Kryptonite

How can 2 people so right for each other in every way, be so God-awful for one another? Fucking each other at every turn. What is this need for pain, I feel? Endlessly torturing one another, until we are both broken and abused. Until we are unrecognizable. There is a depraved beauty in it all though. A supercilious sense of smugness. "At least we're not those assholes." It's hard to find a person you can scoff at humanity with. Someone with an unspoken bond, someone you can just shoot a knowing glance at, and both start laughing. One that can see right through you, call you on your bullshit, never letting you off the hook, even once. Resentment is easy, actually. It dulls the senses, so you can convince yourself to tune out. It lets you sleep-walk for a while. But once complacency relents for a moment, fire burns ceaselessly and eventually overtakes. The aroma can be so sweet and flowery, but most often it takes on the putrid stench of a sulphuric tire blaze. Does indifference only set in because of exhaustion? How much can a human being take before they just can't lift their head anymore? But as the complacency builds I start to yearn for that emotional pendulum that only comes from those rare connections. I want to feel something, anything, constantly grasping at any little piece of sentiment that may make its way under my nose. It is a dangerous thing to know another being's exact pressure points; they are almost exclusively used for malevolent ends. Sado-masochism seems entirely too natural for me. People don't wish to see the real me, I leave it out there for them to discover, but no one ever does. Are people that nihilistic or are they just that dense? Only one person has ever seen the real me, or at least 96%. A girl has to keep a little stash for herself. The fact that someone has known who I am at the very core, and loved it, gives me a macabre and self-deluding optimism that one really shouldn't have. Knowing of the genuine possibilities, means never having to settle. But it also leads to an extreme dissatisfaction with the rest of humanity. I often say I am the sinner and he the saint, but living with a saint creates a languor that is near impossible to recover from. You can only spend so much time feeling shitty and inadequate because you know you can never be as selfless or good. Sometimes, I think rebelling is all I know. It's the only thing that has ever worked to dispel my invasive and debilitating thoughts. It is a natural high, it ramps up an euphoric set of neurotransmitters, the ones that let me skate through, while still being fully able to rationalize and feel, and function. It is a buzz that can last for days, weeks, or months, however long I can sustain it. Until the pendulum strikes the other way.

Dastardly deeds are all that is begot out of love. Why does the dissolution of things have to be so gut-wrenching? But love is worth it every time. Sometimes, 2 people can exist on a higher plane, in a world where only the intangible exists. If you are lucky enough to ever rise above to that ethereal state, hold on to it as long as you humanly can. The comedown is inevitable with drugs, but that is the junkie's curse, trying to stay lit, despite knowing the truth. It's all a self-delusion, manufactured to numb or dull, to heighten or deepen, depending on the state of consciousness (or unconsciousness in most cases), desired. To feel is to experience every range of emotion, to numb is to feel nothing at all. I will never understand those who choose to numb. Now that is a waste. That is nihilistic. People who just want that mediocre because they think anything else is melodramatic. Life isn't really worth it without some sort of novel experience. A life just filled with a series of mundane and perfunctory activities is far more tragic than one filled with sadness, punctuated with an intense, appreciated joy. People barely even breathing their beige existences, thinking they have it all figured out. As taxing as it is to be the way I am, I could never want to be in the dark like that. I am no troglodyte. Without emotionality, what really does set us apart from any other species? Maybe it is just pretentious to think that there are any differences at all. We are animals at heart, just a little more self-aware. Animals get to behave primally without all that guilt that we, as humans, put on ourselves. So, who really is the higher-order species then? If for all our "intelligence" and brain density and speech capabilities, we still can't really accomplish anything or find peace, then how can we think of ourselves as better?

On another note, for some reason I have always had an aversion to Canada. Don't ask me why, because I couldn't tell you. There has just always been something that has bugged me about that entire country. No one is that nice. It's not in humans nature to be that altruistic. It always seems like they are hiding something. But in some weird twist, as in a premonition realized or some blatant self-fulfilling prophecy, I have good reason to thumb my nose up at our Northern neighbor. I say to you Canada, have some self-respect, you desperate little whore. Don't let men walk all over you like that. You must be emotionally barren to let someone talk to you like that. An entire nation full of repressed, cock-hungry sluts with daddy issues. Find your panties and get a hold of yourself.

Personal Realization: I admit, this is probably the most fucked essay I have ever written. But it's better than being a diffident a-hole, too busy nervously looking around to enjoy themselves for even a minute.

Dramatic Irony

I find myself aimlessly adrift, so tired, but sleep eludes, as usual. So I set out to the tweaker and skid convention center that is Meijer at 5:00 AM. My snide comments finally realized, I have become one of the freaks at Meijer. I spot a couple of doppelgangers that send my mind reeling. I wander listlessly up and down the ethnic foods aisle, until I can't stand the sight of soy sauce and tortillas any longer. I make my way into the rapidly ceasing night air. This is the realest I have felt in a long time. Each wind-chilled step to the car feels significant, I own every stride. I am beginning to doubt my own judgement, I can't seem to grasp my desires for longer than a moment. One second I have a firm hold, than the next I can feel it slip through my fingers, with nary a hair out of place. Trust doesn't exist in this dreamworld I have manufactured. Time seems to bend and melt, to the tune of futility. I can feel my brain abuzz with dopamine. It's like I am here, but not. Staying in between the lines is a full-time job, but I find myself straying across those solid yellows. The need for constant stimulation leaves me exhausted and unfulfilled. I am so thirsty. Why can't I seem to find anything that is real? I always live in the intangible, just once I would like to reach out and touch. Sometimes I just feel like falling asleep at the wheel and letting whatever happens happen. But some part of me just can't give up that last modicum of control. It's so empowering to take your life by the reins, but it is not without its drawbacks. You end up losing quite a few people along the way. Not many people can understand the esoteric world in which I painted myself into. And it's not that hard to alienate those select few too. The need for the novel is tempered by the need for the real. Living in marital limbo is bound to take a toll. I think one of my biggest fears is being misunderstood. I would rather someone hate the real me, than love some android. I fear I may be going down a path without much of a trail of breadcrumbs. Out of pain comes art, not to say I consider the chicken scratch I produce, art. I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Emotionality in Music

I have always gravitated towards emotionality in everything I do, I always needed it to feel "real" somehow. Music has been the most powerful generator of such emotionality for me. It has the power to change my mood instantly, or milk the mood I am already in. When I space out to music, I can feel so many things, I can daydream, escape or tap into that shadowy side that lies in the deep recesses of my mind. Along that vein, I have included some songs here that I have a deep emotional connection to, for whatever reason, be it lyrically relatable, a beautiful composition or arrangement or something even more personal. I tend to attach certain music to parts of my life, so much so that they become inextricably entangled, where I can't disassociate one from the other. That's why I love music, it makes the experiences I have feel akin to something larger. It adds an air of significance. It makes me feel as though I can grasp some little piece of relevance in a wholly existential world. And it's a good antidote to my pervasive misanthropy. All right, enough of this ethereal chatter, on to the music.

Navajo Rug- Jerry Jeff Walker
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gIXPhlDzwE
Although I like the version I have on Itunes way better, this one will have to do. It is weirdly more peppy than the one I have, even though the atmosphere in that room seems kind of solemn to me, which kind of takes away from the purpose. This song perfectly expresses the beautiful sadness of by-gone relationships, they are significant, but dramatically fleeting and before you even had time to quantify it, it is a distant memory.

Jambalaya (On the Bayou)- Fats Domino
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDj7VfU3368
Probably one of the most covered songs in history, definitely in N'Awlins, but I love this song nonetheless. Most likely because my dad used to sing this to me when I was little while he was cleaning the grill at his restaurant, the last step before we could go home for the night. As for Fats Domino, he is the pinnacle of 50's for me, everything he touches turns to gold in my mind. This song has more energy and life than a thousand songs of today put together.

Magnolia- Tom Petty
I couldn't find a copy of this anywhere, so you will have to look it up on Itunes.
This represents the nostalgic Americana that is young summer love. You can never forget that feeling of falling in love for the first time, and how quickly it can all dissolve into nothingness before you even knew what you had.

When I Paint My Masterpiece- The Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq2e7DPhyHg
I love the carnival-esque sound of this song. It conjures up images of street performers wearing those Venetian masks, endless open-air cafes, and lovers walking hand in hand along the banks of the river. People trying so desperately to to find some connection and meaning. This is new to my collection.

Girl From the North Country- Joe Cocker and Leon Russell (Mad Dogs & Englishmen)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMSY3WBkyoM
This is simply just a beautiful song which I think showcases what Joe Cocker and Leon Russell do best. They can take any song and make it their own, separately or in this case together.

Love Reign O'er Me- Bettye LaVette
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJi6maTueSc
This is completely self-explanatory. I was brought to tears the first time I heard this version, even though I had heard it a million times before, it was like it never existed until that exact moment she preformed it at the Kennedy Center Honors. Sidebar: The album this is on; Interpretations: The British Rock Songbook was the coolest idea for an album ever. She recorded popular British classic rock singles from bands known for covering and being influenced by early blues and soul artists in a clever role reversal.

Try a Little Tenderness- Otis Redding
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjoMSfPQUCA&feature=related
I have a particular penchant for 60's/70's era soul music. Otis Redding, is hands down the most soulful of all the soul artists. He could just sing a song like the entire world depended upon it, that power and that raw emotion. You can just imagine the beads of sweat pouring down his face, the strain and contortion of his movements as he begins to growl from that unbridled place inside. (Weird note- I don't know why the beginning of soul songs have to have those unnecessary horn intros, like that weird call of Triton trumpeting at the beginning of the Delfonics' Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time.)

Dr. Wu- Steely Dan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxEsUiPm17c
I am going to try my damnedest to make you a convert yet. This is the quintessential Steely Dan song, by far. This encompasses fully what they are about. Metaphor on top of metaphor, the smokiness of the saxophone and piano, the seediness that oozes out of it's pores. When I listen to this track, I imagine an underground world, or something on another plane, a dank and outdated bar, some hold-over tiki nightmare, tones of deep mahogany and maroon abound next to lackluster brass, scuffed by years of wear, filled with those depressed souls that life has chewed up and spit out.

Darling Be Home Soon- Joe Cocker (Mad Dogs & Englishmen)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhJ8Sdp3Ny4
This is definitely one of my favorite songs of all time and I would be remiss to not include it. Joe Cocker may have not penned this tune, but he owns every second of it. The sheer emotion that radiates from not only his voice, but his frenetic movements and flailing limbs. He lives each one of his songs as he sings them. He feels every sentiment as the lyrics escape his body, and it translates into a full-on sensory experience for the listener. A particularly beautiful line: "I think I've come to see myself at last. And I see that the time spent confused was the time that I spent without you. And I feel myself in bloom." One of the most poignant lines ever written in music. It's so easy to feel the affinity John Sebastian had with the woman he wrote that about. It's those types of prolific connections that make music, music.

A Catalyst

Nothing I have ever wanted has come easily to me, so I have learned to be tenacious. Often, I don't think people know how to respond to this. I am forthcoming and honest to a fault, I don't really ever hold back because I don't see the point. I am never impolite, but when asked of my opinion or when I witness egregious behavior, I can't seem to keep my big mouth shut. Everyone always seems to say that they are honest, and how they pride themselves on that fact, but it's like one of those logic problems, Person A always tells the truth..., but eventually somewhere at sometime, someone is lying. Are they doing it consciously or is it they are lying to themselves? I think more often the latter is true, but it is frustrating nonetheless, maybe more so, because if they are unaware, they can never change their behavior. I am even more honest with myself about my emotions, I have the ability to see what they truly are, even if it takes a little soul-searching. I am not very good at hiding my feelings. They are so visceral, that I really can't seem to figure how I ever could. I realized that I have been keeping something from myself, not very well, mind you, I just projected it in a different direction. It was so glaringly obvious, that I felt kind of stupid for not realizing it before. I couldn't quite figure out why my stomach had the heavy, sinking, anxious feeling for the past week and half. Since I have pinpointed it, my stomach isn't so knotted up, but it still doesn't really solve my problem.

There have been, in my life, a few people that I consider catalysts for me. A person that can ignite that dormant fire, and get me motivated to really be who I am, to help me get myself back in focus. I never know who they are until it happens, and there have only been maybe 3 or 4. It's nothing that they consciously do, it just is. I don't know what it is about these people that makes them a catalyst, and another person just another friend; I don't know what elevates them. I guess that is part of their mystique. Not everything has to be explained away or so overwrought. I have recently met another catalyst. I never would have thought at the jump he would be one, but there it is. Since meeting, the words have just poured out of me at a frantic pace, I can't seem to stop writing. I have so many thoughts and ideas coming to the surface. I feel emotionality again, not just perfunctory and inane. I definitely feel awake. I know some would say I am just attributing all these things to this event, and I am giving this person too much credit, but I don't agree. This comes after long amounts of introspection built upon by past catalysts. This isn't a new concept for me. I have just never wrote it down, or told anyone about it before. It's just one of the many unuttered things that you can find swirling around in my head.

There is something about the smell of stale ash and fresh laundry that I find so entirely intoxicating. And I have this image in my head, of these Byzantine-style fingers, disproportionately elongated with almost androgynous looking nails, slightly longer than most men would wear them. They are adroit and slender, with a tinge of yellow to the skin. It just keeps playing in my mind. I will admit, he seems like an unlikely catalyst, if I were to meet him on the street, I don't know if I would have gave it a second thought. But, alas I can never really know that, because that's not how things played out. I am not sure if they are still playing out or not, though. I think people find it hard to believe that I really am not attracted to very many people. I can count on one hand how many men I have actually been attracted to, and I have gotten to know them all except one. I totally chickened out, he gave me his number, but I could never bring myself to call. I had totally lost my confidence at that time, so it was understandable, but I still won't forgive myself for it. Which I guess kind of plays into this.

I lead with my sexuality, or so I've been told, which I think could give people the wrong impression about me. I have never been promiscuous, I have only ever been with people that I was dating or knew for a long time. I just can't help, but go full force in all of my connections with men. I really only have 2 modes, completely introverted or completely uninhibited. I prefer the uninhibited side, but it still only applies to one concentration at a time. I know that sometimes I have a narrow focus, but I really put all myself into the things I do. I didn't think I would meet someone even remotely cool, let alone, a catalyst right out of the gate, but that seems to be my cross to bear. It happened when I was 16 too, then again at 18, twice in fact, then. Compliments and fawning by men are so meaningless to me unless they come from someone I actually respect and feel is a really cool person throughout. Then it means something to me. I am very bad at taking compliments, but when it comes from a catalyst, it really affects me. I take it to heart, probably to my detriment, but I can't help it. I don't like doing anything half-heartedly. I want to be able to at least say I tried my damnedest to go after what I want. I don't want that God-awful what-could-have-been feeling that never really dissipates, it just gets pushed down little by little. I know this attitude can work against me though, because I tend to push people to their breaking point. I have a uncanny knack for being able to push people's buttons. I can unintentionally draw a raw emotion out of the men that draw raw emotion out of me.

I failed to mention, that catalysts don't stick around for too long, they tend to burn hot and quick, like a lightening strike. I don't know what to make of it, at this point, but I feel like their really needs to be a second act to this. At the very least, it has helped me figure out some other things that were eroding my consciousness. I am glad to be back in the interplay of shadow and light, so much better than that shapeless grey blur. Back in the hard chiaroscuro of conscious vs. visceral, thought vs. emotion, inhibition vs. exhibition.

Ramblin'

I have realized that the idea of "going all Jack Kerouac" is much better than actually going all Jack Kerouac. At first, like most things, it was so exhilarating, I couldn't believe I actually had the nerve to pack a bag and head out on the open road. It was exciting and fresh, the music was good and my spirits were high, but that only lasted for about an hour and half. My enthusiasm began to wane, as my neck and back tightened, and the Cd's ran dry. Then a halfway decent song would come on, and my vigor would return in bursts, but by the 3 hour mark, I was so bored, and becoming more and more road-weary. Then at hour 4, I seriously entertained the idea, "I can kind of see why people pick up hitchhikers...Is that a prison sign?" Loneliness definitely set in, as the hour grew later and later. Driving alone at 2:30 in the morning is no easy task, even with the greatest passion at the outset. Driving became my only focus, just trying to stay between the lines, and avoiding random debris in the road. It began to feel surreal, like I wasn't really there, like it was all in my head, a strange daydream. Not too mention, I was malnourished, only having a yogurt and a chai tea the entire day. I think that is the closest I will ever come to experiencing the sensation of smoking peyote in the desert (and yes, there was subsequent discussion about spirit animals. We decided that mine would obviously be a giraffe, until I pointed out that I think the animal had to be native to North America, but nothing else really fit.)

Even though my thoughts tend to wander and race on a regular basis, nothing quite lets your mind meander and run like driving along the highway. My thoughts definitely headed towards some weird places. I don't know if I gained any clarity or not. That is a lie, I did gain clarity, but I just don't know if I can accept it right now. I think perhaps if the route was more scenic, it would have been more enjoyable, and less of a chore, I-75 isn't exactly the Pacific Coast Highway. At hour 5 1/2 I had to stop and gas up, I tried to make it all the way back without stopping, I ran the gas tank down to the lowest I think it has ever been, (in that car anyway,) it almost became a weird test of will, to see how far I would actually go without stopping. I started to feel the engine strain and sputter, so I decided to pull off, but I made it pretty far. Odd sidenote: while pumping gas, something I haven't done in years, no joke, I was the absolute coldest I think I have ever been. The wind cut right through me with absolutely no regard, I was wearing a dress and sandals, but even so, it was colder than it had been all winter, or any winter for that matter. I just kept shaking uncontrollably, I couldn't even fill the tank, I had to run in the car. But even more curious was, the second I got in the car, I just wasn't cold anymore, it didn't linger, like it should have. Very strange.

I don't think I have gotten the wanderlust out of my system quite yet, I am already thinking about where to go next. But honestly, if someone wanted to go along with me and this craziness, I would literally go in a heartbeat. I don't even care who the tag-along would be, at this point I would go with practically anyone. For God's sakes, I was contemplating picking up a hitchhiker, even someone I just know peripherally would be better than that. I feel like they would have a website called hitchhiker.com, that matches up people road-tripping across the country. If they don't have that, they totally should. Now that would be adventurous. I totally blew off a job interview to partake in this madness, and it actually feels pretty good. I haven't had any real obligations to blow off in a long time. It is very liberating, I guess I kind of attached to my bum lifestyle, like el duderino. "The dude abides, man, the dude abides." (Yeah, I know that is a lame, cop-out way to end this essay, but I am working on like 3 hours sleep after driving 6, so cut me some f-ing slack, punks.)

A Self-Indulgent Open Letter

I am the first to admit that I am horribly indecisive, even regarding inane things like where to eat for dinner or what outfit to wear. When it comes to anything with a little more heft, it gets exponentially harder. Questions like; Where I am going or What should I be doing? are almost impossible for me to answer. As much as I like to plan things, my impatience gets the better of me. I hate making plans, because plans are too far away. When people say they are spontaneous, I know they are speaking metaphorically. No one really seems that spontaneous to me, it seems almost impossible. Spontaneity means thinking of something and the very next moment actually doing it. I feel like I am more spontaneous (read:impulsive) than most people I come across. Once I decide to do something, which is no easy feat for me, I actually do it, or try my damnedest. I am nothing if not tenacious. I don't think people see me that way though. I think my family and friends think I give up far too easily, and that I have a defeatist attitude most of the time. I think it's just cynicism disguised as defeatism. When I want something, I try to do everything I can think of to get it. It doesn't always work out, but I won't let anyone say I didn't try. Once I decide on something, I have to see it to fruition, in a almost manic fashion. I can't really relax until it is completed. But the relaxation doesn't last long, then it is on to the next goal. I think I do enjoy the thrill of the hunt, but sometimes, you really do have to eat. I realize that I get on these hare-brained tangents and won't relent until it reaches a breaking point at some place in the spectrum. Sometimes, you just want to speed, and even if you want to slow down, something stops you, something won't let you hit the brake. Sometimes I think I never really turned 19, that I am perpetually stuck in my 18-year old mentality forever, which isn't so bad, if you can find someone else like you. I have what I am calling a Pietra Pan complex, a Peter Pan complex for girls tinged with sexual undertones. I keep trying to let others make the decisions for me, I can see that now, what others may call laid-back or agreeable I have decoded as indecision and cowardice. I had the best thought yesterday, while driving around, which I often do to clear my head. What if I just picked up and left? Not for that long, just a little while. I don't really have any obligations that would prevent me from going, just the cage I put myself in. I really just want to drive to San Francisco, just literally throw some stuff in a bag and start driving. I am adamant in this next statement; if someone were with me in the car right at that moment and agreed to go, I swear I would have gone. It felt so good to have that impulsive thought and not have any nagging feelings to fend off. I seem to be doing too much thinking as it is, and it hasn't served my purposes yet. I felt a freedom in my soul that I haven't felt in forever. Just the thought of it was exhilarating. I miss aimlessness and arbitration, just doing things because they felt right at that exact moment. I know I am getting closer to rediscovering myself as my wanderlust grows. If I had any nerve at all, I would just do it, instead of sitting here writing about it. People would think I am even crazier than they once imagined, but then again, no one has ever accused me of being boring. Just the thought of my parents faces makes me want to do it. As they silently shake their head in exasperation, exchanging knowing looks, leaving my husband to have to explain why I leaped off the deep end. It definitely makes me smile, I like toying with that idea.

Drug of Choice

As the cognitive dissonance runs rampant in my brain, I am forced to acknowledge the crossroads I have brought myself to. I have always been a person pushed to extremes, either rigid, puritanical and practically hermetic, or completely impulsive and uninhibited, with no regard for consequences. I can never quite get a handle on the things I want from my life. I am horribly indecisive, even at trivial things, yet so sure of myself and my convictions, bordering on obstinate. I know I am too often times in my head, and not really experiencing the things that are actually going on right in front of me. Very few people are able to draw me into the moment, as I can't seem to do it myself. There are a few times in my life where I genuinely rebelled, against, at the time, oppressive forces, for a teenager, anyway. But now, it just seems silly to rebel at 27, against what exactly? All of my choices since that time have been solely my own, no one to scapegoat my guilt onto, like before. That leaves me in a bit of an existential crisis. Where am I am going, what am I am going to do, what is going to make me happy? Sometimes, I wonder if anything will ever make me happy for more than a brief period. Maybe life isn't supposed to have an everlasting happiness. Life is just an amalgamation of all the little tastes of happiness, just so one doesn't get too complacent. As Denis Leary says "the chocolate chip cookies" of life. At first glance, a giant, warm chocolate chip cookie looks so inviting and satisfying. The aroma is intoxicating and leads you right to it, you take the first bite, and can't believe how delicious it is, and maybe for a minute you are content. As you continue eating the cookie, each bite more filling than the last, your stomach begins to distend and all of the exhilaration of eating the cookie drains away. You start to feel nauseous towards the end and you really never want to see a cookie again. I feel like that is how I react to every situation in my life. But then again, I think complacency is much worse. With complacency comes resentment and eventually hate. Complacency creates such an environment that you can never really get out of it. It only compounds exponentially. When complacency hits me, I feel like I am suspended in some sort of viscose jelly, I have the ability to move, but it just takes so much effort that I don't even bother. I don't want to live like that anymore. But the alternative for me has always been running wild and never slowing down long enough to think about what I am doing. Is there any compromise for me? It hasn't been the case thus far.

Because I am so wired all the time, with my thoughts always racing a mile a minute, I tend to be anxious, which can sometimes be interpreted as excitement. It's the same processes and neurotransmitters that work for both emotions. To me the absence of anxiety/excitement is depression. I don't know what to do with myself, when my anxiety temporarily recedes. I've grown so accustomed to it, that it is more difficult for me to be without it. I can, for the most part, handle the anxiety and translate it into other activities, but without that energy, I really don't know what to do with myself. I guess that's why the middle of the road has never really been for me. I could never settle for mediocrity in any aspect of my life. That lends itself to my perfectionist attitude that permeates everything I attempt. Once you have experienced the highest highs, it's hard to go back to ordinary, even though what comes with it, inevitably, are the lowest lows. Every time, I always claim it is worth it, though. It seems kind of ridiculous, from the outside, to continually set yourself up for a fall, just to experience that apex for a second, but I still contend that it is worth it. The pain is immense down in the valley, but the summit is so overwhelmingly beautiful. It is a complex and taxing way to live, but every so often I summon up the courage to start climbing again. The alternative is no place for me, indifference is the most horrible emotion in the world. It is so useless, and depressing.

I have always been able to get high on my emotions, I never needed drugs or alcohol. In fact, the dozen or so times I have smoked weed, I never actually got high, and when I drink, my demeanor never really changes. Whatever drugs do to other people, is already permanently turned on in me. But my drug of choice has always and will always be love/lust. As of late, I have compartmentalized love and lust. They absolutely have grown to represent the 2 halves of my personality, my dual nature, the puritanical represented by love, and the uninhibited represented by lust. Needless to say, it only creates problems in my relationship with my husband. I find it very hard to reconcile the 2, so it leaves me without much sexual attraction to him, which kills me inside, and I know kills him. He is an amazing man, and friend, hands down, the best person I have ever met, I admire him more than anyone, and I never want to lose him as a part of my life. I don't want to hurt him, but I feel like he deserves better than me and my neurotic nonsense. He needs someone that can admire him and make love to him with their whole heart. And, honestly, I am not usually this selfish, but lately I have been thinking how I want someone that can connect the 2 halves of my subconscious. I so want it to be him, but I just don't know if it is, anymore. I need that white hot passion to survive, I am addicted. Maybe, once I had it, but as it leaned toward the love side, I pulled away, something I will never forgive myself for. I got scared and ran away, which just isn't how I want to be. Vulnerability is very hard to contend with. I often think of a Mark Twain quote about how when looking back you will regret the things you didn't do, much more than the things you did. I think that is the theme of my existential crisis.

I have been doing a lot of contemplating, and I have come to the realization that I need that electricity, that fire that comes from connecting with someone in that way. Everything else just pales in comparison, to that excited feeling that flutters in your stomach, the little tingle that runs down your back, that spark when they touch your hand. I need someone to reconcile my compartmentalized love and lust. If I can find that person, then maybe I can be happy, even for just a blink of an eye. Maybe monogamy isn't supposed to exist, just a fairy-tale notion perpetuated by millions of unhappy people that want you to join their ranks. Unmarried men are characterized as sleazy playboys with a Peter Pan complex, and unmarried women are cast as unlovable spinsters with nothing to offer the opposite sex. I don't know how long even the best relationships are supposed to last, it's hard to keep the fire going for so long. It's so much work that the fun drains away. Falling in love is the absolute pinnacle of existence, the best feeling ever felt, but falling out of love is so gut-wrenching, especially when there is no big falling out, just an almost imperceptible fading that could only be recognized so far after the fact, like an old photograph of yourself.

I know I want something more than this. After you have had a taste of how amazing it can be, it's hard to want anything less. Maybe this increasingly taxing venture will help me put things into perspective and lead me to the answers I am looking for. I know I want something more than this.