Perhaps a Bachelor for All Eternity

Perhaps. We shall see. I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the idea.

Maybe I don't ever want to fall in love again. And maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Love is great, love is amazing, love is a many splendored thing and so forth, but maybe it's not for me.

I was talking to Steva last night on the way to Iowa City, and she said something to the effect of "I'm going to wander the world alone forever." That didn't seem to bum her out that much. Reflecting on that, it doesn't seem like the worst thing to me either.

Think of it this way: I've already been in love. I know what it feels like. I know how great it can be and I know how horrible and destructive it can become. So what need do I have of romantic love anymore? Haven't I already experienced it? Hasn't it, for me at least, become passe? Wouldn't I be a much more whole person if I never needed to rely on love to get me through my life? I think the absence of romantic love that I'm experiencing is a good thing.

I know I'm likely to change my mind on this matter, as I do on all my epiphanies. The evidence for this is the joy I find in other people's love. There are few things as uplifting as witnessing what Vonnegut called "a duprass" in Cat's Cradle. But that's so rare, and I'm not interested in wasting my life looking for that. Stumbling into it is a different story. I'm fine with pleasant surprises...

Love is great, but it, gah. What do I really want to say here? Am I bitter about love? Is this what's fueling it all?

But I'm not jealous of other people's love. Not even people who would, in a normal situation, make me jealous. I'm happy for them, but perhaps that's not for me.

Perhaps I'll be a bachelor for all eternity.
Unattatched but available.

Or perhaps this whole entry is all a crock of shit.