Christmas Eve Eve

It all boils down to this...I'm tired of being disappointed. It gets tiresome ladies. Maybe I've returned to my foolishly optomistic and unsatisfiable ways, but it's not really like I'm ravaging the countryside now is it. I'm beginning to lose the lesson again. Then again, even the beautiful suffer...so my fate is not merely my own.
I worry about the fact that I may be using relationships as a cure all, a mechanism of completion. Maybe I'm using the lack of soul-engulfing love as an excuse as to why I haven't really started the fantastic journey I keep claiming my life is going to take. It's easier to say someone's late or lost than saying that I'm too afraid or ignorant. It just feels so natural though. This expectation really isn't my imagination of what it would feel like, its tangible like a scar...a dull sensation that's a beacon to a whole cachophany of emotions. I cry sometimes with the weight of it, asking why don't I deserve it again.
Nothing is sexy anymore. I looked at the flexing and gyrating woman tonight, but it was more like starvation than savoring a fine meal. The scary part is that a man dying of thirst will drink sea water, only to have it drive him insane. Foolish and regrettable decisions lay ahead.