*Written Thursday September 20, 2012*
It's Thursday night and I'm home alone. The roommate is away at her parents' house for the evening, the boyfriend works a night shift, and I've got an early morning ahead--so I'm doing the only reasonable thing. That is to say, I'm walking around naked, drinking orange juice straight out of the jug, and watching PS I Love You while contemplating life, love, and sadness; and how I wish I had a cool accent. Or a motorcylce. Or a castle in Ireland. Alas, instead, I lay "blogging" in this spiral notebook because we have no internet in our tiny duplex.
Lately I've been thinking about how nerve-racking and terrifying it can be to love and invest in people. As the Bible says, "perfect love casts out fear." But we aren't capable of perfect love, are we? I always tell people that it's worth the risk. Even if it goes down in flames, it's worth the awesome things you feel and learn when you lay yourself bare. I always talk a big game. And it's true that I outwardly bounce back pretty quickly. I've got the "Sassy Single Lady" mentality down. I give good love life advice. More couple-focused friends of mine stand in awe of my skills. However, doing these things--throwing my whole heart into friendships and relationships--it may look like a set of fearless endeavors to an outsider...but anyone who really knows me can testify to the fact that I am as big of a mushy scaredy-cat nutcase as anyone else. I don't let it keep me from what I want, but I spazz nonetheless.
On one of the most mortifying nights of my life, for example, I had been hit with a double whammy. Firstly, my friend-soulmate, the illustrious Whitteny Stinnett, had abruptly moved away. Then, after two years of being single and subconsciously surrounding myself with douchebags who were only interested in dragging me through their bipolar whims, I had developed legitimate feelings for someone. To top it off, that someone I still was trying to pretend to feel casually about actually wanted to be with me as well. Typical Haylee can be dramatic, admittedly. That night, though--well, I was like the most insanely exaggerated caricature of myself. I went dancing, as was my weekend custom at that time, and overindulged on girly mixed drinks (embarrassing enough in and of itself). After a lot of pinballing around, getting sick, and dropping my phone on sidewalks, I called Whitteny. "Why did you leave? No one else gets me. Blah blah, sob sob, incoherent thought." (obviously verbatim) Sharon, who I had only just begun to become close friends with, saw firsthand what a pitiful weirdie I can be. Hey, just because you can take a lot doesn't mean it doesn't do its damage. Nerd example: Boromir took like 12 arrows whilst fighting the Uruk-Hai to protect the little hobbitses. He was seemingly going strong--until, you know, all the bleeding and pierced organs killed him. Just saying.
Anywho, back to me being a nutcase. Aren't most people nutcases when love is a factor? What if our friends abandon us? What if our significant others find us wanting and pick someone else? What if any of them die or let us down or decide to hate us? Not that I ever freak out about such things. Nope, not me. And never do I worry enough to make a fool out of myself or get disproportionately upset about silly things. No sir. the thing is, you can't control what people do; you CAN control what YOU do. If someone breaks my heart, I have to decide that I will remain confident and strive to be my best. It's knowing that you were passionate and that you loved despite your fear that gets you through. I'm rambling now, like I do. The point is, well, even though I work hard and take care of the people I love and refuse to quit, I am still just a squishy puddle of sentiment who can be crushed with the simple act of someone forgetting my birthday or by never being surprised by a kind word or gesture. That's not the point of this, actually, even though I said "the point is."
I don't know what I'm saying really except that though love brings perhaps the greatest happinesses, it also brings the big scary. Tiny things suddenly seem significant. You're self-assured and self-doubting all at once. To sum it up, I'm a stupid girl and writing all this nonsense is my way of puzzling out my own ridiculous nature. I need a hug. And maybe some hot fudge cake. And to pretend for a few minutes that being self-reliant and able to be alone for a night without being sad and fussy isn't important. But I will have none of those things. Just a big dose of reality and the memory of the spider that I didn't kill on my ceiling earlier today and oh God--I'm going to die of its poisonous venom...maybe I should put clothes on for when the paramedics come...
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