Love is when...

Reblogged from Thought Catalog. I just enjoyed reading this. This is so well-written! I personally love the use of extreme almost grotesque images to capture the intensity of raw love. It is the same as how I feel about love. That even when I'm grumpy and frumpy and down, all I want is to be with him. But I also don't because I don't want him to see me sad. And yet, he is what makes me better."I hate everything as much as I love you." Great line in a great thing.

Love is when... by Kat George

I guess love is when I’m super cranky because I’ve got my period, and I’m sitting on the bed when you get home from work and even though I’m so relieved to see you, I scowl at you and complain that my belly hurts. I won’t cuddle you when you come and sit on the edge of the bed, even though all I really want to do is crawl inside you and wear your skin as a coat and your guts as a scarf, because love is gross and creepy like that. I have my period and my tummy hurts and I love you so much I want to slap you in the face.

I’ll grunt at you instead of answering your questions and I’ll be relieved when you leave the room and shut the door behind you, because I love you so much, and you should never have to receive me when I’m like this. When I’m like this I should be shackled to a wall and fed gruel that’s been slopped on the ground in front of me, and my hands should be tied behind my back so that I have to lap it up from the dirty floor with my tongue.

I guess love is when you come back, 15 minutes later, and you’ve been down to the off license and bought me my favorite biscuits, you know, the Weston’s Digestives with the chocolate on one side, even though it’s cold in the street and we’re poor and have no money to pay our rent. The way you come back to me, with the packet of biscuits in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, the way you come so silently and put these things next to me, the way you walk across the room without even displacing the air you’re moving through, makes me ashamed that you have to love someone that can be such a horrible little troll.

But still, I love you so much I am too embarrassed to apologise, and I continue to sit there with my arms crossed and my bottom lip out. I won’t even turn my head to face you, but I can see the biscuits laying on the bed between us, as you take up your position next to me, leaning against the brick wall because I’ve got all the pillows and I’m too stubborn and surly to take one. I think I love you more as we sit there, me obstinate and you so calm, a ringmaster waltzing boldly into a lion’s den.

And then without warning, my eyes lap with waves and I’m ready to look at you and say I’m sorry for being such a brat, it’s just that I feel so horrible, and I hate it here sometimes, in this tiny mouse infested apartment, their little droppings sometimes between the sheets of our mattress that lives on the floor. I hate that my tummy hurts, I hate that we don’t have a living room in our flat, that we can’t afford to go to a restaurant. I hate everything as much as I love you.

So you squeeze my hand and you say, I know, and you say we can just watch Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend and you’ll bitch about all the contestants with me and even pretend like you care. I start to cry because you are the best, and I tell you I didn’t mean it, that I love our tiny mouse infested apartment, I love it here, I love it here with you and did I mention that I love you? You say we’re going to miss the start of the program and you smile at me.

We watch Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend and you have an opinion on everything, and we complain about all the contestants like they’re friends we dislike and we’re driving back from a dinner party we just had with them, and we eat the whole packet of biscuits and drink tea until my tummy doesn’t hurt anymore and we’re holding hands. When the show is over, we go to the bathroom together and brush our teeth standing side by side in front of the mirror, like we do every night since we moved here. You poke me with the frothy tip of your brush, I pretend like I think it’s gross because I know you think the face I pull when I do that is cute, and then we have an argument about whether or not we can cross swords and you swear if I sit on the toilet you can aim your wee so it gets right between my legs and none will go on me. And like every night before, and every night after, we don’t cross swords.

Before we go to bed you lay on your tummy with your shirt off and I lay on your back squeezing your blackheads, and we talk about what happened today at work. So I guess love is when we eventually lay together in the darkness, and have our ten minutes of cuddles, then both roll to our own side of the bed because neither of us can sleep while cuddling unless we’re drunk or sad and right now we’re sober and happy. You touch your big toe against mine under the sheets and we fall asleep just like this; far enough apart to fall into dreams, but pressing together regardless.

Confused…YES! Assuming…NO!

It’s 1:03 am and I’m still up. I’m wide awake like an owl. Can’t sleep! Insomnia kicks in. There's something unnatural about this habit, yet I seem to always result to this. No plans for tomorrow. Rest is on its way. Couch potato time again.

So much for waiting for time to cease all foggy madness, I am now facing hard-core facts. I am just a puzzle of irregular sorts right now. So for now, just come up to write this one, sharing my thoughts. I just had a girl-ish mature conversation with ‘atey’ one of my close friends. To have this kind of discussion sometimes make us say that we’re growing up to the age that make us adults to understand this kind of things way much better. It takes a lot to know what life is. Sometimes we think of things the other way around. Simple actions that we may likely see something special on them yet it is just nothing. We can really assume on things that aren't real...we took it in a special way yet for others it's just quite as simple and ordinary. Warning...warning...warn…oh...warn yourself about those things that makes you assume on something...that in reality it was just NOTHING. Girls...do assume. I believe that! We are very assuming and most of the time fooled. We thought this and that, but actually there's nothing to think about because it's unreal. That’s why it’s connected into this word: CONFUSION. You face a bit of confusion on things. Some people saw it, and think about it, which made you THINK about it, too. With regard to impressing ladies, THE BEST WAY TO IMPRESS HER IS NOT TRYING TO IMPRESS. Remember, doing too much and going too far is not necessarily a good thing. Let time do its thing. Being sweeet is good, but being too sweet might not be a great idea. Therefore, small simple gestures can be much more effective than something big. I know there is a temptation to show and reward the lady that you like for who she is, but try to resist it - it will only do good to you.

I believe that everyone has expectations. Women expect too much of men, just as men expect too much of women. Unfortunately some come at a higher price than others. I'm a female and I know my worth but I don't let looks and stupid things define what I want in a man. ATTITUDE, CONSISTENCY, EFFORT, PERSISTENCE and PERSONALITY are important too! You have to step up your game and have conversation. You have to be able to interact. Communication is the key to everything and even the outside the world it still plays a major role. My conclusion: we can really assume or not?? I don't know yet if it's real or not but it’s a way wiser to think that it's not. It's wiser to guard our heart. To choose not to think about it anymore and realize that yes, there are other things to think other than that. Though I'm still confused and bothered about the truth...yet it's safe to say that: ASSUME NOT! ;)

Luxurious sleep should be attained as well, to promote a healthier lifestyle and a paced heart. So, I shall retire. :) Off to the mattresses I go! ;p Good mornight everyone! **Sorry for this post kinda like “sabog” and for some grammatical errors…too sleepy to recheck it. Hehe

Date a girl who reads...or writes

P.S This article is not mine. Too good not to share! 

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You'll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. Shes's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That's the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow. 

She's the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non - dairy creamer is floating on top because she's kind of engrossed already. Lost in the world of the author's making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book. 

Buy her another cup of coffee. 

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce's Ulysses she's just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It's easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she's going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow. 

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world. 

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always lead up to climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two. 

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series. 

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She'll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she's sick. Over Skype. 

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you're better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads. 

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

--Rosemary Urquico