I've struck out enough to end the inning in a baseball game. Seems I figured that every time I "feel in love" I should get married.
Married to my third wife again now. How I ever managed to mess up my domestic life is still rather a mystery to me.
I think that after I got out of the navy, having become toxic from that, and my bloody ****ing father, I should have taken the vows and never gotten married, but gone into the priesthood or something, eh. But then I never would have had my son, the best thing I ever did for the bloody world, eh.
Some people should never marry . . . I was one of them. Think I must have used it to keep from facing myself. I always found that when I was single, my demons were stark, easier to see, not pleasant, but also easier to deal with then, eh.
But the feeling of comfort so implicit in falling in love was . . . is such a comfort. Unfortunately, the bliss is too short lived in me. Then the PTSD'd kick in an I'd go numb.