I'm at the point in life where most men ditch their wives, buy a convertible sports car, get a really bad toupee and start 'dating' a 21-year old girl with a name like Candi or Brandi. Guys, this mid-life crisis shit is pathetic. You aren't fooling anyone. Your children despise you. Your wife just gave head for the first time in fifteen years; I know this because she told me while she was doing it.
So, while you're busy pursuing what's considered middle-aged white male success , I'm finding new and interesting ways to fail without plunging headlong into perpetual despair.
Sometimes it's with the doomed nobility of an Arthurian Knight on a hopeless Quest. I refer to these endeavors as 'Art' and 'Love'. I recognize that my fleeting Rock Star days have come and gone, but I've at least kissed that sky. Mid-Life Crisis Guy (MLCG) thinks playing 'air guitar' lends him an aura of youthful charm. Boy, is he wrong.
Love? Another valiant lost cause. I'm no Lancelot, and MLCG ain't exactly Arthur; but I can accept unrequited and/or doomed love without sending myself into exile. Mostly. Besides, I like older women-have you looked at your wife lately,MLCG? I bet she doesn't dress for you the same way she dressed for me. You make her feel like shit, and that makes you an asshole. The next time she calls me, and she will, I won't feel a twinge of guilt for cuckolding you.
Then there's the mis-guided, tragi-comic futility of Don Quixote. I call this 'Work'. If I couldn't laugh at work, my spirit would have been broken decades ago. Unlike Don , I mostly don't give a shit about my jobs. It's just something else to complain about-like a weird, unexplained rash or daylight saving time. I can eke out a sustenance-level existence fairly easily- if I really cared about money and objects, I'd probably be well-to-do. But I don't and I'm not. So what?
Gimme my guitar. Gimme some bandwith. Keep your hair implants. Keep your nubile trophy mistress.
Most of all, keep yourself company, since everyone who knows you hates and/or uses you.