The Heart Wants Affection

Yesterday I went to my first professional sporting event, unless you count Nascar as a professional sporting event, which I really don't. It was Game 3 of the series, Rangers against Tampa Bay. This series is their first in the postseason, which the Rangers hadn't been to in 11 years. So, not only was it my first professional sporting event to attend, it was kind of a big deal.

My seat was ill-placed; the ticket reads "obstructed view". What this meant was that a few rows down from where I was sitting was a pole that blocked my line of sight to home plate. While this seems an awful lot like a disadvantage, let me be the first to tell you that it worked out in my best interest. You see, in order to be able to see the batters, I had to lean to my right to see around the pole. It wasn't enough to make me uncomfortable, and it came with a benefit; Noticing that I was trying to lean far enough to see better, but without getting in his way, James snaked an arm around me and pulled me close to him, grinning as he told me that he wouldn't bite.

At the bottom of the 7th inning, Kinsler slammed a homerun for our Rangers, eliciting wild cheers from the crowd. James and I were no different, jumping up with everyone else, yelling, and clapping our hands in the air together, holding on to each other like we had just scored the run ourselves. (Which, by the way, we did. But we'll not get into that here.)

When the game was over, it was clear that we had lost, but we took comfort in the fact that we lived to fight another day, and we still have the advantage. We strolled around the ballpark, James showing me how different it might have looked had we been sitting further over, towards first base, or behind home plate. The game had been a sellout, so the crowds were thick as we left; We held hands to avoid getting separated, and certainly much longer than there was any actual need to.

We left the ballpark, headed for food and then home, and even as the night wound down and it got quite late, I just couldn't shake that elated feeling.

Best.Date.Ever.

The Heart Wants The American Dream

Something that was never expected of me by anyone was for me to become domestic. I have always been just a certain brand of offbeat that settling down never seemed to fit into the picture. It seems, however, that in getting older I started wanting things that were considered out of character for me.

Still, I can't help but daydream about owning my own home, with a fenced-in yard where Eris and my future German shepherd can play. My house would be decorated according to my own specifications, to reflect the style of my family; I would have a house cat, and maybe a whirlpool bathtub. I would also have a good job that still affords me plenty of personal time so as not to miss out on the important moments in life, and I would be home every night to cook dinner for my significant other and Eris.

Really, the American Dream can be expressed in two words: My Own (or for the less greedy, Our Own). A home of our own, vehicles of our own, children and pets of our own; and everything with our personal stamp to it.

Sometimes, I fear it will never happen for me, but I can't allow myself to give up before I even get going.

The Heart Wants Heartache

Heartache is a sickness, manifesting itself not only emotionally, but quite physically as well. Symptoms include, but are not limited to, loss of sleep, nausea, painful tightening of the chest, inability to self-regulate body temperature, and uncontrollable shaking. Depending on how you handle the situation emotionally, you may also experience chronic dry eyes and/or a sore throat.

In the absence of love, however, it is often better to feel horrid than to feel nothing at all. Through heartache, at least we are still aware that we are alive.

The Heart Wants Reassurance

Love feeds on reassurances, both small and large. In the absence of them, the love is going to wither, starved.

However, the scenario is not black and white, as is the case with most situations. For instance, what of the case where your love feeds you only the smallest tidbits of reassurance; just enough to keep you hooked and in love, but not so much as to give you any kind of a sense of security in the relationship?

Are you akin to a drowning person, desperately gasping at air for every minuscule second you can force your head above water, only focused on that next ecstatic breath the rest of the time? Eventually the strength leaves, and your efforts have been in vain.

Do you more closely resemble the patient with Stockholm syndrome, pining away after a captor who is holding you hostage for some self-involved reason? Unable to defend yourself against a person you cannot see as a threat, you must either be rescued by someone outside of the situation, or come to the consequences in time.

Of course, where there is opportunity for heartache, there must also be the chance for happiness, yes? So maybe, just maybe, the tidbits could become larger scraps, become decent helpings, become overflowing excess, and the feeling of security is at long last attained.

Here's hoping.

The Heart Wants Love

I will admit it; I am in love with the idea of being in love.

Then again, who isn't? Love lends itself to that kind of thinking. I am not, however, blinded by this love. When I still dated frequently, I was a shatterer of men's hearts, for one simple reason: If they uttered that terrifying "L" word, I was packing my belongings before they had a chance to ask if I felt the same way. It was nothing personal, of course. I just couldn't bring myself to stay in a relationship with someone who felt so much more strongly than myself, and just wanting to to be in love was never a good enough reason to try to fake it.

I feel a little like karma has caught up with me, however. I discovered not too long ago that I am indeed in love, which was a horrifying realization to me. I am not one to fall in love quickly, nor am I one to fall in love before the other party in question. The intensity of the emotion is bizarre, especially in the way that it attaches itself to a person who never fit the idea of perfection that had always been in my head.

I continually get asked if I have told him yet. My reply?

"Dear god no! Do you think I'm stupid?"