Love song

I stand on the bus, hugging a pole, trying to think about what will happen.

"How will I seduce a nation," I wonder, "when I wouldn't know how to seduce a man?" (I not-so-secretly believe that I am suffering a hypomanic episode, but we all know what a hypochondriac I am.) The logistics boggle my mind. It has rocky scars. It has things worse than bony elbows or toenails. The nation is rocky and has cities - how do you sleep with geography? Worse than the logistics, I wonder: what if I am unimpressed, and just end up with a lot of disappointment, entirely frustrated? Will I lie in bed? I don't fake anything well, you will know exactly what I think.

But it�s worth finding out anyway, I figure, and I watch as the bus passes a park. And yet I worry, because that's what I do. Will I know if I don�t want it, after all this effort and all this time? "I think I love your imaginary self," I whisper to the nation, but it probably can't hear me. Will I love its real self? Will it love me back? Will it be as good to me as I will be to it?

"It may have to be a long term arrangement, with me, you know," I say to the nation, a little louder. "We should have to make sure we really get along, but I�m just going to be stupid. I'm going to move in on the first date, if you'll have me. There�s no way of knowing before it�s too late. And if I decide that I�m wrong and can't stand the sight of you ever again, I hope it won't be ugly. This happens all too often with me. The Nahuas and I parted on good terms, really, but I secretly believe Catullus is still a bit miffed. He�s always so jealous."

"And I don�t love you just because she does, at least I don't think so. I think I love you because..." I trail off. It�s time to get off the bus. You�re funny and you�re quirky and you�re a little obscure, you�re bright and you�re depressed and you're poetic. You�re full of song. You're a little insecure, but who isn�t? You have castles and slate mines, you have oceans and hills. You have a strange and fascinating relationship with Argentina.

"I hope I don't get on your nerves. I hope I don't do things that drive you crazy. How would you ever let me know? I hope you want me. Please, please, please. I know I'm difficult, but I swear I can be true, and I can even write a decent paper sometimes, if I care enough."

2002-10-28, love song

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