Love = boring

Logan asked if I would also be writing about love here, since she noticed it is not on my list of potential topics. I was surprised to realize my answer was probably not, that I’m not really interested in writing about love, especially not love in a romantic/sexual relationship (the ways I fall in and out of being in love in my romantic friendships seem like a more likely topic, what love means in that context). I’m just not particularly interested in analyzing or deconstructing it. I actually think love, as a topic, is kind of boring. Which is odd for two reasons:

1. I generally want to analyze every possible topic. I was raised by a progressive educator who believed that you can develop any skill through any entry point, so why not pick as many entry points as possible (somehow this did not include tv, which just rots your mind, in my mother’s view). She also didn’t believe in being bored - meaning, literally, that if I told her I was bored in school she told me it was my job to find a way to make it interesting. Elementary school was basically a constant oscillation for me between being academically bored and socially terrified, so I quickly learned how to pick apart and problematize everything to at least make the boredom sort of go away. This all happened in my head, since I never spoke in school as a kid. It did make me a great student, though I’m not sure it’s a very good survival tool for life and I think it helps me only slightly more than it hurts me as an interpreter. But anyway, I am shocked that I am bored by the topic of love.

2. I am, as we speak, in love with Logan, the one who asked me the question that started this post. Does saying that I find the topic of love uninteresting make it sound like I’m not really in love? I think it does, I’m worried it does. But what is there to say about it that isn’t kind of insipid and bragging? Logan and I send each other an enormous number of text messages, which my phone saves in one long file as if they are a instant messenger conversation. I hope no one ever sees this file, which now stretches over the last 5 months, but if someone did find it, I’d be less embarrassed for them to read the parts where I tell Logan in detail exactly how I want to fuck her (or be fucked) than if they read the whole days (weeks!) where the messages are just pure, saccharine, mush.

I do not think falling in love (or being in a romantic/sexual relationship) is a kind of success. I try to almost never ask friends if they are dating anyone, because I think asking is a kind of pressure (i.e.: this is valuable enough that I should ask about it) and an implication that they are not successful unless they are dating someone. (I am happy to listen if they want to talk about it though.) I am as uninterested in talking about love as I am in talking about happiness.

But the point of the title of this blog is that nothing is definite and unchanging. Maybe in a few months I will suddenly think love is fascinating and worth writing about. In the past I’ve been pretty bored by the idea of talking about how relationships work too, but my struggling and apparent resistance to being in a relationship has suddenly made that topic pretty fascinating.