Diary of a Chronic Masturbator, 4-6-08

Much as I'd like to think after nineteen and a half years of junkyard dogging that I'd be able to say I know myself, I clearly don't. I thought when I masturbated this morning, it would relieve that growing pressure at the back of my skull. I'd gone nine days, I told myself. Nine days feels like a year when you're normally smoking three packs a day, if you catch my drift.

It all started as a bet that we brazenly copped from Seinfeld. My motives were misguided and muddled. I should have been in for the sake of competition, the desire to prove to my peers that I was the most manly. Instead, I just wanted an incentive to cure my own disgusting habits. In that context, nine days was more than enough.

But now that I've done the dirty deed, I feel like a man who's come in last place. Because once I admit that Mark didn't put his heart into the contest, it's apparent that I did come in last place. I'd lost sight of the competition and I regret it. My desire to be the best may be nothing more than a desire to have my ego stroked. Yet to bottle up this desire is to be able to push myself to greater things.

Therefore, I demand a second act. Although I am formally eliminated from the contest, I have begun Phase 2: a contest with myself. The stakes are higher than a mere ten dollars here. I risk sending my ego into a freefall from which it will never recover.

Needless to say, I plan to chronicle my adventures and misadventures here at FI. Stay tuned for further entries in Diary of a Chronic Masturbator