A Period of Co-Opted Insanity

If the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, when I look back (as I will, I’m human) on my time with a certain person I’m going to have to call it not so much a relationship as a period of co-opted insanity. A period of time in which we mutually agreed to ignore the fact that certain integral areas of disagreement were never quite going to resolve themselves, just continue to crop up as regularly as dandelions in a lawn and serve to cause frustration. This we probably should have seen from the outset and perhaps we did but as we were, at that time, happily ensconced in our mutual delusion, we chose to see only what we wanted to see. Sometimes people do that.

Over time we became so adept at seeing only what we wanted to see that we were able to coexist in blissful acceptance of our communal near-sightedness, pairing it after a time with an almost pleasant and certainly ubiquitous Alzheimer’s-like ability to forget the obvious and have no recall of anything beyond the past five minutes or so which, for the most part, had generally been pretty nice. Perhaps it was the combination of these two impairments that drove us right back together whenever circumstances, in their infinite wisdom, threw roadblocks in our way to serve as flashing red lights in the cosmos advising us to stop immediately as we were definitely going in the wrong direction. Blindly and happily amnesiac, we might pause to separately consider the roadblock but always, without question, wound up together again, racing forward in the wrong direction. Without putting too fine a point on it, may I just say we were, in our time, the Toyota Prius of romance.

I suppose when I look back on it (and I will, I’ve already said that), I may find myself tempted to linger a bit longer than is wise on a memory, settling far too comfortably into the darkened confines of the movie theater of my mind, refusing to leave my seat after the film has run its course, content to simply wait for the second showing and perhaps, if time permits, a third or fourth. I may find myself thinking the movie wasn’t all that bad. The sets were stunning, the cinematography amazing and the acting as passionate as any I’d ever dreamed of seeing, no matter the plot fell as flat as my hair in humidity. I may, in my weakened and semi-delusional state, find myself wishing at that time that a sequel could be made, if for no other reason than that in addition to everything else, my dog’s part in the film had been darling and something I would love to see recreated. I may find myself tempted, and sorely so, to reach for one or the other of those two dangerous contraptions, the dial of a Blackberry or the keyboard of my computer, that oft-times dangerous portal to the Internet, where nothing you say can ever really be taken back. This is the time I will need to remind myself, to do so would be to personify insanity, and in the sometimes cold, oft-times warm and generally consistently pleasant light of reality, this would be a very bad idea.

We fell for each other too hard and too fast so I can’t be surprised at the ending. I’ll keep the memories but try not to wear out the film with constant viewing, and perhaps the next time I feel I’m ‘crazy about someone’ I’ll pause to consider if perhaps that particular choice of verbiage could be a possible warning to myself. Crazy was a bit much, a bit out of control and unpredictable, and more than a little disconcerting. I suppose when I look back on it (and I will, I think we all know that by now), I should remind myself to remember that.