Love

Just before you, my myriad readers, get exited, I want to get out in the open that no, there have been no new sparkling developments in my lovelife. I'd even forgotten that word altogether until yesterday, when an old schoolfriend asked me if "there were any developments in my lovelife". It was at the farewell barbeque of another friend - I went in suspecting it would be somewhat like a schoolreunion on my part since I hadn't seen many of them for a while, and as we sat in her rose-spangled back garden (long and narrow, typically dutch, reminding me of many a birthday party when I was smaller and rounder). I just laughed and said it was as non existent as ever and hurried the conversation to some other topic. So no, no Sex at Oxbridge here, and no no-Sex in Holland either. Because I'm just not that cool yet, and am not sure I want to be either.

I've chosen this title because amidst the often awkward sometimes real conversations with friends I noticed one in particular - not only because she's generally quite a wonderful person - but also because at the beginning of the evening she was sitting on the opposite side of the table from whom I thought was her boyfriend, though I had my doubts as ever given that relationships shift and I hadn't seen them for a while. It was a long wooden table, and there were twelve of us sat around it - why was she not sitting next to him? She spent some time talking to me and a few other girls at the top of the table, then shifted down the table to talk to a DJ friend who'd just gotten back from 6 months in Thailand who was repeating yet again the story of how he'd met a girl there and couldn't wait for her to come visit him in the next month ("she searches dutch words on google, it's so cute!"), until, a good 3 hours after the maybe-boyfriend had arrived my chalk question mark was erased with her perching on his chair, head leaning against his.

Of course there's a lot going on in these occasions, I'm not trying to reduce reality into a little ditty about a word. But the 20 year old idealist would so like to have it that there was more there, that her perching on that chair was the Purpose of her moving down the table, there may have been other reasons but that was a real part of it.

I've thought about it too much already. My post about how Love was what made her face shine, how it was the determining factor behind all her movements, how if only we had an infinite thing to Love our faces would always be shining like hers, how the reason I sit here on a Sunday morning writing a self-referential post few will read and even fewer understand is because I have lost the object of such Love, that all I need to do is get my act together and sort out my theological issues and I'll be back on the Love boat, Noah's ark, with a fabulous love life, loving every moment of life - that post died ten minutes ago.

Love is rarely (should I say never?) neat enough to fit into the palm of my hand and a little blog post, despite my attempts even now to give this some kind of closure, won't encompass it. Maybe that is the answer to my 'love life' problems though. Maybe the answer to my Sunday morning and Saturday evening blues is that I want to reject something if it's not perfect, and beyond anything I don't want to get out there and Do Something. Right now the Maybe rings louder than anything else, and I'm thoroughly indecisive about whether or not I could ever overcome my chronic indecision. But Maybe.