Here we go again. Instead of being a witty, erudite examination of the foibles of human sexuality, I have once again used a platform to howl into an uncaring void. This happens again and again.

Over the years I have learned that complaining and negative self-talk is indulgent. Nobody wants to hear it. It makes other people uncomfortable. Thus I should not ever express it in public. Thus the proper forum for such self-indulgence is either to shut up entirely or write my whining out into text files that nobody else will read. Instead I complain in public again and again, and then I wonder why I never have an audience.

I do not even know what I am looking for when I complain. Pity? Sympathy? Somebody to come along and save me from my own bad habits? When people offer such responses I reject them.

Probably I am looking for acknowledgement that my pain matters. But this is objectively not the case. Overeating is not that painful, and getting fat is my own damn fault, and we are all alone in an utterly indifferent universe. I have nothing to complain about, and yet I refuse to learn this lesson.

I think I refuse to learn this lesson because the underlying desire to engage in self-indulgence remains strong. I have little self-control, and it takes a fair number of spoons to act in ways that are even marginally acceptable to broader society. My inner three-year-old wants to throw tantrums, so instead of throwing tantrums where they do a lot of damage (for example, in the presence of policemen) I throw tantrums on the Internet. This has the side effect of increasing my social isolation, which might be a benefit or a curse.


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