The Human Touch of Blackbody Radiation
This has been a transitional week, to pare it down to the cream filling. I have flirted with seratonin waves and met many new people that I'm tickled to call friends. I reconnected and deepened previous friendships in the most novel ways, including but not limited to the old X-Men arcade game from the late eighties (please tell me everyone remembers Storm and her delightful Eighties cape and electric pimp cane), staggering spurts of creative sketching, about twenty massage circles, the best trip to Savannah to date, about 9 hours of ecstatic overnight beach time, the birth and death of a crush...well, suffice to say sleep has been shuffled from first priority and the Summer of Love (which freakin EVERYONE is suddenly ferociously excited about) has been concieved with the most resonant of Bangs. This week has been my salvation in so many ways...I think it really has become the axis on which I am trying now to pivot to a more positive and productive light. To dwell on one thing:
Said crush. Crush began, in all fairness, under the glaze of a chemical moon. Crush seemed at least mildly reciprocal. Crush seemed like maybe I would have a happy story to tell instead of the stories for which I am now notorious( ...As long as I can have sex with them and never see them again...), and which itself hasn't even happened since February. However, complications. Crush apparently once crashing and rationality ensued to have forgotten, whereas I remember. All water under the bridge, although mildly nettling. More important epiphany: Realizing last night over Cape Cods and darts what I've secretly been nibbling for several days, since I was told rather bluntly what I already knew ("You'd be best off getting over this," by someone who is wiser than I), that crush never really existed. That crush was simply the detrital wash of meeting somebody who was available, who seemed at least intrigued by me, whom I found bearable. That crush was just a manifestation of wanting something so badly that I even invented a minor heartbreak to gloss over what I already knew. That even though crush still twitters a bit, that it is no longer for a person(entirely) but more for the sheer fact that
I hope to fall in love again. I really really would like to, and I think I can.
...I'm not even lending credence to those other thoughts.
Said crush. Crush began, in all fairness, under the glaze of a chemical moon. Crush seemed at least mildly reciprocal. Crush seemed like maybe I would have a happy story to tell instead of the stories for which I am now notorious( ...As long as I can have sex with them and never see them again...), and which itself hasn't even happened since February. However, complications. Crush apparently once crashing and rationality ensued to have forgotten, whereas I remember. All water under the bridge, although mildly nettling. More important epiphany: Realizing last night over Cape Cods and darts what I've secretly been nibbling for several days, since I was told rather bluntly what I already knew ("You'd be best off getting over this," by someone who is wiser than I), that crush never really existed. That crush was simply the detrital wash of meeting somebody who was available, who seemed at least intrigued by me, whom I found bearable. That crush was just a manifestation of wanting something so badly that I even invented a minor heartbreak to gloss over what I already knew. That even though crush still twitters a bit, that it is no longer for a person(entirely) but more for the sheer fact that
I hope to fall in love again. I really really would like to, and I think I can.
...I'm not even lending credence to those other thoughts.