Sleepwalking my way through life: Half-hearted cliché

Half-hearted cliché

Early morning psycho babble again. I’m thinking of leaving my Lapdancer downstairs so I can’t reach it and write obscenities.

It’s 3AM and I am sitting up with a wanting to write, but nothing coming out. The only thing I can manage is a very poor attempt to mimic someone else, which will never work seeing how I never buy Doritos. I bathe in the light of liquid crystals and contemplate my life to the mellow music that I seem to be getting into these days. Thankfully my life isn’t doing very much right now and my contemplation shouldn’t take long. Let me see; I’ve finished school, so there’s no stress of studying or homework anymore; work is doing fine, not much of a challenge and I enjoy the banter with good company; I seem to be successfully alienating myself from my friends, letting them break away from me bit by bit as I no longer become part of their lives; I’m starting to write more again, stories and characters coming to me quickly and at a whim, which (really) kicks ass; and my relationship with Marie is pretty amazing.

Ah, but now I have hit a snag. Marie. Cathouse girl. The love of my life. And I do love her by the way. A hell of a lot and as you see I’m not too shy to say it. When my thoughts land on her they fall through a trap door and into a wide expanse of thoughts that you don’t think could have ever been spurned from a single name. I love her, and think about her almost constantly. But I’m not going to sit here and write about the subtleties of love, I’m not going to write about its secrets, I’m not going to write about how no one else understands for they have not experienced a love like this. For one thing, the last one is a damned lie. If no one else experienced it then how would I know that it was love and not some strange kind of indigestion? No, I am going to talk about love in its most deep and primal form; how fucked up it is.

Of course this post may be lacking some substance, for this is a subject that contains many personal details and although I am willing to expose every centimetre of myself (above the waist) to the internet, I am not willing to share information of such a delicate nature. Wait until my autobiography comes out for that.

I am in love, I have been for quite a while now, and in the many months since I realised it I have experienced a wonderful range of emotions. The obvious ones are the good ones; the never ending smiles, the electrical touch, warmth rising in my chest, the fact that I just want to cry because this is so great and I am really not worthy. And then there are the other ones, the lesser wanted ones; the fear and doubt stricken face, the devastating loneliness, the paranoia sinking in your gut, the absolute knowledge that I want to die right now on my knees with tears running down my face. Yep, had them all.

I used to think that this was slightly fucked up. Love isn’t icky feelings and bad arguments. That only happens when they’re not really in love. Love is like a never ending hug. And if anything goes wrong (as if!), then everything is magically fixed in the end with a romantic kiss. It’s simple and follows a formula, occasionally involving Meg Ryan.

Wrong. All wrong. If I knew love would be anything like I experienced then I wouldn’t have bothered with it, I would’ve stayed naïve and young playing my videogames and singing along to emo. Ok, that’s another lie right there. If I knew what was coming, I’d do it again anyway, when things are going good I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Love is perfect. The ups and downs mirror each other with an almost poetic elegance. The good matches the bad, but we are always kept crawling back for more. It’s not fucked at all, it is perfect.

It seems like I’m having an early morning epiphany.

Now it’s 4AM and it’s becoming light outside. I think I finally realise that after everything that has happened to me, I am the one who is fucked up in all of this.
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At 1:50 pm, Anonymous eddmun said...

You might like Zero 7.

Love continually confuses me. For example, how are we meant to know for 100% that we are in love with someone, if they don't mirror the feeling. It could be a passing crush, and infatuation or whatever you call it.

Then again it could be love disguised as something else.

Fucked up.

At 6:00 pm, Anonymous Kiwiqueen said...

I guess no-one said it would be easy, and I think sometimes the perfect times are taken for granted, and then no-one seems to want the arguments, confusion and doubt. I think you have to be prepared for anything. Look at most people's parents. It's obvious they weren't prepared for the bad things!

I often lie awake wondering what love is anyway. If you say it outloud too many times, it ends up being one long string of letters, which doesn't mean anything.

Where have the links of sexiness gone? :-O

At 10:41 am, Anonymous Joe said...

Eddmun - Fantastic recomendation.

Kiwi - The sexy links of sexiness have been revamped and replaced with my blogroll and just normal links... I know, it isn't the same. I need to fins more things for the actual links section though...

I hate debating love usually. It always makes me confused and tired. I hate trying to define it too, "love is..." and all that stuff. I think it's easier to just accept that it is there.



At 5:31 pm, Anonymous Dan said...

Aye....this is weird. Check this blog I wrote a few weeks back....


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