It is
universally known that girls like to talk about boys as much as we secretly
wish boys are talking about us. Then you hear all these stories and you can't
make heads or tails of ‘em and opinions that go totally against your
impression. You know like, if you've ever flown and all your instruments are
telling you you're going north, but everything in your mind and heart and body
is telling you you're going down? This is how I feel when putting together an opinion
of someone.
One I've
lately gotten is that people confuse sadness with loneliness. »He is such a sad
guy. She is really sad lately. I'm just so sad all the time. I don't have
anybody to love me.« That's loneliness, people. Sad is when your dog or brother
dies. Sad is when you hear 50 children drowned on a refugee boat. Sad is when
you read your life’s work is unoriginal, bland and mediocre. That’s helpless,
tired and defeated. That’s deep, deep, dark abyss of grief. Not having anyone
to wake up to, that’s lonely. Why do you think anyone buys a sex toy worth a
third of a normal paycheck?
As having
very many relatives means you’ll be going to very many funerals all the time
(fortunately not the case, in both directions), meeting many new people and
being interested in their stories means, you’ll be meeting many single people -
who hate being single. (Consequently it is remarked they’re very sad..) Okay,
so I was single for the first 25 years of my life and then I married and then I
married again, this time not a complete emotional fucking retard. But I’ve
never ever been lonely. (I mean until the first time I married.) I never hated
being alone. I never married because I didn’t want to be single. At the time it
just felt like it would be cool to belong to someone.
A lot of
times I hear people are so desperate to be in a relationship that the first
chance they get, they throw everything on the table too soon… Like, when you
haven’t gotten laid in a while and you want to impress someone giving you a
chance, you show everything you can do in one go. Like an attention starved
puppy. Like it’s considered tasteless to get too happy about finding someone
you like. Like that’s an instant overdose of emotional responsibility – when really
it’s just being grateful and excited and yourself.. (Of course I often feel I
do this exact same thing when I make a new friend, but then again I’ve long ago
learnt that if people aren’t able to get my passionate approach to everything
all the time, they won’t really be able to adjust and tolerate me ever, so it’s
better they grow apart early on.) This explosion of gratitude that ultimately
drains the relationship, though, I’m beginning to think these are the people
who expect all of their issues to magically disappear when they get involved
with another human. (Or, you know, OS.) Their bodies will instantly become
better looking, their interests will instantly become more inspirational, their
job will become less annoying, their money problems will become less pressing, their families will feel less
like a constant battlefield, they’ll have someone in their corner..
Well, yeah,
but … This isn’t a reason why you fall in love. Like Gatsby, building a palace around the assumption Daisy is perfect light. This is the stuff that happens
when you are part of a pair, but loneliness is a shadow that can linger a decade
into a happy marriage if you don’t know how to be happy on your own. How to
face your own freaky issues. I fucking
adore my husband. I am addicted to him. I smoulder him. I call him fifty times a
day. I buy him weird thing or, even worse, I make him weird things with my own
hands and time. I watch him sleep. I secretly take photographs of him sleeping
to look at when he’s away working. I write him letters on paper when he’s in
school for the day. I wear his clothes because they smell like him. I arrange
his collection of bullets on my shelves, even though he always gets angry. I
make him pancakes. I talk to his shoes. “Hey, shoes. He left you behind as
well, eh? No worries. He’ll be back soon. And don’t listen to slippers, bragging
they’re still warm, because they’re just being aloof.”
Ye. I’m
THAT nuts.
But these 9
hours he’s away … I love being alone. I always have. Not just alone, topless in
the middle of the desert, a nobody and a God at the same time, pressed between
the flatland and the skies like a bug in a book. That’s easy. Going to have coffees
with myself, going to the movies by myself, walking by myself, sleeping by
myself, learning about a funny story by myself with zero intention of telling
it… Countless stories I invented and wrote down and read on my own. Being able
to think my boobs are pretty fucking awesome on my own. They feel really good
when I am having sex with myself.
Life is an overwhelming
buffet of interesting things to admire. All of your head space occupied by
desperately seeking Susan all the time... That’s just such a fucking waste of
personality. And when you meet someone, sometimes it just feel right to plan
hitchhiking to Greenland after an hour of knowing them. To some that’s freaky
and unnatural, but … to the likes of us, it’s just refreshingly interesting and
original. Unsupervised by friends who know everything. Unrehearsed.
There’s a
guy I met lately that I think is cool. Dunno. He strikes me as cool. I want to
keep him, because he can read. He lives alone. I like that. I though seem to be
the only person to think that, because everybody else tells me he looks really
sad. I don’t think he’s sad. I don’t think he’s sad at all. I met him a dozen
times by now and I never got that impression his soul’s wailing. Lonely, sure.
He probably wouldn’t mind a rest from being reminded of his empty hands every
time he sees happy couples around him smooch. I assume. I don’t know. It seems
everyone else but me is bothered about being single. Fuck me if I know why
people nearing forties are so biologically codependent. But I keep looking at
his photos and trying to find deep sadness in his eyes and I just can’t see it.
I see stories and thoughts. I want to listen to him talk, because I think he
has interesting things to say. I never got the impression he’s on a verge of
starting to whine about his miserable, unfulfilled existence because one of
the five hundred and seventy eleven fucking chakras in the social standard of
regularity is lacking ... Having fade indigo eyes isn't melancholy by association - I know plenty people with huge blue eyes who are plenty perky. I dunno. I just like him. I meet several people I
like lately. I can’t understand why they wouldn’t be happy on their own. Like happiness
is a burden to be lifted and carried by a multitude.
And then of
course people have shitty days, because, let’s face it, when I have a shitty
day, I throw all of the things I mentioned above into my husband about how
fucking lonely I am for having to go to the movies by myself, throw some other
things at him, howl for half an hour, pack my things and move into the bathtub
with the dog.
Ye. I’m
THAT normal.
Few years back such nasty winds blew, they pulled out or broke all the trees..
Higher we got, of course, the more snow we had. Legolasing our way over it for a while, sooner or later each missed a step and got stuck.
Summit :D
Maja, Samo et moi with Alps in the back, bombing the photo..
On the way back, we checked out The Gallows - a monument to all the folk hanged here, guilty of smuggling. Again, these were jolly old times before it became illegal to ill-match punishment to the crime.
Woods were tranquil, though :)
I mentioned this statue before and how I am aroused by dying heroes... Can't help but to fantasise about a man with beautiful thighs, fighting his restraints, naked, angry and sweaty and.. Ugh..
This is really darkened shot, because in reality, the snow was so bright I wore my buffy over the eyes. With air this crisp, every speck of dirt in my lens becomes painfully evident...
