Okay, so a while back I had a breakdown. I met a girl and she ripped my heart out. She pulled the thread and the sweater unraveled into a big messy mess on the floor. Yeah yeah—same old story. Nothing new with that. This is more about emotions and the aftermath. It seems the breakdown state, which lasted an amazingly long time, has been woven back up in my reconstructed sweater. It seems to be part of my new (reworked?) identity OR it was my identity for so long sometimes I feel uncomfortable without it. This is ironic, because I sure did feel uncomfortable WITH it.
Valentine’s Day is closing in. I remember a few years back I wrote a column about it. There were poems, sentiments, anti-sentiments and of course, my opinion on the whole thing. The poems were about unrequited love. Geez. The worst kind. Absolutely. Pining is no good for the soul. This much I know. Take the latest. A clever New York City girl. She’s just not having it –or me- more specifically. And I just don’t understand why. It’s there, I know it’s there, she’s told me herself. I guess its presence isn’t big enough. For her. And there you have it; the birth of Unrequited. And Unrequited does funny things to you. Should I jump on a plane to NYC and ring her bell? Do something radical for once? No wait, would this freak her out? It would freak me out, if Unrequited showed up at my door. But is it really Unrequited? What category of Unrequited are we talking here? The “I just don’t feel it” kind? No… The “I just can’t do it” kind? Maybe… The “Eh, take it or leave it” kind? Like I said. Geez. And so it goes, the love and the like and the emotions take hold of your brain and turn you into a weirdo wacko wannabe. C’mon, admit it. You have felt this way too, right?
You know this has all been churned up by the Lady Astronaut. I’ll refrain from calling her crazy or nuts. That’s an unfair and ill informed judgment. But we all must agree that her intensity for this man just grew and grew and she just lost it. Whew, she lost it. Not only did she lose it, she sustained it for 900 miles. At her arraignment, she looked saddened and stunned. As if the realization just came to her of what she had just done. I wonder how much of it she remembers. She looked startled, frightened, and exhausted. She had finally unraveled. Unfortunately, her private moment of the unravel came to light on national TV. The rest of us can hang on to the threads in the safety of our own little worlds, even if it doesn’t feel safe at the time. I do not envy her aftermath.
Fast Forward. Or, backtrack. Love, I just don’t know what to say. Happy Valentine’s Day?