Marriage and the Power of Divorce

Oblio

Utah
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Over the past 6 months I tried and failed at the Single and Vaguely Attractive gambit. In retrospect I failed on purpose.

I was never one for random hook-ups, discounting the LD/open college years, and even then it wasn't really my bag. I ended up fucking around a couple times with a guy friend when I got lonely the summer I initially broke up with the main dude. 'Sides that I wasn't at all prolific, and remained faithful for the duration of the relationship, so I don't have all that many scalps on my belt.

Downloaded Tindr and got a shitload of matches, but didn't bother to go any further than that. I hate the new hookup culture and had no interest in strange no-strings dick, but as time went on I started exhibiting some maladaptive behaviors. Bar culture was a big part of my social life when I was in my twenties- which obviously had to taper off as I got older, being monogamous and in a relationship with a guy that didn't have much interest in hanging out with my weird artfag friends. I get along alright with my coworkers and do things with them socially on occasion, but I'm not close enough with any of them to have a shop-wife/husbando. This was a matter of choice. So when I started getting out of work and going to bars, I was doing it alone.

I wasn't even trying to get laid. I like sitting at the bar and listening. It's a very strange inclination and I know it, wishing to be part of the crowd but somehow apart from it. Purposefully went to bars where I would be younger than most of the people in there, as a safety net, but that just turned into an operation of voyeurism. Creeping on the struggles of twice-divorced Tonies and run-down Sheryls. 90% of the time I wouldn't actually speak to anyone or get involved in the conversation. Met a few handsome and bold lads and let them run through their shpiels, smiled and nodded, fucked off when I got bored of listening to their resumes. Very much felt like an exercise in futility.

Last time I went out I got assaulted by a massive, black-out drunk DJ Khaled motherfucker. He was a regular. Crowded Thursday night barroom at 9pm, he walks into the building with this ghoul of an associate, passes by where I'm sitting, puts a hand on my side and tries to yank up my dress, presumably up and over my ass. Bully shit. Keeps going, goes to the end of the bar to accost the two slags working the counter. I make eye contact and say 'No', shake my head, prepare to move on. The incoherently-drunk 60 year old welder who just got done telling me how much I turn him on gets up and goes to the bathroom. DJ Khaled sits in his seat. I put my hand out for a handshake. I say 'listen, man, I'm not mad at you, but you can't go around touching strangers. That's fucked up.' It was softer than he deserved but the guy had to weigh 320-350, a real Action Bronson motherfucker. He starts fake crying on my ass. I shake my head and turn to another 40-something vulture sitting on the other side, and realize I'm a fucking idiot sitting alone in a chum bucket with the only other two girls in radius watching and hoping something bad is going to happen. I feel very foolish in that moment. Khaled's friend starts accosting me about paying him money to 'see something', and out of the corner of my eye I can see fatty feigning punching me repeatedly in the head. YGWYFD, I suppose.

I stayed longer than I should have, but only because I didn't want him to think I was afraid of him. Finish my drink on my own time, get up. "Good night, sunshine!," the bar wench crows as I give her a big tip and smile like I just had a great time. Everyone watches as I get up and have this guy follow me out to my car. Nobody says shit. I had the foresight to park it in plain view of the forward windows. He gibbers at me incoherently. Asks me where I live. I get in the car and go home. Can't even say I'm upset, just weirdly numb about the whole thing. Probably because I realized it was only a matter of time before my stupid shit got me exactly where I could've expected to end up.


While all this is going on, the boy has been coming over once every couple of weeks for a glorified booty call. I would look forward to it all week. For everything that happened, nothing cheered me up like the idea that he would come over, have some dinner, and then a full evening of chilling the fuck out watching videos and movies and listening to music. The sex was good. I keep it under wraps and mention it off-hand to one coworker, and in less than 2 days just about everyone has brought it up and off-handedly mentioned that they hope I'm fucking with a condom, because I'm a fool if I think he's not dipping his wick elsewhere. This is the part where I effectively stopped speaking to my coworkers about anything related to my personal life and I believe it is something I will be maintaining in perpetuity.

As you can imagine, it ended up exactly how one might expect. He moved back in two months ago, and we made it exactly 72 hours before I had another meltdown on him. 4 months and nothing was different. It felt like going back in time. He came home to a banshee. Now that it wasn't just booty calls I was presented with the exact same scenario that had me kicking him out in the first place. Finally, finally, after 6-7 years of pleading/nagging/harrassment, he goes and signs up for his sleep study. I don't think I ever mentioned but he has SEVERE untreated sleep apnea. It was the reason we slept in separate bedrooms. The reason why I would be shaking him awake at 10pm because he's gasping like a dying fish. The reason I would freak the fuck out about watching a man's marked cognitive decline happen 20 years before its supposed to happen. I sincerely believe it is the reason he has no ambition, no drive, no energy for anything other than hanging out.


I hope the shells have finally fallen from his eyes. He's down to 70% oxygen saturation overnight and has wake-up events 90 times a fucking hour. Even living with it as I have, didn't expect it to be that bad. It's crippled him. He can't move to fix the things he needs to change because he's literally too fucking exhausted to do so.


A few years back I posted a horn-tooting and masturbatory bit about the growth of relationships over time. How I remained close to the appeal and comfort of making life with your man work for better or for worse, because we 'had crawled out of a hole together.' I realize now that our lives were not nearly as intertwined as I wanted to believe, and that our trajectories were not the same. I crawled out of my hole, or can at least pretend I'm halfway there. He's still stuck in his.

The guy needs my help. If I ever loved him, it doesn't matter if I don't truly see the truth of who he is as a man. If I kick him out he would be exactly where he was when he first moved to this country. I would be putting a sick person out on the street or telling him to run back home to what family is left to him.

It doesn't even matter if he doesn't love me like he used to, or I him. It doesn't matter if I'm losing precious months or years for the lost cause of our impossible ideal relationship. The guy took me in when I had absolutely nothing but the priveleged cushion of my background to hold me up and trudged on for 10 years holding my hand while I bounced off fucking walls. He supported me the only way he knew how, with the little money he had left, until I finally had enough and stood the fuck up for myself. The roles reversed and now it's my turn. Even if it's just the act of a friend.

We'll see what happens once he's on a machine. There's a lot of things that need to happen from square one. Not putting a timeline on it. I guess I'll end up keeping you guys posted.

Not much I can add to that other than you should probably just hangout a bit at the neighborhood sports bar over... whatever shithole dive you were hanging out. Lordy knows I love shit hole dive bars, but the dynamic is just a lot different for you unfortunately.
This.

My first thought was you are frequenting dive bars, which are great in college because they are cheap. If you are still looking to meet someone new, my suggestion would be to go to more upscale watering holes. Not that "white collar" guys can't be creeps too, but odds are there will be a little bit better security/safety.

Regarding old boy, I think you are right, sleep apnea can be a real bitch and you have no idea how much it affects you until you start sleeping with a CPAP. As someone that probably (half knowingly) ignored my own sleep apnea for years I can honestly say I wake up better rested, more alert and more motivated. I also require less sleep because it is more quality sleep. Anyway, I think it is love that is compelling you to help him, not just guilt. Love changes over time, even though my wife. While we often still have a fiery passion for each other there are sometimes days/weeks were the relationship is fueled by duty/responsibility to one another. It is love just not passionate fiery love. Maybe, just maybe the CPAP will start him on the path of getting his shit together and you can fall in love with him all over again, stranger things have happened. In my experience women like men to be men, not saying they don't like it when we show our softer side, but on the whole they prefer when we are driven toward success and have a sense of purpose. The happiest men I know are the ones that are accountable to their families and get shit done. Success can vary from person to person, but providing basic essentials to your family is a big part of being a happy man IMHO.

Don't expect the change over night either, he will need to get back into good habits which can take weeks/months. Stay positive with him, when he gets down on himself remind him to focus on his positive accomplishments, like the mere fact he owned up to having sleep apnea and took the steps to right that course. Better late than never. Lastly, pick up a copy of The Four Agreements. Yes, it has a little hippy dippy stuff in it, but the at the core are the 4 agreements and if you follow them even 50% of the time you/he will be happier people.

I typically get around 6 hours of sleep per night sometimes more sometimes less about every other weekend I will get a solid 10 hours depending on my list of responsibilities in the morning. My problem with sleep on the weekends over the last few years is the wife and I have been super connected and often have great "sessions" until 3-4am. If I try to get 10 hours of sleep after that I have slept a whole day away which is my main time with the kiddos. Yes, these are first world problems. Oh and we got a puppy recently that usually barks to go poddy at 4am, once I get 4 hours sleep if something wakes me up I am up.
 
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Zaara

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Re: bars. I was going to the dives on purpose and out of laziness. I know there's a full spread out there. If I wanted to be around people more my age/lifestyle I would have to shlep up to Providence or down to Newport, and I've already done those circuits. Far as I'm concerned the bullshit you find out there is the same exact shit, no matter what tax bracket the person is in. It made me realize that I like the idea of bar socialization, but I am not living in a time or an age or a body where pursuing it is realistic. If I'm not doing it to get laid and I'm not doing it to make actual friends, what is the point.

Everyone who has dealt with the sleep apnea thing that I've talked to says pretty much the same thing you do. Big improvement, but also a gradual sort've thing that you have to be patient with. I'm down with it. You're absolutely right that its my responsibility to stay positive and encouraging throughout.

It is also as you say, that most women have a very particular desire that doesn't really get put into words very often. Nothing is more attractive or sexier than passion- and I don't mean just physical passion. Most people go through life getting crushed into smaller and smaller boxes, because they can't cope with the fact that life is not Their Story being told to exacting specifications.

Without getting too deep into it I believe this is being done to us on purpose. Our screens are filled with entertainment that tells us that morality is useless and that the only meaningful gambit is the pursuit of wealth, power, and sex. We are desensitized to the sensual pleasures our ancestors viewed as special. To use a romantic vision, our ancestors pulled up to feasting tables for whatever religious/milestone excuse they had, drank themselves silly, gorged on meat of things they'd had to destroy with their own hands. Now fourty million fat, depressed men and women sit in their McDonald's drive-thru lines, slumped in the seat of their bilge-spitting SUV that's never seen anything but highway miles, and order 20$ combos every working day of their life. Every day's a feast. We jerk off to women who have the bodies of goddesses and find the experience ruined by sight of an ingrown hair or too much man ass in the frame. We watch the world spin on without it giving a single fuck about where we end up, see our opportunities and the opportunities afforded to our children drying up, and lull ourselves into acceptance with food, drugs, and empty gratification. I believe, unfortunately, that this is the life that many people deserve, mostly because I know how much suffering results from it.

A man with passion, who is excited about the experience of life, seems very rare from my myopic field of view of poor-to-middle-class suburbia. There's a thousand lifestyle coaches that essentially saying the same thing to men, but they focus so much on the MONEY drive and the POWER drive I think the purer thing gets lost.

I don't want him to transform into Brad Pitt, Doer of Things and Man of the World. I don't need to see him rise to the top of some chosen field, or for him to buy me some shitty consolation house somewhere. He needs to lose weight, eat better, give himself time to rest so he can actually think. I want him to make the decision that he is going to try to take control of his life and his choices, and as of right now that's the only expectation I have of him. I don't want or expect it to end with us together, because if this is really about him becoming happy, I don't think I'm the right girl for him. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it but until then, all I want is a buddy with a working brain.

Also, Re: The Four Agreements. Saw you mention it in the Depression thread. Pretty funny, I read through it a third time not that long ago. Part of the breakup was jumping pretty deep into my reading- I was introduced to Marcus Aurelius in college, and the interest in Stoicism brought me in through the usual avenues after Meditations. Suzuki's Zen Mind Beginner's Mind, Frankl's Pursuit of Meaning. Untethered Soul is as far as I went edging towards the Deepak Chopra end of the spectrum. Right now its been a bit all over the place, rereading Pema Chodron by the chapter or dragging my ass through the Myth of Sisyphus. Four Agreements is probably the best distillation of all the good mind food I've managed to ingest the last few years.
 
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Oblio

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First off, I have seen you make a few negative comments about yourself/body. While it is good to be grounded in reality, you are more than just your body. I don't think I am alone amongst the male population of this board when I say your personality (or at lest the persona you display here) is very attractive. I say this has a very very happily married man, I am not hitting on you. You have a real down to earth way about you as well as a solid sense of humor. Those are very attractive traits, give yourself a little more credit while still remaining grounded.

Oh and before I forget, don't try and be a bad bitch at the bar again especially with drunk losers. I am not trying to be misogynistic, but you are of the weaker sex and the average dude can have their way with you if they choose let alone some 300+ pound dumb fuck. Do not put yourself in that position again, do not give yourself a false sense of security. I mean that in the most respectful polite way possible.

Lastly, just talk to him and be super honest/open. Tell him basically the exact same stuff you wrote here and don't sugar coat it. Better he knows the expectations now than to create false ones in his mind. Tell him he needs to figure out out to be happy with himself with or with out you in his life.

All in all I wish you the best of luck and hope that you will keep us posted.
 
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Deathwing

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A man with passion, who is excited about the experience of life, seems very rare from my myopic field of view of poor-to-middle-class suburbia. There's a thousand lifestyle coaches that essentially saying the same thing to men, but they focus so much on the MONEY drive and the POWER drive I think the purer thing gets lost.

I don't want him to transform into Brad Pitt, Doer of Things and Man of the World. I don't need to see him rise to the top of some chosen field, or for him to buy me some shitty consolation house somewhere. He needs to lose weight, eat better, give himself time to rest so he can actually think. I want him to make the decision that he is going to try to take control of his life and his choices, and as of right now that's the only expectation I have of him. I don't want or expect it to end with us together, because if this is really about him becoming happy, I don't think I'm the right girl for him. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it but until then, all I want is a buddy with a working brain.
What are some of the things you're passionate about experiencing in life? Personally, it helps a lot to see something in action as a sort of organic motivator. A colleague was recently promoted, much deserved, but now it's got me thinking about progressing my career when I had been complacent for a coupe years. I've started doing body weight exercises because I'm unhappy with parts of my body, but it's also gotten my wife to join me sometimes.

I will agree, life does a good job of beating the passion out of you. Maybe not out of you, but from expressing it. Just earlier this week, a new colleague out of the blue asks me what I do in my free time. I froze up because I don't like talking about video games irl for a variety of reasons, especially to coworkers(which you touched on your original post). I didn't lie, I told them I like reading sci-fi books, but I wasn't telling the whole truth exactly. Not knowing your partner, maybe the passion is there, he's reticent to express it?
 

Phazael

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Short take of this makes me thing you (Zaara) are punishing yourself, for whatever reason. Depression is the likely culprit. Women who are single after a certain age are wired by biology to be unhappy, so I am sure that is contributing. More than anything, if you were a RL friend I would say get a major change of scenery because it sounds like you are in a big rut / depression spiral. But as a self proclaimed "artfag" I realize you are kind of stuck being in big cities. And last of all, its not your job to fix someone. Dude has to man up and do it himself, or not at all. Thats a cold hard reality given what you posted, but don't get pulled into a sunken cost fallacy. Non crazy whore women without a kid are at an all time premium, looks not even entering into the mix. You likely have other options, certainly better than dive bar trawling. I think its time you weight them more carefully.

Also, kind of amazed no other dudes in the bar didn't white knight Mr Grabby off of you. That must have been a real shithole bar.
 
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Oblio

Utah
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Short take of this makes me thing you (Zaara) are punishing yourself, for whatever reason. Depression is the likely culprit. Women who are single after a certain age are wired by biology to be unhappy, so I am sure that is contributing. More than anything, if you were a RL friend I would say get a major change of scenery because it sounds like you are in a big rut / depression spiral. But as a self proclaimed "artfag" I realize you are kind of stuck being in big cities. And last of all, its not your job to fix someone. Dude has to man up and do it himself, or not at all. Thats a cold hard reality given what you posted, but don't get pulled into a sunken cost fallacy. Non crazy whore women without a kid are at an all time premium, looks not even entering into the mix. You likely have other options, certainly better than dive bar trawling. I think its time you weight them more carefully.

Also, kind of amazed no other dudes in the bar didn't white knight Mr Grabby off of you. That must have been a real shithole bar.
He is not wrong...

My advice was based on the fact that Zaara seemed to have already made her choice about sticking around for old boy. But yeah, 6 months+ in a rural area could do wonders for your mental health and would give you beautiful to inspire your art.
 

Zaara

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Not a bad set of assumptions to make, but I think you are off the mark. I know what depression feels like and this is not it. I know what I do to punish myself and this is not it. Sure, I was lonely when I was alone, but I also was given time to discover that I like the person I am and enjoy a rich, advantaged, joyful life full of opportunity and soft edges. I may not be doing EXACTLY the thing I love but its so fucking close it doesn't matter right now. The luckiest cunt I know. In the span of three years I went from baby-back bitch apprentice earning pennies to a professional, and I did it without tears, excuses, or fear getting the better of me. There is something very enabling to have the confidence to pick up a machine and (for better or for worse) change a person's appearance forever, without fear of your own shortcomings or the uncertainty of your technical application. It is confidence in and of itself. The way that changes you can't be undone by existential torment, at least not how I've experienced it.

Strive to be excellent in everything I do. Work really fucking hard so I can grasp onto my dreams for tomorrow. Pay my shit on time. Exercise, water, sleep. Be a good and positive presence to anyone around me. Step up and take on more responsibility, paying respect and love to my parents as they start to fade. Hailing Satan, within reason. I am so far away from that state of mind that it is hard to remember how, exactly, you get that bad in the first place, but nah. Not depressed and very far from it. Masochistic, sure. It would be much easier to kick his ass to curb and Pontius Pilate, but I'm putting that yoke on willingly for a reason. He helped me. He supported me. He may not be the man of my dreams but he was my closest friend for a decade and a half. If I end up shaving a few zeroes off my pussy price-tag lingering with him to help, so be it.
 
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LachiusTZ

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Without getting too deep into it I believe this is being done to us on purpose. Our screens are filled with entertainment that tells us that morality is useless and that the only meaningful gambit is the pursuit of wealth, power, and sex

This is straight out of thus spoke Zarathustra.

I have a lot of the same sentiment with my wife as your have with dude. Completely different situation, but same sentiment

He helped me. He supported me. He may not be the man of my dreams but he was my closest friend for a decade and a half. If I end up shaving a few zeroes off my pussy price-tag lingering with him to help, so be it.

Can't say it's the wisest decision, but it's an honorable one.

Good luck.
 
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Oblio

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And for the record I was not agreeing with Phaz on the part about you being depressed. I meant it more along the lines of another option as to how to deal with old boy. Both are viable, but you have to do whatever is right for you.
 

Oblio

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Didn't stick the landing with the joke, probably because it didn't belong in the grown up section.
 
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The_Black_Log Foler

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Over the past 6 months I tried and failed at the Single and Vaguely Attractive gambit. In retrospect I failed on purpose.

I was never one for random hook-ups, discounting the LD/open college years, and even then it wasn't really my bag. I ended up fucking around a couple times with a guy friend when I got lonely the summer I initially broke up with the main dude. 'Sides that I wasn't at all prolific, and remained faithful for the duration of the relationship, so I don't have all that many scalps on my belt.

Downloaded Tindr and got a shitload of matches, but didn't bother to go any further than that. I hate the new hookup culture and had no interest in strange no-strings dick, but as time went on I started exhibiting some maladaptive behaviors. Bar culture was a big part of my social life when I was in my twenties- which obviously had to taper off as I got older, being monogamous and in a relationship with a guy that didn't have much interest in hanging out with my weird artfag friends. I get along alright with my coworkers and do things with them socially on occasion, but I'm not close enough with any of them to have a shop-wife/husbando. This was a matter of choice. So when I started getting out of work and going to bars, I was doing it alone.

I wasn't even trying to get laid. I like sitting at the bar and listening. It's a very strange inclination and I know it, wishing to be part of the crowd but somehow apart from it. Purposefully went to bars where I would be younger than most of the people in there, as a safety net, but that just turned into an operation of voyeurism. Creeping on the struggles of twice-divorced Tonies and run-down Sheryls. 90% of the time I wouldn't actually speak to anyone or get involved in the conversation. Met a few handsome and bold lads and let them run through their shpiels, smiled and nodded, fucked off when I got bored of listening to their resumes. Very much felt like an exercise in futility.

Last time I went out I got assaulted by a massive, black-out drunk DJ Khaled motherfucker. He was a regular. Crowded Thursday night barroom at 9pm, he walks into the building with this ghoul of an associate, passes by where I'm sitting, puts a hand on my side and tries to yank up my dress, presumably up and over my ass. Bully shit. Keeps going, goes to the end of the bar to accost the two slags working the counter. I make eye contact and say 'No', shake my head, prepare to move on. The incoherently-drunk 60 year old welder who just got done telling me how much I turn him on gets up and goes to the bathroom. DJ Khaled sits in his seat. I put my hand out for a handshake. I say 'listen, man, I'm not mad at you, but you can't go around touching strangers. That's fucked up.' It was softer than he deserved but the guy had to weigh 320-350, a real Action Bronson motherfucker. He starts fake crying on my ass. I shake my head and turn to another 40-something vulture sitting on the other side, and realize I'm a fucking idiot sitting alone in a chum bucket with the only other two girls in radius watching and hoping something bad is going to happen. I feel very foolish in that moment. Khaled's friend starts accosting me about paying him money to 'see something', and out of the corner of my eye I can see fatty feigning punching me repeatedly in the head. YGWYFD, I suppose.

I stayed longer than I should have, but only because I didn't want him to think I was afraid of him. Finish my drink on my own time, get up. "Good night, sunshine!," the bar wench crows as I give her a big tip and smile like I just had a great time. Everyone watches as I get up and have this guy follow me out to my car. Nobody says shit. I had the foresight to park it in plain view of the forward windows. He gibbers at me incoherently. Asks me where I live. I get in the car and go home. Can't even say I'm upset, just weirdly numb about the whole thing. Probably because I realized it was only a matter of time before my stupid shit got me exactly where I could've expected to end up.


While all this is going on, the boy has been coming over once every couple of weeks for a glorified booty call. I would look forward to it all week. For everything that happened, nothing cheered me up like the idea that he would come over, have some dinner, and then a full evening of chilling the fuck out watching videos and movies and listening to music. The sex was good. I keep it under wraps and mention it off-hand to one coworker, and in less than 2 days just about everyone has brought it up and off-handedly mentioned that they hope I'm fucking with a condom, because I'm a fool if I think he's not dipping his wick elsewhere. This is the part where I effectively stopped speaking to my coworkers about anything related to my personal life and I believe it is something I will be maintaining in perpetuity.

As you can imagine, it ended up exactly how one might expect. He moved back in two months ago, and we made it exactly 72 hours before I had another meltdown on him. 4 months and nothing was different. It felt like going back in time. He came home to a banshee. Now that it wasn't just booty calls I was presented with the exact same scenario that had me kicking him out in the first place. Finally, finally, after 6-7 years of pleading/nagging/harrassment, he goes and signs up for his sleep study. I don't think I ever mentioned but he has SEVERE untreated sleep apnea. It was the reason we slept in separate bedrooms. The reason why I would be shaking him awake at 10pm because he's gasping like a dying fish. The reason I would freak the fuck out about watching a man's marked cognitive decline happen 20 years before its supposed to happen. I sincerely believe it is the reason he has no ambition, no drive, no energy for anything other than hanging out.


I hope the shells have finally fallen from his eyes. He's down to 70% oxygen saturation overnight and has wake-up events 90 times a fucking hour. Even living with it as I have, didn't expect it to be that bad. It's crippled him. He can't move to fix the things he needs to change because he's literally too fucking exhausted to do so.


A few years back I posted a horn-tooting and masturbatory bit about the growth of relationships over time. How I remained close to the appeal and comfort of making life with your man work for better or for worse, because we 'had crawled out of a hole together.' I realize now that our lives were not nearly as intertwined as I wanted to believe, and that our trajectories were not the same. I crawled out of my hole, or can at least pretend I'm halfway there. He's still stuck in his.

The guy needs my help. If I ever loved him, it doesn't matter if I don't truly see the truth of who he is as a man. If I kick him out he would be exactly where he was when he first moved to this country. I would be putting a sick person out on the street or telling him to run back home to what family is left to him.

It doesn't even matter if he doesn't love me like he used to, or I him. It doesn't matter if I'm losing precious months or years for the lost cause of our impossible ideal relationship. The guy took me in when I had absolutely nothing but the priveleged cushion of my background to hold me up and trudged on for 10 years holding my hand while I bounced off fucking walls. He supported me the only way he knew how, with the little money he had left, until I finally had enough and stood the fuck up for myself. The roles reversed and now it's my turn. Even if it's just the act of a friend.

We'll see what happens once he's on a machine. There's a lot of things that need to happen from square one. Not putting a timeline on it. I guess I'll end up keeping you guys posted.
This was really long, I couldn’t make it through the last few paragraphs.

ok first off how old are you girl?

Second off don’t be going on tinder that degen bottom bucket hookup app. Next step up is Bumble - slightly better and you’ll be more likely to find something serious. Above that you have Hinge. I’d try Hinge and Bumble. Online dating is aids but god damn fuck hanging in bars as a single woman - you ever seen the kind of dudes that try to pick up women at bars? Fucking boomer welders and 350 lbs DJ Khaled types. You’re fishing in the wrong pool.

Sounds like you need to figure out what you want out of a long term relationship maybe.
 

Captain Suave

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Second off don’t be going on tinder that degen bottom bucket hookup app. Next step up is Bumble - slightly better and you’ll be more likely to find something serious. Above that you have Hinge. I’d try Hinge and Bumble. Online dating is aids but god damn fuck hanging in bars as a single woman - you ever seen the kind of dudes that try to pick up women at bars? Fucking boomer welders and 350 lbs DJ Khaled types. You’re fishing in the wrong pool.

I'm old enough that on a gut level online dating still feels like it should be wrong, but my sister and a close friend of my wife's both met legitimiately great guys on Bumble and married them, without a lot of bullshit or bad matches in the process. Definitely in a different league from Tinder.
 
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Soygen

The Dirty Dozen For the Price of One
<Nazi Janitors>
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We jerk off to women who have the bodies of goddesses and find the experience ruined by sight of an ingrown hair or too much man ass in the frame.
I jerk off to the most vile stuff on earth. This is why I know I'm above the fray and going to be alright.
 
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Fucker

Log Wizard
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A man with passion, who is excited about the experience of life, seems very rare from my myopic field of view of poor-to-middle-class suburbia. There's a thousand lifestyle coaches that essentially saying the same thing to men, but they focus so much on the MONEY drive and the POWER drive I think the purer thing gets lost.

I don't want him to transform into Brad Pitt, Doer of Things and Man of the World. I don't need to see him rise to the top of some chosen field, or for him to buy me some shitty consolation house somewhere. He needs to lose weight, eat better, give himself time to rest so he can actually think. I want him to make the decision that he is going to try to take control of his life and his choices, and as of right now that's the only expectation I have of him. I don't want or expect it to end with us together, because if this is really about him becoming happy, I don't think I'm the right girl for him. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it but until then, all I want is a buddy with a working brain.
The world is chock full of men who are actively half-assing their way through life. Half-ass through high school, then college, then half-ass through their job selling tires and rims for $40k a year. Half-ass their way around the house never doing a single thing to keep it clean or do maintenance or do laundry or cook.

Men who half-ass their way through life tend to get a lot half-assier as they get older. Look at the statistics for Adult and Continuing Education programs...they are 99.9999999% all 30+ y/o women....almost never ever any men.

Don't hold your breath for your guy breaking out of being a half-ass, because he won't.

Also, fuck this passion bullshit. It's just bad women's articles fluttering around in your brain that you haven't flushed away yet. File it away with your multiple orgasm how to lose 50lbs in one week articles. What you want is a naturally busy guy who is always doing things that also end up with positive outcomes. Good things tend to follow men who are always busy and make good decisions.
 
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ToeMissile

Pronouns: zie/zhem/zer
<Gold Donor>
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Also, fuck this passion bullshit. It's just bad women's articles fluttering around in your brain that you haven't flushed away yet. File it away with your multiple orgasm how to lose 50lbs in one week articles. What you want is a naturally busy guy who is always doing things that also end up with positive outcomes. Good things tend to follow men who are always busy and make good decisions.
This comes across like you interpret her use of 'passion' as the kind from a romance novel. Pretty sure she means someone who gives a shit about something and enjoys it. :emoji_hearts::emoji_hearts: :emoji_hearts:
 
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Izo

Tranny Chaser
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Zaara Zaara how about scooting out a kid or three into this wonderful world? All the stupid ppl do, might as well beef up the gene pool, girl. Blood for the blood god.
 

Hatorade

A nice asshole.
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Update on the hysterectomy, sever scarring basically between her vag and anus due to a long time build up of endometriosis, they cut it all out. Pictures were insane looking, was bands after bands of black tissue. Her cervix and uterus in a few spots looked like a pink horny toad, filled with thyroids and cysts. None of which show up on any scans.
Doc said she has no idea how physical therapy helped at all when it was this bad. Ovaries and tubes un effected so they should be fine.
Recovering well enough.
 
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Cutlery

Kill All the White People
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This comes across like you interpret her use of 'passion' as the kind from a romance novel. Pretty sure she means someone who gives a shit about something and enjoys it. :emoji_hearts::emoji_hearts: :emoji_hearts:

Yeah, this is the way I interpret it too.

I've had a path opened to me at work for the last couple of years...a path to an easier life, but more corporate bullshit. The company hasn't exactly been falling over backwards for me, so it's just getting tiring. I had ambition to pursue this at one point, but the longer this goes on, the more I see it as a waste of time.

In the end, no one is going to remember me as a fantastic supervisor, manager, director, executive or anything else. The people at work don't matter and they don't care about you. It's going to be a much more fulfilling life if I choose to focus on people who do matter as opposed to people who don't. Top at that list of people that matter is me. I want to make something and do something that will outlast me. Nothing you do in a professional setting will outlast me. Everyone thinks they're irreplaceable at their job, but we've all seen irreplaceable people leave and life continues as normal.

This is why I want a job with less bullshit, which leaves more time for what I want to do. More time playing guitar, more time with my SO, my kids, my dogs. More time at the range working on my marksmanship. More time working with tools and creating things. Those are the things that last. In 100 years, no one is going to remember who I am at work, but in 100 years, my grandchildren will hand down furniture I made to their children.

Passion doesn't need to be the flame of love. It can just be the flame for living, instead of merely existing.
 
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