Madly infatuated
Ever had a friend laughingly recite, "Never stick your dick in crazy," or a reasonable facsimile thereof? Although it usually will provoke a hearty chuckle and a warm round of comradely back-slapping, it's not advice without a great deal of merit. Rare is the person who disregards this counsel without suffering painful consequence.
Indeed some situations are glaringly obvious, all but waving search lights, painted neon pink, and blaring an air-raid siren in proclamation of it. No one is going to enter into a sexual relationship with a dramatically symptomatic paranoid schizophrenic without comprehending that they're signing on for a weird ride. If by some chance that person is so oblivious as to miss the drifts of scrawled upon scraps of paper hoarded in the aluminum foil and duct tape cocooning the interior of their lover's house, only an idiot is going to shed much sympathy when they're lamenting how their lover doesn't understand them/seems to exist in a different reality/keeps trying to sodomize them with a toilet brush to keep the mind control, alien microchipped spiders from burrowing into their brain.
Unfortunately, there are many more occasions that will not oblige your ease by perching on the strange and hoary end of the yardstick. In fact, most people encounter other's in this murky half-light, only able to recognize when they breached the looking glass in retrospect. "Crazy" in this case, does not necessarily mean insane. Most of the time, it refers to one or more irrational idiosyncrasies of greater or lesser scope. The exact point where any one person steps outside the lines is largely subjective and discerned through experience. Whatever it is that tips someone into the "crazy" category, these are qualities that inhibit closeness through disconnection and unpredictability.
Their friends and family might have offered tips or voiced warnings at the time, but they won't comprehend until the tears and blood have stopped flowing and are drying into tacky stains.
One could very well ask why the bloody hell they missed the signs at the very beginning when it was so seemingly obvious to everyone else. I'll go further and say that if you don't/haven't, you've either been so disgustingly fortunate in your dating life you should be smothered in your own smug juices or you're a danger to everyone around you and should devote your time to taste-testing crayons and giving motivational speeches to Boston Ferns. If you aren't learning, you're just taking space and resources better spent elsewhere. Nothing confers as much knowledge as observation and the pertinent questions derived from.
I do happen to possess an answer to why most people fail to ken the indications however. Foremost, that element of human interaction termed as "chemistry" is the biggest culprit. Sure, all of her surviving exes are populating hospital wards in a persistent vegetative state and the local fire department spends so much time at her house they just keep the trucks parked across the street, but damn you should see the way she fills out a sweater. Sure he sleeps with his eyes open while occasionally yelling in Russian, but the way he kisses just turns everything from the lips down into a tingly mass of Jell-O. She collects little figurines until there is no place in her apartment where you aren't under the soulless stares of cute, painted eyes, but you'd swear her pussy drips pure heroin.
In other words, the sex drive stages drastic coup d’état and higher brain function as well as personal survival instincts are submerged someplace dark and remote, possibly with blocks of concrete and heavy chains to keep the bodies from floating up at an inconvenient time. Somehow, anything extraneous to the pursuit of putting "Tab A" into "Slot B" until boredom, physical failure, or Ragnarok is immediately irrelevant or trifling. Why? Because the only agenda the gonads have is reproduction. Put the right physical elements together and silly concerns such as long-term survival just get in the way, so they get sharply pared back.
I know many people might object to this characterization, protesting that they just want to pound [object of lust] like a whack-a-mole machine, not breed. Tough. They'd be confusing biologic impulses with intellectual impulses. Sex facilitates orgasms which in turn facilitates conception. The triggering of pleasure centers in the brain is just a damned persuasive incentive to fuck. The route that sexual congress follows is a choice, but mechanisms of anatomy do not deviate function.
Besides "chemistry," rationalization is the other cause for not noting the signs in time. Unlike the former influence, this is a mechanism instead of a motivation. Rationalizing is the premier method of altering perceptions of reality to fit with a desired outcome. If you read the previous examples, they employed this technique, a negative balanced against a positive as if the positive side of the equation was of equal or greater weight than the negative. Rationalizing depends on the assumption that quantitative is more important than qualitative or vice versa depending on what the preferred results are. A thousand drool-worthy physical characteristics are not going to make-up for a compulsive urge to repeatedly wash his genitals after every single physical contact of them, even if he's not using scalding hot water and bathroom cleanser. Even if the dry, chapped skin wasn't a turn-off, how long can someone ignore the implication that their lover finds them a filthy, disease-ridden hole? The best blow-job technique in the universe will never compensate for a thousand petty, suspicious paranoias.
The signs get missed, not because they are unobserved, but because they are dismissed. The friends and family who were dropping anvil-like hints earlier on were not hampered by the same bias, thus it's good to take a moment to stop, examine their arguments/observations, and verify your assumptions regarding this fantastic new person.
1 Comments:
Damn, this post was sexy. And brilliant. And hilarious in spots.
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