Today was a great day pretty much from A to Z. My tango lesson was fantastic. IPS was cancelled so I went downtown and was met with gorgeous 45 degree hoodie weather. I hung out at Muddy’s, read my book (and listened to one of the most painful conversations I’ve ever been witness to). At the gym, I had an amazing arm day (I love that swollen arm feeling that makes you walk with your arms out like a fucking meathead). On the drive home, this came on the radio:
Gotta say, things overall are pretty great.
It seems a bit reductive to describe love as I’m about to (and I’ve made the analogy before), but it’s pretty Goddamn accurate: love is a drug. That’s not a metaphor. Every single good feeling that love evokes is due to the stimulation of dopamine receptors in the ventral tegmental area of the brain. Similarly, studies have shown that usage of cocaine triggers these dopamine receptors in the exact same part of the brain. Conversely, the absence of either substance leads to feelings of withdrawal, many of the same feelings that junkies and those with emotional trauma share. Sure, there’s more to love (e.g. companionship, togetherness, etc.) but at its very core, “happiness” is simply the release of dopamine flooding the brain.
It’s not inaccurate to suggest that those going through the post break up process (i.e. “moving on”) are comparable to junkies in rehab. Given enough time (and provided they stay clean), they mostly kick their habit. However, the brain doesn’t forget what it had, and still triggers occasional powerful cravings in an attempt to satisfy those starved dopamine receptors.
I get lucid dreams at times, that seem so real I can touch them. Seems like the only way to kick this drug is to find another dealer who’ll offer stronger stuff. But the next time, maybe I’ll have developed some tolerance and maybe I’ll pace myself. Sometimes, maybe we still want to be that drug for the other person, either to feel remembered or maybe to have our addiction mutually fed.
“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you but learning to dance in the rain love rain inspiration dance.”
Sometimes I wish I could relive particular moments, just to savor them again. My head does an admirable job of replaying the memories with stunning accuracy and detail, but it can’t replicate the tactile aspects. I wonder how much I romanticize things (being plagued with memories will do that), and I wonder if we’re not two completely different people, changed by time, scars, personal reflection, and other people. That’s the funny and wonderful thing about memories: they’re static, frozen in time. People are still the same in your memories and you’re both exactly as happy (or as miserable) as you were at that point forever.
“What tender memories did I have of Sarah? Much talk about human suffering and what could be done about it — and then infantile silliness for relief. We collected jokes for each other, to use when it was time for relief. We became addicted to talking to each other on the telephone for hours. Those talks were the most agreeable narcotic I have ever known. We became disembodied — like free-floating souls on the planet Vicuna. If there was a long silence, one or the other of us would end it with the start of a joke.
“What is the difference between an enzyme and a hormone?” she might ask me.
“I don’t know,” I would say.
“You can’t hear an enzyme,” she would say, and the silly jokes would go on and on.”
It was a drizzly Saturday night. I was walking along the sidewalk.
You were a slender brunette sitting in the window of a bar.
We locked gazes for a second. I walked a few feet, and then shot a furtive glance over my shoulder with a smile. You were still looking.
I turned the corner.
Warm Bodies was a surprisingly sweet and charming movie. Who knew zombies could be romantic?
“There are many ways to get to know a girl. Eating her dead boyfriend’s brains is one of the more unorthodox methods.”
It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.
Got dragged into school this morning to help answer questions for a batch of students interviewing for next year. Out of a group of around 16 interviewees, there were 3 guys. Pretty wild. I met a nice girl from Montreal there too.
“Life isn’t measured by the breaths we take but the moments that smile like you’ve never been danced.” @dance_blessed, my new favorite Twitter account.
Feels like this dreary winter is finally thawing. I used my plane credit from my cancelled December flight and am going to sunny Florida for spring break!
You’re gone, gone, gone away,
I watched you disappear.
All that’s left is a ghost of you.
SAD. SUCH A SAD SONG. Thank God I didn’t hear this 3 months ago. The lead singer, Stephen Christian, is also a spitting image of Aaron Eckhart in this video, somehow.
I began to speak to Ruth of love almost as soon as she got out of the hospital and went to work for me. Her replies were kind and funny and perceptive — but above all pessimistic. She believed, and was entitled to believe, I must say, that all human beings were evil by nature, whether tormentors or victims, or idle standers-by. They could only create meaningless tragedies, she said, since they weren’t nearly intelligent enough to accomplish all the good they meant to do. We were a disease, she said, which had evolved on one tiny cinder in the universe, but could spread and spread.
“How can you speak of love to a woman,” she asked me early in our courtship, “who feels that it would be just as well if nobody had babies anymore, if the human race did not go on?”
“Because I know you don’t really believe that,” I replied. “Ruth — look at how full of life you are!” It was true. There was no movement or sound she made that was not at least accidentally flirtatious — and what is flirtatiousness but an argument that life must go on and on and on?
It’s past my bedtime, I’m caffeinated and a little delirious. I feel like my thoughts circle around a dead person sometimes. I guess they are, in a sense. I fucking love Anberlin. Band of the moment for sure. Can’t believe I’ve never heard of these guys before. Thanks, Pandora!
The other day I was hanging out with an old buddy and I considered the unique things that couples bring to the table, and how they deny each other these same things when the relationship dissolves. And then you wonder if the next partner will appreciate those things as much as the last one did. Will I have to tell bedtime stories in Russian or sing songs at 2 am again? Who knows.
After a while of NC, the ones we’ve loved seem to take on a sort of ethereal quality. The pain has dulled. The memories can make you smile and laugh. They’re out of our lives physically, yet you love whatever still rests in your heart. You love the only things that remain, ghosts and memories.
Today was a good day. I went down to The Whiskey Room, a really charming little whiskey bar downtown with a fantastic selection of single malts. Figured I would splurge a little today, so I tried some Glenfarclas 25 and Balvenie 21. Good stuff, though I did blow $70 between the two. Honestly, I’d have paid that much just to keep talking to the adorable Irish bartender who was serving me. I’m such a sucker for an accent. A good friend of mine suggested that I just like women from other countries, ha.