Wave one: Initial excitement at being able to read people’s blogs, people I’ve met only briefly. Wave two: Reading. Wave three: Feeling kind of sick about how everyone – maybe everyone on the planet save for a few monks – are so fucked up, sad, angry. I’m speaking collectively here. I am not condemning anyone. I am speaking of the human condition, manifest in blogs but really manifest in, well, man.
I think the reason I stay single for long stretches has an explanation other than what I told housemate Tim (I’d said I didn’t want to simply go through the motions with any woman, I’d rather be single for awhile and have real – but rare – relationships). I think it is also that I hate the way that when relationships go bad, people are left feeling sad. And since most relationships go bad, the expectation is that relationships mean you’ll end up hurting someone and making them sad. That’s logic. That’s truth. And that blows.
Prior to reading those blogs, I was feeling that naive love I sometimes feel, the love of opportunities and possibilities – the hopes that disregard the bitter logic of statistics. Unreal, you might say. But so nice. And apparently that love carries most of our lives to action. We date, whether we know the likely outcome or not.
But some of us don’t date. We see the futures, we know that love expires like milk, ‘cept when it doesn’t (and then it lasts forever, even when dating-relationships are over and friendships remain, sometimes causing a different kind of sadness – one that is, at least, better by far than the sadness of hurting people – better because it is proof of good things).
Ah well, at least this gives rise to music. The Weepies “Say I Am You”. From Barts, a rare nonline purchase.
And then there’s also the recognition that the loneliness that I feel, that others feel, also causes compulsions of its own. As that linked blog says, “All we have in common is we’re single lonely people…I’m afraid I’m tempted by something that only looks like what I need on the surface. Eating candy when you’re starving, right, it doesn’t work.” And I see that as true. And I also wonder, why then does it feel like it might work, like it might bring some comfort? Are we really such stupid animals that we pick the wrong things? Or is there something, something small perhaps, in even a casual relationship, that provides something? Is there, perhaps, yet a third kind of sadness that a casual night causes, one of those better kinds of sadnesses, one that reminds us at least of the general shape of a good thing. No that’s not a penis reference, I mean the shape of a good relationship (hey, “relation-ship” has even got the word “ship” in it, not far from the word “shape” at all — I wonder if there’s a linguistic link there; was it once “relation-shape”?). Can we dream at all if we have no form to the dream? A wire-frame of what a real relationship looks like.
I think I am trying to pep myself up to the possibility of trying to date, even when it might not be clear that a person is a true soulmate. I haven’t tried just dating. I’ve had powerful, turbulent, but real relationships. But am I losing something by not dating more? Rambling now. But at least I feel a need to explore. And that is something closer to that “love of possibilities” than I felt at the start of this blog entry, so, that’s good. It ain’t naive bliss, but it is at least some kind of hope. I’m pretty sure it is hope. Hm. That’s ok.