Die Alone or a Lifetime of Conjugal Despair

As I approach my thirties, I have to start seriously considering my options as a functioning member of our complex society.  Historically, this has meant one of two life-paths: a) marry a person who over a long enough period of time grows to despise you and, consequently, raise ungrateful children who either never leave the house or leave but only call when they need money; or b) live a life of half-sincere romantic flings that gradually putter out to nihl once a sufficient amount of hair has receded, and spend the rest of your evenings eating canned soups and watching the same shows you watched as a child in pursuit of a comfort that will never again exist, and continue doing this until your heart gives out from the exhaustion of meaningless ambling onward into nothing with nobody.  In the following mercifully brief paragraphs, I’ll weigh the pros and cons of our only real choices.

It is common knowledge that the only relationships that remain available to people in their late twenties and early thirties are with other desperate people who similarly realize time is running out and it’s better to get a jump on a remaining-lifetime of suffering than die alone in front of a television.  According to Pew Research: “[o]verall, married adults have made greater economic gains over the past four decades than unmarried adults.”  This is an added bonus because it means we will have a greater opportunity to buy artifacts to fill the abyss of longing in the relationship where one would expect love to be.  Additionally, when there are social obligations that neither party wishes to attend, but must to secure greater prestige and monetary advantage, one will be far too troubled by the venomous hatred of their spouse to be anxious or bored by the event itself.  Indeed, all the monstrous stresses from work will seem like the delicate laughter of children compared to the constant blackening woe of being eternally locked into a loveless marriage.

The perceptive reader is probably asking themselves, “if it’s that bad, why not just divorce?” If it were only that simple, perceptive reader. Once you’ve been married once, you will have grown into the habit of it. After the first intoxicating year of freedom from your former-spouse, you will surely be longing again for the ecstatic horror of matrimony. You will feel a creeping an dire loneliness as you realize there is no poision-soaked voice directing you how to better perform house-hold chores. You’ll long again for the days when a partner insinuates how great a blight your very presence is: how you make everyday feel like his or her funeral.

Which leads me to consider the alternative. Really, dying empty and alone without any immediate family to desire the depressing remains of your estate is a fate best suited for the languid, the ever-tired and unmotivated. The Society of Actuaries claim that the mortality rates for the unmarried are higher for all ages, male and female. This informs us that our tragic and unmourned fate will at least be brief.  And now with the advances of medical science, one can take non-habit forming sleep aids when the devistating ache of isolation becomes too much to tolerate. No longer need the unmarried wretch resort to alcoholism to stint his or her perpetual nothingness.  There remains hope for the hopeless.

The drawback to being miserably alone is being fined by various American institutions.  Because married people are the only ones who live long enough to be permitted to write the policy for insurance programs, they feel it is justifable that the painfully alone should not escape the effects of a soul-deadening presence who at all times gleefully anticipates your demise. At least in this way, the lonely are shown some of the burdensome financial strain possessed by all married.

My research seems to suggest that the poor, such as myself, are better off unmarried. If one is rich, one can afford long sojourns away from the bitterness and agony posed by one’s spouse.

My conclusion is that dying alone, with no one to weep over one’s shallow grave, is perhaps better than spending an entire lifetime addicted to a series of failed relationship.  Perhaps the greatest determining factor is one’s emotional constitution. Do you withstand loneliness easier than the ongoing failure of following another person around until they leave you or lead you over a cliff? Or is it that you cannot bear to be alone and you’d rather have the presence of a nerve-grating bafoon drive your soul into perdition than bear one minute in isolation?  These are the questions we have to ask ourselves.


3 thoughts on “Die Alone or a Lifetime of Conjugal Despair

  1. Be the Magician. Make a third option. Don’t settle for the options life presents you. Forge your own destiny. Fuck convention. Thirty’s not old. You’ve probably got fifty more years left. If I’m doing the math right, that’s more than half your life left. Don’t fall for the bullshit that the best years of your life behind you. Life is what you make it. Don’t let society define your happiness. Find it for yourself.


  2. Be the Magician. Make a third option. Forget what convention tells you to do. Do what makes you happy. Go where you find peace. Contentment isn’t something you find. It’s something you make. It’s the sculpture you work on your whole life. Carve away all the pieces that aren’t contentment. Make your life what you want. Don’t let society dictate what your sculpture should look like. Your life is your work of art. It’s personal. If other people don’t get it, that’s their problem.


  3. There is always the option of getting a dog, which would at least miss you as its sole provider of sustenance, and would, in its environmental consciousness, consider consuming your remains so that you would not have go for broke preparing a shallow grave. Go green into that good night.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s