Category: Words

Love hurts,
love scars,
love wounds
And mars, any heart
Not tough or strong enough
To take a lot of pain
–Nazareth/Love Hurts

I was thinking about some of the people I love yesterday, and wanted to write about them, or recognize them in some way. It would be a nice list. A warm, fuzzy list. Sort of like favorite songs or books. Or things I’m grateful for. Only way better, because, you know, LOVE.

But then the cold meds started to wear off, my brain got a little less scrambled, and I thought “are you fucking NUTS?!? This is a terrible idea!”

Why terrible? Well, I mean, duh. Let me count the ways. It really isn’t a good idea in any way at all, because you can’t count love. Some people don’t like seeing their names in print. Some people might feel bad if I wrote that I loved them and they didn’t reciprocate. Some people would be hurt if they were left off the list. I might feel like I have to include people I don’t really love for various reasons.

So the idea was, rightfully, scrapped.

Of course, that will leave me forever wondering if you would be more upset if you weren’t on my list?

Or if you were?

Would you disapprove of some of the other people on the list?

Yes, it is quite hard to be me. I think like this all the time. It’s not easy, and I am so glad someone noticed.

 

On an only marginally related note, my heart aches. Not because of love, but because coughing has squeezed it too much. It feels disconcertingly like a plain old-fashioned heartache. It makes me feel a little more breakable than I like to feel. Every time I cough, I feel lovesick.

I’m in the mentally and emotionally awkward position of having to convince my brain that my heart isn’t really broken. It just thinks it is.

Since it thinks its broken it’s making me feel like I am. Which, as we all know, sucks.

It’s really not the first time I’ve confused love and sickness.

Probably won’t be the last.

Never get to say much, never get to talk
Tell us a little bit, but not too much
Right about then, is where she give up
She has closed her eyes, she has give up hope

–Talking Heads/Houses In Motion

 

Here’s a bold statement: giving up hope is not always a bad thing.

You heard me right. I said that isn’t always bad to give up hope.

It isn’t!

Like everything else it life, hope can be kind of a bitch.

In its biggest, baddest form hope reaches a point where it turns from doing everything you can to make sure a loved one gets the best possible medical care to causing your loved one unnecessary suffering by prolonging their life.

It’s the difference between a rational hope that if you give someone you love a little space and time to grow up that you will be happy together in the end , and letting someone who will never change use you as a doormat for years.

It’s the difference between taking singing lessons to improve your native vocal talent so you can take a shot at a music career and continuing to take singing lessons in hopes of becoming an opera singer even though every music teacher tells you that you’re tone deaf.

Don’t get me wrong, I think that hope is one of the things that gets us through life. There are a lot of obstacles that we need to get past before we get pretty much anything we want. Without hope we’d have no motivation to strive to reach those goals. Why even have a goal if you don’t hope to reach it?

People always talk about hope and faith going hand in hand, but maybe hope’s best friend should be common sense, not faith.

And sometimes it’s OK to hold onto even an irrational hope, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. Including you. I’ve got a couple of relatively irrational hopes that I won’t be giving up any time soon. Probably never.

 

I hope I make it to work tomorrow without coughing up a lung.

I hope I make it through the night without waking up as Michael Jackson.

 

 

Oh. Those aren’t the irrational hopes.

Never mind about them.

They’re mine.

 

I was sittin’ there,
I had a comfortable chair,
And that was all that I needed.
Then my friend offered me
A drink for us to share
And that was all that I needed.
–White Stripes/Take Take Take

It’s always something, right? Just when you’re looking forward to some serious fun, something happens. It’s usually not a disaster. At least in my case it usually isn’t. It always works out, often better than  originally planned.

Maybe that’s because I’m lucky. Or maybe because I have friends and family who are so great. I was kind of bummed about being sick for the Ducks vs Vols game on Saturday. And a little worried that I’d have to miss the game. Which would have sucked, because a good friend was going to be my date and I don’t get to see her nearly enough.Also, it was Tennessee. No Duck fan with season tickets would want to miss the Tennessee game!

Even when I’m sick, though, I’m lucky–I wasn’t so sick I couldn’t go. Just sick enough to whine a lot Wednesday and Thursday at work. I was feeling OK by Friday, but still have a nasty cough. Anyone who’s lived with me is familiar with the cough. It’s like I’m part seal. My folks took good care of me on Friday night so I could get a little rest. And (luck again) I didn’t keep them awake all night with my cough.

So, we went to the tailgater bright and early, I drank more coffee and less beer and car bombs than originally planned. Actually, no car bombs. I ate breakfast, I sat down more than usual and didn’t get to kiss anyone as much as I usually do. Still. Lucky! I felt pretty OK, didn’t cough up a lung, and got to spend a day with my fantastic family and friends. There was a brief moment of panic when we realized that we didn’t have the lucky Fireball, but luck and friends to the rescue again and a bottle was fetched by bicycle in time for us all to have our lucky pre-game shots.

And, of course, we ultimately won the day against the Volunteers, in spite of the fact that I had to yell much less than usual because it made me cough. The rest of the crowd picked up my slack. Teamwork is great. The win had nothing to do with luck, of course. That was all hard work, discipline and other difficult things that I know nothing about.

Being so lucky always makes me wonder, though. Why are some people so much luckier than others? I’ve definitely had more than my share of good luck in life. I often joke that even when I’m unlucky it’s in a lucky way. When I was 18 and accidentally set myself on fire, I only burned my forearm. It could have been so much worse! Although I’ve been in my share of car accidents, I’ve never been hurt. When I broke an arm, I didn’t have to have a plaster cast, just a splint. Lucky. Always lucky.

Or maybe I just think I am. Maybe I’m no luckier than anyone else, but my Pollyanna world view makes me see misfortune as luck.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with luck at all. Maybe I’m just willing to be flexible and happy with whatever happens. Maybe I have low standards.

Whatever.

If it’s all in my world view, I’m going to go right on seeing things that way.

 

I am lucky.

And if I stop being lucky, I’ll still have world class family and friends.

Which, uh, will still make me…yes…lucky.

 

I don’t think it’s going to wear off.