Hopeless romantic, or just hopeless?
I am so ungodly hungover. And while most people react to a surfeit of alcohol with headaches, nausea, sensitivity to light, etc, I tend to plunge into deep existential crisis. And feel like puking.
So here am I am (i'm keeping that mistake. it's kinda neato, and appropriate to my current ontological nausea.) ruminating about love and how strange it is that several people have told me lately that despite having been in several relationships, even long term ones, they don't think they've ever been "in love". I think that to them, being "in love" means the whole giddy, tongue-tied, weak at the knees, butterflies in stomach, feeling that supremely likable, somewhat clumsy characters in romantic comedies get. Lying awake at night thinking about that special someone, listening to love songs, maybe even writing bad poetry. Now, I have an astonishing proclivity for that feeling. Seriously, I'm very good at it. But I don't think that it's love. It's fun, and maddening, and I pity da fool who's never let zeself go that retarded over somebody, but I think it's at the opposite end of some kind of spectrum (shut up) from love.
But what in the fuck do I know?
I'm not bitching. My day actually started off fucking phenomenal, with a half naked be_elzebe, some cigarettes and europop. Ain't no better way to wake up. I am one lucky girl.
I am so ungodly hungover. And while most people react to a surfeit of alcohol with headaches, nausea, sensitivity to light, etc, I tend to plunge into deep existential crisis. And feel like puking.
So here am I am (i'm keeping that mistake. it's kinda neato, and appropriate to my current ontological nausea.) ruminating about love and how strange it is that several people have told me lately that despite having been in several relationships, even long term ones, they don't think they've ever been "in love". I think that to them, being "in love" means the whole giddy, tongue-tied, weak at the knees, butterflies in stomach, feeling that supremely likable, somewhat clumsy characters in romantic comedies get. Lying awake at night thinking about that special someone, listening to love songs, maybe even writing bad poetry. Now, I have an astonishing proclivity for that feeling. Seriously, I'm very good at it. But I don't think that it's love. It's fun, and maddening, and I pity da fool who's never let zeself go that retarded over somebody, but I think it's at the opposite end of some kind of spectrum (shut up) from love.
But what in the fuck do I know?
I'm not bitching. My day actually started off fucking phenomenal, with a half naked be_elzebe, some cigarettes and europop. Ain't no better way to wake up. I am one lucky girl.
I think that the above things are not love, you are correct. But I don't think that those things and love are not correllated. Or, at least, I hope that they're not. But I definitely understand that love, at its true root, is a much more terrifying thing than a few butterflies or bad poetry.
And damn. I want to wake up with a half naked be_elzebe.
J. once told me that falling in love is like jumping off a cliff. This is similar to the giddy, weak-in-the-knees, googly eyes business. The retarded, maddenning, terror, or sickness of crushing hard. He said that being in love is like breathing at the bottom of the ocean, calm, teeming with life, sometimes mundane, but then sometimes you're like, "Holy fuck, i'm at the bottom of the gaddam ocean!" I dunno.Maybe the only thing more retarded than love is trying to talk about it.
You're the best slumber party buddy ever. I am one lucky girl.