Love Is a Drug

I would like for love to just be love.

It’s not. 

Love is a barter system.  Trading – this for that.

Love is sexual politics.  Trafficking in position, and lust, and power-balance.

Love is ego-reduction.  I need to be the most important thing in my life, but my ego has to deflate (periodically) to let other people in.

Love is money management.  When you’re dating, the spread is fairly equal, but when you’re married, the financial concrete boots seem to be attached to one person or the other – not both.

Love is a drug.  I crave it, I want it, I day-dream in it, I want to bury my face in it.  Every day.

Love is paying twice as much for three times less, because the quality of love overpowers the reality of economics and (sometimes) logic. 

Love is mental foreplay. 

Love is critical mass.  Thinking that you can’t take any more of what you have, but wanting more of it anyway.

Love is suffering. 

Love is elation.  Walking, with shoes, but feeling nothing but air beneath the soles of your feet and the ground.

Love is situational.  (Crosby, Stills, and Nash: “If you can’t be with the one that you love; love the one you’re with.”)

Love is occasional.  If the person you love isn’t in proximity regularly, the love comes in tidal waves.

Love is consolation.  Coming home and having someone who is there in body, soul, and mind to validate all the things I do in order to stay alive every day.

Love is a puppy.  It loves unconditionally and with beautiful abandon.  (And it occasionally gets so excited that it can’t control itself.)

Love is.  (After all, it’s both a noun and a verb.)

I have to believe in love, otherwise, what is there to believe in?  Work?  Netflix?  

Love is the drug.  And when two people are doing the same drug, on the same plane of a love-high, love is the most scintillating drug of all.  

Pretty Things

Hello. 

I say hello to you in my head many times, every day.  You’re not here, you never are, but you occupy space in my brain.  So let me tell you what I would say if you listened:

“LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL” - What a lovely headline.

Pretty things.  So what if I like pretty things?  Pretty lies, so what if I like pretty lies?

From where you are, to where I am now, is its own galaxy.

Be a star and make it past your color TV.  This time will pass, and with it, will me, and all these pretty things.

(And don’t say you don’t notice them.)

I need to put my phone on vibrate for you.  I tried to dance with Britney Spears – I guess I’m getting on in years, because I just end up in tears.  It’s like Pinocchio, who becomes a boy, but just wants to turn back into a toy.

So my phone will be on vibrate for you, but call me anytime.  Call me in the morning, call me in the night, call me anytime you like.

The space is too vast, so my phone’s on vibrate.  For you. 

Bi-Curious Socks

My socks are pretty queer.  But sometimes they’re bisexual and sometimes they’re homosexual and sometimes they’re asexual and sometimes they’re even straight.  Let me just put it this way:  my socks like each other.  They like to mingle. 

Socks are just like people, I suppose.  Sometimes we want something that matches us, and sometimes we want to flip it and reverse it.  Different colors, different sizes, different fit.  Just depends on how a person is feeling in that moment of life. 

We all need to get in the dryer and mix it up.

Ayn Rand

  Find the “I”.

§  Individuality.

§  Independence.

§  Integrity.

§  Intelligence.

A proper “I” can stand alone.

I am finding myself.

Sometimes I don’t’ care who I am, because I’m too tired.

Sometimes, who I am, is just a person trying to breathe.

Sometimes I care so much that I am paralyzed.

I always thought I knew myself. 

But I think we are just getting acquainted.

All it takes is a series of crises, and then I have to look in the mirror and ask myself just who the hell I am?  How did I get so old?  How did I get so tired?  When did I stop properly taking care of myself?  When did I become this person? 

Bottom line:  I can only be who I am, so if other people don’t like or appreciate me, I can’t care.  I have to stop caring and focus on Ayn Rand’s idea that the only way to help other people is to help oneself first.  Maybe if people cared for themselves first, and flushed out all the “socially appropriate” mores and norms, individuals would be happier more often. 

(P.S. Fuck Rand’s misogynistic agenda 😊)