in non-whining-about-love related news, i’ve achieved some sort of navigational nirvana with the individual entry templates, added an expandable ten most recent lyrical submissions section to the sidebar list, & changed the comment form labels to bizarre examples of badly mangled phrasebook french (an activity which had me doubled over in hysterics, yes, i crack myself up sometimes). also i reminded myself that (a) i have a job i love — yes love, it is possible to love work. can’t complain. and also, (b) after years of despising myself physically in the present tense while longing for the physique i despised in the past, i have finally bested the beastly learning curve of my issues & decided to appreciate my self in the present tense & therefore from this day forward i shall consider myself to be a hottie. at this moment i’m having to forcibly resist throwing myself down on the couch & having my way with myself. these are good things, even though my realization of them is a bit belated. it always is.
& so what if i never have another gutrending heartwrenching transposition of head & heels, what if i never fall in again? what if it’s just me, my ownself, & my frequent passionate unrequited crushes (which do keep me tingly, even if it is a wistful tingle at best)? what if all there is to this life, what’s left of it, consists of only the career i adore & the creativity i pursue otherwise & this newfound affection i have for myself? shouldn’t that be enough?
well, it’s not. not even fucking close. mostly it’s the wistful element alluded to above, that haunts whatever pleasure i derive from unrelated activities, that saps the colors from the best days, that fades my smile even when the expression is joyously justified. it is this wistful shit that must stop. some pathos in the background of me just whispered that the wanting is best stopped by getting, & some weakness in the rest of me accepted that suggestion as Truth & went off on another tangential fantasy against all of my better judgement. as these conflicts went about their usual business of unsettling me, my eyes reminded me how unfocusing exhaustion can be & offered a tantalizing memory of last night’s dreams, which were blissful, sensual, loving, & ultimately more fulfilling than anything reality has ever given me & then taken away eventually.
will regretting what i’m lacking now, in spite of all that i do have be like the lesson of physical acceptance, another of the many things i’ll end up sorry for the vast stretches of time i spend with it still unlearned, in spite of constant hindisght to the contrary? how much more must i waste before i learn?