Two Sides of the Proximity Coin

It’s funny how your body can act like a piece of memory foam.

Not in the visual sense, like when you roll up a pair of tight jeans and see the seam imprinted on your leg, or when you wake up after sleeping on your arm and see the wrinkles of a sheet that was once against your skin. I’m talking about how when you get (in this case, temporarily) closer to someone, the consequence is that when you inevitably have to leave them, you feel like you don’t fit right in your situation.

This isn’t just a mind missing the past, it’s your body expecting something it got used to, and being confused that it isn’t there.

Today, I got back from spending a few days at the cabin with my boyfriend and his family. I’d only been there for a few days, but I was around people almost constantly. Even as an extrovert, this got tiring, because at home I usually spend a fair bit of time alone. My brother is on the computer, my mom is out doing errands, and here I sit listening to music and browsing YouTube or WordPress. It’s a testament to that lack of alone time that I did’t listen to any of my own music while I was there; According to social rules, it’s rude to ignore someone talking, and there were always people talking around me. Yeah I would go on my phone when things got a bit much, but the earbuds stayed out and the volume stayed off. That meant WordPress and texting still happened, but the music and the videos and me didn’t have much quality time. Because of course, social rules aside, why would I choose audio over the presence of my man?

But now, I’m back home again, and there is no man sitting on the couch here beside me. But, my body feels like there should be. My brain can remember that there was a person I like there yesterday at this time, and that presence made me happy, and so that part of my brain can’t seem to understand why there is no person there right now. Texting him too, feels a letdown, because why would I want to communicate over text, when just hours ago I could’ve walked a couple rooms at most and had a conversation in person? Now I can text words, but I’m missing the tone of voice, the looking-at-his-face, the body language, the humour interjected all over the place.

Maybe this says something about the kind of thing that is a product of relationships in general, not even romantic ones. When you spend a lot of time with people, you develop a way of being. You get used to your surroundings, you learn the patterns people follow. The more you are in that situation, the more you get used to it. And then, if this is a trip, you inevitably have to return home. When that happens, you’re left with an emptiness, and a return to monotony.

I like to live my life doing the things that make me happy. Even though this can lead to shirking responsibilities sometimes, I like to put myself into the situations that bring me joy. Because of that, they bring me joy. And since there aren’t really any rules to life, why not? But this calls to question just how much you can live in euphoria. For all the time you are unnaturally happy, there is inevitably also time where you’re blue. People have a baseline level of joy. Even if that joy is high, if you go above it, your mood will act like a wave: it’ll go down the same amount it just went up. (It’s just like you learned in physics, boys and girls. Your mood is the equilibrium, your happiness can go up a certain amplitude, but then it’ll go down that amplitude too.)


Another thing that goes along with this need of mine for happy things is this reality of the world: oftentimes, the things that make you the happiest are that way because you don’t experience them all the time. When something is really great, I’m gonna wanna do it the same way next time. However, situations are always changing. You’re never in exactly the same situation twice. That’s what memories are for, living out situations again. But a person has to adapt instead of holding onto what they have experienced before and loved. Sometimes the first experience is the most magical. Sometimes your next, different experience is going to be magical too, while all the magic would’ve been gone from that experience you had and want to hold onto. The thing with life is that if you don’t embrace the change, the change will happen anyways, but you’ll just be left holding onto wisps of what you had instead of the rope of the new, different thing.

However, understanding an emotion doesn’t necessarily mean having power over an emotion. We are still servants to our brains. Even with the knowledge that holding on doesn’t do any good, I still wanna be at the lake with my guy right now. And being here in the stillness of the living room with barking dogs to be constantly disciplined is driving me up the wall.

“Sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.”

Originally posted on The Daily Post:

“If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.

I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”

– Ray…

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My Sister’s Keeper

” ‘Something was missing. I couldn’t tell you what it was, if you asked, but it was off. And if you think of a relationship as a living entity, I guess it’s one thing if the missing two perception is, like, a fingernail. But when it’s the heart, that’s a whole different ball of wax.’
‘Well I had the other problem. I had the heart of the relationship, and no body to grow it in.’ “


“We fall back into silence. I look around XO Café and notice that chatter happens mostly at tables where the diners are young and hip. The older couples, the ones sporting wedding bands that wink with their silverware, eat without the pepper of conversation. Is it because they are so comfortable, they already know what the other is thinking? Or is it because after a certain point, there is simply nothing left to say?
When the waiter arrives to take our order, we both run eagerly, grateful for someone to keep us from having to recognize the strangers we have become.”


“When I feel the water rocking the hill of the boat, I think that maybe this is the place for us. Maybe there are entire worlds where there are no fences, where feeling bears you like a tide.”


“You don’t love someone because they’re perfect. You love them in spite of the fact that they’re not.”