I was really just minding my business.  After a flurry of trending topics, passive-aggressive Facebook updates, disgruntled inspired blog posts and helpful hints that weren’t really that helpful, I just couldn’t help but be drawn into the fray.  People were having problems.  I didn’t want any problems.  But, everywhere I looked it was forced into my view, Valentine’s Day.

I wasn’t avoiding it for the obvious reason of not having a Valentine.  (I was actually good in that space).  No, my aversion to all things hearts and flowers was something different. Everywhere I looked I saw that when it comes to love and loving we are in a sorry state.  The dialogue was driving me insane.  It was like watching six year olds discuss Advanced Applied Economics.  Oh yeah, it’s cute for a little while.  Then it gets annoying.

In our age of the overshare it’s way too easy to see our fragility.  A steady declaration of what “real” men and women are made of and how “grown” people will do that to you, by the way, if someone is stressing how “grown” they are, that’s usually a good indication that they still have some more growing to do.  Combine that with the repeated revelations of the pagan nature of the day and it’s a bit hard to maintain that lovey dovey feeling.

Simply put, we are a mess.

Love is war.

What I was seeing were the effects of a long drawn out battle.  Post-traumatic stress played out in all its twittastic glory.  As the great Mr. Christopher Wallace prophesized so long ago, “Things done changed.”  It feels like love has been under attack for a while.  There are a lot of factors in why we engage the way we do.  We are the sum of our experiences.  We are our parents’ children.  As they stretched, redefined and basically tried to figure out what the hell love would look like for them, they also modeled it for us.  Watching their dysfunction is the foundation of our protectionist view of love today.

Also, the circumstances under which women and men choose mates are drastically different as our society has evolved.  Think about it.  We no longer have to marry because of social stigma.  A man’s social or professional status (or a woman’s for that matter) is no longer impaired by the lack of a spouse.  It’s now commonplace to see single men and women well into their 30’s and beyond.  No one has to marry for sex.  Women no longer have to marry for protection or financial security.  We see each other as easily replaced.  On paper we don’t need each other.  Depending on which talk show you watch, a woman can seemingly replace the need for a man in her life with a good job, dildo and a gun.

Seems like no one needs love.  And, that’s exactly why we do.

Dealing with this world, with this life, is not easy.  Many of us are in denial.  It’s like a cyber version of “sour grapes,” as if people think, “I can’t find good so it must not exist.”  I never trust a man or a woman who says “I don’t need anybody.”  Usually they’re the ones who need somebody the most.  It’s understandable that one doesn’t want to be defined by a relationship.  It makes sense that we want to stand on our own.  But, our independence doesn’t negate our interdependence.

Sure you can compartmentalize the various parts of yourself and parcel them out to your own team of specialists.  In fact, that’s par for the course.  One to take out the garbage.   One to clean the house.  One person to deal with our emotional needs.  One for any algebraic equations that may randomly come up.  It’s safer that way.  Instead of real connection we have interchangeable role players while we reside safely behind our walls.  And, we revel in our ability to not feel.  We take refuge behind our personal walls.  We enjoy the comfort of control.

Yet, we hate it at the same time.  Despite my seemingly pessimistic view, there’s something that fuels my disdain of this negative cloud that hovers over the day.  I am a hopeless romantic. In spite of the ugliness of love these days, I believe that it still exists.  I believe in love.  And, I’m not the only one.  Much like the over pronounced declaration that Hip Hop is Dead, saying Love Is Dead just isn’t true.  Just like good Hip Hop, it’s there.  You just have to search for it.  Part of that search means realigning how we look for it.  The cool thing about the change in the dynamics of relationships is that we are on a bit of a level playing field.  With all those other things out of the equation you can concentrate on the core of why you build a relationship in the first place.

To paraphrase Rick Pitino, Idris Alba ain’t walking through that door.  That’s ok because Beyonce isn’t either.  We are imperfect people searching for perfection. Yes, some of it is biological and out of our hands.  We are attracted to who we are attracted to.  What may be dead is our ability to take a chance.

Gentlemen, I get it.  The whole thing is maddening.  You are told to respect her as an equal, then get killed for being too sensitive and your manhood is questioned.  Ladies, I understand. These men lie like a Persian rug and then get the nerve to catch feelings when you turn their tactics on them.  However, engaging in romance and expecting to not get hurt from time to time isn’t realistic.  It’s like trying to fight a fire and not understanding that there is a chance of getting burned.  For a little while we need to quit being so calculated and so fearful of the pain that can come from genuine engagement.  A rich man told me that “Scared money don’t make none.”

But hey what do I know?  I’m just some rambling guy who was on Twitter all day.

Here is my dilemma.  I felt too restless to fall back to sleep yet I couldn’t convince myself to get up and face the day.  Thoughts started maneuvering through my mind.  My husband was out of town.  I immediately started thinking about how much I missed him.  He had been gone for one night; (I know, I know, it was only a night).  He  would be back later in the afternoon so I started thinking about how excited I was to see him.

I thought of how some loved to have their husbands gone and have a free night and how much I didn’t.  I also thought about the humor in the fact that he had been gone for just one night and I had talked to him approximately four times during that time.  I was waiting for him to call at any moment.

Waiting for his call,  I addressed my dilemma of not wanting to sleep but not wanting to get out of bed.  I thought of how lucky I was to have a husband that I loved and who loved me in return, not having to wonder what he was doing while away or be jealous.  This in turn led my thoughts to the ten hours I hadn’t heard from him and to wonder what he did in those hours.  Of course, the fact that he may have been sleeping never crossed my mind.

Then came the rushing thoughts of “horny out-of-town at a conference women flirting with him in some hotel bar” visions.  I found myself getting jealous. And, the more I got jealous the more thoughts flooded in and soon I had my husband in a full blown sex scene in some random hotel room with some random woman.  I had myself in a totally crazy mindset.

If you knew my husband and the loving, trusting relationship we share you would realize how absurdly crazy this was and how I was allowing my own insecurities and negativity take over my thought process.

I realized it was time to get up and wondered what I should wear to work.  I stood looking in my closet insisting I had nothing to wear.  Everything was drab and ugly.  I was fat, ugly and tired.  I didn’t care what I looked like or what others thought I looked like.  What did it matter?

I had my husband in an imaginary wild sex scene and I was at home trying to cover up cellulite.  I tried on numerous clothes which blew the excuse that I had nothing to wear.  I started with the idea of “throwing something on” because it was a lost cause.  After three or four tries of “throwing something on” I settled.  Looking in the mirror I wondered why I didn’t have beautiful skin, why my nose was like it was and why I wasn’t some glamorous beauty that didn’t need makeup.  And, what was with those wrinkles?  I started to throw on some makeup attempting to ease the pain.

By this time I was going through my litany of how it sucked because I couldn’t eat what I wanted.  I was too tired to exercise.  The wind was blowing 45 mph outside and I lived in a god forsaken town that had nothing to offer, not even nice weather.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, it was like I got a swift kick.  Houston, we have a problem.  Think about  those images that have the little red devil sitting on one shoulder and the little angel on the other.  Well, evidently the angel had appeared.

What am I doing?  Quit that whiny blubbering and man up, or as the saying goes, “put on my big girl panties.”  I personally don’t like that big girl part so I am going to say, “put on my sexy panties.”  I looked in the mirror and thought my grandmother had returned from the grave.  I was dressed like she was in her casket and it wasn’t pretty. I went back to my closet and noticed that all my clothes looked different.  They weren’t drab and ugly.  I pulled out a stylish dress, donned some tights and a pair of three inch heeled boots.  (A woman told me once that as long as she was alive big jewelry would be in and I am the same way about spiked heels!)  No one needed to know what was in the package, only that the wrapping looked good.  Whew, I’m back!

Back to the mirror.  Hey, I’m not on the cover of a magazine but with a little airbrushing and a lot of imagination who says I couldn’t be.  Some gel and hairspray made my hair look stylish.  Next was the makeup. Thank goodness I had learned the tricks through the years and knew how to use my assets and diminish my liabilities.  I was a resourceful woman.  Just a few finishing touches not only to enhance what nature had given me but also cover up what nature had given me and I was off to the kitchen.

As I blended my healthy fruit smoothie which would serve as my breakfast I thought, “so what if I choose to eat healthy and feel I can’t eat junk food and fast food like other people.”  I can eat all that other food but really, do I want to?  No!  What works for me is the rewards of attempting, and I emphasize the attempting, to be in shape and at a healthy weight.

As I enjoy my smoothie and flax meal muffin, oh yea, the beauty of that muffin is it only takes a minute to make and actually makes fiber tastes quite good, I started thinking of my psycho jealous session I had earlier.  First of all I trust my husband and knew he wasn’t having some wild sex rendevous.  And really, why wouldn’t some “horny out-of-town at a conference” women flirt with my sexy, handsome husband.  He’s definitely a charismatic guy.

I’ve worked through my negative thoughts.  So what if he flirts a little?  The blood running through his veins is hot enough that he still finds women attractive.  Heck, when he walks into a room it makes me warm so why wouldn’t he do the same to other women?  I’m confident in our marriage and know he’ll be coming home.

However, I do wonder about these thoughts.  Is it me?

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