/ Sapsucker

Love is to hate as being in love is to what exactly? Because clearly loving someone is not the same as being in love with someone, as the latter generally requires a fluid exchange of some sort, which is why you shouldn't make the decision to become blood brothers at all too lightly, because you are getting into some serious gray area. I suppose along this same line of thinking, if it can be called such, you can hate someone without being out for blood, but once you make the decision that so-and-so is your sworn enemy, then you are in hate with him. Hmm, maybe the distinction has to do with swearing.

The reason a distinction has to be determined is because the fate of our humanity is at stake, because in the war of good versus evil, hatred comes out ahead if you look at sheer numbers. Because you can be in love with such a few number of people at one time (0 or 1, typically, which is why binary is sometimes referred to as the language of love), but you can hate countless individuals at once, which is why we have sayings like an orgy of violence or an orgy of bloodshed. You almost never hear someone talk about an orgy of goodwill or an orgy of rainbow-colored kitten affection. Almost never.

I am confused this week because people who apparently love me have turned on the sunlight, and there is so much affection it reminds me of wigging out on LSD and convinced my skin is crawling with insects. But not in a bad way! Kind, sweet, rainbow-colored, cartoon baby insects that taste like amaretto. And I am confused because I think I may have hurt someone's feelings in the process, and also I got dumped, which is strange because it is usually me doing that and I was like the android who becomes human and steps on his very first nail, and he is like, 'Fascinating. It is difficult to describe this new sensation, but if I could do so it would probably sound like, 'OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE MAKE IT STOP AAGHHH!' And then I walked around all day like a moron until a tiny voice of reason suggested that I pull the nail out. And I was like, 'Oh.'

Actually, it was a tiny sadistic voice of reason, because the motherfucker could have made the suggestion a whole lot earlier. We are our own worst enemies and we are evil bastards. Thank god we have a sense of humor, too.

Love is to hate as being in love is to being in love, as it turns out, because they are opposites, but not entirely, they are both made of equal parts fear and affection and pain strikes the same part of your brain as pleasure, only at a slightly different angle, as anyone who has ever suffered from red tide poisoning will tell you. Sometimes hot tastes cold and cold tastes hot, and it's only a matter of confusing the signals. Sometimes you burn your tongue and your body tells you that this is bad, and sometimes you burn your tongue and your body tells you that, my god, that was bad, you should totally do that again.

And then you take a mortar and pestle to her, and break her down into her tiniest parts and sleep with her in your hair and the pores of your skin, and through the night you whisper such longingly hateful words of encouragement, don't stop, don't, don't, don't. And when she brings you a glass of water you are to love as love is to her. You wonder if it will burn your tongue. You are mildly disappointed when it doesn't.