On Love

Since I first heard of the concept love, I’ve dreamed of it. So I must have been, what, six? Seven?

As I got older, my daydreams changed from going to the movies and long, closemouthed Disney kisses to banter, adventure, and sex. They were always complicated and heavily-plotted, though—sometimes at recess, instead of going out to play, I would sit with my head on my desk and dream up some wildly romantic get boy-lose boy-get boy back story. I learned to tell my teachers I was tired and needed a nap.

This continued through high school and college and even after—and it got a lot more active. Instead of sitting or lying in bed with my eyes closed, I would go for long walks and meet and talk with the imaginary man I fell in love with. Or sometimes I would spend an entire day alone in my house (or dorm room, or apartment) not alone, but blissfully kept hostage by evil orcs/mobsters/vampires and—sigh!—being rescued. Or just talking and laughing with someone I loved.

This may sound very lonely and Miss Havishamy, but it wasn’t. I oftentimes couldn’t wait for family and friends and even boyfriends to leave me alone so I could get back to my daydreaming. It made me very happy, and I miss it terribly.

Because you see, I can’t anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll go on a walk, and I’ll bump into a stranger, and it’ll be some miraculous connection (you know the scene) and I’ll start talking to him and it’ll be just like old times…except, my brain will skip forward and I’ll think about what will happen when I get home and how will Guy feel and my heart will break and I so don’t care about imaginary stranger man and poof! He’s gone.

This is very frustrating. I’m just trying to have a harmless little daydream. It’s how I used to occupy my unoccupied time. I am now unable to have impure thoughts.

I’ve tried getting around the heartbreak by first imagining Guy having an affair, or suddenly turning into a bad person, which would thereby free me up to fall in love with that man who really needs a place to hide for the night because he’s Johnny Depp and the paparazzi are after him, and he and Vanessa split up, didn’t I know? But instead I’m so angry and hurt at the idea of being cheated on that I can’t keep Johnny from poofing either.

I suppose this is all very romantic. I am so in love with Guy that I am incapable of even thinking about possibly loving someone else.

It’s still fucking annoying though.