Newspaper Thoughts from a Newspaper Mind

Why is it that love for some of us humans is almost always unrequited? It seems like no matter what we do, no matter our generosity, we never seem to get it. You grow up telling yourself that something is going to happen at some point; things aren’t working out now because of such-and-such a state. It happens to you once. It happens to you twice. Then, like a steady April rain, you find that no matter what your approach is, you’re actually in for the long haul. You’re that girl or guy who does everything right and gets it all wrong anyways. No matter your own sincere thoughts, you fall into the hum-drum of steady and consistent rejection. Eventually, you ask someone out for a cup of coffee and you have that mundane and expected response (which, believe me, I did not too long ago receive!): “No I will not have coffee with you—not now, not ever!” And so it goes on. Life continues and you grudgingly trudge along with it. More recently, I’ve attempted another try at something romantic—romance addict that I am—and, lo and behold, I was relegated to the dustbin of useless existence again. Unsurprisingly, I was not surprised. And the next time I meet someone I’m interested in—which doesn’t happen but once or twice a year—I’ll be quite certain what her response will be: not now, not ever.
Reading me is like reading the newspaper: it’s always bad news no matter which day of the week it is. You want the Sunday special? Guess what? I have that too.
In my mind, I’m going on strike; I’m gunning down guilty victims; there’s a poll being taken about what I should wear today; there’s a kid in the corner asking for donations; there’s an advertisement for free psychology counseling; there’s an ad placed in the “Men seeking Women” section; there’s a… I could go on and on about my newspaper thoughts. And you know what, nobody cares. Just like that newspaper, it’ll be used to wipe someone’s a** when the day is over. Or, better yet, a bum will lay his head upon it and snore himself to sleep—on my paper!
Yes, I admit it, I have my bad days. Like today. It’s a usual bad day. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about her. I woke up at 2:33 AM only to find out that Benadryl doesn’t cure love sickness. I ate half a ton of chocolate only to find out that I’m losing weight nonetheless. I’m sitting here writing this essay about how emotionally unstable I am and it’s not helping me either! God da**!
My thoughts are always all over the place. I read Adversus Marcionem by Tertullian of Carthage yesterday. It’s a five-volume work written against an arch-heretic of orthodox Christianity who lived in the second-century named Marcion. I tried to write a bunch of stuff about that man—I stayed up most of the night writing and was about to write some more when I figured that writing about Marcion would probably not soothe me much—she’ll still be on the front page news of my newspaper mind. She’ll still be advertising herself for my entire subjective world to see.
The problem with me is that I cannot focus when I am in love. I cannot think clearly—or maybe it is only then that I think at all? I can write poetry and maybe some worthwhile lyrics, but that’s about it. The buck stops here. The moment my thoughts drift to you, I know that it’s a battle I have lost. I can pretend all I want but I know myself too well. And I know that, in the end, this too shall pass. I’ll look back at it all and laugh about how miserable I was and how I should not have attempted anything with her at all. It’s always like that for me.
You see, some of us exaggerate our problems, I really don’t. When I say that this is going to end bad, I really do mean bad. As in b-a-d. I should probably get back to writing my massive paper on Marcion—it’ll make me forget her for a while.
Just long enough to forget that I care—but I won’t.
The problem with me is that I cannot focus when she is on my mind. I can’t. I probably will make a mistake when writing that paper and will start writing everything I feel about her—the professor will be very happy with that, I am sure. Oh well, such is my life. I guess I’ve been attempting my best to forget her for several weeks now. But even in that act of forgetting her, I am remembering her. I am recollecting her and recreating her in my mind. And that’s where everything falls apart. In remembering her, I remember her goodness. In remembering her, I remember her weaknesses and my own. In remembering her, I am remembering myself. Out of that dark cave of mine, I call myself out. And then all of the remembering starts again. I doodle, I twitch, I aim restlessly for some unseen goal. And then my thoughts drift to you.
I’ll let them stay there for now. Just for a minute.
Or two.

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