I keep thinking about my favourite conundrum – humans. Saying I don’t like them, is too easy and I try to avoid generalisation, as it makes for short arguments. Mostly, I am awfully emotional about humans and often enough those emotions are below my tolerance line – they either piss me off or make me want to fucking slap them. Once in a while I do fall passionately and madly in Like with someone. Others roll and rumble slowly somewhere in the ‘don’t give a rat’s ass’ zone. Mostly, though, I disdain the stupidity and arrogance only human race is able to elevate to the point of shaping a face of a planet.

Sometime the General gets jealous when  enjoy company of another person as much as I enjoy his. It’s a game we play. He says – don’t make me polish my axe and I say – let me have this for just a few more weeks. I guarantee you, it will disperse on its own soon enough.

The worst thing for any passion is predictability. Some people are impossibly predictable. I can calculate their life chapters down to the week. Not even always to regard of me – sometimes I can tell how the story will play out from the few sentences they utter about someone else.

Late nite FB chatting, I got to think the other night about compromise. Someone said they don’t want the relationship to bring on full onset of compromising. But really – marriage is the one place where you really don’t have to do that. Really. Nobody tolerates you as much as your spouse. Nobody gets to hear you snore or burb or suffers through a whole day of your PMS, nobody else knows exactly what guilty pleasure books you read or movies you watch… I just can’t see any compromises. What – that you can no longer fuck everything that throws a shadow? Were you doing that before? Was it really important? If it was so important, I am sure when you meet your mate, you can arrange certain liberties. Or what? That before you travelled and now you can’t? You sure it’s the spouse’s fault?

There were things I did before, that I am not allowed to do now. I hitchhiked. I stole books. I went to places that were medically dangerous. I ate things that were bad for my digestion. I used products on my hair that hurt it. I wasted money the moment I got it. I am not allowed to do that any more. But is that because someone who cares about me tries to level out everything THEY are not allowed to do? No. It’s because they care for me more than I do and because those things were fundamentally stupid.

If I really wanted to hitchhike, I’d probably ask a friend to tag along or even dare use Prevozi.org. (Rides.org.) Which I don’t. Because getting in the car with strangers freaks me out lately. I don’t need to steal them, I can buy them now. And I don’t need to buy everything that’s shiny, because if I save up, then I can buy something really cool once in a while.

That is not compromise. That’s actually really cool.

I hang around a lot of very beautiful women. I am allowed to be turned on by women, I am even allowed to use a Veto card (still have one left) to kiss a woman if the desire to do so would completely occupy me and wouldn’t let go. But the fact is… No matter how amazing the model or how radiant the dancer or how flirty the student, I got nothing. I am just not turned on by these people. Oh, I am fully aroused when I am looking at them through the camera. But the flesh? In reality, the flesh is too trivial for the purposes of my inspiration. I have always preferred the story to the sweat. The story, to someone like me, beholds a mischievous purpose. I am way too old to think sex is good enough to make a story great.

The relationship has to be about a challenge, a contest to the person that you are – if a relationship doesn’t elevate you to the best possible version of yourself, emotionally, ambition-wise and intellectually, you are doing it wrong. If you choose for your partner a child that looks pretty and has good sex, that’s not a mate, certainly it is not a spouse. That’s a pet, a plaything – a muse at best and amusement at worst. You are always better than that person and they are programmed – by you, over time – to worship you. There is no connection between two hearts there. Nothing spiritual, certainly nothing adult. A relationship is the most comfortable, nourishing establishment for you psyche there is. Like a flower pot to your sunflower. (Or rosemary, whichever gets you going.) it lets you get away with all the shit you need to pull to feel important. You always fall back into safe hands. A worthy partner is with your from the first draft to the opening night of every emotion, every thought you have. Absolutely no compromise attached.

Of course world is full of emotional retards and sexual morons who prefer spouses a dozen years their junior, just so that all the drama and all the emotional blackmail gets to belong to them. Those are people who will have to crawl (if at all) uphill of their personal growth on their own, dragging a foolish beauty on their tail. Certainly pretty to look at and impress with long words and conversations, inspired by a big fancy book you’ve just read. But truly worth all the passion and all the lust? It’s just that personally I prefer to either try and keep up with someone far smarter and braver and more practical than I am, or, when all else fails, to be kicked in the butt by them for being a fat clumsy slacker.

I know this now. Of course everyone loves a 19-year old. They’ll believe anything. And they certainly know they know it all. I know I did. Till I first got horribly married. Talk about fast forward elevation of your emotional retardation vaccine.