It’s been nearly a month since I’ve decided that sitting on my bed at this aging Toshiba is something I should do. Sit down and write that is. I’ve spent the past six hours catching up on season three of the life changing drama Dawson’s Creek. I’ve spent the rest of the past thirty days going through multiple brain changes and phases trying to find some direction or focus.
That endeavor has proven very unsuccessful unless you count the list of goals I scratched out on my drawing pad and prominently placed on the wall in my room that I have spent a total of ten hours in in the past ten days. It’s not exactly a daily reminder if you never see the fucking thing. Which has also led me to sporadically attempt to work towards those goals. Meh.
The only real nibblet I’ve latched on to is that being a human being who wants to love and be loved by other human beings is a fucking complicated suffering. I’ve realized I can actually love many people at once. And we’re talking romantic love, not all the other shit.
A first love somehow still got me excited. Excited to the point that I did a few extra looks in the mirror and tried to keep my ramblings coherent. Which was wildly unsuccessful thanks to over 48 hours of drinking prior I seeing him. I spent most of that time laying in the grass with my giant headphones on listening to music and being insanely happy. I may be more in love with music than any human but that’s for another time. Possibly in another month when I write again.
I’ve realized I still get excited about new love too. Not love, but new feelings that allow for excitement whenever your phone goes off. Picking someone’s secrets out of their hair like an ape picking bugs off their fellow primate is an adventure in excitement. It might not go anywhere and maybe you don’t want it to, but you still get some extra protein in your emotional diet.
And then there’s that warm love that keeps you comfortable. The one that leaves you feeling confident and insecure all at the same fucking time. It’s constant, reassuring, and the most terrifying one to lose. There’s a routine of ups and downs you’ve become accustomed to and it’s when the roller coaster is starting to fall that shit starts getting scary. And you start spending more time at your own place.
I always thought I was a one and only love type of woman. I’m learning that’s not the case. And it’s allowing me to understand those other primates with appendages between their legs in a different way. It is possible to mean what you say in a moment of connection, and still hit up your OkCupid before you go to bed.
It allows for less judgement, more understanding. Which is one thing love is supposed to encompass.
It’s National Guacamole Day. This great day must be celebrated.
Update: COTTAGE CHEESE ON TACOS IS A GLORIOUS FUCKING THING.
And yes, I should edit and sit on my writing longer. But I’ll find time to do that later.
Until next month.
Botox at 31 