Monday, July 21, 2008
For most of my life I think I have been a hopeless romantic. I'm not sure why. I haven't ever been lucky in love. Maybe that's the hopeless part. I don't know where the romantic part comes in - I haven't really experienced it yet. (Actually, I have to say that I once had a friend who would do things with me that everyone else said were way romantic, but we were just friends, no more, and I think that makes a difference.) Hmmm. I remember reassuring many a friend that even if one gets hurt, it is still worth it to love. If you don't ever let yourself, you have no chance to experience the joy that can come from it. However, I don't find myself interested in nearly as many guys as I did as a teenager. Occasionally, when it happens these days, I go through these awful emotions that I just don't like. There's always the pleasant, giddy sensations - you're excited to go places where that person might be, you feel that lovely rush when he actually talks to you, you daydream happy ideas of how you'll finally get together - how he'll finally decide that he wants to know you, too. However, there are also the inevitable not-so-pleasant emotions that must come. Jealousy when he's talking to other girls, catching other girls' eyes, taking your roommates on dates, etc. Sadness when you're realistic and realize that he doesn't really show any special interest in you, that the likelihood of his ever asking you out is slim to none. Foolish when you realize that maybe you really don't have that much in common, when you admit that he is way above and beyond you and that it's probably wrong of you to even want to ask him to stoop to someone like you. Okay, I know all of that sounds really pathetic, but those are all emotions that I go through - even without liking the guy that much (I can only imagine how much more compounded those feelings must be when you really like someone). It is moments like these when I think about how content I generally am in life and wonder why I would ever allow myself to hope for somebody else in my life. There seem to be way too many unpleasant feelings to go through while waiting for something good to happen that it's not worth it. And so then I think - better to nip this interest in the bud, better to quell it, before it gets out of hand and I become a depressed teenager again. It doesn't help that I'm listening to Tony Bennett, Norah Jones, and Frank Sinatra, either. I think I'm going to listen to a little Josh - which won't help, either - and then I will work on my book. Don't people always write better when they're melancholy?