Chinks in our armor

Let’s do it. Let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by love.
–Love, Actually

Vulnerability, I’m finding, seems to be a really important piece of being a happy human being. In order for people to connect, they have to see each other on a fairly deep level. They have to really know who they are inside. They have to trust the other person not to sack their emotional village.

And trust, initially, involves blind faith. In order to know if you can trust someone, you have to just trust them and see what happens.

Of course it has to be balanced. You want to be vulnerable in spots, like Achilles, as opposed to being a door mat that anyone can tear up as much as they want. When I talk about being open and vulnerable, I don’t mean defenseless. We have to protect ourselves while still letting people see us.

This is what I am wondering about right now. I am feeling particularly vulnerable and am wondering if I am doing something really stupid. Trusting someone I shouldn’t.

One of those mind vs heart cage matches, and I am listening to my heart.

My brain says I am a fool.

If I’m wrong, it will hurt. If I’m right, though…
And wouldn’t you rather be hurt for giving someone one too many chances than not giving them a chance at all?

Daisy

There’s a girl in the yard
Surrounded by daisies
Loves me,
Loves me not.
Loves me,
Loves me not.

Loves me not?
And the daisy flies into the pile of wilted stems at her feet.

She picks another.

Loves me,
Loves me not.
Loves me,
Loves me not.

Loves me not.

Another daisy goes flying.

Loves me not.
Loves. Me. Not.

Another, flying.

The pile at her feet grows.

She keeps picking new daisies.

Loves me,
Loves me not.
Loves me,
Loves me not.

Loves me.
Loves me.
Finally.

She tucks the daisy behind her ear,
Kicks the pile of loves me nots out of the way
And sets out to conquer the world.

Music and emotion

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?
–Rob/High Fidelity

First of all, I have a question:
Why is John Cusack not my boyfriend? He is age appropriate. He has just the kind of messy hair I like. Big brown eyes. A great voice. Based on his writing credit on High Fidelity, he’s probably not an idiot. I like guys who are not idiots. It seems like we’d be a good fit. (Call me!)

Sorry. I was just wondering.

Unlike Rob in High Fidelity, I am not a miserable person. Oh, I have my moody, angst-ridden moments. I can be intense sometimes. I ask uncomfortable questions, and actually expect answers. I don’t let things slide. For the most part, though, I am happy. In an intense and sometimes melancholy way. Hey, you be happy however you want. This is my way.

One of my newer co-workers stopped me in the hall at work to say that it cheers him up to see me because I am always smiling. When I was in Italy, one of my friends suggested I stop smiling all the time because men would interpret it as an invitation. I am evidently a smilier person than I think I am.

Which really has nothing to do with my point.

Oh, you ask, do I have a point?

Well. It’s a fair question. I do tend to digress, and my point is not a very pointy one.

What comes first, the music or the mood?

With me, it is definitely the mood. The music might intensify a mood I am already in, but typically won’t put me into a mood on its own. If I am sad, then sad songs might make me sadder. If I am happy, sad songs won’t change that. In fact, I love to sing sad songs when I am happy. I love to sing them when I am sad, too, but it is a whole different experience.

This isn’t very interesting, is it? I mean, that one short paragraph pretty much said it all. I’d say I was really damn concise, but I appear to still be writing.

Maybe we should talk some more about why John Cusack isn’t my boyfriend. Do you think it’s because I never call him? It makes me sad when people don’t call me. I am sure it’s the same for him, even though he has no idea I exist.

And why isn’t he making more of an effort about that?

Shouldn’t he be seeking me out?

Being sought out is a pleasant feeling, if memory serves…

Pretty sure this post has jumped the shark.

Still.

John Cusack?
Call me.