Rueing the Complex Road to Nowhere.

I remember once being embarrassingly candid on this blog by admitting that for as long as I can remember I've always had the instinct of a rake seeking to explore strange new worlds, the nature of a romantic who seeks the comfort of lifelong partnership, and the mind of an inveterate Romantic engaged in endless searching for perfection and whatever the ultimate consists of (even after having realised that when Romantics reach the mountain top they have to proceed to the sky, and when they reach the sky they have to aim for the stars, and once they’ve reached the stars all that’s left to achieve is oblivion. Mere enlightenment is not enough.)

So there I was tonight, falling in love with Gideon’s daughter (as any man of refinement would obviously do no matter his age or condition), and wondering whether my life had to be that way. Could not somebody have spotted the signs when I began to exhibit them at the age of twelve? Could they not have seen the complexities which would inevitably lead onto a circuitous path bringing nothing in its consummation but isolation and mediocrity?

There was nobody. My mother saw only the rake because she saw something of my father in me; my female co-habitees saw only the romantic until it was too late; and those few women who were friends and confidantes saw only the Romantic. And so I ended up here, falling in love with one woman and wondering how long it would be before I transferred my affections to another. And all having no point or purpose except to provide a few words for a journal entry.

So what else is there to say? I’ve no idea, except to hope that I’ll be better prepared next time. There will be a next time, won’t there?