One of my favorite songs (of all time, history of the world kind of thing) is by Emiliana Torrini. "Heartstopper":
You said I began
This messy state of love affair
And I drink too much and smoke too fast
And this city's cleared my innocence
Coffee is pouring out my ears
It's the only thing they have in here
And my heart stops beating...
This messy state of love affair
And I drink too much and smoke too fast
And this city's cleared my innocence
Coffee is pouring out my ears
It's the only thing they have in here
And my heart stops beating...
Well. I gave up the coffee this week, and now the only thing I've left to pour out is snot - to the nth degree. I've been waiting for this to happen! yet I'm frustrated... poor, sick little me.
My head's been falling heavy on my pillow. The sickness in me has forced my already top heavy stature straight to my head and it's become hard to - as they say - keep my chin up. What's prompted this inevitable infection? Has it been my apathetic approach to health and nutrition? The extra 20 hours of work I drag through weekly? The 5 hours of nightly snooze? The 13.1 miles I raced in the hills of Santa Cruz? The 6 crisises I diverted in suicidal teens? Do ya think this is adding up for me???
When it comes down to it, I'm not even sure that the above poisonous concoction is what's putting me out. Work and running, saving lives and enjoying a chocolate shake from Burger King once in a while... these were all things that used to make me feel alive. And now, ah yes, now. Somewhere in the line from past to present there was a shift in tolerance. Suddenly I can't handle the adversity that life naturally provides. The result? Drum roll anyone? Sinus implosion.
But I think I know what has happened here. My chaos is a four letter word that started with pink and red crayons in kindergarten, attached with sparkles and glitter and whimsical delight; and it'll ends in death. I'm talking about LOVE. --such a bitch.
Things were going really really well for me a while back. I was promoted at work, picked up a few projects, felt the grace of success with intermittent appreciation from others. I had a boyfriend (and a few on the back burner) and I was contented in a nice house with a parking space... La de da and me oh my, life was pleasant! I loved it!
I loved it too hard!! That's what happens to the brave and open. Folks like me are drawn to reckless love with our open hearts like a shark is to a pin drop of blood in the ocean. When you love - you become vulnerable to all of life's miseries. In reverse, it seems, when you're sheltered and a bit more cold... cautious... it's easier to get by sans emotional agony. It's a way of life I wish I could try on for size, but it'd be silly to, it's much too small.
I've had an open heart in a couple of recent (bad) relationships, and I've certainly had an open heart for the young people I work with. I've moved to a new apartment and had an open heart towards the girls I've lived with... Anyone could find me walking through Golden Gate Park or riding the N (or as I normally am, plum in my car to and fro the RWC), and no matter where I am, I'm being there vulnerably. Openly. Lovingly.
It's gotten me this far. My love has been pouring out, and organically, life's made it scab and try to heal; me being so effervescently rash, I've been picking at it and opening love up again. I've made my wounds visible, and in backlash, love's let in some harsh realities... which are now eating me from the inside out. I didn't quite expect love to look so indistinguishably like mucus trying to escape, but life is tricky like that. In the end - assuming this moment is all there ever is or will be - the sticky love I've tried to give is trapped within me, and will soon consume me whole.
From the book/film Feast of Love, a woman answers a man the question, "Why are you smiling?":
Looking out the window, an unusual man, an innocent man, an open-hearted man. Someone who has given tremendous love, but never had it returned, not in the way he deserves.
Regardless if I'm man or woman, love is feasting on me.
My head's been falling heavy on my pillow. The sickness in me has forced my already top heavy stature straight to my head and it's become hard to - as they say - keep my chin up. What's prompted this inevitable infection? Has it been my apathetic approach to health and nutrition? The extra 20 hours of work I drag through weekly? The 5 hours of nightly snooze? The 13.1 miles I raced in the hills of Santa Cruz? The 6 crisises I diverted in suicidal teens? Do ya think this is adding up for me???
When it comes down to it, I'm not even sure that the above poisonous concoction is what's putting me out. Work and running, saving lives and enjoying a chocolate shake from Burger King once in a while... these were all things that used to make me feel alive. And now, ah yes, now. Somewhere in the line from past to present there was a shift in tolerance. Suddenly I can't handle the adversity that life naturally provides. The result? Drum roll anyone? Sinus implosion.
But I think I know what has happened here. My chaos is a four letter word that started with pink and red crayons in kindergarten, attached with sparkles and glitter and whimsical delight; and it'll ends in death. I'm talking about LOVE. --such a bitch.
Things were going really really well for me a while back. I was promoted at work, picked up a few projects, felt the grace of success with intermittent appreciation from others. I had a boyfriend (and a few on the back burner) and I was contented in a nice house with a parking space... La de da and me oh my, life was pleasant! I loved it!
I loved it too hard!! That's what happens to the brave and open. Folks like me are drawn to reckless love with our open hearts like a shark is to a pin drop of blood in the ocean. When you love - you become vulnerable to all of life's miseries. In reverse, it seems, when you're sheltered and a bit more cold... cautious... it's easier to get by sans emotional agony. It's a way of life I wish I could try on for size, but it'd be silly to, it's much too small.
I've had an open heart in a couple of recent (bad) relationships, and I've certainly had an open heart for the young people I work with. I've moved to a new apartment and had an open heart towards the girls I've lived with... Anyone could find me walking through Golden Gate Park or riding the N (or as I normally am, plum in my car to and fro the RWC), and no matter where I am, I'm being there vulnerably. Openly. Lovingly.
It's gotten me this far. My love has been pouring out, and organically, life's made it scab and try to heal; me being so effervescently rash, I've been picking at it and opening love up again. I've made my wounds visible, and in backlash, love's let in some harsh realities... which are now eating me from the inside out. I didn't quite expect love to look so indistinguishably like mucus trying to escape, but life is tricky like that. In the end - assuming this moment is all there ever is or will be - the sticky love I've tried to give is trapped within me, and will soon consume me whole.
From the book/film Feast of Love, a woman answers a man the question, "Why are you smiling?":
Looking out the window, an unusual man, an innocent man, an open-hearted man. Someone who has given tremendous love, but never had it returned, not in the way he deserves.
Regardless if I'm man or woman, love is feasting on me.
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