spiders and socks and musings on my past love life apparently
24.05.19 | 8:55 pm

when i woke up this morning, there was a long-legged spider in my bathroom sink. i've become more sensitive to the creatures crawling around in the basement (other spiders hanging from their web in the middle of the room, the lizard running underneath my table, the moths beating themselves against the lights), so i left him there and got ready in the bathroom upstairs, thinking he'd be gone by the time i got home.

he wasn't.

after i took a shower, i watched him trying to crawl his way up the ledge of the sink, slowly, slowly, one little leg at a time, before sliding back down in the basin. i watched him for a few minutes, unsure of what to do.

i just kept thinking: how sad it would be for the entire last day of your life to be spent trapped, just trying to escape and go home.

luckily, my brother arrived, and he -- through my plan -- got the spider onto a flat surface, placed a cup over top of him, and released him outside, away from the door.

and so the spider lives to see another day, hopefully not from my bathroom.


you know how sometimes you ignore certain things, like perhaps a pair of socks, because you haven't worn them in so long, and surely the reason you haven't worn them in so long is because they're ill-fitting, or something along those lines? but you pick them out of the drawer anyway, and slide them on your feet, and it turns out that they're actually perfect, and they hit your feet and ankles in all the exactly right spots you want them to?

that's a nice feeling, is all.


in the span of a week, i've watched the entirety of season two of fleabag three times. three times, watching the connection blossom between those two characters. three times, crying at the end.

in my weaker moments, i no longer believe that one day i'll find someone with whom i have a genuine connection. in my weaker moments, i'm not so sure that that exists. perhaps this is why, when i feel the tiniest hint of a connection between myself and someone else, i latch on so tightly, like i'm afraid if i let go... i'll never even get that kind of scrap again.


i am so torn between what i want right now. when i think i have found someone i like, i'm so excited -- "yes, finally, someone to spend time with." and then when i meet them in real life, and find no chemistry, i'm so excited -- "thank god, now i won't have to worry about having someone i like here while i'm abroad." but in both scenarios, i am also equally devastated.

being alone for a long period of time is... interesting.

it's something i am used to. it seems i have a pattern for quite a long term relationship (four years) and quite a long time of singledom (about three years). over and over. some bits and pieces in between, but nothing quite substantial.


sometimes i think that i am incapable of feeling romantic love toward one person in the way that others seem to feel it. the way it's usually portrayed. especially lately -- i blow so hot and cold, it feels unpredictable when i'll lose complete interest.

(this does not go for platonic or familial love, which i can feel with such heat and strength.)

but then i'm brought back to a few years ago.

maybe the proof of love lies in the pain.

that feels too dramatic, even for me.

but that's what i think about: i think back to breaking up with matt, to lying on the couch, either bawling my eyes out until my chest and eyes and face hurt, or staring at the ground, motionless, devoid of... anything.

surely that must mean that i really did love him.

the distance, the time between it, plays tricks on me. i can recall the exact moment i felt my heart shatter, sitting in a plane seat having just landed in nashville.

but it gets harder to remember the moments that verify that love.

what i usually come up with is this: the many, many nights he came into the bedroom with me, let me throw my arms around him, lay my head against his chest, while he read to me until i fell asleep. this is more a piece of proof for how much he loved me. but i do remember being so thankful that, in this way, he was considerate. that, in this way, i was so completely sure that he cared.

but that wasn't ever the issue, was it? it was never a question of whether or not he loved me.

i think back now and wonder: how many times did he have to wonder if i loved him?


i know it's dramatic... but will i ever feel anything like that again?

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