I am supposed to be writing a paper on metamorphosis, the individual vs the collective. If a man turns into a beetle but no one notices him is he still a bug? Who the hell knows.
I am sitting on a couch with the volume turned super loud for a bad cop movie, so my topic sentence ideas and quote intros are punctuated with epithets like "Don't fuck me on this one Jimmy!" or "Four of our guys are dead, what do you want me to do, throw a fucking party?!?" Not really conducive to deciphering the delicate and at the same time steely prose of Kafka, but good enough to keep back the tears that want to leap out of my eyeballs and make streams, order 1,2,3, AND 4 down my face.
I am just going to spray it, Relationships are not for the meek. Relationships are beautiful, and terrifying. You find your being, your awesome singular being confronted with things you never knew about yourself; neurotic behaviors, split ends, the ability to text ridiculously sappy shit and at the same time declare emotional nuclear war the next day.
I sometimes feel, for us "young adults," like its all naught but a hostage situation. We both stand facing one other, sweaty, looking like we've been ridden and put away wet. I am holding his pulsating, metaphorical heart in my hand, gun ready and finger twitching on the trigger. To borrow form my cop movie: "I swear to God I'll fucking shoot, I'll fucking kill it. Get me out of here, I want a nice movie and dinner date, foot massages, and for you to love me for who I am!"
And he's across the room, quivering. "AW shut the fuck up of I'LL shoot! I want sex twice a day and verbal appreciation!"
This was supposed to be funny. I am just sad.
Relationships are hard.