'He kinda shoulda sorta woulda loved her if he coulda
This story's getting closer to the end
He kinda shoulda sorta woulda loved her if he coulda
He'd rather be alone than pretend'
- Lemonheads, 'Confetti'
(and thanks to iMTheOwl for reminding me of this lyric)
Kate keeps sending me these love letters, these lengthy disquisitions upon the profundity of our friendship and dissections of our interaction, these hopeful projections of our future collusion.
And it is becoming increasingly clear to me that I don't really want these letters, nor any of this.
This is partly due to the rather brute fact that I am simply not attracted to Kate. I have always liked my women skinny (and not just skinny - boyish) where Kate is very girly and round (very pink). But also, I don't like the way she talks so fast and so much and enunciates so poorly that I can only catch one sentence in three. I don't like her over-friendly disposition or propensity to talk to, and try to assist, strangers in public. This is, I'm sure, all very nice, but, to my jaded eyes, she comes across as a do-gooder, worse, as a busy-body.
And now she wants to worry about my depression, now she wants to save me from myself; now she wants me to write a book with her and be the guinea pig in the open marriage she thinks she has with her husband. And I'm not sure I want any of it.
But what troubles me most is knowing that I have been writing love letters like this to Andrea for the past six months and, given the inadequate, disproportionate response, I am enclined to wonder whether she receives them with the same discomfort and impatience with which I have begun to read Kate's epistles. I asked Andrea to sing 'Desperado', hoping she would see the sense in the pay-off line:
'You'd better let somebody love you, before it's too late'
But what if it's the wrong somebody who's trying to love you?
All this reminds me, too, of my first (or, probably not: second or third) split with my first girlfriend, EMLC (who is back around the fringes of my life as a dangerous reminder), who was still into me when I could no longer stand to be in a room with her. Several months later, together again, the situation was reversed, I needy and desperate, she stifled and awkward. I think it was this experience that left me with such a bitter, pessimistic view of relationships, a sense that true love, if it exists, can only ever be fleeting, for it is soon sullied by jealousies, inequalities and power struggles. Since no love exists in a vacuum, pretty soon physical, social, economic or psychological circumstances will cause one partner to feel inferior to the other and grow more dependent. In the face of this weakness, the dominant partner's love will begin to wain. In this jostling for position, any love would be corroded.
This ain't love, it's thermodynamics.
This story's getting closer to the end
He kinda shoulda sorta woulda loved her if he coulda
He'd rather be alone than pretend'
- Lemonheads, 'Confetti'
(and thanks to iMTheOwl for reminding me of this lyric)
Kate keeps sending me these love letters, these lengthy disquisitions upon the profundity of our friendship and dissections of our interaction, these hopeful projections of our future collusion.
And it is becoming increasingly clear to me that I don't really want these letters, nor any of this.
This is partly due to the rather brute fact that I am simply not attracted to Kate. I have always liked my women skinny (and not just skinny - boyish) where Kate is very girly and round (very pink). But also, I don't like the way she talks so fast and so much and enunciates so poorly that I can only catch one sentence in three. I don't like her over-friendly disposition or propensity to talk to, and try to assist, strangers in public. This is, I'm sure, all very nice, but, to my jaded eyes, she comes across as a do-gooder, worse, as a busy-body.
And now she wants to worry about my depression, now she wants to save me from myself; now she wants me to write a book with her and be the guinea pig in the open marriage she thinks she has with her husband. And I'm not sure I want any of it.
But what troubles me most is knowing that I have been writing love letters like this to Andrea for the past six months and, given the inadequate, disproportionate response, I am enclined to wonder whether she receives them with the same discomfort and impatience with which I have begun to read Kate's epistles. I asked Andrea to sing 'Desperado', hoping she would see the sense in the pay-off line:
'You'd better let somebody love you, before it's too late'
But what if it's the wrong somebody who's trying to love you?
All this reminds me, too, of my first (or, probably not: second or third) split with my first girlfriend, EMLC (who is back around the fringes of my life as a dangerous reminder), who was still into me when I could no longer stand to be in a room with her. Several months later, together again, the situation was reversed, I needy and desperate, she stifled and awkward. I think it was this experience that left me with such a bitter, pessimistic view of relationships, a sense that true love, if it exists, can only ever be fleeting, for it is soon sullied by jealousies, inequalities and power struggles. Since no love exists in a vacuum, pretty soon physical, social, economic or psychological circumstances will cause one partner to feel inferior to the other and grow more dependent. In the face of this weakness, the dominant partner's love will begin to wain. In this jostling for position, any love would be corroded.
This ain't love, it's thermodynamics.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
That Cousteou whatever actually is a still from the film Rushmore (yup. another with Bill Murray.) and you should rent it maybe if it intrigues you. It's a great quote, though.
You'll see my writing in the mail soon enough.
Oh thank you. My smile is actually crooked (seriously) but when my lips are closed we're good. Otherwise I have British teeth on top of a crooked jaw. I am funny. I would be cool in an English bar.
I'm happy to hear that you're back in the internet neighborhood again! I'm always sad when friend go grey and can never stand to remove them from my friend's list. Happily, I'll be able to cut Cutriver lose as he's new & improved!
The last description reminds me of a relationship that I'd capsized faster than a bowling ball passenger in a paper boat. Her reasoning (along w/ those of a couple of others) was my inability to satisfy myself. I thought that happiness was only achieved through an external source (the relationship ideal). As things strayed away from where I thought they should be, the entire thing plunged into the murky depths.
Dunno...rather than having anything profound to say, I'm just happy that you're back!