken in sadness. After I arrived home, I can't remember if I started dinner or a bottle of wine first. I remember I was grateful she had waited until the end of the day with her announcement, and that I had saved a bottle until this day. I can't remember what I was going to have for dinner.

Standing over the kitchen counter, I decided to finally open up the message and express both disappointment and understanding. I pretended to be happy with remaining friends to preserve a shred of dignity in this personal catastrophe. Among some coworkers who had seen us two together in the city, I had let build an illusion that the two of us were already in a committed relationship. I remember that, in my own mind, I had no doubts that we were heading into that territory after this month of going on a total of four dates and making out twice. If we could only pass the hurdle of having sex for the first time, there would be no more obstacles for us. I remember that I had only had sex with one person up until this point in my life. I can't remember how I felt when that illusion shattered. I remember that I didn't cry. I can't remember what I did after that bottle of wine, and I can't remember if I were still sad after that bottle. I don't remember what I was thinking and feeling in that point of stillness in the eye of the emotional storm.

I can remember the moment when I fell for her. I can also remember how I felt at that time. I can't remember when I fell out of love. I don't remember if I did. I can remember regretting that I ever opened myself up to these feelings in the first place.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

Det är tillåtet att med rättssamhällets fulla skydd bränna böcker och hetsa mot minoriteter. Det är en besynnerlig frihet man försvarar när det samtidigt inte är tillåtet att dricka öl på tunnelbanan eller röka på i hemmet. Svaret ligger inte i förklaringen att vi genom grundlag har valt att rangordna vilka fri- och rättigheter som väger tyngre än andra, utan det är i själva verket så att det inte är ett genomtänkt system till att börja med. Det är rätt att vi höjer blicken och för första gången visar minsta nyfikenhet för hur andra länder har konstruerat sitt skydd för de mänskliga friheterna och rättigheterna. Det är inte smickrande att Sverige ger skenet av att noggrant ha reflekterat över sitt grundlagsskydd. Det finns ingen garanti för att man kommer fram till rätt svar av svensk mindfulness. Det blir ofta galet när man blundar för omvärlden, berömmer sin egen självkänsla och sätter igång med att känna efter för lösningen.

Det är inte en kapitulation för extremisterna att i detta läge harmonisera grundlagsskyddet med andra närbesläktade europeiska rättsordningar. Det kan till och med vara så att dessa länder har en mer träffsäker känsla för personlig frihet då det i regel är tillåtet att köpa kall öl på Coop och dricka den på tåget. Att förskansa sig i att än starkare förespråka den skeva frihet vi åtnjuter är tvärtom helt fel, likaväl före som efter vårt land hamnade i extremisternas skottgluggar.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

A nationalistic darkness is hovering over my home country, one which doesn't petrify us normal people who prefer to get on with our lives, but one which is constantly present in our awareness. We watch it grow infinitesimally larger over time.

Experts have tried to analyze this darkness for a long time. Some of them have succeeded very well in personifying it and dispersing a lot of the mystery around it. The picture we have is a well-lit darkness of surging extremism. However, if the point was to discredit the movement, then that has failed spectacularly, because this inspection only served to humanize them and dethrone their mythical majesty.

We might come to be ruled by this dark, barbaric and foreign cult in a distant future; that in itself doesn't frighten me very much. A lot of us can tolerate living with injustice, living under a regime that is wrong in our minds. It's not such a stretch of our tolerance than what's expected of us in a democracy, considering we also have to tolerate living with socialists, neoliberals and conservatives. What frightens me is the possibility that the nationalists are in fact right, that their system of beliefs which has a concrete, relateable basis, is true. I'm afraid to submit to a new truth that goes against the one I've lived under for so long.

Am I really afraid in the end? I don't see a real threat to myself, my family or my closest friends. Am I in fact only ashamed to admit I was wrong?

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I wrote about a chronically unemployable person a few months ago. This was a man whom I thought had no chance of securing lasting employment in the legal world on account of his social awkwardness. That he had only recounted his temporary positions before confirmed my lack of belief in his future. This month, not long after his temporary employment here expired, he returned as a court clerk. There is still hope for anyone who is struggling.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

She turned out to be worried about my drinking, and after the breakup I was to give her reason to be concerned about drug habits as well. She wasn't the second girl in a row whom I dated that commented about my drinking habits. For all of their shared faults, they were at least perceptive. When she had an issue to address with me, she initiated it by way of an anecdote or discussing an abstract topic and then placing it in relation to myself. My favorite story of hers was about her ex-boyfriend with a drinking problem - to date the one she seems to have kept around for the longest amount of time. He would prepare for their common social occasions by drinking five tall beers at home. At the time, I celebrated that this rival to whom I was obviously being compared had such an enormous flaw. I had recently also learned that the other, more recent, more attractive and more serious rival had an anger management problem. I had yet to display any serious flaws.

Roughly a month before she broke up with me, I drank heroically during a party together with her coworkers and friends. The aim was to build up enough courage to take part in karaoke later that night; my performance in the karaoke was a great success, but at the beginning of the afterparty, I passed out in the bathroom. Waking up the next morning, I must have still been drunk since the shame still hurt more than the hangover. The traumatized girl recalled having to hide me in the bedroom and face her coworkers when it was apparent that her boyfriend was passed out in the bedroom. We didn't have sex that morning; not that I would have been in the shape anyway, and she left her apartment saying she was going out for a walk and that I shold lock up if I were to leave before she came back. I understood clearly that I should go home. I cleaned the vomit in the bathroom that no one else had had the courage to clean up and left.

In retrospect I recognize that the ex she told me about was a man exactly in my fashion. And I happily came to realize in my subsequent - and to this day loving - relationship that getting blackout drunk occasionally is perfectly alright.

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

A lesson from early adulthood was to never overelaborate your masturbations. Having thoroughly searched the house for some fuckable object, I had wasted almost two hours of a precious day in late summer, at the end of which I stood deeply disappointed, with a ruined teddybear and an unfulfilling climax. Somehow, this lesson is difficult to incorporate into life even as I enter my middle ages. In almost every other aspect, I've praised the qualities of to-the-point straightforwardness, and yet my masturbations occasionally tend to drift into baroque splendor. It might fall under the realm of self care to sometimes allow oneself to indulge in luxurious wanking, but one must always remember that a cum is a cum is a cum.