Once again, not to be outdone by experiences past, I find myself moronically hovering about my abode, or lack thereof, I should infer. Nothing here is reminiscent of a home; There are no comfortable nuances in the nooks that form the corners of the rooms, no lingering aromas of pleasant times spent with those I love or, to better illustrate my disposition, those who love me. There aren't any who love me, this much is certain. There is, of course, my son; he is without choice. The ostensibly arresting nature of our relationship leaves little room for the dear child to dismiss me as invalid, unwanted, nugatory. I imagine that one day he too will learn to disregard me, or regard me as something of an enigmatic clusterfuck. Only time will tell, or so they say. They, it seems, say so much, yet seldom if ever do they emerge to stake a claim in all they promulgate. Interesting scenario, indeed.

Anyhow, here is where I exist. Somewhere on a tangent of elation and misery lies this troubled soul; It appears I have fallen off the linear scale of social contentment, finding contempt better suiting for a man of my character. This is what they tell me. I wouldn't have come up with it all by myself, I assure you. No one aspires to be miserable; Every soul wandering upon this doomed terrain seeks only one thing: Understanding. We don't relate with one another for any other purpose but to be understood.

And so the million dollar question is this: What would compell you to think I'm making a solid attempt to be elusive? Why would I seek to confuse you, avoid issuing an explanation, take time out of what limited resources I have to leave you pondering the meaning behind every last move I make? Do you believe I am cognizant of this evasive nature? I am not, I assure you.

I should clarify a few things, but before I begin, this should be said: I do not operate in a dualistc manner. Simply put, objects dissected by my mind are seldom concluded to be exclusively white or definitively black. Instead, I can find the darkness present in the white and the brightness harbored by the black. Things are not so clear-cut to me; I try not to be so concrete in anything I think of, as notions constantly are subject to new interpretations and different perspectives. I am a human being, and therefore subject to change. All of god's (assuming the existence of one) creatures are subject to change, no man or woman is excluded. The difference between myself and others, I think, is that I do not fear change; I embrace it. If at one moment I enjoy dancing, and the very next I have no desire to do so, I will speak of such change, as it is in my best interest to disseminate the truisms I feel at all times. Moreover, it is important to understand that nothing ever happens without cause. There is always a catalyst behind even the slightest of changes, and even stasis, I suppose- people are compelled to remain idle if the present conidtions surrounding that stasis are conditions of comfort. I digress- there is cause behind each effect. I refer now to the dancing situation I proposed earlier. If in a moment's time I change my feelings about dance, then certainly, there must have been some event that inspired such change. Feelings that change without first being provoked are characteristic of insanity. And you, dear one, have testified to my sanity on countless occasions; I am not insane.

Have you questioned my motive in a manner not congruent with an interrogation? It is without doubt that I assert this: You have wondered why such changes have taken place, and have wondered what caused these changes. Yet you have not questioned my motives in a nuturing manner, No- you have queried me with animosity, arrogance, disrespect, contempt. And while I wish to set forth no accusatory intonation in this dissertation of sorts, I do assert that you have not provided me with a comfortable environment to voice my deepest of feelings.

This is childish, I tell myself. This whole endeavor- the smoking, particularly. To be motivated to tears over a cigarette seems beyond ridiculous, lest I was carrying a child. Since I am a man, and therefore indefinitely devoid of pregnancy, I cannot carry a child. And so what, pray tell, is so disturbing to warrant tears and departure? Yes, I understand- your feelings are as such. You feel strongly about smoking, or its absence. I will not counter; exercises in futility are a thing of the past for me.

I entertain your departure. Long before this, a vast silence hindered only by the seductive tones of a newly delivered text message, did I entertain your failure to understand, your desistance.

Perhaps fuck you was inappropriate. Perhaps I am the one who is fucked.

Circle gets a square.