Notes from an Underground Condo

Notes from an Underground Condo

I'm an unhappy man, I say. Yet, as soon as I say this, I realize this is an exaggeration, because I could be even less happy. I could have a terminal disease and die soon. I could be grieving someone close, but that's not the case either. I could be in constant danger, like a soldier in war, but I'm just an adjunct professor at a rural community college. I could live in discomfort, and be really unhappy with that situation. But that's not the case either. My wife and I just bought a two-bedroom condo, which, yes, it is a remodeled basement, but you wouldn't know it if you came by. Most of the rooms are above ground. And I live in one of the more expensive neighborhoods in this hip American city. I could be an ugly man, but I'm not. My wife says I'm handsome, and I believe it myself often enough. One more thing. I have the cutest, most loving 2-year old daughter, a living angel. So what is my fucking problem...

There are plenty of things that upset me and make me feel sorry for myself. I don't have money. My wife has the money. I make money, but I wouldn't be able to support my family if something suddenly happened to my wife and she wouldn't be able to work. The ghost of that shitty situation haunts me. Also, I was raised by a macho man of a father who has always been self-sufficient. So there you go, there is the My Father's ghost who is speaking to me. It must also be the voice behind the voice that tells me that I'm fat although I'm not. My father can still fit quite nicely in the pants he wore at his wedding 45 years ago. He showed up in them at my wife's baby shower, the last time I saw him exactly 2 years ago. I have sexual urges, I want to bang myself some ladies, I objectify them, I LOVE THE LADIES, but my wife, because of her pregnancy and stress from her stressful management job doesn't care much, in fact very little for my urges, no matter how many times I pleaded and threatened. But even if she had sex with me, I would still fantasize about other women.

Things are not rosy with me. I feel I have wasted my time in life. I have three master's degrees, two from world class universities. And what do I have to show for that? Not much. Three beautifully written pieces of heavy paper, one in Latin. If we go by the principle that education should pay, mine hasn't for sure. By now, if I had stayed a grocery clerk and moved up in the company, I could have been a store manager making $100K per annum. But no siree bob, this young gentleman wanted a genteel education, he, although come to this land of opportunity dirt poor, he wanted to stay poor. Not really, he wanted to stay poor for a while, a romantic poor student. But he really planned to study literature in order to eventually become a full time professor at a small college. He wanted