I think I just must be allergic to “crushes”.
I realize that writing that sentence is the closest to Carrie Bradshaw that I’ve ever sounded, but I’m feeling that it is true. I don’t write this blog from a sappy doe-eyed girl perspective on relationships, (although I have been there once or twice) but I just feel like admitting it- I find it hard to just ‘like’ someone all of the sudden. And I don’t say this from a temporarily-scorned-i’ll-never-love-again point of view, I really mean that if my history shows anything, it’s that I don’t get all jumpy jittery and crush-crazy over boys. Not notably often, at least. We can call this a white girl problem, but hey, this blog is my tiny corner of the internet, and so I will illuminate it with whatever is on my mind, and today it’s this predicament.
I know people who say they get this “crush” feeling too often or just accept it as a part of life, but I feel like I’m neither or like I’m doing something wrong for not constantly having a beau to talk about or steal gazes from or dream of. However, feelings can’t be manufactured, and so I’m stuck being somewhat comfortable on my own.
I mean, I do love people; I do have feelings, I swear! My family takes up a huge part in my heart, my friends make me sing happy-go-lucky songs about them, and most of my favorite songwriters evoke feelings of attachment. Heck, I even write little love letters to SONGS. But for some reason, I happen to lack the crazy butterfly-like rush, or at least its popular frequency.
I feel like I’m supposed to be more boy-crazy. Does this sound crazy on its own? DOES THAT MAKE ME CRAAAZY?
I can count my so-called past ‘crushes’ of my short 20 years on one hand. I’d go as far to say that I feel like I relate to Cady Heron and her African love ‘Nfume’ in this sense. Take that as you may.
So, now that you’ve made it this far into this post, you must be wondering- why am I jumping all over the place with my words and emotional run-on sentences? Two words: The Wombats.
Yes, I’ll blame this fantastic song by The Wombats that has been on repeat for days for bringing it out of me, so, internet, turn up your speakers and let me lay it on you-
Maybe I was spoiled by movies and tricked by tv shows into thinking I should have my own complicated love triangle happening by now. Maybe it’s because I’m at the age where I’m apparently supposed to have my five-year plan mapped out, including my picturesque wedding and marriage. Maybe it’s because for years I wanted to have someone to giggle about at 7th grade sleepovers but lacked a muse. Maybe it’s because I have to keep promising myself that I’m not a freak for not giving my little affections away so easily.
But all I have to say is that-
Because, honestly, I just have to think that it’s not about ‘crushes’ and mind games and that I’m NOT weird for not constantly having someone I dream about.
When and if this whole stomach-butterflies-flapping-and-crushed -to-the-ground event happens, I’m serious when I admit that you’ll find me with my eyes glazed over, listening to Ella Fitzgerald on my record player and sighing and giggling like a lucky sap should, but for now, I’m not there. And after all, I’m sure you’d much rather read coherent sentences rather than “OMGHEISSOHOTANDPERFECT<3<3” over and over again.