(Dr.) Spendlove

Let me first begin by saying that memory foam pillows are the better decision. Secondly, down is great for the winter but hard to tolerate in the summer. Thirdly, when you lay your head on the pillow, make sure your neck is in a position you will feel comfortable sustaining the whole night through. Yes, you probably will wake up in the night and roll around a bit, but assume you won’t. Because, as much as you doubt it, there’s a slight chance that this will be the night your eyes stay closed for 8 hours 17 minutes and 36 seconds.

But, before you fall asleep, the reason I’m here today.

This one’s pretty standard. Tried and true. The lesson to be learned is cliché: those closest to us are the ones most likely to be hurt. But there’s more to be learned than just that. When we’re brimming with pain and repression we throw it onto others. And even still, there’s more to be learned than just that.

You see, like most human beings, I have problems. Moreover, like most human beings, I (no matter how much I may claim otherwise) seem to think mine are at least marginally worse than everyone else’s. Well, it’s not true. We’re all fucked up. It’s cool. Unlike most human beings I can live with this contradiction openly and would like to pin myself on the wall, an example of all that we are; walking contradictions never to be solved, only tolerated. Now. On with the tolerating.

Point one: a rear end collision is always the fault of the driver behind. You were driving too fast, too close, too inattentively, you spilled your triple Americano with no room all over your blouse and looked down for a second too long; it was your fault.

Point two: if you die skydiving, it is your fault. You took the risk, strapped an oversized sheet into a backpack and jumped out of a plane hoping for the best. It didn’t end as you’d hoped; it’s your fault.

Point three: if you walk outside in Seattle without a waterproof coat or umbrella (even if the sky is clear and sunny) and you get drenched, it’s your fault. You should’ve known better.

Point four: not everything is about fault.

Point five: we need each other.

Point six: living, sometimes, is being so near to death that you remember what it is to live.

Point seven: if someone else has hurt you, there’s a good chance you’ve made yourself susceptible to said pain. Understand this is not to say that whenever you feel someone does you wrong it’s your fault for feeling hurt. On the contrary, people are assholes and fuck each other over. But, and this may be the optimist in me, it’s not because we’re truly assholes. In many cases it’s just because we don’t know how to say we love each other.

For instance, you had yourself a shit day. I mean shit. You got an F on the exam; scratch that, an F-. Your dog got hit by a car. You clogged the toilet in a friend’s bathroom and it spilled over the bowl. You had milk but were out of cereal. You tried to make coffee but forgot to put water in the pot so the glass cracked. This, friends, is a terribly shitty day. But thank God you’re terribly in love. You have this one person with whom you have the desire to share every piece of your life with, and forever. You know that talking to this person will help to bring you solace. It will. What do you do? Well you email them of course. What do you email? I feel awful. I’ve had a shitty day and feel all around terrible. I know that talking and/or seeing you would make me feel a whole lot better. That’s what you do for me. You make me feel the way other people can’t make me feel. You make me feel significant; cared for. No, you won’t say this because a) it feels self-indulgent, b) it sounds needy, c) it’s far too fucking honest. What you’re more apt to say goes something like this: Hey, I’m not having the best day. You probably won’t want to see me today. Why did you choose to say this instead? A) It dodges your true feelings, b) it doesn’t sound self-absorbing; you have the slightest expression of consideration, at least in so far as you seem to be considering their disposition, c) it’s a roundabout way of cluing them into how you feel, there’s a chance they’ll ask how you’re feeling, and you will have given them the chance to say whether or not they want to hear about your feelings before simply divulging them. In short, you feel less self-righteous with the second, completely dishonest, message.

Here’s the kicker. The message you actually send results in the outcome you had absolutely no desire for. She responds, Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m not having the best day either. It might be best to just not see each other today.

Point eight: the fatal miscalculation. The reason you’re in love is because you understand one another like no one else does. This, in turn, means that you don’t have to treat each other like you would everyone else. But you did. And since you did, neither of you have much of a chance feeling any better tonight. You see, though you do not need one another for survival, you do make it easier for each other to live.

Love is like a pillow. Somewhere to rest your head for a long, hard night. Don’t try to convince yourself you don’t need the pillow. For a brief moment of drowsy, clouded thought it seems like a good idea to sleep without the pillow. You put it beside the bed and rest your head on your awkward, boney hands. Your neck is strained, your ear squashed by the knuckles but you’re convinced for the time being that it’s better. This, in some ways, is a continuation of the strain and discomfort you’ve carried on throughout the entire day; it just felt too different to receive the comfort and support of the pillow. But half way through the night you’re going to regret this decision. You’ll fish in the dark for the pillow on the floor, frantic, and with a spasm in your neck. You find it and put it under your head. Relief.

The difference? Lovers have legs; pillows do not. Though results may vary, placing your lover on the floor beside the bed enough times will entice their legs to take step by painful step away from the bed altogether. And it was never what you wanted. But it was what you got.

I don’t know if it’s a generational thing. Maybe in the 17th century it was easier to love each other, but I doubt it. It was probably pretty similar. We’re afraid to love each other. Yes, we’re rounding back towards cliché, but it’s cool, because it’s true.

All I’m really saying is sleep with the pillow, even if it seems too different at first. Also, I’m saying a rear-end collision is always the fault of the driver behind.

Point nine: you are both your strongest and weakest asset to yourself.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 1st, 2009 at 2:39 pm and is filed under love, pain (mostly), philosophy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.