13701

There is a clot of bitterness
Pressing up behind my eyes.
It makes me stumble when I dance,
and unties insults from my toung.
The pressure metamorphs likeing into want-
desire that makes love a nieve anachronism.
It pushes me into a solitude 
that still must talk to, touch this solipsistic crowd,
but does not love them, and worse,
does not even care about them.
I smile without kindness;
I do not want to forgive these people. 

So I ate this reasonably delicious candy thing and I saw the inside of the wrapper.  It said "love without rules".  Which in my oppinion is an interesting subject.  I started thinking about relationships and how they can sort of only function with rules and expectations.  What would love without rules look like?  Actually, most of the things I'm considering as rules are more like habits and expectations.  Any thoughts?  It's on my mind; I'll probably add later.

I've got this down to a science:
I show up at his house,
eat his food,
kiss him,
swat his hand off my boob,
and leave again.

I've had some bad experiences with poetry in my youth, but this is quality.  
By Ben Jonson, written in 1609 

Still to Be Neat
STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powder'd, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th'adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Basically saying "If you're still all dressed up and made up, it probably means something's wrong.  It's pretty, but I love you more when you just look like you".  Prolly more relevent today than it was 400 years ago.

It's valentines day soon, so there's a lot of "I love you"s floating around.  I hate it.  It degrades the complexity and real impact of love.  The last person who said "I love you" to me was a kid who sits next to me in class because I insulted my obnoxios freind.  The last person I told I loved was my brother's freind who brought us leftover valentines day cookies.  For public record, I usually say I don't beleive in love, but it's not true.  I just don't believe in the commercial definition of love.  Somehow I just think love is more complicated than pink things and dead flowers. 

If I actually keep writing here, I need something for you to call me and I also need to introduce a probably reoccuring charactor.
So.  You can call me Phil's freaky sister, like all his freinds do.  That's what I get for being crazy enough to run around in the snow between classes and write "HAPPY DARWIN DAY!" across my face.  That's what I get for not careing what other people call me.  I like it.
And lets call him diagonal jacket boy.  That's what I did for a couple of months before I realized I didn't even know his name and had to ask for it.  I don't feel like explaining everything, so lets just do the beginning and end, ok?  I met in math class 2nd half of sophomore year, and spent endless time being bewildered by his jacket that was cut diagonally and at different angles so it didn't meet and couldn't have even if it tried.  He just entered the conversation one day.  In the end, September this year, we were making out, and I realized that I had forgotten to break up with him so I may as well do it while I still remembered.  The next day he went off to college.  Or I thought it was the end, which I've done with this kid like ten times.  I think we're officially not-quite-just-freinds now.  Oh, and on what I think (but am not sure since noone ever told me) was our first date, we played croquet in the park.

So if, hypothetically, my lovely ex was comeing home this weekend, should I make out with him?

Upon further consideration: actually there's only one person who I need to discuss this with, who is the prospective makeout-ee.

What do you want more then anything else in the world?