Crazy Love Vol. II
Here’s a big memory for me:
I was driving north on I-95 after my second weekend with J. The first weekend, I had skipped hanging with the Dalai Lama to be with her. Then I drove back down three days later for another long weekend. Anyway, I was on the beltway, headed north, fifteen minutes into a 6-8 hour drive and Graceland was the first album of the ride. It was a bright, sunny, July afternoon. I was driving 80 miles an hour and Paul was crooning:
That was six years ago, and I often have cause to think back upon that moment. Within a few weeks, I discovered the bizarre sleep walking and talking syndrome. A few months after that, she actually passed out from listening to me and my father arguing. A few seconds later, she bolted, still with her eyes shut, out of the room and the house. I chased after her and finally found her curled up in a ball on the side of the road, about half a mile away. Later, when were planning our wedding, she insisted that we stop calling the spot up on the hill, “by the gravely” (the brand name of the tractor), because that sounded too, you know, dead.
These are maybe not the best examples, but I’m not really trying to build a case for why she’s crazy. What my experience has been, right from the get go, was that her reactions, while often seeming arbitrary and totally irrational, were also implacable, for example, her completely visceral response to anything that resembles the eyes of a bug, from honey comps to black-eyed susans (which were definitely NOT included in our wedding bouquets). I often find this reaction to be really scary. I mean, when you wake up because your girlfriend is ululating in the closet, not down by the shoes, mind you, but up on the third shelf, a feeling of fear may be perfectly rational. However, it is this feeling that I find most liberating about my relationship with her. It is completely out of my control, and all I can do is let go, accept it, and move on. I love her for it, and I feel it has allowed me to face many other fears.
It’s like the wise man once said:
I was driving north on I-95 after my second weekend with J. The first weekend, I had skipped hanging with the Dalai Lama to be with her. Then I drove back down three days later for another long weekend. Anyway, I was on the beltway, headed north, fifteen minutes into a 6-8 hour drive and Graceland was the first album of the ride. It was a bright, sunny, July afternoon. I was driving 80 miles an hour and Paul was crooning:
I don’t want no part of this crazy loveThe funny thing about that song is how joyous it is. The lyrics seem so judgmental; I mean, they’re saying no. But the music, the rhythm, everything else is shouting YES! YES! to the Andalusian girl.
I don’t want no part of your love.
That was six years ago, and I often have cause to think back upon that moment. Within a few weeks, I discovered the bizarre sleep walking and talking syndrome. A few months after that, she actually passed out from listening to me and my father arguing. A few seconds later, she bolted, still with her eyes shut, out of the room and the house. I chased after her and finally found her curled up in a ball on the side of the road, about half a mile away. Later, when were planning our wedding, she insisted that we stop calling the spot up on the hill, “by the gravely” (the brand name of the tractor), because that sounded too, you know, dead.
These are maybe not the best examples, but I’m not really trying to build a case for why she’s crazy. What my experience has been, right from the get go, was that her reactions, while often seeming arbitrary and totally irrational, were also implacable, for example, her completely visceral response to anything that resembles the eyes of a bug, from honey comps to black-eyed susans (which were definitely NOT included in our wedding bouquets). I often find this reaction to be really scary. I mean, when you wake up because your girlfriend is ululating in the closet, not down by the shoes, mind you, but up on the third shelf, a feeling of fear may be perfectly rational. However, it is this feeling that I find most liberating about my relationship with her. It is completely out of my control, and all I can do is let go, accept it, and move on. I love her for it, and I feel it has allowed me to face many other fears.
It’s like the wise man once said:
Love gives you wings. It makes you fly. I don't even call it love. I call it
Geronimo. When you're in love, you'll jump right from the top of the Empire
State and you won't care, screaming "Geronimo" the whole way down. I love her so
bad, I just... whoa, she wrecks me. I'd die for her.
Labels: Biographical, Family
posted by Jonah at 9:15 PM
1 Comments:
sweet.... i like the quote at the end... i wonder if i am nearing that point.... can you explain the andalusian girl reference though? do you know something about that song that i don't? you're making me want to get out that cd, i think i will do that now.
Post a Comment
<< Home