I wanted to think about something, but I had nothing to think about other than a well received novel that bored and troubled me. The author clearly knew how to do her research and how to construct the facts. I hadn’t the wherewithal to go to the library to rifle through books. The author had the intelligence to make it fluent, but it was piffle which made it all the more contemporary. I knew it was better than I made it out to be. Still, there was something about it that I didn’t like. I knew I was incapable of writing anything as unaffected and yet I judged it. I had to take a shower. I hadn’t any clean underwear and I didn’t want to wear unclean pants without underwear. I hated that my face was bloated. It was going to fall apart even if I did painstakingly take care of my appearance.I didn’t even know how it was recognizable. I pitied women in their early fifties whose moldering faces were pulled down and lined.
I didn’t see the point in hygiene when I was unemployed. The only one who
cared was my wife. She was ready to leave me at any moment so I didn’t see
the point in listening to her. I kept her from leaving me by refusing to leave
the house we both owned. When she said that I had to go I almost believed I
did have to simply because she had said it. This is my house too I said to
convince myself of the fact. Still, I felt that the house was her’s. I felt that everything
was her’s and that nothing was mine. Seldom did I have sex, so seldom that I wasn’t
sure I wanted to have sex. I told a woman I liked that I thought I was asexual. I thought it would challenge her. Instead she lost interest. I saw a sex worker and a therapist  because I pitied himself. I pitied the therapist and the prostitute.
The prostitute for having to give her body and the
therapist for having to listen to my obsessions and for being not that far from
becoming the patient himself. I was convinced that I was the one curing the doc.
I smashed my sprint cell phone with a hammer after I had spent a thousand
dollars on NiteFlirt. The therapist said that his patients usually were addicted to
gambling and that sex addiction was like gambling. The woman on Niteflirt I called said I liked to eat turds from her asshole. I didn’t disagree.