Oh, The Mysterious Ways of Human Connection.

Ah, sweet mystery of life! (Sexual)

I do not like that I do not know the rhyme and reason of all the shimmering love beams that shoot out around the world. I do not like that I can not see their futures. I basically want to be God. With a boyfriend. Man friend. No boys allowed.

But, with great power comes great responsibility, and we all know how much I dislike that. So, no, won’t become God, thanks for not asking.

It’s just frustrating to comtemplate this weird thing of love, and try to nail down the reasons for all of its quirks and shiz. Why does one person choose the other? Why does the other sometimes not choose back? Is it destiny and fate and one for one, or is it convenience and proximity perchance? God, I hope not. You need to pair everyone, Noah-style. The animals, not that weirdo family.

And, as Louie C.K. said, there doesn’t seem to be someone for everyone. But WHY NOT? Are their someones just inconveniently in Botswana? Or are some people just destined to be alone? That by itself could be romantically depressing, but the notion that love is merely happenstance and that there could not be a fated One makes me Angry, and you don’t want to see me when I’m Angry (I overeat).

How cheap does that feel? I do not want love reduced to mere coincidence. IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE MORE MAGICAL THAN THAT. People are supposed to meet and supposed to love each other because THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO  BECAUSE MAGICAL AND MYSTICAL AND GOD-DIRECTED REASONS. Not just because. I will not leave my heart and soul up to circumstance. That Will Not Do, Pig.

I am whining from a personal level, but I am also widening my scope and whining for all those who feel a little cheated when it comes to the love game. (YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?!) Sometimes, it feels that way, but I don’t want it to be. It can be game-like in that it’s fun and slightly competitive (ahhh) but not like a game in that I don’t want to compete with other organisms for the affection of that organism that I do want so very urgently.

So, again, repeating myself. Like, I always do. I want George of the Jungle and I want him to want Me. ONLY ME. (I have all the bananas.)


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