Over summer I spent a month in a certain south-east Asian country where I am considering relocating next year. My plan was to check it out before making a firm decision, as my previous firm decision about where to live has turned out poorly.
I intended to try out an independent lifestyle of pursuing my own projects, staying fit and keeping myself active. It was meant to be a dry run for my future life.
As for my whereabouts and activities in the first week, I think the less said the better. But cheers to the person who was an invaluable guide and mentor.
Next, I spent three weeks in a large city staying in the same place and experiencing what normal life there might be like.
Some people’s failing is drugs. For others, it is the management of their money. And there are a few who are alcoholics or who are addicted to computer games, unhealthy food or even (in this day and age), television.
My vice is women.
You simply cannot dangle fresh, easy pussy in front of my face and expect to witness any wise behaviour from me. I’ll chase it like a toddler going after a ball as it bounces onto a busy road.
If I am dropped into a city where endless young, cute girls are interested in going out with me, all my willpower simply flies out the window. I get up in the morning, check my messages, arrange dates, go out with girls, and in the rare case that the girl doesn’t want go home with me after the first date then I start trolling for someone else.
Then I shag, then she goes home, then I get lazy because my biological imperative has been temporarily satisfied and there’s no meta-point in doing anything else. I read blogs, mess around, sleep, hopefully do some perfunctory exercise the next morning and the cycle repeats.
I was meant to complete some work while out of country and enjoying proper internet access. Only the most vital tasks got done. I was meant to be editing two manuscripts and perhaps even publishing one. That didn’t happen. Notice how my sentences of failure are all in the passive voice? I didn’t finish my work. There.
I said to a friend, I am going to die. After a long drought I was bedding a ridiculous number of women – a different one almost every day over the first week. It was too much. Dating girls means drama, and drama I had. I won’t give you all the details as I suspect you don’t much care, but the first one I met was a loony stalker who walked by my condo as I was waiting for a taxi with a different girl and I had to suavely hide us behind a giant yellow statue of a snail and pretend everything was cool, then the one from the snail later caught me with a third girl at a mall; several asked me for money (not what a whore’s fee would be, but still), and one I fled from twenty minutes after meeting her when I realized she was almost certainly underage. This kind of shit ends up occupying 100% of my microscopic brain space and prevents me from doing anything more constructive with my time.
I’m not whining. I met some nice girls and we went out and saw historical things. I had interesting conversations. I learned a lot about the country and really got to like its cheerful people. They’re not necessarily the sharpest knives in the drawer but their upbeat nature largely makes up for it. Compared to where I am now they are flipping teddy bears and I want to cuddle them all.
Long story short, I can’t live like that permanently. It was fine for a few weeks on holiday but I must exercise self-control if I am to set up permanently in that region.
Here are the rules I’ve decided I must set myself in order to avoid complete dissipation next year, after a well-earned fortnight or two spent blowing off steam:
- No messaging girls until after four p.m. AND I have completed my assigned tasks for the day. No exceptions.
- Set up a serious exercise schedule and stick to it.
- Find a cheap market, buy veggies etc., and cook. The food in that country’s eateries is notoriously unhealthy for several simultaneous reasons.
- This is the hardest one: limit the number of new girls I meet. How low I set the limit shall depend on the size of the town. A constant supply of fresh pussy clouds my mind and makes any other, more complex task impossible. I simply can’t focus on my work with all that dopamine floating around my system.
A strange thing I learned from this experience is that I am at my most productive when I am most miserable. The first time I tried to write a book was way back when I was a seemingly incorrigible incel. The second time was after a heartbreak and I barely dated for a year. The third time was here, tearing my hair out in Bumfuckistan.
Am I really able to get things done when I have WiFi, running water, a full belly and empty balls? It remains to be seen. I hope that as I age my obsession may wane and I can maintain a sensible balance in my life.
The positive aspect of my little bout of debauchery is, my urges have been sated for a while and I feel much more comfortable back here in the desert. Perhaps it was just something I had to do.
What about you? What is your weakness?