Beaten why for

There remained a lingering, springy pain from underneath my testicles that made standing up feel quite a chore. It has been two days now. An open wound that would just not heal, menacing me with every step.

No one gets it. I begin to stink and no one blinks an eye. No one tells me straight to my face how disgusting a human being I truly am. No, no one has the audacity. Cowards living under a safe rock.

So now that I have sorted out my bling, and so the situation calls for me to move forward and step ahead of the game. I need to earn more for the sake of whatever fuckery is on the way. A month left before the cue ticks reminding me of my interpersonal responsibilities. Miriam made sure that her libido is kept intact while mine floats all over the ba-dee-ya highway to the boulevard of broken dreams and anticlimactic disappointment. My sense of security is definitely out of loop as you see, but this is just my midlife dilemma blaring at a loudspeaker inside my head. Somehow if I could find a way to survive this excursion with Miriam in December, I will be free of this anxiety, and only then will I be able to freely open up myself to whatever. But until then my problem is primarily financial.

Most problems usually are.