I am at an impasse. I do not know what to write; don't misquote me, everything that flows from my fingers is truth, and though sometimes it flows faster than I can think it through, it is truth. But I do not know where to go from here. Do I bridge the gap between then, and now? Do I tell you of my newest acquisition to my pack of pretty things? Do I explain the horrors and rigors of a childhood fraught with betrayal, neglect, abuse? The latter is less interesting than the former, I suppose--- it is hard to break a rebellious child, much less a monster with no remorse.

Do I write, instead, of what brought me to this point, brought me to this outlet?

I am undecided, or indifferent. One of the two.

Regardless, I must trek onwards with this, and hope it soothes the rage and the desperation of the wolf trapped inside my human walls.

I have not extensively studied the science of a 'cheater gene,' but if such a gene exists, it runs in the blood of my father's side of the family. His father, my grandfather, exhibits no signs of a monster, but adultery is prevalent in his history. The same can be said of my father, with an exception--- my father almost drowns in his control and dominance issues, coupled with his rage problems and loosely held self-control.

Perhaps I can blame my previous adulteries on that 'gene.' But convenience is an elusive fruit for this monster, a rare taste. As I have no belief in the concept of love, it gives a rather excellent argument for physical affairs--- How can one cheat, when one feels nothing for any party involved?

But then we dance around the issue of morality, of right and wrong. Many would damn me for my adultery, would say that I don't deserve to be 'loved,' would call me heartless. To those that would, I ask this. Who are you, who has tasted 'love,' who has tasted compassion, to judge one such as I that was cursed to live my life with a heart deaf, mute, and blind?

Of course, that's just the manipulation speaking. Human standards teach us that adultery is wrong, is an atrocity. Breaking hearts and playing love games are simply not alright in society, unless love comes to play. So in my case, I doubt there is any scapegoat, any excuse. I have a desire, and I make that being desire me. I make that desire, mine.

Which leads me to my next quandry. But that is for another night.