Destiny. The bottom line is destiny. You can say what you want, feel what you want, but if you're anything like me, you wonder about your destiny. What is my place on this earth? Why am I here? What am I destined to create? What am I destined to accomplish? What time is it? I'm hungry.

I've come to learn that different walks of life create different paths for different people. What paths these people cascade over or stumble on is their own business, and what destiny I create is my own. The destiny I'm pondering of late is that of my own as I stagger down a path that is laden with potholes and road apples.

About 4 years ago, my father gave me Tom Brokaw's “The Greatest Generation” as a gift for Christmas. He wanted me to read this book to understand the sacrifices people made out of their own said destinies to just exist with housing and sustenance. Soon after the twin towers went down, I read that book and began to understand. I began to understand the livelihood of America…our values-our commitment.

Like most Americans, my attention span is that of a gnat, and when the trauma of the attacks wore off, I began to look inward, to discuss my destiny with my self. My self had something very poignant to say, something rather significant.

“Go drink k at J's Oyster tonight, Leslie is working.”

I probably did.

But as time went on, I began to question my destiny, which leads me to where I am today. I know what my destiny is, and that is family. I want to have, nurture and create a family. One of love, trust, and all the salt and pepper you can throw on this slice of Americana. The problem is, to create a family, you need two crucial elements: a man and a woman.

Man and Woman are two different people. The bible says that they belong together, but I'm beginning to think that that is just for entertainment for the spirits and ghosts of failed relationships past. Man and Woman have two different sets of views and values, making the horizon different colors for both, and the rear view mirror a mushroom cloud. Bombs away.

Like it or not, this family stuff is what I was put on this planet to do, and I often ponder that existence. I create these western film style fantasies in my head about riding off into the sunset with my dream girl, which is a great fantasy to have, especially if you're living it, but the part I'm living is the sequel, which is a tad different from that of the movie. What happens to me is that after the sunset part, we ride off and the fade out begins…my part comes in right after that, when the couple jumps off the horse, puts on unattractive clothing, pauses to fart and jumps into a boxing ring.

Nothing says I love you like a close-gloved bitch slap. That's what my life has become. Rocky. One of us is Apollo, the other Rocky. For a while, it's peachy. We converse and agree, in a non-militant fashion, and then one day, it becomes the fight of the century. The role I play is so minor, because by being the man in this equation, I haven't a choice in winning or losing, it's submitting and accepting. I'm still running around in the dirt chasing the chickens that Mickey set loose.

I've submitted and accepted the fact that my job in my relationship is to submit and accept. But I can be a hero in my own world I guess. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go run up the steps of city hall. Getting strong now.

Winning is a slim possibility. And even then it's like Rocky. I win by such a slim margin that we both wind up hospitalized, with me having more brain damage.