Don’t worry, whether it’s rage, depression, or a heady attraction to someone of the opposite sex, I’ll jump the turnstile of your reason, the barrier for guys with sagging pants and women you confuse with prostitutes, the one that disagrees when you say, “I want the one with the emotions of a boa constrictor,” “Let’s just be miserable forever,” and “FURY, SMASH, SMASH, GRAB, POUND, SHOUT, SHOUT, SMASH, BAAAGGGGRRRAAAAUUUU (???).”
As captain of this ship, I have banished reason to the leaky cargo hold so far in your subconscious it only comes up when you realize patching drywall is hard, not to mention fixing the lamp, stove, TV, most of the glassware, the neighbor’s satellite dish, and the fragile emotions of a child.
And when the crew eventually mutinies and reinstates reason, your life will return to a ho-hum average as compared to the glitz and glamor of euphoria and devastation. It’s going from Las Vegas to a marketing job in Ohio or from a hurricane to wading around in three feet of water and seeing if the TV still works.
But right now is the fun part, unless it’s not. Your whims and desires may be so frantic you might confuse yourself with Old Testament God, the one who resorts to genocide way too quickly and doesn’t joke around—unless it involves something painful like appendicitis or postpartum depression, stuff you would be like, No, that’s definitely not funny. The word “absurd” doesn’t even touch it, though “unglorified bedlam” and a “chaotic cocktail of crap” comes close.
How did I come to be in control? It happens to everyone—hormones, your upbringing, raging insecurities, a culture where following your heart is normal and easy. Unfortunately, you will not question where your heart is going, why it has a noose, and how it supposes to cross the harrowing chasm of “He Obviously Has Serious Psychological Problems” and “She Has No Concept Of Boundaries… Like What The Hell.”