what is this thing called, love?

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?

14 thoughts on “what is this thing called, love?

  1. There must be an equation, which we can solve for x, that determines the ratio of waste to enlightenment (learning).

    The problem being, I’m simply terrible with math. And so I continue to waste and occaissionally stumble upon a nugget of wisdom.

    Sometimes that which does not kill me simply hurts like a bitch. Perhaps strength comes from reflection which, of course, requires the element of time.

  2. It’s a constant and it’s a given.

    But you know this. You don’t need ME to tell you.

    I think that we are probably at the same juncture in our lives. It’s like I was drunkenly expounding upon for melly last night: In the last couple of months it’s as if the Cosmos has taken the box that contains my life, flipped it upside down and shaken until everything –every last bit of it– has rained and fluttered to the cold marble floor of reality and said, not unlovingly,

    “Here, girl. Now sort through it, discard some, and put the rest back, in the right places this time…”

    And I’m working on that. the best fortune cookie I’ve ever gotten in my entire life I got two weeks ago: ‘Many a false step is made by standing still.’

    And one of the best quotes (I forget who…Sartre, perhaps?) last month: “To be happy you must be willing to be thought a fool.”

    Lord help, I’m so willing. I think I’ve about shucked the last vestiges of ‘I give a fuck what people think…’ (there was so little left) and maaaan, I did not realize how heavy that shit is, even in minute quantities.

    It’s a big, scary world. I’m off to re-immerse myself in it. If you can bide some time, and not stand still yourself in the interim, maybe we could start our own tribe.

    But I must warn you, I’m not a ‘pile’ person. ‘Piles’ here and there make me nutso. Could you make your piles of things behind the protection of cabinet and closet doors? Your desk could stay as messy as you wanted. I’m all about the messy desk m’self. I cook and I vacuum. You could look pretty and keep the computers running.

    We could both say ‘fuck’ as much as we’d like.

  3. a duck? you’re a very kinky girl, miss Jett.

    we certainly ought to start a tribe of some sort. & much of my clutter is reactionary. i don’t like it like this either but it’s to the point if i clean, i’m capitulating. & so, not cleaning is something that i suffer through, in order to make a statement?

    it’s less an excuse than it sounds.

  4. you are amazing. your realizations are so…wow. but, is it really a ‘waste’ if you are learning along the way? maybe this is what ‘it’ is. one long lesson to be learned- or made up as we go.

  5. The trouble with tribalism, aside from all the wailing and gnashing of teeth that ultimately goes into deciding upon the manditory tattoo design is somehow wedging into the tribal constitution an agreement to disagree.

    That said, I’m more than willing to help skin whatever one skins in preparing to make teepees. I say this with the full knowledge that eventually (if not sooner) I will be voted off the island for sleeping too late and mopping too much.

    Perhaps I should just serve in an advisory capacity from the git-go and save us all some trouble.

  6. true, but i do believe it’s wasteful when it involves literally decades of being dissatisfied with the status quo until it’s no longer the status quo, & then & *only* then deciding that the status quo was pretty cool afterall — i feel a sense of urgency about learning to do this now.

  7. however as far as things are going at this moment, i can safely say i need to recognize that much of my dissatisfaction these days is directly related to the fact i live with someone who (quick forinstance, just happened five minutes ago) threatens to throw away everything on my computer table on monday if i don’t clean the house & my car to his specifications this weekend, whether or not it was a sixty hour workweek for me, or the fourth one of those in a row, doesn’t make any difference.

    maybe working on acceptance is the last thing i need to be worrying about, eh? maybe i need to do whatever it takes to get the hell out of … hell.

    i don’t know what i’m hungry for / i don’t know what i want anymore …

  8. Scott (I just typed in ‘Scoot’, ohmy.), there is no such animal as mopping too much. Also, if you sleep too late then that means you stay up too early and if that is the case, we are of similar craftmanship.

    And can you skin a brownstone with arched doorways and copious windows?

  9. Sometimes it is easier to focus on what you don’t want, than what you want. Somehow knowing what you don’t want, and discarding it, is what it takes to move you towards what you do want.

    Going after an affirmative is always harder than getting rid of the negative.

  10. to refer to your earlier expressed desire..
    I went to the A-dam over my college spring break this year. funny, if you take the dash out, thats my name too…huh. anyhow, it is the palace of desire of which we dream. running back again is a temptation hard to resist. especially with all the tasty delights of that most wonderful of herbaceous indulgences.
    Cheerup, you’ll find somebody, or we could just go take an extended vacation…

  11. Hi. I’m not, like, reading your old archives looking for who-knows-what. I’m not doing anything like that. I’m just, ummm…

    Hi. You know, it’s hard to read archives when the encoding has to be reset to Eastern European so that I don’t see just boxes and squiggles.

    But I guess it doesn’t matter, because I’m not reading your archives. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *