One day I fell. Hard. I couldn’t get back up because as I laid there in complete and total confusion and despair, I had no way of knowing which way was up. The world hadn’t spun, it simply twisted behind its facade. On the surface all was as it always had been: people went to work and the store, they played outside with their pets and children, they ate laughed, drank, cried, and loved. But as I finally stood, slowly so as to hide my wobbling knees, looking around attenuating myself to this new existence, it became clear that the shock waves had damaged the foundation of things. All around was the sound of familiar voices hitting notes I had never heard before, people moving in much more ways to ponder, and most of all eyes lingering on me more puzzled than ever.
There are just so many rules in social life to follow… too many rules! I know them all so well that I am aware of many many opportunities to to break them, but I don’t break them on the world stage. Instead I break them in my mind. I play out the entire scene for my own amusement and often detriment. Generally the penalty for breaking social rules is embarrassment. If perchance you happen to not get embarrassed then people go out of their way to explain why you should be embarrassed while giving you those looks meant to teach children to behave and conform. Having broken many social rules, I am conditioned to be highly aware of rules, so aware that I automatically leave social gatherings with a feeling that I did something wrong. It is an automatic response that typically lasts until I finish reviewing the event for validation of the feeling. On a good day this feeling doesn’t bother me, but if I have been stressed, hungover, or not feel particularly well, my ability to deflect irrational thoughts decreases and I become unable to shake it off. Dwelling in these irrational thoughts only makes me feel worse. Awareness of what is going on helps but doesn’t fully cure my episode of despair. All I can do is hope that my general sense of well-being returns to brighten my day.
In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory. After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again. For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…” Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”. He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour. He remembered too.
Crush always likes to slam into me like a 30 foot tsunami. I just don’t know what hit me and I don’t see him coming (no pun intended). His desperation for a home is a result of my desperation for autonomy. I say he is “desperate” because his fancy takes such a wide variation of forms, so wide that I couldn’t possibly choose just one. I love them all (all meaning foreign ones, domestics are just pass times). He makes me love the way they speak, the words they say, the tone they use, the stuff I would normally shun, the actions they so easily express without asking…I love it all. I want to take it home with me. Nurture it and live off it to the point where I am completely dependent on it.
Sadly crush doesn’t stay in one place for long. His constant shifts sadden me. But in my deepest, darkest despair over what I can’t have there is always a little light checking in. He feeds me attention when I least expect it. He actually gives me hope…. but I think it is just crush in friend’s clothing…
When I was a kid I would plow through fantasy books. The nice thing about many books of that genre is that they come in whole sets. After reading one book one day I could read another book in the series the next day. When forced out of my book world to eat dinner, socialize, or go to school, I would wiggle in my seat in anticipation of what was about to happen next in the story. Instantly, once released from my waking life necessities, I would grab the book (which usually wasn’t far from grasp) and nestle into my pillows once again back in fantasyland.
Unfortunately, I eventually grew out of this genre. Suddenly it didn’t take me away anymore. All the far off lands sounded familiar. The main character of one series strikingly resembled the chosen one from another. Still I kept trying and kept reading to get my self back into that wonderful wash of fantasyland emotions. In revisiting books of by gone days I could feel moments of the saturation, but sadly they were just moments.
In my searching moved around to other parts of the books store I found the fiction section and thought, “Finally! With all these to choose from I should be quite happy to devour the contents of these shelves.” But no, they didn’t stick. The stories had characteristics of fantasy in that they weren’t real, but they were fantasy based on this concert jungle I already walked around in. I may as well have been watching soap operas or cheesy chick flicks. In my withdrawal state of despair I thought, “what else is left? Reality is so boring, I don’t want to read about reality… or do I ”
It was then that I wandered into the Philosophy aisle. Philosophy, the mother of all sciences, the root of ponderance, and driving force of figuring out what the heck is going in this life. Suddenly reality wasn’t so boring. I pondered existence, behavior, the simple things, culture, and habit. I noticed references to it everywhere in history, advertising, phrases….it was everywhere. The world finally had some color again.
By then I wasn’t a kid anymore. I could not just pull out a book and read through calculus or finance classes. I had to pay attention to the practicality of the world. Groom myself for employment opportunities and speak in simple terms to avoid being misunderstood. After all of that, the Philosophy topics I had to leave behind were no longer interesting. Once again, I found myself needing something to look forward to, some happy excitement to break me out of my Eeyore resting phase. So I decided not to find it in just books… but to actually live it instead.