Christin had a bit of a problem. He’d been telling the world about himself every day after work, slinging his best quips and borrowed sayings onto the Internet. After months of trying, though, he’d gained no following. Plus, he’d said nothing interesting, anyway. His own tropes bored him.

He wanted the world to know fascinating stuff about him, but he had too little ‘fascinating’ to feel worthy. Christin saw from all that failure that he was a dud. He lacked ‘it’ factor so hard he’d never once had any. This was the day he wanted that to change all that, possessed by that New Year sort of want.

“Well… maybe I could take on some change,” Christin said to no one. No one replied.

Christin’s car sat just outside a nearby window: a dirty silver accomplice. His living room stood a similar smudged gray: not very inspiring. He had very few pictures of his younger self, which was fine because he’d been ugly as a kid. No pets for poor Christin, not that he wanted to pick up poop in tiny plastic bags five times a day.

No loving girlfriend existed, either. Not to keep him smiling, in that natural way guys do when they’re in love. Not to keep him passionate, like so many were around Christin. Maybe he’d missed ‘her’ in the haze of being young and goofy, which felt like the worse thing to consider. Maybe she’d just never crossed his path, which meant God didn’t want him to be in love.

Christin was almost 30 and felt so alone that he could scream. Because he was so very alone, no one would hear him or be worried about those hopeless sounds, either. Realistically, Christin had nothing going on and little to look forward to. His world didn’t fit with the golden-light wedding photo people.

In online ads, there were always family pictures, without even one kid vomiting on their favorite superhero shirt. He knew ads weren’t real, but that didn’t matter to his brain: kids puked and rubbed boogers on each other. They fought and spilled dye-colored juices the second someone said, “don’t spill that.” He knew that much about them.

Christin wanted to live bigger, bolder, no matter what would have to change.

Standing in his ‘blah’ living room Christin scrambled options like eggs. He had little in the bank for the moment: he’d just scraped together funds to get some kids holiday presents. Since his sister lived across the planet he’d never even met the kids, and barely knew his sister. He wondered why he bothered.

The little house he’d rented was on a long-running lease, but he’d liked that when he’d signed up. He’d never wanted to pay for a roof cave-in or the cost of a shutter flying off in a storm and killing an elderly neighbor. Renting made sense to someone so lonely, really. He could drop the lease for a small fee and go anywhere fast, just to be less alone.

Christin had just paid off the smooth-shaped car in his tiny driveway. It dawned on Christin that he had a few hundred US dollars, entirely to himself, EVERY month. At least until he needed it for medication or adult diapers, but that stuff had to be in his forties, at least.

Christin snapped his fingers, proud of himself. He could get a dog and become a dog park guy. Hope to meet a woman of his dreams there, thus earning his someday-family in that perfect backyard. If she, the dog park destiny woman, made more than he did per year, that is.

Maybe he could get really into sports, start going to sports bars, eating hot wings. Perhaps he was a wing-eating champion and just didn’t know, and she’d be the one in the front row cheering him on. Though even to him, the future champ, she did that for no understandable reason. Surely there had to be something else to do, something on TV.

He sat on the nearby love seat and considered falling in love, not by creepy means, but just… by participating in more life than before. The TV called to him, like always, just to take the edge off this mind-racing concept.

This time, perhaps for the first time ever, he refused to turn on the TV.

Not because TV was evil or anything, but because it would be distracting. That $299 a month, plus tax and whatnot, meant more to him than being bored until bedtime.

Christin could save and go to the United Kingdom. He could start a business out of his bonkers-small garage. He could see himself getting a gym membership, then actually going. Then there was rock climbing, gambling, or learning how to fly, all local.

He recalled driving past a Brazilian Ju Jitsu spot, too. He could even learn to cook. That would mix up his life and help him meet people, maybe a lovely woman. Not that women liked to cook, or did but didn’t have to like it? All that stuff was hard to understand, so he changed tracks in the near-silence.

Christin sat awed, swimming inside his firing synapses. Something actually excited him for the first time in forever, and it felt GOOD! He sat there pondering what was waiting for him just outside his routine. What he could do with a little extra.

Maybe he could eat wings and work out, combined; those seemed to fit. He could try shooting clay pigeons, but with his awful eyesight, he’d surely shoot the girl he was trying to woo. If she survived, though, Mrs. Right would surely fall for him. Maybe? Heck, he could try anything with guns: he’d never damaged his hearing at all before. Perhaps it was time.

He guessed, too, that he could donate money and time to charities, lots of those. Or, he could minimize the spread and give the entire amount to one thing in need. Maybe something local? He would ‘wow’ that caring woman by showing off his philanthropy. He’d just have to learn something about them first.

Yes, he could woo a woman by helping. The whole darn world would be thankful to them. Simple, easy.

Christin guessed that wooing would be hard work, harder than just learning a new skill or giving cash away carelessly. Still, he wanted to fill his body with these warm, exciting feelings for more than just a night. His honest-to-goodness self wanted to meet someone AND make his life brighter. What was wrong with that?

TO BE CONTINUED…