Sometimes I wonder how much easier it would be if I was one of those toolbag dudebros who drank their problems away and fucked girls and then left them. I wonder what it's like to not feel anything.
1. You don't have to be a "toolbag dudebro" to drink away your problems.
2. Sometimes the girl fucks you and leaves.
3. Sometimes, just sometimes, you get fucked up and have sex with someone. Then the both of you realize it was a mistake. Then you don't want to talk, because talking = confrontation of your internecine mistake = admitting you fucked up in a serious way. And then sometimes, *just fucking sometimes*, you have a really shitty break-up and you try to compensate for your inadequacy issues (did she leave because I'm a lousy fuck? A drunk? An insensitive asshole?) by going out, purposefully getting shitty (because it's an easy way to cope, and yes, it's a cop-out, and yes, everyone deserves the easy way out once in a while) and purposefully making bad decisions re: your sex life and possibly your personal safety. Life happens. You'll figure this out as you get older. (You can take that as the "jaded old man" comment if you want, and disregard the whole statement -- try this instead: take this text, copy it into a word file, print it out and seal it in an envelope marked: "open when I'm twenty five." Then see how much you still disagree with it.) Either way, unless you're a serious douchebag (and I find increasingly that people who really are douchebags constitute a small percent of the population) you don't just get fucked up, fuck people, and never talk to them again as a modus operandi. Even if you make a habit of it, it catches up with you. The empty feeling you get when you wake up again and again in a strange room will eventually make you so sick that you'll stop and snap out of that particular phase in your life, and you'll be so overcome by the feeling of sickness and remorse that you'll hunt down those people you ran over in your drunken-fucking-self-destructive-rampage and apologize profusely to all of them. Or at least write letters that will never be mailed. You won't escape unscathed, if you have any heart at all.
1. You don't have to be a "toolbag dudebro" to drink away your problems.
2. Sometimes the girl fucks you and leaves.
3. Sometimes, just sometimes, you get fucked up and have sex with someone. Then the both of you realize it was a mistake. Then you don't want to talk, because talking = confrontation of your internecine mistake = admitting you fucked up in a serious way. And then sometimes, *just fucking sometimes*, you have a really shitty break-up and you try to compensate for your inadequacy issues (did she leave because I'm a lousy fuck? A drunk? An insensitive asshole?) by going out, purposefully getting shitty (because it's an easy way to cope, and yes, it's a cop-out, and yes, everyone deserves the easy way out once in a while) and purposefully making bad decisions re: your sex life and possibly your personal safety. Life happens. You'll figure this out as you get older. (You can take that as the "jaded old man" comment if you want, and disregard the whole statement -- try this instead: take this text, copy it into a word file, print it out and seal it in an envelope marked: "open when I'm twenty five." Then see how much you still disagree with it.)
Either way, unless you're a serious douchebag (and I find increasingly that people who really are douchebags constitute a small percent of the population) you don't just get fucked up, fuck people, and never talk to them again as a modus operandi. Even if you make a habit of it, it catches up with you. The empty feeling you get when you wake up again and again in a strange room will eventually make you so sick that you'll stop and snap out of that particular phase in your life, and you'll be so overcome by the feeling of sickness and remorse that you'll hunt down those people you ran over in your drunken-fucking-self-destructive-rampage and apologize profusely to all of them. Or at least write letters that will never be mailed. You won't escape unscathed, if you have any heart at all.
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