Lust, love, and America's most insipid cultural ritual. On this day of fake and gushing hearts, I fight through nausea and celebrate sensibility. It's Valentine's Day and I'm alone as always. At work, I bagged Valentine's gifts for those who have someone special to cherish and screw. I eagerly rode home to a meager apartment and the black cat I share my life with. No friends, no phone calls; just deafening rock and cheap booze. Women are only a vague memory, but I know they are of little use. My psyche needs the satisfaction of being alone.
Entanglements, or “relationships,” are a matter of course in the outside world. From the youngest age, we are programmed to seek the opposite sex. Strikingly, prepubescent children display this behavior. We are also hard-wired to wed and reproduce. While marriage and family is essential to civilization, it serves little or no purpose for an under-reported number of adults. People want entanglements like children want cars — the kids have nowhere to go.
All seductive ladies are the same and nobody is special. Many women are attractive, but none irresistible. Aside from that lady on The X-Files, I've never had a crush. Eye candy is sweet, but not inspiring. Socializing is an interruption, my desire is beautiful thought and a peaceful life in my own world. Self-centeredness is secondary, it's really about the brain that chose me.
As a child, I decided to remain alone for life. I had then, as I do now, a love affair with solitude. I never had much drive to socialize. Even today, there seems to be little association in my mind between seeing a hot chick and actually speaking to her. I never think of this and soon disregard her presence. Talk? Why? About what? As a cashier, I was often counseled for not conversing with customers.
“Talk to the customers,” they said. That instruction cannot be defined and is therefore meaningless. Besides, small talk is annoyingly pointless and must have been instituted by stupid bastards. Talking about the weather is for the vapid and initiating such conversation is intellectually demeaning. I don't follow the weather, it fails to interest me.
Singleness is more than a bare ring finger. Singles typically define their personal lives by socializing with the opposite sex. Odd behavior such as “clubbing” and “bar hopping” seems to thrill them. Ya' know, it only takes one bar to get you wasted. Rapid-fire some rotgut, nancy boy. I can't really comprehend dating, but it's obviously a waste of time. Just get a hobby and save IQ points. If this is your leisure, the opposite sex influences your life such that you may as well be married. You are headed down that road anyway, misguided wretch.
I experimented with the night life in my early twenties. Dancing baffles me and I'd rather pace. Clubs are too damned loud and the music is trash. Such places are obscenely crowded. Just because I enjoyed exchanging gropes with that skank doesn't mean I want the freakishly dressed throng defiling my personal space. I don't even want to look at them. I felt so violated. For socializing in general, I comprehend little and enjoy less. Frivolity time with whatever sex you adore is fleeting, but not worth the hassle.
Staying home alone all night is a winner. My partying entails music and drinking like every party, but with the undesirable element of human contact removed. I also hate parties, they're dull and idiotic. The good life really isn't about partying at all. The brain is a playground. Thought is a great indulgence, best enjoyed without human interruption. Pursuing interests and satisfying whims with nobody else's whims to get in the way is the essence of singleness. Interests become causes and careers of far greater importance than some chick you found somewhere.