Insomnia: A Vacation from Your Nightmares

Hello out there!  Sorry I’ve been out of touch lately.  I’ve been feeling more depressed than usual, which is kind of like saying the sky has been more blue than usual, which of course, it hasn’t.  Not that I want to bore you with too much incessant whining, especially now that the refrigerator has ceased its own harumphing hum and the rice cooker isn’t wheezing in the middle of its heroic mission to keep the rice warm and comfy.

One of the challenges in trying to make a blog interesting is striving not to repeat yourself.  I have neither the intestinal fortitude nor the patience to go over what I’ve written in previous posts to ascertain whether I’ve managed to avoid this vice, although I suspect my obsessions oft times get the better of me, so that you might feel you’re witnessing the smoky, hissing breakdown of a robot in slow motion.

Well, guess what, folks?  You are.  You don’t have to be 100% man-made to be an automaton these days.  All you have to be is a prisoner of your thoughts and impulses, moods good and bad, and the vagaries of the people you’re closest to (that is to say, those you live with, since they might have the power to drive you mad–if you’re impressionable enough to let them).

As fun as it can be to beat around the bush, especially if you’re otherwise sexually frustrated, suffice it to say that it’s hard for me to find uninterrupted time to write except when my wife Jina is asleep, meaning now.  It’s also three-thirty in the morning, but since I don’t have to work tomorrow, I don’t care.  Soon I will have to start a job that will demand getting up at 5:30 am four times a week, just so I can shlep across town an hour, teach for another hour, and then shlep back home for a nap before embarking on a much shorter shlep to the little school where I teach little children little English.  The job will entail teaching business executives the same noble tongue, hoping they don’t spit it out in favor of the Chinese variety, considered a growing delicacy now that China has become Korea’s primary trading partner.  I can’t say as I’d blame them though, considering how beautiful so many Chinese women are (they’ve got that whole Asian thang going on).

I’m not sure how the job promises to affect my blogging schedule, although I reckon it will make things even more constrained, as the exigencies of life are wont to do.

My wife and I started dating–and much too quickly living together–around the time George W. Bush and his cronies hijacked the U. S. federal government with the help of the Supreme Corpse, which has become even more fetid and disease-riddled in the meantime.  I used to consider Bush, Cheney, and the gang my main enemies in life, boring those around me with my feverish paranoia and wasting a lot of money on books whose mission was to beat a dead horse.

Now the U. S. has been at war with Afghanistan for over ten years, and Jina and I aren’t getting along that well either.  Ours is more a holy war than a political one, but the ceasefires never last too long, and any truce we sign is apt to be ripped up and thrown over our shoulders in a huff of ruffled feathers and priggish pride.  I know I gripe about Jina a lot in these pages, and for that I hypocritically apologize; I’ll allow that she’s a great cook and a sensitive soul with a long list of virtues I’ll regale you with some other time.

Now that we’re both broke, despite that we’re working together, and I’m having to sell most of my books just to make ends meet, I can see ever more clearly that our seemingly interminable romance, if it’s safe to call it that anymore without guffawing, is doomed.  True, it’s already been a farce for a long time, but its tragic trajectory might be less visible to those of you who aren’t in the thick of it.

Comedian Sam Kinison wasn’t joking when he screamed, “I live in hell!” which is surely true for both of us (Jina and me).  My own appetite for excitement makes me a poor candidate for marriage; I’d much rather be out eating and drinking and living the life of a dissolute sybarite.  Or else I could turn my back on the world entirely, shave my head, and go meditate on a mountaintop until I croak.  The Middle Way, of course, would be preferable, as it may help restore a modicum of sanity to my daze.

Living with someone who’s probably even crazier than you are is inadvisable.  She’s mad enough to even want to have kids, which seems to be the biological predilection of a lot of women (although, curiously, a lot of Korean women I’ve met say they don’t want to have children, bless their hearts).  Come to think of it, there’s nothing wrong with people having kids as long as they’ve got their shit together, but neither of us does and conceivably never will, especially not if we’re stuck together like conjoined twins who also happen to be suicide bombers.  In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if we did have a baby, the child exploded at birth.  And that would be quite a mess indeed.

Unless you marry more smartly than I did, you could find yourself suddenly lacking in things you took for granted before–you know, things like time, money, sex, fun–the little stuff that makes life worth living.  I realize that most of us get hoodwinked into getting married by love (or else guilt), which is actually a great reason, even though it seems to eventually go sour for a lot of couples.  Divorce, however, should be free, as an unhappy marriage is punishment enough for both husband and wife, and if they have children, their situation is no more sanguine than that of their parents.

Anyway, I feel quite isolated right now.  I can’t afford to go anywhere.  I don’t have a credit card so I can’t reserve a plane ticket.  I’m having trouble transferring some money from my retirement savings account to a checking account so I can pay someone else to help me do just that.  Jina is not liable to grant me a divorce, as she’s prone to fits of hysteria and pseudo-suicidal histrionics.  I also feel responsible for having ruined her life, along with my own, so that, as melodramatic as it sounds, I won’t feel too indignant or resentful if I drop dead of a heart attack in the near future.

In fact, at this point in my inexorable descent through the abyss, I’d consider it a gift–not from some non-existent God (and if He does exist, my apologies and by the way–to paraphrase the soon-to-be-late Dick Cheney–“Go fuck thyself”), but from Nature, another intolerably monstrous psychopath who deserves our respect, admiration, and quivering awe for having the gall to create our asinine, dumber-and-crazier-than-shit species.

Sorry about all the bitterness.  It’s nothing personal.  I guess everyone’s bound to his or her own little rollin’ wheel o’ fire.  Enjoy the ride, and don’t forget to apply liberal doses of sunscreen.  Hell, you might as well even chug the stuff.  That ought to help alleviate some of the third degree burns you’re bound to end up with.

Also, if I am dumb enough to die, allow me to say that I’ve loved you all, and I’ve even loved Jina in between those feverish moments when we’ve hated and wanted to kill each other.  Maybe with me out of the picture, she’ll be able to find some other shmuck whose life she can destroy along with her own.

Ideally, we’ll both survive the situation and recover from the immense wounds we’ve inflicted upon each other.  If not, what the heck.  As the saying goes, it’s been real, and it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.


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