Someone Who Will Watch Over Me

I had a post up yesterday that set the record straight that I am not a lesbian, but I deleted it because there was no context for it and I thought it might just confuse people. It probably confused some people more to see it and then not see it, as if I had changed my mind. My brother-in-law said that he has never thought for a second that I was a lesbian, but I explained that that is because he knows me. To someone reading this who has never met me and seen how comfortable I am with my good friend heterosexuality, I could see how a few of my comments, or the fact that sometimes I like to write with the voice of a man, could give people the wrong idea. So, consider it clarified that I like men, even if I get nervous around them and act like I do not notice them or am mad at them. I am sure you all feel as good as I do now, having cleared that up.

Today being Valentine's Day, I am of course going to discuss love. One of my grandmas once told me that she has a problem with the way people throw the word love around. I love that movie. I love going on vacation. I love when I find a star on the wrapper of my Tootsie Pop. I do not have a problem with it; it is a part of our culture, and a way to place emphasis. If no one knew how to decipher the different types of love then there would be a problem, but there are rules around using the word love that most people follow. I have the freedom to say that I love eggs. The person I am speaking to will inherently know that this love for eggs is well below my love for my family (unless it has been a bad week at home.) Also, I know that if I cared for the hypothetical person I was dating only equally as much as I cared for eggs, it would not be enough to justify telling that person that I loved him. That is, unless I am talking about the love I felt for egg sandwiches my sophomore year of college, when a lifetime of hating breakfast foods caught up with me in a way that was both surprising and fulfilling.

I hope I have made my point. The general population knows when to use and how to interpret the different levels of the word love, so I say go ahead and use it when you need to use it. There is a large hierarchy of positive feelings and very few words to describe them, so use what you have. I love good water pressure. I love corduroy. I love God. If you think I love all of these the same then I would appreciate it if you would stop reading this blog because I am going to offend you and you are not going to understand me, which I will then be offended by.

A few more thoughts on love. I was in a funk this morning, and it took a few hours to sort out. I was sort of mad at myself, and sort of sad, and pretty fearful. After some reading and some praying and a lot of thinking and a glass of tea, I realized what was going on. I was condemning myself for not being perfect. I don't realize when I fall into that; I usually only notice that I have been trying really hard to be perfect when I make a mistake and am depressed by it. If you ever want to feel fearful and tired, try being perfect, whatever your version of perfect looks like. It is sort of like strapping on a couple hundred pound weights. So, if anyone feels like learning my lesson today, don't get mad at yourself for not completing a task or feeling human emotions or not understanding everything that is going on in your life. It is a waste of a perfectly good morning.