Almost, Maybe Love Stories (Part Two)

Dopamine.  Norepinephrine.  Serotonin.  Love.

Didn’t I say that I’d come back to it?  Romantic Love?  The best (brain) chemical overload known to man?

And, so here I am, ready to write about it but wanting nothing really to do with it.  Love.  I’d rather get a heftier-than-thou serotonin release by licking one of those psychotropic toads.

Seriously.    (And, yeah, the poison of the Colorado River Toad can be used as a psychedelic stimulant.  No, really.  Don’t ask me how I know this…)

Okay, so, I haven’t made much progress from my Love Stories (Part One) post in which I admitted to only writing about unrequited love, romantic tragedy, and abuse.  Maybe I’ve even backslid, regressed, fallen deeper into the hole of anti-love than I was before.  It’s just that, barring the whole initial gut-wrenching giddy, to make romantic love last (or at least to make a partnership last) takes more than a magic love mushroom and more, even, than hard work.  Furthermore, it’s so, so messy and wildly unkempt.  That love.  And, while not bitter (I’m telling the truth, I really don’t feel bitter), I’m not interested in rejoining the muddy world of love work.  I’m just not.  And maybe never will be.  Is that so bad?

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Necessary Silences

“Silence is of different kinds, and breathes of different meanings.” – Charlotte Bronte

A few weeks ago, I was reminded by a friend, when expressing my frustration with writer’s block and stillness and other forms of utter boredom, that life is not always an adventure, that there are quiet moments and down times and that there are supposed to be.  Lately though, and perhaps I am just a sorry product of this instant gratification society, I have been relentlessly searching for the thrill of life.  So much so, that I rarely sit still.  I am, more often than not, living life in the hopes that something vivid and electrifying is going to happen at any moment and should happen and then, when it doesn’t (or sometimes even if it does), I’ve been told that I get all sorts of “poo poo” about it.  How’s that for living life without expectations?!?

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