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Just going to put this right here - http://www.cnn.com/2007/LIVING/personal/10/09/end.relationship/ - and ignore it.
I don't hate myself. I wanted to put a qualifier of "as much as I used to" but nope, I don't hate myself. However, I do still get the obsessive infatuation going. I thought I was over it, but then I met someone who suddenly - for just a brief time - became THE ONE - and I was gobsmacked.
Infatuation is not love. Nor is it just "lust at first sight" as Stephen King called it in Salem's Lot (yeah, that's what I remember from Salem's Lot). Love take effort and it is constantly being renewed or ignored. Infatuation is only recognizing the potential for love and then wanting to skip over to the part where you get to floss and pop pimples in front of each other. It seems fun, but it's really just a coke high masquerading as pleasure.
But thankfully I seem to be cognizant enough of my own dysfunction to work through it. Only I notice that waking up from infatuation can be a lot like realizing that your favorite song (or band) really sucks. Only now it's stuck in your head. Like I loved Rent when I first saw it. I knew that it was basically Up with People for Generation X. I even sort of knew that part of the embrace of such a treacly piece of shit was an effort to prove to myself that damnit, I'm NOT really so cynical after all. And I bought the CD and played it over and over and over again. Oh sure, I would notice more cracks in the facade. Roger's "one song" that he FINALLY writes at the end of the show is awful. Mark is making home movies. That "La Vie Boheme" owes at least a bass line to the Snoopy theme song and there are only so many references to pop culture that you can make before the audience wishes that they were watching those shows, reading those books.
But then one day, all that added up to "fuck, this is a shit musical" and by that time I can't even say one line of it without the whole damn thing running through my head.
It's not really like that with infatuation, but as someone who is infatuated, I am obsessed. Like I want to tell her everything about myself and I want to know everything about her. And in these heady days of "Oooooh tell me more" everything seems like it's magic.
And then that balloon pops (especially if I actively trying to pop the balloon and get out of this childish bullshit) and it might not be too important. She might act like an asshole to a guy who didn't change seats when she asked (because he didn't want to change seats). Or she might check her phone in the middle of a fucking movie. Or I might be going home with her on a subway and I want to have a conversation and she has just eaten much pot brownies and is fucked up AGAIN and so the only conversation I get (beyond confused "what" as she is barely standing) is "This train is magical. Everyone is speaking Italian" - because yeah, foreigners on a New York Subway train is SOOOOOOO fucking unique.
And then once that infatuation passes, I suddenly remember the drinking stories, the "I'm so fucked up" stories, the "oh I agreed to do you a favor and I totally forgot" moments. And while this is still a cool person, there is that feeling of dull regret. Like she didn't fool me. She was always honest about who she was (well except for where she thinks that she isn't fucked up). I just fooled myself into believing that a woman that fails to live up to the ONE thing that I promised myself I would look for from now on (emotional stability) is the answer to all my worries and loneliness.
It's been a rough month. I can say that I've been stressed. However, I do not have an excuse for not getting out there and actually asking women out.
I don't hate myself. I wanted to put a qualifier of "as much as I used to" but nope, I don't hate myself. However, I do still get the obsessive infatuation going. I thought I was over it, but then I met someone who suddenly - for just a brief time - became THE ONE - and I was gobsmacked.
Infatuation is not love. Nor is it just "lust at first sight" as Stephen King called it in Salem's Lot (yeah, that's what I remember from Salem's Lot). Love take effort and it is constantly being renewed or ignored. Infatuation is only recognizing the potential for love and then wanting to skip over to the part where you get to floss and pop pimples in front of each other. It seems fun, but it's really just a coke high masquerading as pleasure.
But thankfully I seem to be cognizant enough of my own dysfunction to work through it. Only I notice that waking up from infatuation can be a lot like realizing that your favorite song (or band) really sucks. Only now it's stuck in your head. Like I loved Rent when I first saw it. I knew that it was basically Up with People for Generation X. I even sort of knew that part of the embrace of such a treacly piece of shit was an effort to prove to myself that damnit, I'm NOT really so cynical after all. And I bought the CD and played it over and over and over again. Oh sure, I would notice more cracks in the facade. Roger's "one song" that he FINALLY writes at the end of the show is awful. Mark is making home movies. That "La Vie Boheme" owes at least a bass line to the Snoopy theme song and there are only so many references to pop culture that you can make before the audience wishes that they were watching those shows, reading those books.
But then one day, all that added up to "fuck, this is a shit musical" and by that time I can't even say one line of it without the whole damn thing running through my head.
It's not really like that with infatuation, but as someone who is infatuated, I am obsessed. Like I want to tell her everything about myself and I want to know everything about her. And in these heady days of "Oooooh tell me more" everything seems like it's magic.
And then that balloon pops (especially if I actively trying to pop the balloon and get out of this childish bullshit) and it might not be too important. She might act like an asshole to a guy who didn't change seats when she asked (because he didn't want to change seats). Or she might check her phone in the middle of a fucking movie. Or I might be going home with her on a subway and I want to have a conversation and she has just eaten much pot brownies and is fucked up AGAIN and so the only conversation I get (beyond confused "what" as she is barely standing) is "This train is magical. Everyone is speaking Italian" - because yeah, foreigners on a New York Subway train is SOOOOOOO fucking unique.
And then once that infatuation passes, I suddenly remember the drinking stories, the "I'm so fucked up" stories, the "oh I agreed to do you a favor and I totally forgot" moments. And while this is still a cool person, there is that feeling of dull regret. Like she didn't fool me. She was always honest about who she was (well except for where she thinks that she isn't fucked up). I just fooled myself into believing that a woman that fails to live up to the ONE thing that I promised myself I would look for from now on (emotional stability) is the answer to all my worries and loneliness.
It's been a rough month. I can say that I've been stressed. However, I do not have an excuse for not getting out there and actually asking women out.
