I, Russell

The problem, *my* problem, is with desire.

I think I'd be a better person if I never wanted anything. I had another horrible night's sleep, waking up every hour from another unsettling dream, and then torturing myself back to sleep with unrealistic desires. I hate that I want things, things I can't have and that I should know better than to even consider. I learned about my failings and limits ten years ago and about my jealousies long before that. Why can't I remember that?

I hate that I want what I can't have, that I can't be satisfied with my fringe existence, that I'm unable to handle reality and wish to be treated as special as more deserving men. For God's fucking sake, I just am, and should be content with that.

I've had, though arguably never earned or deserved, the affection and love of women. I'm old enough now that I should be happy being the father figure or kindly uncle. Why do I still crave the rewards of youth? It's impossible for me to have them, and I wish I'd quit trying. Not only do I fool myself when I think it's possible, I set myself up for misery whenever I see anyone or anyting I want.

I hate wanting things. I hate making myself feel foolish. I hate being unreasonable.