Because I'm doing more, I just got done putting together a simple post-workout drink -- 60 grams carbs and 30 protein. Cherry pomegranate concentrate, way way too sweet, but it can go up to 100 grams, and that must be like syrup. Dilutable, sure, but even so. You monitor your energy levels about 90 minutes after you drink it, and if you're sleepy etc, too many carbs. The spiked insulin shunts the protein into cells. I'm not trying to gain weight, but 182 is lanky, for 6-4. And if I want to attract more lovers, I should give some mind to these things. Not that I'm not magnificent. Someone is always talking about my masculine beauty, where ever I go. It's more of an excellence thing, than increased beauty. It's hardly possible for me to be more beautiful, but even I, yes, I, could be more excellent. Because, you see, perfection is not possible. QED.
Someone suggested Eharmony to me the other day. I'm not opposed to that sort of thing. In fact I think it's a good idea. The randomness of modern courtship is unprecidented in human history. Only three generations old, when you think about it. A post-WWI thing. Prior to that, even American marriages were arranged, mostly. Consensual, but overseen by responsible, by which is meant older, adults. I haven't even considered a committed relationship since I was in my 20s. In my 30s I was a single father, and that was what I was. In my 40s I was suffering though a decade-long nightmare that precluded the possibility, given my temperament. Now I am largely recovered, but damaged, and set in my ways -- untrusting, rather selfish, and unrealistic in my expectations and my judgments.
Because I enjoy and have always been good at tests, I took the Eharmony survey a few years ago. There were no matches. I skewed outside of their parameters. How many millions or hundreds of thousands or tens of millions of women do they have, and not one for me. But I was not serious, honestly, no, really, so it was just a chuckle. But even so. Randomness won't do it, and neither apparently will planning.
It's just as well. Women don't like sex, in my experience. I was just lying before, when I was talking about all my lovers. I have no lovers. I am unloved. I don't need love, or want it. Or sex, for all that my testosterone levels make me unbearable to be around. I use all my hormones to increase my already outrageous masculine beauty, and, uh, for other good things too.
I wish though sometimes that I had been normal. Sometimes even average seems like an acceptable sacrifice, if it would bring, oh, what's the word -- happiness? But that sort of trade isn't possible. And you know I'm just talking and would never go for it. Never. Never. Because there are a few things that I'm good at, all joking aside, and not compromising is near the top.
So in 20 years, when I'm in my 70s, I will be stronger and faster and harder than you ever were, in your 20s, or 40s, or now or ever. That's something I have control over. It doesn't make me happy, the way a family or the love and respect of a good woman would, but I don't have to be happy.