How To Be Single

Wake up with “sore jaw” from grinding teeth, an affliction which incurred a long since abandoned mouth guard. Sit up from the floor (you sleep on the floor, since your ex took the bed) and dramatically sigh twice thinking “fuck me,” as both existential provocation and abstract solicitation for a woman between 18 – 30 to somehow materialize from dawn’s dim bluish light and fuck you.

Dry hump pillow, using area between pillow and pillow case as surrogate vagina. Realize, sadly, that not only is the sensation inaccurate, but it actually feels bad. Think “fuck this life” and look at alarm clock to see how late for work you’ll be. Smell boxers to assess odor. Put boxers on.

Take train to work positioned 45° from a beautiful woman whose face’s reflection in the window you can safely contemplate when the train goes in a tunnel, or under a dark patch of trees.

Spend the next 8 hours at work deleting, forwarding, and occasionally responding to work emails, at times arguing with other bitter petty State administrators—while simultaneously gmail chatting online bros about random semi-erections, noting estimated percentage of hardness (e.g. “27% boner bro,” or “got 11% hard thinking of ironing board, the fuck is wrong with me.”)

Eat disappointing salad for lunch in efforts to lose weight, as you plan on dating soon. Remind yourself of Maxim article you read saying that women liked “ripped abs,” and worry if your unrealistic quest for such abs is a little douchey. Think “fuck my abs” as co-worker eats half a rotisserie chicken. Think “fuck this life” since you’re on a roll.

Finish work, take train home, employing the same refraction geometries as before. Immediately wake up computer by pushing mouse 1″ towards nothingness. Google “asian sluts” and start clicking from there; wind up ~20 minutes later at blackcockhunger.com looking at a 14″ black cock slowly sagging to flaccid next to its target covered in ~2.5 fl. oz. of emission. (Decide not to have the canned Clam Chowder after all.) Let go of penis as chronic depression has taken a toll on your libido.

Lie on couch. Turn on TV. Keep TV on for the next four hours in order to fill space with humanness. Think of recent divorce, failed past relationships, and unrequited loves. Consider if you just might be a shithead; that maybe you have a sad debilitating effect on women; that maybe it’s not some crazy coincidence how every woman who’s ever loved you winds up depressed, withdrawn, seeking love elsewhere. Imagine how easy it would be—unless you were willing to make severe changes in your psyche and emotional health that seems impossible—to be alone forever, and that even if you met someone new, the relationship would probably be doomed. Try to existentially embrace this, but ultimately get more depressed. Think of last night: she was a “friend of a friend” and you assumed she was married or had a boyfriend because every time in the past when your interest/desperation was piqued, such was the case with all the attractive and friendly women you met, supporting the theory that, at your age, all the good ones are taken.

Imagine yourself as a 65 year-old-man sitting in a moldy chair ripping scabs off his legs out of boredom. No kids, no family, no life. Think of a scab as a tortilla chip with the built in salsa of blood. Have panic attack.

Go online to browse dating sites. Say “fuck this shit” to sites which require membership payment. Go to JDate.com and say “fucking Jews”; go to eHarmony.com and say “fucking crackers”; go to craigslist personals and say “fucking freaks,” observing that the ratio of m4w to w4m ads are 10 to 1. Feel strangely sorry for the women who are posting ads there. Click on ad of +50 yr. old overweight woman from Fresno and congratulate her for being lonelier than you. Tell yourself the best way to meet someone is by not looking. Then tell yourself the best way to fuck someone is to spend $300 for 1 hour. Look inside wallet and say “fucking recession.” Go back on couch.

Fall asleep on couch. Wake up at 1:14 am, the bands of orange rusty light from the lone street lamp collated on your body. Get up and floss, remembering the comfort of flossing next to her, the casualness of a love taken for granted. See her face in the mirror, the cloud of warmth still embedded into the walls. Hear an ambulance siren in the distance getting louder, then softer again. Hope someone is not dying, then wonder if that’s such a bad thing.

Enter cold bed. Curl up in fetal position and feel sort of gay. Think of strangely growing erection as a curious turtle head coming out to meet the world. Say “sorry, you fucking asshole, maybe next time.”