Dear hearts,
Love sick. I didn’t realise how serious it could be. Until now. Seriously.
The Concise Oxford describes Lovesick as languishing because of love. The symptoms are many and varied. Be conscious Dear hearts, in case the malady sneaks up on you. Should you feel apathy, inertia, find yourself swooning, forgetting to eat or wandering into a room not knowing why you are there, beware. These could all be indicators.
And these are just the benign symptoms. You are in real trouble when the butterflies that once heralded anticipation of an interaction with the object of your desire, suddenly turn into big bats with the intention of sweeping your feet out from under you and spinning you around so that you feel vertigo. Long sentence I know, forgive me Ms Morgan-King, but you get my drift.
Then there are the heart palpitations. And not in a good, be still my beating heart kind of way. This is more the I’m going to pass out if this doesn’t stop soon kind of way. It’s just not fair. It’s a bit like being hijacked by a drug that you didn’t plan on hosting, or having your drink spiked. A vast amount of energy and adrenalin coursing through your bloodstream. Your heart in your mouth and the inability to stay still. Dry of mouth and incapable of speech. But again I stress, not in a good way.
For me, a hard solid run, hit a few hundred golf balls, throw down a half a bottle of something fruity and hopefully I’ll pass out on the bed. It’s the only way out of it.
What is worse, Dear hearts, is the misery of one’s own company. I’m sick of myself. The whining “Oh if only it were like this…” “If only he would do that…”The flopping from chair to chair. (And believe me, I have plenty of chairs…) I’m like my own Country and Western ballad gone bad. I start with the would have, could haves and should have’s. I move on to wishing I had a dog and end up humming Dolly Parton ballads. Somebody shoot me and put me out of everyone’s misery. Miss Mellie and Miss Christine are so patient, but it will have an end to it. The click on the end of the line I suspect.
What to do to get out of this malaise? Exercise as I have written. Always a good tonic. A good mental shakedown and that eternal chestnut Discipline. There’s not much else I can think of Dear hearts, except time. Someone throw me a bone or cut me a deal. In the immortal words of Bob Dylan, There must be some kinda way out of here, said the Joker to the Thief, There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.
The trouble is, I’m not sure who is the Joker and who is the Thief…
With the way I’m feeling, the joke seems to be on me and somebody just stole my heart. I don’t like this game at all Dear hearts. I don’t like it at all.
I’m starting to whine again, aren’t I?...
That’s it. Time to put on my runners and throw the driver and 7 iron in the car. If I’m lucky the liquor shop will still be open after I run as fast as I can to escape myself and hit enough golf balls to give myself blisters.
I will then come home, put a new scroll under the Buddha’s arm and bring in the New Year from the comfort of under my favourite pillow.
Enjoy New Years Eve.
With love
Miss Mich.
