[Whenever I see an attractive woman, I get this self-destructive] feeling… two parts Catholic guilt, one part collateral feminist spillover, one part fatalism with regards to the futility of bringing life into this world and hence the futility of [pursuing] sex. The Catch-22 of falling [in] love (lunacy) or not falling in love (mindlessness).

[Yes, I realize that you can have sex without bringing life into the world and/or without falling in love, but my Catholic upbringing has fucked me up good.]

There wre real opportunities I have dismissed, instead shooting for impossibilities, and now I am left with zero probabilities and will this always be the root cause of my angst? Is this the only reason I rail at my Fate? (Never mind the venomous machine of Corporate Medicine which I feel even now [that] I am being sucked into….) Why can’t I openly rebel, say, I will not go? ‘Cause I haven’t even flown half the required missions, a lot of the ones I have have been milkruns, and the ones that were hard were the result of my own stupidity.