I’m for some reason glued to this conviction that getting married will straighten me out—which I’m sure is true to some degree: stability, companionship, accountability, etc; but while I’m not, in my more reasonable hours, anti-marriage, per se, I’m definitely super doubtful of the institution, and regard marriage as being a fairly doomed enterprise for anybody who embarks on it, bit of a trap, something that shares a mantle with capitalism and alcoholics anonymous: the worst possible option about how to spend your life, except for all the others.
But when I’m stressing about something, or (mainly) cringing about some dumbfuck thing I said while drunk, I’ll belch out, reflexively, “I need to get married.”
It literally might just as well be gibberish. Flies outta my mouth with zero consideration. A nervous tick. Reflexive.
Any therapist would say it isn’t a coincidence that this of all possible meaninglessness should come blurting outta my mouth when I’m hating myself.
But it’s not something I really care to explore.