Waiting for the Train
(cont'nd)
This morning you and your girlfriend left your luxury condo and, per usual, she gave you a ride to the station. You said goodbye and, per usual, she drove off to her well-paid job and you took the T, ostensibly heading towards your own well-paid (and, let's face facts, pretty goddamn glamorous) job. You are not a dentist.
When you were an angry teenager, the idea of suicide was simply a step up from slamming the door, staying out all night with your high school buddies, telling your mother that actually she'd never done anything to earn your respect. It was an entrance, not an exit; a big bombastic overture, a prelude to an interior monologue that ended with the phrase "...and then they'll be sorry."
But you grew up and realized that even your generation's suicidal poster child wasn't looking for an emcee-announced entrance. He wanted to be John Doe, not Bobby Dazzler.
Why did you come back? You grew up here, then went away someplace new and exotic for college.
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Why'd you come back? Why make that decision? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results.
Last night your girlfriend wanted to have sex. As always, she was the one who initiated it, leaning over on the couch and massaging the nape of your neck. It's an act that, in and of itself, does nothing to arouse you. Only she thinks it does, and in a sense, because it lets you know she's horny, it does, so she persists in doing it. It works, but not in the way she thinks. You could disabuse her of this misunderstanding, but then she'd stop doing it, and you'd have no way of knowing when she was horny, so you'd never had sex.
You took the cue and led her off to the bedroom for the usual: she goes down on you because she thinks you like it, you go down on her because you think she likes it, then you have sex, which is mutually satisfying but hardly the epic and acrobatic marathon you still strive to achieve.
Normally after sex she asks why you're so quiet. She wants the post-game analysis.
Follow the words...
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