You've Got My Number

I'm a consummate self-analyst. Not only am I fond of reasoning out my every decision and feeling, but also of acknowledging the limitless possibilities inherent in a single action. This results in a lot of paranoia about the future and choices made in the present. It also results in a lot of situations (as often happen in sitcoms or HBO dramas) where I'm the subject of some diatribe or lecture whereby the person thinks they are revealing knowledge of myself, to myself, only for me to be generously irritated at the assumption that I hadn't thought of it. I'm crazy, no doubt, but delusion is not a spice in my recipe. Among other things, I think I suffer from some mild form of obsessive compulsive disorder, or "The O.C. disorder." At any given time, my mind is traveling down the tunnels through scary or wonderful non-terminal butterfly effects.

Wee.

I think that the self-defeating prophecy is my favorite, sort of like saying that blue skies are my favorite, since both are found in abundance. Still, I try not to let my paranoia or insecurities completely determine my personal life. Frankly, despite how beautiful I can swing a sadness, I rather enjoy being happy. It tickles my fancy, and I'd like for it to keep on tickling well into eternity if I can help it.


Relative to the lone wolf, gray attitude which I took to in the past couple years, it comes rather as a surprise how in love I am, and the happiness that that love has generated. Sure, I may not show it openly (in fact, I was recently asked if I was depressed, because I was acting differently), but it nests so close to my inner thoughts that it practically becomes me. I'm operating on a whole other level of internal dialogue, which I think is the most important dialogue -- except, perhaps in this case, those which I carry on with Persephone.

Every love is different, and while that which I share with this woman encompasses with varying degrees all other loves which I have ever felt, it is defined by a truth of comfort, an ease which I am not accustomed to. It permeates every experience I have with her, however minor or insignificant. Persephone is everything I imagine her to be. Yeah, we surprise each other sometimes. Yeah, we have random fun. But most of all, it's that smile I have in my heart, even if it's not on my face, every time I kiss her cheek or she walks into a room. It doesn't shatter down my defenses, it glides through them. It doesn't trip me up, it doesn't send me through the roof. It floats like feathers on the wind, landing and lofting up again, over and over, across the empty plane of thought and feeling.